Daniel Newwyn
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Severa Book 1 (Chapter 8)
🕑 Added 2025-08-13 15:57:08 +0000 UTC“Miss Montreal. Miss Montreal?”
Berrick’s voice registered in her head before his knocks on the door did.
Severa forced her eyes to open. She was once again sprawled across her bed, fully dressed from collar to cuff. Her cheek felt tight and grimy, and when she pressed a finger to her skin, it came away faintly tinted—layers of foundation, unmoved since morning, baked in place by a nap she didn’t remember starting. Her shoes were still on and her hairpins dug into her scalp.
“It’s time for tea,” Berrick reminded her. “Young Master Montreal is already waiting.”
Forsing wanted her to join for afternoon tea? I guess I could spare some time before Aunt Merry comes. My supposed tutoring session today is . . . non-existent, and it’s been some time since we actually sat down.
She swung her legs off the bed and crossed to the vanity, catching sight of the uneven angle of her braids in the mirror. A few deft pulls and re-pinnings brought them upright again.
[Is your sleep schedule always this bad?] Came the intrusive comments from DeShawn.
Ah, of course. The reason why I had to shut down.
She smoothed her collar, patted at the worst of the creases in her skirts, and pinched a little more color into her cheeks, enough to mask the fact she’d been unconscious rather than simply resting.
[Sleep on time, girl. A bit of self-discipline makes your life all the better.]
Yes; yes. And I have horrendous social execution; no need to remind me.
Severa opened the door. Berrick waited in the hallway, hands clasped neatly behind his back, posture impeccable as always. His face betrayed nothing, not even the faintest twitch that might hint at amusement or concern.
“Miss Montreal,” he said, “you appear somewhat fatigued. I trust you will manage the journey to the sitting room without difficulty?”
“Indeed,” Severa replied, then she started walking.
[That’s how your conversations with people go?]
She didn’t reply to that.
She had known Berrick all her life, ever since she could remember, yet she realized she knew almost nothing about him beyond the strict proprieties he maintained. Once, long ago, he had let slip a single, impersonal detail about himself—he preferred his tea precisely at three o’clock, with exactly two sugar cubes—and she still teased him about it from time to time. But he had never shared anything more, and she remained slightly disappointed. If he had, even in the smallest way, there would at least be something to talk to him about.
[Do you want to know more about him?] Suddenly, DeShawn asked.
What?
[I said what I said.]
Well, I can’t say I’m not in the least intrigued . . . but how am I to do that?
[Turn back around and lemme work my magic.]
Severa stopped. Work your magic? She hesitated. DeShawn had shown her things she had never thought possible, and to say she was curious would be an understatement. With the faintest sigh of compliance, she pivoted to face Berrick fully.
[Stare at him. I need about 10 secs to compute. Keep him in your vision.]
I can’t just stare at someone.
DeShawn chose this exact moment to stay silent.
Fine. Hold some small talks. Be natural. You can do it.
She took a steadying breath. “Berrick, please. Bring me the silver tray from the sideboard. I need it in the sitting room.”
There. Perfect. She could now track him without having to call attention to herself. Ten seconds of observation, safely disguised as a practical instruction.
Berrick inclined his head once and began walking. Away from her. Turning the corner.
That was not well thought out, she thought as she quick-stepped to not lose sight of Berrick as he turned the corner.
Berrick paused, turned, and glanced back at her. “Do you require anything else, Miss Montreal?”
Severa froze, mind whirring for a plausible, socially acceptable reason to continue following. “Yes . . . bring also the tea caddy, Berrick. I will need it on the tray.”
Berrick inclined once more and continued toward the sideboard.
Severa fell into step behind him, fixing her eyes on the precise angle of his stride. One . . . two . . . three . . .
Then he turned to face her again. “What is it, Miss?”
“Ah—” she blurted before she could stop herself, “and also the teaspoon with the slightly bent handle. I’ll need it on the caddy.”
Berrick paused just long enough to acknowledge her and inclined his head the third time. What else am I going to say if he turns around again? That I need a sugar cube placed on that spoon? Luckily, it never got to that point. Ten seconds had already passed, and she stifled her groan.
This is ridiculous, DeShawn. Whatever you’re showing me better be worth the trouble.
Almost immediately, a translucent overlay appeared in her vision, filling with numbers and color-coded bars.
Berrick ??? — Preliminary Analysis (Confidence: 57% — More observation required)
Perceived Social Standing: Moderate — 50–70%
Reliability Index: High — 78–85%
Approachability Score: Low — 35–45%
Attitude Toward You: Neutral — 50–60%
Benefits of Befriending: Moderate — 40–50%
Her fingers brushed and rubbed at the fabric as she regarded the overlay. This . . . I don’t want this. Why? Because it would force her to think about people in ways she found intrusive. People weren’t numbers and probabilities. Social navigation now felt even more like a puzzle she had no desire to solve for sport.
[But this might just be what you need, girl.]
Berrick’s footsteps approached, measured and precise. “Miss Montreal,” he said quietly, “Master Forsing seems rather irritable today. You may wish to exercise caution in your conversation with him.”
Before Severa could say anything, DeShawn intruded her vision again.
Response Options:
Spontaneous remark or light teasing — Estimated Attitude Toward You change: -1.2% ~ +0.8%
Measured, polite, lengthy acknowledgment — Estimated Attitude Toward You change: -0.3% ~ +0.7%
Short, clipped, overly cautious reply — Estimated Attitude Toward You change: -0.1% ~ +0.1%
Severa’s eyes narrowed slightly. I won’t just drag out my response because you tell me it’ll make Berrick think better of me, she thought. I am not a social experiment.
[Man, he ain’t gonna show the real him unless you boost his attitude with you. Isn’t that what you’re after?]
Because Severa spent too much time arguing inside her head, Berrick took her non-response with slightly more concern.
“If you are feeling unwell, Miss Montreal, I can—”
She inclined her head just enough to acknowledge him, her expression impeccably neutral. “I am perfectly well, Berrick. Thank you.”
Estimated change in attitude: 0%
“Then Young Master Montreal is waiting in the arboretum.”
Severa straightened her shoulders and stepped into the sunlight. Ahead, Master Forsing reclined on a bench of polished sunspire quartz, carved in the likeness of intertwining serpents clutching tiny orbs of captured sunlight. He held a leather-bound tome with gilded corners, the title gleaming in embossed script: Manners of Ascendancy: Protocols for Courtly Supremacy.
As she approached, he looked up, one brow arched in faint amusement. “Taking your time, are we, Severa? I wasn’t aware you had adopted the casual habits of the tardy.”
Forsing Montreal — Preliminary Analysis (Confidence: 53% — More observation required)
Perceived Social Standing: High — 75–90%
Reliability Index: Moderate — 55–70%
Approachability Score: Low — 30–45%
Attitude Toward You: Low ~ Neutral — 30–60%
Benefits of Befriending: Moderate — 45–55%
Likely Irritability Today: Elevated — 65–80%
Preferred Conversation Tone: Formal/Measured — 70–85%
Why is the range for his attitude towards me so high?
[You two’ve got history, yeah? Makes it harder to gauge. Past interactions push the estimate all over the place.]
She gave a quiet huff, suppressing the memory of yesterday’s slip. Of course it does. Nothing about him is ever straightforward. She would not give him the satisfaction of another opening. Straightening her posture, she approached and met his gaze.
“What business do you have with me, brother?” she asked.
Estimated change in attitude: -0.1%
Forsing’s gaze sharpened, the faint amusement in his eyes giving way to a cooler precision. “I have heard you are planning to—how shall I put it?—enter a Tier II dungeon today. It has, regrettably, been foreclosed by the Order.”
Closed? She opened her mouth, but nothing came out immediately.
Who in the Order ordered the order? she thought, scanning her mental catalog of authority figures who could issue such a decree. “By whose order?”
“By the Grand Magus Venaclas herself,” he said, enunciating the name. “The Bureau of Arcane Regulation. This dungeon is highly aetherically unstable and might result in monster spawns much stronger than Tier II.”
“But a Grand Magus shouldn’t have the authority to—” she stopped herself. “Then what do you suggest I do, brother?”
“That is a matter we shall discuss once Aunt Halveth arrives.”
Is this real? Or is he simply attempting to provoke me under the guise of civility?
[Probability of provocation: 67%
Probability concern: 33%]
How did you arrive at those figures?
[The numbers come from cross-checking his moves with the library of known human patterns. Word choice, past vibes with him, microexpressions, posture, and who’s boss in the room. I weighted all that, spat out a probability.]
A sudden rustle of leaves caught Severa’s attention. Sunlight filtered through the arboretum trees as Aunt Halveth appeared, stepping along the winding stone paths. Her movements were measured, confident, but her appearance was unexpected: light armor clung to her torso, a scabbard rested against her hip, and the leather boots made no sound on the stone. She looked less like a thaumaturge and more like a sentinel prepared for immediate confrontation.
Forsing’s eyes lifted from his tome, a faint crease forming between his brows. “Aunt Halveth,” he said, “I see punctuality remains a negotiable concept for you as well. Shall we begin, or will you continue to dawdle?”
Halveth took a seat opposite him, closer to Severa. “I am here now, Forsing. Let us proceed.”
??? Halveth — Preliminary Analysis (Confidence: 59% — More observation required)
Perceived Social Standing: Moderate — 45–60%
Reliability Index: High — 80–88%
Approachability Score: Moderate — 50–60%
Attitude Toward You: Friendly — 65–75%
Benefits of Befriending: High — 60–70%
Social Aptitude
Practical Exertion: 34% (boosted by 3% in Halveth’s immediate presence)
Stress Resilience
Practical Exertion: 58% (boosted by 3% in Halveth’s immediate presence)
She boosts my attributes? It does make sense. Aunt Merry always reminds me how to act . . . though not in accordance to social status.
At that moment, Berrick stepped into the arboretum, followed by two junior butlers, each carrying trays carefully arranged with delicate porcelain cups, a silver teapot, and small plates of pastries. He carried the silver tray, tea caddy, and the slightly bent teaspoon exactly as Severa had instructed.
“Master Montreal. Miss Montreal. Prefect Halveth,” Berrick intoned, placing the silver tray on the small marble table between the benches. “Your tea.”
One of the junior butlers, slightly younger than Berrick but meticulous in posture, added, “The scones have been freshly warmed, and the lavender infusion is as requested, Master Montreal.”
Forsing saw the peculiar items Severa had requested and commented, “Ah,” he said, voice smooth, tinged with the slightest amusement, “even the minutest of details receives your attention, Severa. Such is the reason for your tardiness, after all.”
She could feel the familiar tug of DeShawn’s overlay in her vision, urging her to note stride, posture, microexpressions, all while maintaining a composed exterior. She ignored all that.
Halveth, already seated, gave a small nod toward the approaching butlers as she said without looking at Forsing. “Why are you present here, Forsing? Surely this is not simply for tea.”
[You know, I’m not one into historical soap operas. You better got something good.]
Please refrain from commentary. I will not repeat.
Forsing closed the leather-bound tome, eyes meeting Halveth’s with measured precision. “Let us promptly discuss. You must have heard of Grand Magus Venaclas’ order.”
Halveth said, “What of it?”
Forsing leaned back slightly, resting one arm along the bench. “Since dungeon crawling is no longer a possibility today,” he said, producing a folded parchment from the inner pocket of his robe, “I propose an alternative.” His gaze shifted to Severa, sharp yet oddly expectant. “I am about to embark on a diplomatic excursion, and it would be advantageous to have a competent observer accompany me.”
Severa’s eyes narrowed. “Observer?”
“A personal chronicler,” Forsing clarified. “Your role would be to document proceedings, note subtleties in discourse, and ensure no detail escapes my attention.”
Is he suggesting I become his scribe?
[Seems so, girl.]
He inclined his head slightly, a subtle challenge in his expression. “It will be a splendid opportunity for you to witness diplomacy at the highest level, sister. Exposure to such arenas often informs one’s understanding of influence, nuance, and, naturally, social navigation.”
Severa twisted a strand of her braid as she read the overlay. Before she could fully process Forsing’s proposal, DeShawn’s overlay returned results.
Genuine Invitation Probability: 78%
Self-Interest / Convenience: 46%
Calculated Manipulation Probability: 10%
Hidden Agenda Probability: 2%
Wait. This goes over 100%.
[One may have more than one interlocking interests, girl.]
Are you saying there’s a 78% chance Forsing is looking out for me?
[Looking out? Not sure. He seems genuine at least.]
Seventy-eight percent genuine. He had never been genuine, not after that incident years ago at the Guild Hall. And DeShawn expected me to believe he suddenly had my interest at heart now?
“Well, sister?” Forsing said. “I think you’d find my proposal much more pleasurable than the one the Magister would offer should you decline.”
That’s a threat. That was the only word that fit. Her father had never cared enough to push her into anything—certainly not into the treacherous games of court politics—but Forsing’s words hinted at consequences veiled behind civility.
Merry was about to put her cup of tea to her lips, but set it down immediately. “Severa, you are far too inexperienced for such matters.”
Forsing’s gaze lifted. “Prefect Halveth,” he said, “you have done little else but maintain her within the bounds you deem appropriate. Surely, it is only fitting that Miss Montreal be granted the courtesy of her own judgment in this matter.”
If accept Forsing’s proposal:
Forsing’s attitude toward you: +5.2% ~ +7.7%
Halveth’s attitude toward you: -4.8% ~ -5.5%
Magister’s (non-registered party) attitude toward you: +???%
If decline Forsing’s proposal:
Forsing’s attitude toward you: -2.3% ~ -4.8%
Halveth’s attitude toward you: +1% ~ +2%
Magister’s (non-registered party) attitude toward you: -???%
[And remember, girl. Each choice is a ting for sharpening your social skills. Every move you make, peep the game and level up.]
Must I choose? I fear I am positively dying.
Severa still stared at the numbers as Forsing’s voice cut through.
“Sister,” he said, “you’re going to need to be faster than this.”
Severa’s lips pressed into a thin line. She inhaled slowly, forcing her racing thoughts into order. The overlay’s probabilities flashed insistently at the corner of her vision, but she ignored them. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady though the tremor of indignation threatened to seep through.
“I—decline,” she said.
Forsing’s eyes narrowed. His hand tightened briefly around the parchment, but he did not raise his voice. Instead, he let the silence stretch, letting the weight of his presence press on her. Then, with a calmness that belied the heat of his temper, he spoke, “Fine. Do what you do best. Go on your little dungeon run. See if your ‘best’ can even clear that unstable dungeon.”
He folded the parchment, tucked it back into his robes, and strode toward the gate.
Forsing’s attitude toward you: -2.9%
Halveth’s attitude toward you: +1.3%
All that was left was Severa, staring after him, cheeks flushed, heart hammering.
Her fingers curled into fists. The words had lit a fire inside her, hotter than any aether-fueled spell she’d ever cast. How dare he doubt her capability? How dare he challenge her like this?
She would show him. Right then, right there.
