TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 33 (RAW)

Chapter 33 - A Call to Adventurer

Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.

- T.S. Eliot.

If Seraphina was feeling generous, yesterday's tea with Eloise had been a passable affair. It had tasted alright, but something was missing. Perhaps it had been the selection of cakes and biscuits, the temperature of the brew… or something. Still, Seraphina did her best to show her gratitude, complimenting the girl on brewing it excellently.

The girl looked at herself in the mirror. Seraphina stared back.

The name now fit her like a velvet glove, soft yet unmistakably her own. It still amazed her—how effortlessly her mind had stitched itself into this new tapestry. The memories of her old world lingered like half-faded photographs: visible, within arm’s reach, but receding in importance with every sunrise.

She raised a hand to the looking-glass. The girl reflected there—long lashes, golden blonde hair, and a figure that was ripening day by day—was no lie. Every curve and contour had become a part of her, and no longer could she presume that she was only playing the part of Seraphina de Sariens. She was Seraphina de Sariens, through and through, and she sensed that prying too deeply into the metaphysics of that truth would only invite existential madness. Besides, there was something far more practical to occupy her. A problem that she could solve.

Miriam, sweet, timid Miriam, was floundering. And if her maid’s scores continued to sink, Seraphina’s own reputation would undoubtedly follow. That was a problem she could, and would, solve.

Seraphina’s tone turned flinty as she addressed the reflection of the girl hovering behind her.

“Milly.”

“Yes, milady.” Miriam clasped her hands over her apron, brown eyes wide with apprehension.

“I hear your academic marks have… slipped.” The words dropped like stones into still water.

“I am having some difficulties, milady,” she murmured, cheeks coloring.

Seraphina pivoted, silk slippers whispering against the carpeted floor. “That simply will not do, will it? You struggling, it makes me look as though I’m working you to the bone. Tell me—am I overburdening you with tasks beyond your limited abilities?”

“Of course not, milady!” Miriam blurted, dread pressing her shoulders.

“Come now, honesty is healthy.” Seraphina’s voice thawed into a feline purr. “Clearly you have too much on your plate. I shall alleviate the load… Hrmmm by granting you an assistant.”

“An… assistant, milady?”

“Indeed, Milly. Consider me in a generous mood.” A playful arch lifted Seraphina’s brow.

Miriam swallowed. “May I ask who you had in mind?”

“Why, Ibn, of course—once he returns from whatever he is doing with the adventurers. Probably chopping at some monster or another. I was thinking that we can’t have him growing any more feral than his lineage already allows.”

“Ibn?” Miriam’s voice cracked. “Isn’t he rather young for—”

“I am certain he can count to ten. You will teach him the rest until he’s truly useful. Think of it as an investment—time and effort now for ease later.”

The “suggestion” landed on Miriam’s shoulders like a fresh crate of sugar-glass confections. Training a raw boy inside a burgeoning sweets empire—one soon to leap onto foreign shores—was no small duty. And Ibn, in her private estimation, was no razor-edged intellect. But refusal was not an option.

“Of course, milady. Thank you for your consideration,” she said, forcing a smile.

Seraphina’s answering grin was blinding. “You’re very welcome, Milly. Now, with that settled, see that you rise to the occasion. We wouldn’t want the other students in our class to start whispering that you’re… slow, would we?”

“Yes, milady,” Miriam managed a curtsey, though her knees trembled. 

“And, Milly. Hughes is coming later. You may sit in and take notes if you promise not to glare at him all the time. I think he might be of some use to me later.”

“As you wish, milady. But…”

“What is it?” Seraphina replied with a small huff.

Miriam’s face was a picture of baffled confusion. “I can’t see how he would be useful to you. There is nothing special about him at all!”

“That is exactly why, Milly. That is exactly why,” the young noblewoman said, smiling at her maid.

“But, I…”

“You don’t understand. Yes, I know. But, that is why I am the master and you are the servant, Milly.”

And with that, Seraphina turned back to the mirror, content; the reflection smiled, and the immediate future shifted subtly into new and sharper focus. The future she could control.

***

Seraphina was doing her best to cheat against this world, turning her encyclopedic memories of the The Maiden of the Wisterias to practical advantage. In her old world, she had practically memorized every frame animation, hit-box, parry timing, and scrap of frame data each of the significant characters possessed; surely she could reproduce some of those techniques without the assistance of the in-game trainers like the golden-eyed Melisiandre de Vallieres.

Thus, she practiced alone in the training hall during the small hours, imitating moves whose true meanings she did not truly understand. Afterward, she would sneak back to her rooms and feign sleep, careful not to wake Eloise; it would never do to be caught working hard. Everything had to look effortless—effortless and perfect, the very ideal she pursued in all things.

Seraphina was extremely averse to working hard—an aversion that ironically drove her to put in considerable effort. Her logic was simple: by becoming exceptionally good at something, she could ensure that future tasks of the same vein required minimal effort, freeing her from unnecessary exertion.

Little did the girl know that she was touching on a very profound and ancient wisdom.

This reality, however, proved unkind. Her efforts yielded almost nothing, only a single-point rise in Dexterity—an improvement she might just as easily have earned by taking up embroidery and needlework.

Unbeknownst to Seraphina, she was being watched. Her Knights, together with her Page Ibn, had been taking dawn shifts to guard her, yet she was so intent, so doggedly determined, on acquiring a new technique that she never noticed.

Meanwhile, the world’s story was splintering away from its once-fixed course. Control slipped from her grasp; her knowledge and gift for foreseeing events grew ever less reliable. Wiping her face with a towel, she tallied ways to gain more immediate strength. Influence, temporal power, and wealth she possessed, but she needed raw physical and magical power to stand against that glorified hussy—the so-called “Living Saint.”

If the world was changing, she would cling to what remained of the predictable. Of course! There was always the thing in the library, she realized. In all of her frantic busyness, spinning so many plates, she had let that option slip from her mind. It was proof that even the great Seraphina de Sariens could err. It, she suspected, lay untouched by all of the external and growingly unpredictable events.

Or if worse came to worst, she could always visit another one of the Shrines of the Old Ones. Or two, if it came to it.

Almost skipping back to the dormitory, she hummed a tune she had composed so long ago and stooped to sniff the pink roses blooming ardently along the way. How vibrant the world seemed when one had purpose! How brilliant it was to be so young. 

Still skipping, she flew up the dorm’s main flight of stairs three or four steps at a time. “Milly!” she called the moment she alighted on the second floor.

Her maid burst out, a sleepy Desdemona in her shift peering past her.

“What is it, Seraphina, at this ungodly hour?” the de Savant girl yawned in a most unladylike manner.

Miriam merely bowed low, bracing herself for the worst. She had endured such storms before, and she would endure this.

“We are going on an adventure!” the blonde announced.

“You are? Well—good luck. I’m going back to bed; a lady needs her sleep,” Desdemona murmured, turning away.

Seraphina was faster. She caught her arm with a gentle but firm grip.

“Come now, Desdemona, you aren’t boring sort. We’re going on an adventure,” she repeated, emerald eyes alight. “We’re going to complete a Trial.”

“No, Seraphina. That sounds dangerous. We pay people for that—it sounds like work,” Desdemona protested. “That sounds quite like the sort of thing that common people enjoy. Surely we can…”

Leaning close, Seraphina whispered, like a lover, her grip tightening. “Don’t you crave excitement? The Desdemona de Savant I know is no wallflower. Something to set your blood running so near the full moon. You’ll come, won’t you? Sir Gravens is coming too, you know… ” She let his name dangle like delicious bait.

A light squeeze sealed the bargain. Desdemona shivered and nodded; Miriam bit down on her lip in protest or jealousy.

“Milly,” Seraphina said, releasing her friend.

“Yes, milady.” The maid straightened like a cadet on the parade ground, barely suppressing an urge to salute.

“Have Gravens attend me, and fetch Frest. He’ll be in the teachers’ quarters—unless he spent the night drinking. If so, dose him with healing potions and have him come here in full gear. And have my lazy page Ibn ready my equipment.”

“I don’t suppose I am getting any gear for this adventure? I heard these things can be dangerous,” Desdemona asked, excitement creeping in. “I do believe I will need to prepare.”

“Why, an early breakfast seems quite reasonable,” Seraphina replied with her most radiant smile.

The de Savant girl frowned. “That’s not quite what I meant.”

“Oh, you don’t need weapons or armor to be deadly, Desdemona dear. They would simply get in your way. You are a rose with very, very large thorns,” Seraphina said, meeting her gaze. “Those thorns are nothing to be ashamed of.” She whispered the last in a low voice.

Desdemona bristled, then subsided. She understood, in that very instant, that Seraphina truly knew her family’s secret. The de Savant felt the first spike of fear. Was it true? Did Seraphina truly have the Sight? she thought to herself secretly.

“And, Milly—call the brothers.”

“The brothers, milady?”

“Giles and Krayton, you dolt.”

“But where will I find them?”

Annoyed, Seraphina wagged a finger. “That is for you to discover. Your job is to turn my simple wishes into reality. Is that clear?”

“Yes, milady.”

“First, though, have the kitchen send up breakfast. One of the scullions will most likely know where the brothers are. Sometimes I marvel at my generosity, guiding people down the right path,” she sighed theatrically.

“By your command, milady,” Miriam said, curtsying before hurrying off.

With her course set, Seraphina’s earlier malaise vanished in an instant. “Well, Desdemona, it’s early, but we must get you into something suitable. My lady-in-waiting can help.”

“You know, Seraphina, I wasn’t excited before, but you’ve certainly piqued my interest,” Desdemona giggled.

“Oh—a word about Gravens,” Seraphina whispered.

The de Savant girl grinned. “You haven’t claimed him for yourself?”

“No. One doesn’t do that with the help—and even if I had, I’d share.” She laughed behind her hand, and Desdemona joined her. “But Eloise has been strolling with him in the gardens. And more than once at that!”

“Has she? I can hardly blame her; he’s rather handsome. I’d probably do more than take a stroll about the gardens!” Desdemona commented saucily.

“That he is. It’s one thing I like about you—you appreciate the aesthetically pleasing,” Seraphina said.

“Why, thank you, Lady de Sariens,” Desdemona replied with mock formality, giving Seraphina a perfect curtsy that would not have been out of place at the King’s Court.

“And you are most welcome, Lady de Savant,” Seraphina answered, mirroring the gesture perfectly. For a heartbeat, she forgot the decade or so of experience that separated them and was simply a fifteen-year-old girl again.

A moment later, a soft laugh escaped them both, their hands rising delicately to cover their mouths.

With a handful of well-placed words, Seraphina had drawn another ally fully into her inner circle. Mere child’s play, given Desdemona’s naturally high Affinity with the villainess. Now, she merely had to rope Eloise into this latest venture.

She hoped Eloise would not be too put out being awoken at such an early hour.