TO&FQ: Book 3: Chapter 5 (RAW)

Chapter 5 - An Opportunity

Unraveling external selves and coming home to our real identity is the true meaning of soul work.

- Sue Monk Kidd.

It was, by every sensible measure, a leisurely journey from Troyes back to bustling Meridian—one undertaken in an unassuming yet surprisingly comfortable hired carriage that rolled along the King’s Road with steady determination. Though the humble vehicle possessed none of the gilded trim, velvet upholstery, or cleverly concealed shock-dampening springs that distinguished Seraphina’s own lavish, custom-built coach, it sufficed for now. 

Outside, the autumn sun filtered through a shifting tapestry of clouds, and at one point, Seraphina drew down the glass window with a gentle clack. The girl smelled the crisp breeze that tasted of distant harvests and carried the muted clatter of iron-shod wheels.

With the carriage curtains drawn aside, she amused herself by observing mile after mile of farmland sliding past—patchwork fields of wheat stubble, low stone walls patterned with saffron moss, and clusters of fruit trees sagging beneath ruby fruit. Each scene flitted by like panels in a slowly turning storybook, bright and self-contained, broken only by the occasional inn or church. The young noblewoman allowed herself to relax, resting a cheek upon her gloved knuckles as she considered the contrast between this peaceful roadway and the upheaval that had been her recent life.

Somewhere a few miles down the road, however, their progress hit a snag. The coachman pulled on the reins, and the carriage shuddered to a halt where a narrow bridge crossed a shallow stream. Ahead, a rickety farm cart lay on its side, one wheel spinning uselessly in the dust. A family of three—father, mother, and delicately freckled teenage daughter—scrambled to gather scattered burlap sacks of grain. The father kept glancing fearfully skyward, as though expecting talons or scaled wings to blot out the sun at any moment. News of flying monsters, it seemed at first glance, had traveled fast.

One of Seraphina’s Knights, riding escort behind the carriage, dismounted in a clatter of mail and stepped briskly forward—perhaps spurred less by chivalry than by the daughter’s good looks. His intent, no doubt, was to impress the damsel in distress with his gallant heart. Yet to the young noble woman’s discerning emerald eyes, the trio looked altogether too familiar. She could have sworn she had seen them in her previous life… The girl was sure that they were part of an ambush event that you could encounter when traveling the roads of the kingdom. Looking closely, she saw that their posture elicited instant suspicion—heads perpetually ducked, eyes darting and shifty.

Part of her almost wished to trigger the event… to see if the bandits would attack a group of heavily armed men. But if they were genuinely folk in need of help, it would delay her journey considerably. Another part of her was just tempted to have Cornelia eat them all and be done with it.

Before the Knight could extend a helping hand, Seraphina rapped twice against the carriage window before drawing it down. 

Her voice carried crisply through the still air. “Frest.”

Sir Frest reined his horse alongside the window at once. “Yes, Lady Seraphina?”

“Call Sir Halden back to his saddle. We are not in the business of falling for so obvious a trap.” Her tone was mild as snow in the first hour, yet steel ran beneath. “A moment of ‘charitable stupidity’ may cost us dearly.”

“At once, milady, I was about to stop the fool myself. It is, as you have observed, quite the obvious ploy,” the former bandit answered.

A flush rose in Halden’s cheeks as Frest relayed the order. Muttering apologies, the Knight remounted. The “family” looked at them in disbelief as Seraphina offered them a weak wave from the window of the carriage. 

Frest lingered a half-length from the window until they were out of sight.

The wind streamed through Seraphina’s golden hair, catching the sun and throwing off glints like fresh forged coin. She twined a stray lock around one finger. 

“Where is Sir Gravens?” she asked, feigning offhand curiosity.

Frest’s visor clinked as he dipped his head. “I took the liberty, milady, of leaving him and the rest of your personal guard at the Academy. The young ladies under your protection might require more… immediate reassurance while you were busy. I trust the decision sits well with you?”

Her answering smile was small, tight, but genuine enough. “Quite well, Frest. Initiative deserves reward.”

He smiled as he saluted. Giving him a small nod,  the young girl raised the window, shutting out road dust and further distraction.

***

The remainder of the ride passed in a hush of wheels, punctuated by the rhythmic snorts of the carriage team. Seraphina allowed her thoughts to slip free, drifting toward lighter thoughts. She felt that there was possibly a song that could be born from her recent travails. Perhaps, she mused, something about lost love and suffering. Onward. With each iteration of the new song she hummed, the knot of guilt loosened a fraction more until, by the time Meridian’s distant rooftops pierced the horizon, her mind lay smooth and untroubled.

The Academy City of Meridian itself—a center of commerce, scholarship—sprawled like a gleaming archipelago of marble islands connected by arched stone bridges and canals that glimmered beneath the late-season sun. Salt-laden breezes carried the mingled scents of the sea as slim barges and bright-sailed trading skiffs slipped through the waterways. Normally, the lagoon streets buzzed with ferrymen on their Serenelles barking for fares, and the general hustle of the citizenry; today, however, the plazas and canals alike felt greatly muted and hushed. Seraphina’s carriage crossed one of the broader bridges, wheels rattling over inset lapis mosaics, then followed a road to the Academy’s main gate, passing through and finally stopping in the mostly deserted courtyard beyond.

“Where is everyone?” she murmured, stepping lightly down from the vehicle. Her polished boots clicked on the flagstones.

Sir Frest shrugged beneath his cloak. “I don't quite rightly know, milady. Perhaps the Academy has been evacuated?”

Together they climbed the marble steps to the grand oak doors and strode down a once-bustling corridor now empty save for echoing portraits. Dust motes floated in diagonal shafts of sunlight as Frest knocked, the door to Principal Hegandia’s office swung inward with a soft groan.

The man who greeted them seemed greatly reduced, his cheeks hollowed, academic robes hanging like drapery on a skeleton. Curiously, the weight loss lent him a certain hawkish dignity. 

“Miss de Sariens, Master Frest,” he said, shuffling behind his dark wooden desk. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I was curious, Principal,” Seraphina replied, voice syrup-smooth yet edged, “why the Academy looks as though the plague visited.”

A breathy chuckle escaped him. “After the Dragon attack, I deemed evacuation prudent. We could ill afford tragedy amid our student body, least of all the… among the nobility.” His eyes flicked toward her. “We shall remain on hiatus until calm and peace return. Frankly, I hadn’t expected you… I had thought you would be halfway back to your father’s lands by now. Surely, word must have reached you?”

Seraphina noted the tremor in his hands as he stacked parchments. Stress or age? 

She decided to ignore his question for the most part. “Regrettably, I had obligations in the city and was quite busy,” she said, flicking a non-existent speck from a gloved hand. “But I see your caution. Still, many of the students have paid great sums for tuition...”

“You are receiving a scholarship that your family pays for,” he said with a small shake of his head. After a moment, he sighed before producing several neat bundles of papers. “Thus, these self-study packets. Essays, treatises, problem sets—sufficient to occupy even your restless mind for a month.” A faint smile curved his lips. “I trust postal submission will not inconvenience you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Seraphina said with false sweetness.

Hegandia’s gaze drifted again. “Miss Templeton sent her regards, Master Frest,” he added. “And I’m afraid your young Mr. Drevan had a most unfortunate accident falling down some stairs of all things. The healers say his convalescence will be lengthy and that his hands may never be the same again. A truly...”

Frest nodded somberly but said nothing. Seraphina, sensing that meandering was imminent, pressed on. “You were saying, Principal…?”

“Ah, yes. Forgive me. We shall recall the students and the rest of the staff once the City Guard and the Crown pronounce the skies.” He sighed, pushing a parchment aside. “A month, perhaps two.”

“But hasn’t the threat been neutralized?” Seraphina tilted her head. “Rumor credits a most astonishing hero with putting down the most fearsome creature.”

“Rumor,” Hegandia said dryly with a shrug, “often grows taller than fact. We do not know if the creature is truly dead. Dragons are capricious; they may return on a whim. Better to follow patience than to meet regret along the road.”

Annoyance pricked her pride—her personal heroics and sacrifice dismissed as tall tales with but a shrug. She drew a calming breath. An Academy on hiatus, an impromptu holiday in all but name, she realized, afforded room to maneuver and secure her position at home. She needed to make the most of this opportunity. 

“Quite the shame,” she murmured, flashing flawless teeth. “But I will of course defer to your greater wisdom on this matter.”

She accepted the assignment packets, offered a curtsy so crisp it might slice air, and strode out, already calculating how best to exploit this windfall.

***

The bright noon sun slanted over stone walkways as Seraphina crossed the quadrangle, Sir Frest falling three paces behind. Only the sigh of distant fountains accompanied their footfalls. Near the dormitory wing, a single splash of color caught her eye: white cloth flapping on a clothesline, tended by a slim figure in a maid’s uniform with round spectacles. Miriam Bottlesworth, her maid, was wrestling a bedsheet that had entangled itself like a rebellious flag.

Though she would never admit it, the sight of her made Seraphina feel like she had finally come home.

At the clatter of approaching boots, Miriam spun, sheet forgotten. Recognition sparked; she darted forward, skirts swishing, then halted abruptly so as not to violate decorum. “Lady Seraphina! You are safe!”

Seraphina arched a brow. “Was there ever genuine doubt, Milly? Perhaps you feared I’d been devoured and replaced by an impostor? Perhaps a victim to another assassination attempt?”

“Oh, n-never, milady!” Miriam stammered, spectacles askew. “I mean, one heard tales…”

Seraphina’s lips curved into a feline smile. “Relax. I tease. Though I command you henceforth to distrust such rumors—unless I spread them myself, of course. Now, where are my Knights? Eloise and Desdemona?”

Miriam clasped her hands. “The Lady de Laney and Lady de Savant left for their family lands when the evacuation order came. Sir Gravens insisted on escorting them, seeing that you and Sir Frest were away.”

Seraphina tapped an impatient boot on a flagstone. “He chose an inopportune time to display initiative. Sir Frest, what say you?”

“The lad’s decision aligns with the chivalric code,” the Knight said evenly.

“Annoyingly so.” Seraphina exhaled through her nose. “Very well. Perhaps Eloise’s mother will ply her with proper cuisine for once, and she can put some meat on those bones.” 

She pondered a beat, then issued brisk commands. “Frest, ready my carriage—our entire retinue returns to the Sariens Duchy within the hour. Miriam, you will have the honor of doing my assignments. I shall, of course, inspect them later.”

Frest snapped a salute and strode off to do his lady’s bidding. Miriam’s eyes widened behind her lenses, but she nodded, gathering her courage.

Turning her attention back to Miriam, she asked, “How fares business?”

Miriam produced a small ledger from an apron pocket—ever prepared—and flipped to a bookmarked page. “The kingdom’s unrest has suppressed demand for luxury goods like our candies, but we mitigated losses by broadening our holdings. We acquired leases on two river-adjacent farms and an oat-processing mill at half valuation.”

Seraphina’s brows rose. “Diversification, is it? And under whose suggestion?”

“Your own, milady.” Miriam brightened. “You called it ‘Bert’s integration.’”

A soft laugh escaped Seraphina. “Vertical integration, Milly. It is when a company takes ownership of suppliers or distributors to gain greater control of its supply chain. Controlling such things insulates us from market shocks. Continue.”

Encouraged, Miriam flipped another page. “Per your last missive, I discreetly initiated the purchase of the Calabrian bogs. Using twelve shell companies ensures that the local lord will not recognize the full scale.”

Seraphina’s smile turned razor-thin. “Adequate work. I commend you, for the most part, at least. Make a note of this, if the local lord does find out and proves fractious, we might need to remove and deal with a more pliable member of his family.” 

To this order, her maid just nodded, writing it down in her notes.

She had learned that praise, like the finest things in life, must be rationed; too much bred complacency, and complacency birthed disaster. And, the girl had long ago learned to temper praise with criticism, and vice versa. It would do no good for those beneath her to have too many ideas.

The noblewoman’s gaze sharpened. “You remained at the Academy instead of managing these things from a ‘safer’ locale. Why?”

Color rose in the maid’s cheeks. “Your mother, Lady Anaselena, requested that I stay here. She believed you would return soon and preferred familiar eyes to greet you.”

Seraphina’s green eyes narrowed. So it wasn’t blind loyalty after all. She mentally deducted several points from Miriam’s performance evaluation. “And Mother herself?”

“Returned to Sariens Duchy, milady. She mentioned not wanting to miss her wedding anniversary celebrations.”

Seraphina hummed, half exasperated. “The woman is insatiable… and at her age, too.” She folded her arms. “Very well. Pack essentials only. We depart within the hour.”

Miriam bit her lip. “Essentials meaning…?”

Seraphina rolled her eyes. “Only what I absolutely need. I shan’t require ball gowns, for instance. You can purchase anything else I might require on the way. Now hurry—time is wasting!”

“Immediately, milady!” Miriam squeaked, scurrying off.

Honestly, it is so difficult to get good help these days.