Chapter 10 - The Wheat and the Chaff [Part 2]
“The gentle approach has ended,” Seraphina announced, lifting her chin. “I’m sending you to the Palipula Woods, a day's ride outside of Meridian. You’ll have a sword, a spear, and four days’ worth of rations. You will return here, before the entrance ceremony, with three trophies: a Cronir horn, a Dire Wolf fang, and the gullet of a Burnes Bear.”
Ibn’s shoulders began to shake. “But—”
“Or do not bother coming back at all.” Her voice was ice-cold. “This is your test, Ibn. I do this out of love. Now—will you do it?”
His gaze dropped to his lap. “Yes,” he answered quietly, the single syllable laced with sullen resignation.
“Aren’t you tired of being called a boy?” Eloise asked teasingly, her tone suddenly sweet, like a predator coaxing prey. “In the old traditions of Aran, men would return from the wilderness with those trophies as proof of their worthiness—a rite of passage.”
Seraphina watched the spark of newfound determination flicker in Ibn’s eyes at the challenge. Eloise was lying, of course. Those ingredients were needed for her latest Alchemical experiment, but Ibn didn’t need to know that.
“Exactly,” Seraphina said. “Well, hurry along then. Sir Frest has prepared everything you’ll need in the courtyard—equipment, supplies, directions. Make yourself ready within half a turn of the glass.”
Ibn rose, shoulders slumping in defeat, and walked to the door. Just as he crossed the threshold, Seraphina called after him, softening her voice for one final manipulative prod.
“Wait. If you come back with everything I asked for, I’ll have a reward for you—something befitting a man who is no longer a mere child. Good hunting!”
He stopped and turned. In an instant, something fierce and determined flared in his expression. Then, with a brief nod, he slipped out, shutting the door behind him.
Once he was gone, Seraphina indulged in a quiet laugh. “He’s so very easy to push, isn’t he?”
From behind her, Eloise smirked. “Let’s just hope we haven’t pushed him too far.”
Seraphina shook her head. “He’ll manage.”
She rang a tiny silver bell, and within moments, her maid Miriam appeared in the doorway.
“Yes, my lady?” Milly asked, voice subdued in Seraphina’s presence.
Seraphina gave her a level look. “Have a few adventurers from the Guild to follow Ibn from a distance. I want him tested, not killed. It would be a bother to lose him now, after all the time and resources I’ve invested in him.”
Milly bowed politely and withdrew to carry out her task. Left alone with Eloise, Seraphina settled back into her chair, staring at the door through which Ibn had departed.
She closed her eyes, imagining the tall, swaying trees of the Palipula Woods and the dangerous creatures that prowled its dark corners. A small smile tugged at her lips. It was a cruel test, but necessary. If Ibn was ever to become the Sword Master she needed, this was the first real step.
His first steps on his path of carnage.
***
“What do you mean the Duchess Anaselena is coming, Milly?” Seraphina demanded, whirling around in disbelief. Her fair hair swished, catching a shaft of afternoon light from the window. “Mother—the witch—is supposed to be back home pulling Father’s strings.”
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Miriam, her maid, hesitated, clearly torn between loyalty and fear. “I… I don’t think you should speak of your lady mother that way, milady…” she began, then clamped her mouth shut as Seraphina shot her a vicious glare.
“Miriam,” Seraphina said icily, “you do not tell me what I should or should not do. Is that clear?”
“Y-yes, Lady Seraphina,” Miriam stammered, lowering her gaze.
Seraphina turned away with a huff. “I could handle Father easily enough, but my mother?” She let out a long, exasperated sigh. “She’s just too much! I do not need this right now. I’m juggling far too many problems.”
Miriam shifted uncomfortably. “But, Lady Seraphina… if your mother isn’t at the ceremony, people might assume—”
“Assume what?” Seraphina snapped.
“That you’re not… well… not highly esteemed in your own parents’ eyes,” the maid finished weakly.
Seraphina tensed, irritated to find Miriam’s logic unsettlingly accurate. For a half second, she even felt a twinge of gratitude—just a flicker—before her pride flared up again. She sneered inwardly, thinking that Miriam really was far too human at times. Well, you were what you eat, she thought darkly.
“Thank you for your astute observation,” she muttered sarcastically, “though it’s hardly welcome. Still… you are right.”
She tossed back her hair with a roll of her eyes. “Very well, Milly. Have the guest chambers readied. Mother can be rather particular, as you know.”
Her mood soured further by the minute. Lately, everything seemed to be going awry. The Meridian City Guard were having her every step watched for her “safety,” making it nearly impossible to slip out of town to complete a few ‘Trials’ to help boost up her level.
And, there was the persistent threat of assassination and capture by professionals sent by the Emperor. The first attempt had been more like a sinister overture, a test of her mettle from the old man. Secretly, very secretly, she dreaded the day he sent his truly elite agents from the Bloody Tower. Though she was loath to admit it, despite her considerable power, she wasn’t entirely certain she was prepared for that.
Realizing her thoughts were spiraling darkly, Seraphina ran a hand through her hair and forced down the surge of looming despair. She needed a remedy—a distraction.
Shopping.
She turned to Miriam with a bright, sudden smile, so sweet it was almost predatory. “Milly,” she repeated when her maid only stared, transfixed. “Milly!”
“Yes, milady?” Miriam squeaked.
Seraphina’s eyes gleamed. “Have my guard and Sir Frest make ready. I wish to go about town. There are a few things I’ve been meaning to purchase for some time now. It’s time my so-called protectors earn their keep. They can carry my bags.”
***
“Lady Seraphina,” Sir Frest said dryly, a while later, “when you mentioned ‘shopping,’ I assumed you meant the boutiques in the Merchant’s Quarter—enough dresses to outfit an entire village, shoes so delicate you’d only wear them once. Most assuredly not a grain exchange.”
Seraphina cast him a sidelong glance. She did intend to pick up extravagant dresses, shoes, and jewelry aplenty, but first, there were priorities. And, if she succeeded in this gambit, she would be able to acquire more fancy things. A lot more of them.
“Frest,” she ordered calmly, “I want three full warehouses’ worth of grain. No, make that five.”
“That should be straightforward with your line of credit.” He nodded politely, waving his hands at the granaries around them. “I’ll see to it immediately. Should be easy enough. There’s also probably quite a few warehouses filled to the brim nearby.”
Seraphina lifted her chin. “No. Have it all moved to the Old Quarter by the river. I want it stored in one of the sturdy, older stone warehouses, not the new ones, “she added, giving him a very meaningful look. “This is important, Frest.”
Frest’s brow furrowed. “You may need to speak directly with a factor, or a few merchants, to finalize those arrangements of such a scale…”
Seraphina wrinkled her nose in distaste. “That’s precisely why I have you and Miriam. I will not be caught dead haggling with common tradesmen. That would be… just so gauche.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I trust you remember enough from your previous profession to know how to negotiate the best price for grain? Use force if you must—the Sariens' name, too, if necessary. I’ll buy nearly everything they have that can fit into the warehouses. If you manage at least fifteen percent below the current market rate, I might even reward you with a rather fine new sword.”
Besides her, Miriam shrank inwards. More had been added to her already very stacked plate.
Frest gave a wolfish smile that almost matched her own in predatory glee. “I’d be delighted to oblige, Lady Seraphina. Your confidence is well placed.”
She nodded, satisfied, and smoothed the front of her skirts.
It was a wonderful thing when you knew what tomorrow held. Or in this case, next week.
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