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TO&FQ: Book 1 - Chapter 44 (RAW)
🕑 Added 2024-12-28 02:05:36 +0000 UTCChapter 44 - The Saint of Silver
It is said that Este Rizel, exiled from the Land of Streams, was the first to dance the Water Dance. She performed on the banks of the Aran, giving thanks to the gods who guided her safely to what would become the Kingdom of Aranthia. So moving was her dance that onlookers believed her a messenger of the divine. To this day, young girls approaching their twentieth year dance upon the Aran’s banks in hopes of securing a peaceful year. It is for this reason that no performer is ever asked to pay for the privilege of performing along the river.
- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.
The door opened again, drawing everyone’s attention as a procession of white swept in. At its head was a girl about Seraphina’s age, moving with measured, graceful steps. She was slightly shorter than Seraphina, her silver, argentine-silk hair braided into a crown and cascading down to her chest. Her figure was svelte and lithe, her limbs long and elegant.
Her face was, of course, beautiful: a perfect oval with precise angles, and a nose placed as though by a mathematician’s hand. An air of serene confidence made it seem as though she wore humility like a fashionable cape—giving her a quiet, smug superiority. Her beauty, different though it was, could rival Seraphina’s own. In this world, or her last, an objective fact that the heir to the Sarien’s Duchy was loathe to admit.
Her rival looked to the gathered nobility like an angel had descended from heaven to deliver a message from upon high.
“Archbishop Rowan and his ward, Este Lize, the Living Saint!” proclaimed a deep male voice, ringing through the hall.
A hush fell over the room. Seraphina locked eyes with her nemesis, the Saint of Silver. Living Saint, my foot, she thought. One must be dead to be canonized, after all. She silently vowed to rectify that in due time.
Yet the timing was wrong. This arrival was too soon, completely unexpected, catching her off guard. She had foreseen a scene like this happening later. Clearly, her actions had tilted the world off its original course, making precise predictions of the future now unreliable. She could only rely on broad possibilities now. Generalizations.
Even so, Seraphina had prepared for this encounter—just not at this exact moment. At such a close distance, killing Este Lize would be child’s play. She could literally tear her head off. But here, in front of so many witnesses, it would violate the King’s Peace, a grave offense with consequences even she could not evade.
A thousand and one thoughts flashed through her mind as she searched for an optimal choice.
Normally, Seraphina might have seized this chance, yet something held her back—a piece of wisdom gained during her stay in this unfamiliar land. Killing Este Lize here and now would deny the Saint of Silver any chance to grow, but Este Lize was not the only threat standing in Seraphina’s way. The girl was forced to conclude that even she could not deal with the potential aftermath in a clean way.
Nor was she the only one capable of growing stronger.
Seraphina had one advantage, though, one more card that she could yet still play. Este Lize did not yet know that she was her enemy. Like a serpent she would wait until the most opportune, engineered moment before striking a single overwhelming blow.
The blonde girl had once entertained notions of twisting the girl to her side, but seeing the Archbishop next to her meant that Este Lize had risen too quickly from obscurity that were her origins. Too soon by far for the Rowan to have seen Este Lize’s potential.
It raised another dark possibility that it was not only Seraphina’s actions that were shaping the world, but someone else, someone like her who also had some foreknowledge of the world of The Maiden of the Wisterias. A disturbing thought indeed, for up until now Seraphina had assumed that she had held all the aces.
The game was truly afoot.
Seraphina still needed to build up character base to destroy her from a position where she did not need to sacrifice anything of herself. A greedy choice that may yet prove to be downfall, but a choice that intrinsically her.
Seraphina gave the Archbishop Rowan a deeper curtsy than she had even toward King Elidion. Let the onlookers think of that what they wished. A small move to muddy the waters.
Next, the proud girl dipped her head to the girl who would one day be known as the Saint of Silver, doing her best to conceal her violent urges. The girl’s silver eyes met her own for a moment, Este Lize’s gaze lingering upon her for a moment longer than was proper as the silver-haired girl smiled at her.
An unwelcome sense of dread overcame Seraphina, an emotion that she was unused to dealing with so she simply pushed it down and ignored it. Still, a niggling doubt remained. Was Este Lize like her? she thought as she exited the court, the gathered notables tittering over something new.
Seraphina would have to see about having Este Lize watched, a difficult thing as she had no intelligence network of her own. Not to mention that she was protected, even more thoroughly now, by the Church.
Inside Seraphina fumed. Her pet snake sensing her disquiet stirred, popping out between her breasts to look at her mistress. She soothed it with a few calming words until it settled back down.
Frest looked on, worried in more ways than one.
“Lady Seraphina, was that altogether wise…” Eloise questioned of her mistress.
“Perhaps not, but the message was clear. We of the Sariens will not be pushed around by a tyrant of a king. And Eloise, we will discuss this later. We are still under the King’s roof,” she replied, a little too quickly betraying her unease.
“Frest,” she called out.
“Yes, milady,” he answered.
“We are moving out. Have your men be prepared for anthing,” she commanded.
“Of course, Lady Seraphina. With that stunt you pulled back there wouldn’t be half surprised if the King himself sent the army after you,” he replied with a very casual shrug, the rasp of metal on metal seeming almost comical with the human gesture.
“Frest, have I ever told you that you are a very disrespectful man?” she said haughtily.
Frest grinned. “All the time, milady. But you also said that you needed to someone to tell you the truth as they see it.”
“I should have you whipped when we get back,” she answered with a sniff.
“Only if you are the one to be doing it… The one who passes the sentence should be the one who sees it done… and all of that. Don’t know about nobles and their fancy tastes,” he answered, scratching the back of his helmet with a mailed hand.
“I can not take you anywhere, can I? Please, enough of the childish innuendo. Just get us out of here safely, please,” Seraphina bit back acerbically, getting more annoyed by the moment.
*****
Back in her room at the Gilded Gryphon, Seraphina could almost taste the tension in the air. Two knights, fully armored and clutching their swords, stood vigil outside her door. Frest had insisted the women all stay together for safety, so now Eloise and Miriam shared Seraphina’s quarters. Meanwhile, Haze was downstairs in the common room, performing one of Seraphina’s favorite songs to a rapt audience.
Not long before, Seraphina had quietly warned the innkeeper, Vellens, that there was a plot afoot against her life, the soon-to-be queen-in-waiting. He had gone pale at her words and vowed, with a quavering voice, to reinforce the inn’s security.
But Seraphina’s recent machinations at Court had already borne fruit: the Crown Prince Vellens now stood in her chamber, currently receiving a withering glare from Miriam. Eloise couldn’t quite conceal her own fluttering glances in his direction either; clearly, young hearts never forget their first loves.
His “incognito” costume was laughably inadequate—though the dull colors and simple style hinted at a commoner’s attire, the cloth was new and expertly tailored. And no disguise could dim the regal carriage of one born to rule. Even downstairs in the bustling common room, heads had turned the instant he entered; the Prince’s bewilderment at being recognized spoke volumes about his inexperience beyond the palace walls.
Now, in the tension-charged hush of Seraphina’s room, the Prince erupted in dismay. “What were you thinking, Seraphina, speaking to my father like that? Are you out of your mind?” His voice quivered with frustration.
Seraphina, seated at her vanity, caught his reflection in the mirror and refused to face him directly. Her gaze was icy, unwavering. “Your father insulted my House. It was the only proper response.” Her lips curled into a faint, half-mocking smile as she arched a delicate eyebrow. “Tell me, Vellens, could it be that you finally worry for me, your bride-to-be? You, who could not even make an appearance at Court?” She pressed a hand to her mouth in a feigned show of surprise.
From the far corner, Eloise shifted uncomfortably, her voice soft as she ventured, “Perhaps the Prince was occupied with matters of state?”
Seraphina gave Eloise a frosty look, and at once her lady-in-waiting lowered her eyes. “I think I’ll prepare us some tea,” Eloise said quickly, unable to withstand the weight of Seraphina’s gaze. She rose to go, only for the Crown Prince Vellens to raise a hand to halt her.
“It is as Lady de Laney said,” he began, then hesitated. “Though…not exactly with matters of state.”
At the realization that the Crown Prince had recalled her name, Eloise’s cheeks flushed. Feeling both flustered and excited, she hurried out anyway to arrange the promised tea. Miriam, however, remained steadfastly by Seraphina’s side, her glare fixed on Vellens as if he were a wild beast.
“Will you tell your maid to stop looking at me as though I were some sort of monster?” the Prince demanded with a laugh that wavered and died almost instantly. “I’ve faced my share of them, I’ll have you know!” He tried to continue in a joking manner.
Seraphina cast him a cool glance. “So, enlighten me, Your Highness—what were these pressing matters that stole you away?” Her tone dripped with disinterest.
Being young, Vellens leapt to defend himself. “I—I am a bronze-level adventurer, responsible for—”
She cut him off mercilessly. “Tell me, then…were you busy whoring? The ladies of ill repute here in the capital speak of a Crown Prince who lavishes them with coin.” A delicate flick of her hair feigned annoyance, though the venom in her voice felt all too real.
At the mention of this rumor, Miriam’s gaze sharpened with new hostility, and Vellens flushed at the accusation. “N-no, it wasn’t like that—”
Seraphina sighed dramatically. “So perhaps you were too deep in your cups, or gambling away the people’s taxes instead?” She stood, facing him. For a moment, she nearly lost herself in the intense gray of his eyes—eyes that, she recalled bitterly, had captivated many other girls before her. “All my life,” she began—
Eloise returned then, ushering in servants bearing a polished tea set. They arranged cups and saucers on a circular oak table inlaid with bronze. Seraphina took her seat with royal poise, and Vellens reluctantly followed suit. Pouring tea for everyone, Eloise stole unguarded glances at the Prince, a trace of lingering affection in her gaze.
Though vexed by the interruption, Seraphina pressed on. “All my life,” she repeated more forcefully, “I have trained to be a suitable bride for you. Etiquette and decorum. Poetry, dance, flower arrangement. I speak four languages, know a fair bit of mathematica, theology, and diplomacy—all so that one day I could support you when you ascended the throne. And yet, on a day that was so important to my future, you were nowhere to be found. Where were you when I needed you? When your father threatened to throw me into Castle Aran’s dungeon?”
“I—” he spluttered, words failing him.
“You’re supposed to be a man,” she continued, her voice tight. “But all I see before me is a boy—beautiful, yes, but a boy lacking substance. I was raised on the example of my father’s love for my mother, a love so great that bards sing of it here in the capital. That was what I dreamed of for myself, selfishly perhaps. But you…you come here disguised, as if I were a shameful secret.”
Eloise, unused to seeing her mistress appear so wounded, began to question her own admiration for the Prince, an example of the raw force of Seraphina’s Charisma. She shot him a disapproving glare that echoed Miriam’s silent anger.
“If that is how you see me, Lady Seraphina,” Vellens said, voice unsteady, “then there are no words that can—”
“A flippant response,” Seraphina snapped back. “Words are empty without action, Vellens. You should think on why you even carry that sword at your hip. Please go. I wish to be alone. I do not think I can bear the sight of you.”
Vellens looked as if he wanted to say something to his defense, but he soon realized the folly of that. With shoulders sagging in shame, the Prince withdrew. Seraphina watched from the window as he left the Gilded Gryphon with a group of fellow adventurers, his head bowed in defeat. She knew that his heart bled for her now—she was once an existence that he had taken for granted but was now growing out of reach. This would only serve to enflame his desire all the more.
She allowed herself a small, knowing smile. His vulnerability and sense of inadequacy in the shadow of his father, King Elidion—those same insecurities that had once drawn him to the comforting arms of Este Lize—had proven easy for Seraphina to exploit. With this manipulation, she had not only tightened her hold on Vellens’s devotion, but also driven a wedge between the Prince and the King.
It was, she reflected, another victory. One step closer to her ultimate goal.
