Chapter 10 - The Wheat and the Chaff

  "Yusuf, O man of truth! Explain to us (the dream of) seven fat cows being devoured by seven lean ones, and seven green ears of grain and others dry, so that I may return to the people and inform them."

  - The Quran, Surah Yusuf 12:47

  With only a week remaining before Seraphina began her “sentence” at the Academy of Meridian, she had little choice but to finalize her preparations and conclude certain negotiations with the board of directors. They had initially refused her demand to bring her full retinue of guards onto Academy grounds, insisting that the Meridian Academy Guard was more than sufficient to protect the nobility and other notables. Under the threat of losing her father’s generous endowments, however, they begrudgingly agreed that she might require some form of private protection.

  Now, Seraphina was locked in a match over just how many guards she could bring with her. Determined to be strategic, she had her “father” write a glowing letter of recommendation for Frest, proposing him as a temporary instructor. The letter, written in her best approximation of Anatoli’s crude hand, emphasized that Sir Frest was easily the equal of any Knight of the Royal Guard, and that he could enrich the martial courses of the Academy with his valuable taste of real combat experience.

  Meanwhile, Seraphina had also summoned the hulking twins, Giles and Krayton, by sending a fast coach with her written orders. Upon arrival, she designated them as Miriam’s “servants.” Although servants were not typically allowed weapons, she reasoned that she could get away with them having knives secreted about their person. After all, knives counted more as tools, didn’t they? she justified to herself. And, if the Academy refused them as servants, she would demand they be hired as groundskeepers. One way or another, they would stay close to her and help shield her from any potential threats.

  Seraphina also realized that a number of her personal guards were around her or near her own age. While it would be ruinously expensive, she planned to secure recommendation letters for those who could claim even a sliver of noble lineage and status, ensuring their admission to the Academy. In this way, they could learn alongside the other students while continuing to protect her.

  Petting Cornelia, she nodded to herself. They really should be grateful for her largesse.

  Moreover, each guard who gained acceptance would, in turn, be permitted their own servants. Her plan was coming together nicely—a matter of skillfully maneuvering within the system to get exactly what she wanted. Whenever a puzzle piece did not fit, all she needed to do was simply force it into place.

  Seraphina pressed her fingertips against her temples, frustration pulsing behind her eyes. She was running out of time. As if her other worries weren’t enough, she still had to deal with her nervous wreck of a Page, Ibn. The boy could barely hold a sharp blade without trembling. How could he ever hope to grow and become a Sword Master if he couldn’t even grip a live sword without turning pale?

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  She let out a slow, measured breath and surveyed the quiet study. A comforting scent of rose and lavender lingered in the air from one of the scented candles. She wished she had the leisure to tutor Ibn gently, to nurture him through his fears—but the Academy’s entrance ceremony was only a week away. There was no time for coddling.

  A polite knock drew her attention to the door. Eloise, who had been curled up with a book in the corner, rose to answer it.

  “Oh, it’s you, Ibn,” Seraphina said, her tone brusque. The moment she saw the Page’s wide-eyed face, she beckoned him inside. “Come in and take a seat.”

  Ibn obeyed with nervous haste, settling onto a wooden chair near Seraphina’s large mahogany desk. His fingers twitched restlessly against his knees, and his gaze slid across the floor as though he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.

  Seraphina eyed him critically. He was certainly growing—was that the suggestion of a thin moustache on his cheek? And yet, he was afflicted by the silly trauma of wielding something sharper than a wooden spoon. She almost scoffed at the thought that someday he’d have to shave.

  Trying to maintain some semblance of courtesy, she asked, “How are you finding Meridian?”

  “It’s… it’s very nice,” Ibn squeaked, his voice cracking halfway.

  “Good,” she said, flipping through a stack of parchment on her desk. “I am glad you are enjoying the finer things in life. Unfortunately, you will have to go away soon to—”

  Ibn’s head snapped up in alarm. “You’re sending me away?!” he blurted, panic flashing in his dark eyes. “But—I’ll do better, Lady Seraphina, I promise! I—I’ll practice more—”

  Seraphina silenced him with a dismissive wave. “Stop babbling, Ibn. Let me finish.” She regarded him with a stern stare. “I’m sending you away to train. To let you find your destined path. And, don’t worry, I am not sending you that far away. Oh, and I’ll need you back before the Academy’s entrance ceremony.”

  He swallowed hard. She could practically taste his unease. Still, it had to be done. The time had come to impress upon him the seriousness of his position—and her needs.

  “As it stands,” Seraphina continued, “you are next to useless to me. If all you can manage is helping Miriam scrub my small clothes, then you’ll never be fit for the position I have planned for you.” She paused, letting the words sink in. It was always good to dangle the carrot. “As you know, I’ve had several… attempts on my life,” she added, stretching the truth a little. “At this rate, it will be me having to defend you instead of vice versa. Aren’t the boys supposed to protect the ladies? Also, as my Page, you are expected to be at least a little useful in a fight.”

  “I—I’m doing my best!” Ibn’s voice cracked again. Was that from emotion, or was his voice simply beginning to break? she idly wondered.

  “Trying is not enough,” Seraphina responded, taking up a sterner aspect. “Don’t you understand? The people who come to harm me won’t care one bit about your efforts or excuses.”

  “Yes, Ibn. Where exactly were you last time?” Eloise chimed in, her tone mocking.

  “The same could be said of you, Lady de Laney,” he shot back, unexpectedly.

  Hormones.

  Ibn glanced away from Eloise, shame and regret coursing through his features. Seraphina made a show of ignoring their little exchange, though inside she felt a flicker of satisfaction. It was good when her underlings competed against each other, and this whole scene was unfolding almost exactly as she had envisioned it in her mind.