TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 20 (RAW)

Chapter 20 - The Kiss of the Flames

The finest steel has to go through the hottest fire.

- Richard M. Nixon.

That Meridian no longer burned was in no small part to the aid her mother had rendered to the authorities of the city. Knowing where the hungry flames would spread was a decisive factor, enabling those fighting the fires to concentrate their efforts effectively.

Her duty done, Anaselena had departed for Sarien’s Duchy, but not before ensuring that her daughter continued her lessons under Eloise’s brother in the townhouse in her free time from the Academy. Over afternoon tea—so thick with tension it was nearly choking—her mother all but commanded her to attend these sessions.

It wasn’t that Seraphina objected to being taught by a cripple. Lord Beron de Laney was pleasant enough in his bookish, reserved way. What irked her was being given no choice. Anaselena, her mother, having purchased its deed outright, had temporarily taken up residence in the townhouse. And, as long as Seraphina remained under that roof, she was symbolically under her mother’s thumb—and Anaselena clearly knew how to tighten the leash.

“...And that is why Sir Francois could not act directly in the Greater Intervention between the Church and Baron Godsford despite…” Beron paused, clearing his throat. “Lady Seraphina, are you quite alright? You seem… distracted.”

Seraphina felt the once comforting walls pressing in on her. “Perhaps. My mind is full of womanly thoughts, of course. Let’s take a pause for a moment and speak of other things. You know, I’m curious—have you ever thought about traveling? Seeing the world for yourself, instead of just reading about it from the pages of an old book?”

The cripple Beron looked pointedly at the crutches resting beside him. “An exciting notion, but my condition leaves me little choice,” he answered, a wry note in his voice. “It’s difficult enough to walk around town, let alone journey to faraway lands.”

Seraphina stretched lazily, arching her back like a cat, then tilted her head to study the ornate floral patterns on the ceiling. “That sounds like an excuse,” she said lightly. “If you truly wanted to see the world, you could. I’m sure there are more interesting pursuits than being paid to teach a brat like me.”

He stiffened, as though biting back a retort he might regret. “It’s no burden at all,” he said carefully. “You’re bright, quick to learn. Sometimes it feels as though I’m not teaching you anything new at all—more like reviewing lessons you’ve already mastered.”

She lifted an elegant eyebrow. He was more astute than she had initially thought. “Meaningless compliments aside, I hear your father favors your younger brother to inherit, given your condition. I suppose he’ll try to petition for the King’s permission to do so, if he hasn’t already. Meanwhile, you’d have freedom you’ve yet to imagine—travel, research, whatever your sort of people like doing.”

“Whyever would I want that?” he asked, defensive now. “It sounds like an awfully dangerous… and well expensive preposition.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Seraphina shrugged artfully, a teasing smile curling her lips. “You could write a book about your adventures. Then, people who can’t travel could glimpse the world through your words. Who knows—future generations of adventurers and scholars alike might come to treasure your work.”

She was doing her best to derail these tedious lessons. They consumed far too much of her time. Folding her hands primly, she let her gaze rest on him. “Lord Beron, do you have any regrets?”

“Regrets?” he echoed. “Though young, like any man, I have more than my share. Chief among them is being born as I am,” he answered with a self-deprecating shrug.

“I never took you for self-pity,” she teased with a delicate laugh. “I pictured you as stronger… more adventurous.”

He glowered slightly. “And, wherever did you get that impression?”

“From your sister,” Seraphina lied as smoothly as breathing. “She admires you more than you might realize. Anyway, about those regrets—I suspect I could solve them. I could offer you a simple and short path to greatness.”

“How so, Lady Seraphina?” came his laconic response.

She leaned in, determined to make this conversation as uncomfortable as possible. She needed him to develop a petty dislike for her, enough to make him excuse himself from his role as her tutor. “Do you think I’m comely? Beautiful?” she asked, fixing him with an unwavering stare.

He flushed, clearly rattled. “Of course—”

“Then if, within the next few minutes, you can give me a compliment I have never heard before, I will let you ask for my hand in marriage,” she said with mock solemnity. “Ha! Picturing the look on Velen’s face would be treasure enough! And, you wouldn’t need your father’s approval anymore for anything, and I’d gain... Now, what would I gain?” 

She paused for a moment before answering. “I guess I would gain you.”

She tilted her head and rested her chin on her palms, an image of childlike curiosity laced with calculated provocation. “Go on, Lord Beron. Impress me, I am giving you a chance that many would kill for.”

His cheeks went crimson. He tried to speak, but only a stammered jumble emerged—no match for Seraphina’s practiced manipulations. At last, he fell into a mortified silence.

“And that,” she said coolly, “is why you have no desire to see the world. You cling to the comfortable and the known. Mediocrity is a guise that you wear well. You only need to reach out and take what you want, yet you don’t. Impressive as your learning and intellect is, you’re a coward, Beron—half a man. That is why, I believe, your father favors your brother.”

“But—” he began weakly.

She waved a dismissive hand. “That’s enough for today. I’m not in the mood to learn.”

For a moment, it looked as though he wanted to retort with something clever, something to salvage his pride. Yet all his proud knowledge seemed to fail him in the face of this slender girl, a few years his junior. In the end, he only shook his head and departed with his tail between his legs.

Watching him go, Seraphina allowed a small, mischievous smile to tug at her lips, though a flicker of wistful regret caught at her heart. She couldn’t help wondering—if she had chosen differently, could she have ended up the wife of some renowned explorer, traveling the breadth of the world by his side? Would she be happy? The idea lingered for a moment, then she shrugged it off. There were other games to play, and she had never been one for such outlandish daydreams.

Now, what was the reason Beron had become an explorer in the first place? Considering it unimportant, she gave a mental shrug and leafed through a few reports. One of the worrying things was that there seemed to have been a spike in child runaways from her various businesses.

Honestly, some people just really did bite the hand that fed. It was infuriating at times. She started to pen a memo ordering Miriam to come up with a deterrence for such behavior.

Seraphina was sure that her monstrous maid would come up with something.

***

The fires ravaging Meridian had finally died down a few days ago, yet classes at the Academy still hadn’t resumed—a frustrating inconvenience for Seraphina, who loathed nothing more than wasting time. Everyone else seemed to be making good use of the lull. Eloise had delved deeper into her Alchemical experiments, and even Miriam was growing more adept at wrestling with the endless paperwork she had to deal on lady’s behalf. But Seraphina? She felt as though she were standing still.

Not that she had been idle. She had spent hours healing injured animals all across the city ruins—animals she had first wounded herself with light sling stones, just to create an injury she could treat. Of course, nobody needed to know about that part.

Her goal was simple: she was trying to exhaust her mana reserves often enough to gain the very useful Mana Regeneration skill. She had already achieved a high level in Rest, the prerequisite skill, but the frustratingly random rules of this game-like world refused to grant her the reward. Every day that passed without acquiring it only made her more irate.

It did not help that her rival, Este Lize, the original protagonist, would have access to quests—something Seraphina sorely lacked. Seraphina had tried preemptively to solve a few of these “quests,” showing up uninvited at strangers’ homes to solve their troubles, even going so far as to purging a merchant’s wine cellar of rats, but no experience points or tangible rewards ever materialized. A handful of coins, some polite thanks, and an invitation to dinner were all she earned. It was beyond unfair, and she was furious about it.

Her simmering thoughts inevitably drifted back to that hussy Este Lize. And speak of the devil—Seraphina spotted her, right across the street, in the company of the Crown Prince himself. They stood in the district most scarred by the fires: scorched walls, blackened cobblestones, and the acrid smell of burnt wood lingering in the air. Overhead, a murder of crows circled, occasionally landing to peck at charred scraps still littering the streets. Their discordant caws grated against Seraphina’s already frayed nerves.

Este Lize, meanwhile, flitted around the fire victims with a pious expression and sweet words of comfort. Seraphina even spotted her pressing her slight chest against Prince Velens’s arm. The shameless girl! And the prince, that oblivious fool, practically beamed with delight, basking in her attention.

Taken by emotional surprise, she stolidly started walking away. Then she stopped. Seething, Seraphina clenched her fists. Why should she be the one skulking away in embarrassment? Her irritation flared hot.

“Frest, Gravens,” she snapped.

“Yes, milady,” both men responded, straightening at once.

“I want the head of that silver-haired whore’s daughter on a pike,” she declared, voice dripping venom.

The two knights exchanged uneasy glances. At last, Frest spoke, his tone carefully measured. “Milady, that might be… challenging. It’s broad daylight, for one—”

“And it would hardly be chivalrous to strike down a maiden in plain sight,” Gravens added haltingly.

Seraphina’s glare grew murderous. “That sounds suspiciously like disobedience.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Frest’s temple. “We only mean—it’s too public here. You’d stir up a hornet’s nest of trouble. And, I am a Knight and all now…”

“I think you are forgetting who knighted you in the first place, Sir Frest,” came her sharp response.

She flicked her gaze back to Este Lize, longing to stomp over and hurl the girl’s head into the nearest wall. The young noblewoman started to move in the direction of the silver-haired girl. Frest saw this and quickly placed a cautious hand on Seraphina’s arm.

“Unhand me, Frest,” she hissed. “If you value that arm.”

He released her immediately. “Please, milady, think carefully,” he murmured, eyes darting to nearby rooftops. “This place is swarming with royal watchers—bodyguards and hidden lookouts. The moment you attack, they’ll strike back.”

She forced herself to calm down, though it cost her dearly. “Fine,” she growled. “No direct conflict…for now.”

Her anger still burned beneath her skin as she wandered through the charred streets, trying to quell the urge to lash out. Finally, her gaze fell upon a young beggar in tattered rags, fresh burn scars covering thin arms. The girl cradled an empty bowl, hollow-eyed from pain and hunger. Seraphina, searching for something—anything—to distract her, marched right over.

“You—child,” she barked.

The beggar looked up, startled, eyes wide and brimming with confusion.

“See that silver-haired woman?” Seraphina pointed across the street. “I want you to call her a whore’s daughter.”

The child blinked, as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“I’ll pay you ten copper pieces,” Seraphina added, with all the reluctance of someone parting with a grand fortune.

A flicker of defiance sharpened the child’s gaze. “Won’t do it,” she said in a small but firm voice. “The Saint of Silver—she helped me an’ my family. Gave us comfort when no one else would. I’d never call her such a thing, not for all the coin in the world.”

Seraphina’s lip curled in a look of pure disdain. “You have a name?”

“Istala,” the girl said. “And if you want to be charitable, I’ll take the coin. But I’m not insultin’ her.”

Seraphina bristled. Rage coiled in her stomach, tightening her fists. Frest and Gravens tensed beside her, preparing to intervene if she lashed out. At length, however, Seraphina managed to steady her temper.

“Fine,” she said tersely. “A shrewd schemer you are, Istala. I almost respect it. Now tell me—does it hurt? Are you…whole?”

The child winced, shifting on the scorched cobblestones. “Everything hurts, miss. I had a bit of poppy’s milk before, but it’s gone. An’, I can’t… walk right no more.”

A cold smile curved Seraphina’s lips. The girl was clearly trying to manipulate her sympathy—but Seraphina felt only the thrill of a newly discovered vulnerability. “I can take that pain away,” she said smoothly. “I can make you walk again. All you have to do is shout those words at the silver-haired girl to her face. If she’s truly a saint, she’ll forgive you, won’t she?”

Istala stared at her, torn between hope and dread. “You…you don’t want me soul or anything?”

Seraphina’s charismatic aura was palpable, flooding the space between them. “Not at all,” she purred. “Just a few harsh words from a beg… I mean little girl’s mouth—no harm done.”

“Oh, and you’ll have to add that her magic caused this fire…” the blonde girl added casually.

“But she din’t…” the child started before Seraphina’s look silenced her like a silken gag.

Istala swallowed, tears pricking her eyes, guilt and desperation tangled in every breath. “If… if you can help me,” she whispered at last, “then… I suppose… it wouldn’t hurt, right?”

Seraphina smiled viciously. As long as she found the slightest lever to work with, her monstrously high Charisma would do the rest. And she had found it now—buried beneath the child’s pain and fear.