TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 11 (RAW)

Chapter 11 - A New Stage

There are nights when wolves are silent and only the moon howls.

- George Carlin

Seraphina savored the morning sunlight as it poured through the tall windows, gilding her in its warmth. She took a delicate bite of toast—slightly too thick and chewy for her taste, but still serviceable. A small, amused smile curled her lips as she wondered if she truly had been the one to introduce the concept of “toast” to this world. Would it catch on? Her thoughts drifted as she half-listened to the Bard’s gentle complaints echoing in the room. Ah, it might have been another perfect morning if not for a few complications.

“…it’s just that I would really like to branch out and try different things,” Haze ventured softly. “I know it is a large request, but could you teach me to sing as you do, Lady Seraphina?”

The mention of her name finally pulled Seraphina’s attention back to the conversation. “Hrmmm,” she murmured, finishing off the last buttery corner of her toast. She washed it down with a sip of milk—an expensive commodity here, which she had made safer by insisting the household staff boil and pasteurize it. Inwardly, she chuckled at the thought of calling the process “Seraphinization,” though she quickly dismissed the idea; it was one thing to have her name attached to an elegant clothing line, quite another to have it associated with boiling milk.

Anaselena, the beautiful Duchess, regarded her daughter with an expectant gaze as she popped a peeled grape into her mouth. She had arrived in a carriage drawn by six horses the previous night, rolling in at midnight like a witch out of a fairy tale—much to Seraphina’s surprise. The current Duchess of the Sariens certainly knew how to make an entrance.

Under her mother’s keen scrutiny, Seraphina felt as though every response she gave was being silently noted and measured.

“I’m afraid I simply do not have the time,” Seraphina said at last, fixing Haze with a polite, measured smile. “School will be quite demanding for me, as you well know. Besides, any talent I have—if it is truly talent—may not be something I can teach, and even if I could, I lack the skill to instruct. I truly am sorry, Haze.”

“That is indeed a shame,” Haze replied, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. “I was rather sure milady was quite capable of anything.” She sighed, running a nervous hand through her orange hair. 

Seraphina felt a twinge of irritation at Haze’s overly transparent flattery, but she kept her composure, especially with her mother present. For the briefest of moments, she had felt the near-overwhelming urge to prove Haze wrong. However, instead of rising to the bait, she reached up to stroke the smooth scales under the chin of her beloved pet, Cornelia.

The white snake’s eyes drifted shut in blissful contentment. Over time, Cornelia had grown far too plump to fit beneath Seraphina’s dress as she once did; now, the creature draped herself around Seraphina’s shoulders like a living, pearl-white stole. In Seraphina’s eyes, it was a rather striking statement of fashion and complimented her noble poise. Even so, she could not help but wonder what her dear pet had been feasting on to gain such weight. Feeling a sting of guilt, Seraphina set aside the butter knife she had been using on another piece of toast. She would have to watch herself lest she be like Cornelia.

Her mother remained silent as the moment stretched on. What does she want me to do? Seraphina thought irritably.

“Ah, well,” she said gently, turning her gaze back to Haze. “Is there anything else I can help you with, hmm?” At the same moment, Cornelia flicked her tongue in Haze’s direction, causing the Bard to grimace ever so slightly. “I am your patron, after all.”

“My stipend, though generous, is still not enough for lessons in Meridian with a tutor who might match Milady’s talents,” Haze said, eyeing Cornelia warily. “I was wondering if there might be a chance for—”

“Oh, speak to Miriam about that. I’m delighted to help you further your skills,” Seraphina answered magnanimously, letting a subtle, dangerous glint enter her eye. “Let your success be an open challenge to those stuffy old men at the Bardic College.”

She rang a small bell, signaling the staff to clear away her breakfast. Understanding the dismissal, Haze bowed and offered her thanks before departing.

Seraphina watched the plates being carried away and realized she was not quite full. Still, perhaps it was better to not have an overly full stomach before giving her speech later that day.

“That was well done, little Sera,” Anaselena said with a sweet smile. “It’s good to be generous. A little kindness can go a long way. I may have been somewhat remiss in teaching you that valuable lesson.”

Cornelia curled more tightly around Seraphina’s shoulders.

Seraphina returned her mother’s smile, though with effort. “Your wisdom is always appreciated, Mother. But what, pray tell, would you have done in my place?” she asked, striving to keep the sarcasm from creeping into her voice. Like Cornelia, Seraphina herself harbored more than a little wariness toward the Duchess.

“I had not realized the gods touched you with Music’s gift,” Anaselena mused, propping her chin on her hands. “They give and take, though not always in equal measure. Yet one does not always need to teach in order to teach, daughter.”

“What do you mean?”

“A master of his craft must practice, does he not, to maintain or improve his skill? Do you not practice your singing? Simply have that Bard present during your practice. Observation is a form of learning. That alone would keep your little would-be musician happy, and cost you next to nothing.”

“Haze is not just any would-be musician! Haze is a Bard equal to—” Seraphina spluttered in protest. Her mother had a way of getting under her skin like no one else could.

“And Sir Frest is no Knight,” Anaselena replied disaprovingly, her voice as placid as a still lake. “It takes more than new spurs, a fancy weapon, and a fine steed to make a Knight. But what of it, my dear?”

“I will not fence words with you, Mother. I have an important welcome speech to give in a few hours,” Seraphina said testily, pushing herself up from her seat. “And Frest makes a fine Knight. He even slew…” Seraphina stopped herself and sat back down.

“Oh, he is, is he?” Anaselena asked with a raised eyebrow. “Very well. Go and practice your little speech in your room for the next hour. If you bring shame upon our name, I will…” She let the threat dangle.

That was enough for Seraphina. Between the “second puberty” she was enduring in this world and the general stress of recent events, her patience had frayed to the limit. She stood so abruptly and then stormed out of the room, leaving the servants to exchange worried glances.

“Be down in a glass and a half, my dear!” her mother called after her, cheerfully enough.

***

Having earned the highest marks on the entrance exam, a perfect score no less, Seraphina had been granted the honor of giving the welcome speech on behalf of the new first-year students.

The principal of this fine institution, a Cedric Hegandia, exemplified what happened when a great man went to seed. Rumor held that, in the distant days of his youth, he had been quite the adventurer. His once-muscular frame had gone to fat, his jowls swaying beneath his chin, and his stooped posture lent a droning tone to his closing remarks—remarks that all but lulled his captive audience to tears. His one saving grace, however, was that he at least retained a full head of salt-and-pepper hair.

He finished his speech and was given a small smattering of scattered applause. Principal Hegandia inclined his head to Seraphina, indicating that it time for to give her speech.

Elegantly rising with a grace that would have put most dancers to shame, she made her to the podium. Clasping the sides of the wood, Seraphina looked around in front of her. 

Although all students at the Academy were ostensibly considered equal, Seraphina needed only a single quick glance around the great hall to see the real truth. From her vantage point near the podium, the divide between the two sets of students who would share the Academy for the next three long years was obvious—and enormous. 

Seraphina could see the group to her left—commoners, merchant-class youths, and those admitted on merit alone. To her right stood the scions of noble houses, the children of foreign dignitaries, and a few sons and daughters of current or former faculty. The teachers themselves were similarly split, with those from powerful backgrounds wearing their arrogance like an extra layer atop their formal academic gowns.

She spent a few further moments scanning the crowd, curiously trying to spot whoever had come closest to matching her own perfect score—the elusive second-place student. Instead, she found Desdemona looking at her with naked jealousy. Seraphina had sent her some expensive gifts with a handwritten note inviting her for tea for some time in the future. It seemed to Seraphina that the de Savant girl was a miser with her negativity, hoarding it as a miser dd precious coins. Third was, at the end of the day, where she belonged and third-rate was what all Desdemona would ever amount to be.

At the back of the hall sat the parents, colorful in the latest Meridian summer fashions. By contrast, her mother wore the hues of autumn—browns, reds, and golds. Anaselena kept herself apart, standing slightly aloof with an undeniable air of superiority granted by her status, reputation, and arcane powers. She was an island that clusters of other parents chattered and gossiped around, offering polite congratulations. An elegant wolf among colorful sheep.

Even from a distance, Seraphina could see unmistakable fierce pride shining in her mother’s eyes. Anaselena gave her a small, approving smile and waved. Of course she would be proud—her daughter had proved the superiority of a noble line by claiming the top spot on merit alone. No one could accuse Seraphina of relying on mere recommendations or foul play to gain her place at the Academy.

She exhaled slowly, steadying her nerves before beginning her speech. As if by divine cue, high above in the heavens a cloud passed and let sunlight stream through the high, stained-glass windows behind her, illuminating her short blonde hair and catching in her vibrant green eyes. 

A hush fell over the crowd, and she could sense curiosity mingled with skepticism on both sides of the room. Still, Seraphina felt the familiar fierce pride of her mother’s approving gaze, and that gave her the final push.

“Honored guests, esteemed faculty, and most importantly, my fellow students,” she began, voice carrying clear and bright across the hall. “My name is Seraphina de Sariens, daughter of Duke Anatoli and Duchess Anaselena de Sariens, and I stand before you both humbled and honored to have received the top score in this year’s entrance exams.” She smiled before giving the crowd a small wink. “A feat I am told that has been achieved for nigh two hundred years.”  

There were a few half-hearted chuckles in the crowd.

She resumed the rest of her speech in a more serious tone. “When I look out across this gathering, I see the future of our kingdom—and, indeed, the future of lands far beyond our borders. I see not a monolith of just the highborn, but a spectrum of talent, ambition, and drive that transcends birthright or station. Each of you has made your way here—some with wealth, some with scholarship, others with grit and determination alone. And all of you, every single one of you, deserves your place under this roof.”

She paused, letting her gaze sweep across the hall. It was all lies, of course, as she believed not a word of her own prepared speech. Peasants thinking themselves the equal of higher classes? Heavens forfend! It went against the natural order of things.

Her words, however, did have a great impact on all who were listening as they were unexpected from a person of her high station. Just as intended.

A few whispers echoed among the student body, but Seraphina stood as still as a statue, her back straight, her chin proudly lifted. “We come from different walks of life. We have different heritages, family names, and levels of wealth. Some of us arrived in grand carriages, while others may have walked for days on foot.” Inwardly, she shuddered at the very thought of of walking to school, the horror 

“Yet here, in the Academy, we share a single purpose: to learn, to grow, and to become the best future versions of ourselves. For the next three years, we will study magic, history, mathematica, the arts, and truths that define our world. We will also learn things far beyond the confines of our curriculum—lessons in humility, compassion, teamwork, and empathy.”

She allowed herself a small, earnest smile to really sell her performance. “In these halls, it will not matter whether you are a lord’s son or a farmer’s daughter. Indeed, we are all equals, or so the Academy’s motto claims.”

Preposterous, of course, but with these words she purposefully placed herself against the current status quo while at the same shining a light on the Academy’s hypocrisy (and inadvertently mirroring it). Against all reason, the students before her, the majority of them, listened in to her every word as if drawn to her. The Academy’s stodgy board would rue the day that they had resisted her.

“I know as well as anyone that old prejudices linger, whispers of who is or is not ‘worthy.’ But let us be the generation that rises above such trivialities. Let us forge friendships that defy birthright and break down the walls of social rank. I ask all of you to look around and introduce yourselves to someone you would never have approached otherwise. Dare to learn from those with different experiences, backgrounds, and dreams. For when we do, we become stronger together than we ever could be apart.”

She would have been sickened by the cliches she was spouting were it not for the fact that she was a consummate actress and liar. Her emerald eyes sparkled with determination. “I will not pretend that this journey will be easy. We will face daunting tests of our intellect, our integrity, and our resolve. We will be challenged by teachers who expect excellence and by classmates who compete fiercely. But there is no shame in healthy rivalry. We can vie for the top spot while still extending a helping hand when someone stumbles. This Academy is not a battlefield—it is the soil in which our dreams will take root, if only we cultivate them with enough care to flourish the brave flower of a better future.”

Easy words for one at the top to utter, of course, she thought with smug superiority.

A ripple of thoughtful silence passed through the gathered students and parents. Seraphina drew in another breath. “In the days and years to come, let us each remember why we are here. We have an extraordinary opportunity to shape our destinies, to create bonds that may last a lifetime, and to prove that greatness can bloom from cooperation as well as from ambition. Whether you wield a noble title, a merchant’s ledger, or calloused hands from hard labor, your story begins anew here and now. And I, for one, cannot wait to see how each and every one of our stories unfolds.”

She inclined her head respectfully toward the principal and the gathered faculty. Then, letting her voice grow softer but no less resolute, she concluded, “May our time here inspire us to learn, to teach one another, and to bring out the best in ourselves. This Academy is where our dreams take shape. So let us walk through these halls side by side, not as rivals born of status, but as fellow travelers on a wondrous journey. Thank you.”

With that, she stepped back, heart pounding. A second of silence followed—then applause began to spread, resounding against the vaulted ceilings. Seraphina allowed herself a small, triumphant smile as she glanced once more at her mother who was clapping vigorously. 

Her Charisma had been tested against a great number of checks against it. And so, she was rewarded for her success;

You have gained 1 Charisma

All these “sheep” needed was the right shepherd. She touched her necklace, giving her faithful servant the prearranged signal. A bolt flew fast and true, guided by Frest’s skill and her own blessed Luck. Half a heartbeat later, it struck the podium—and she let out a powerful scream threaded with a little of her Mana before she was bundled to the floor by the Academy Guards. It would have to be enough to give the former bandit enough of a lead.

Truly, she could have won an award for her sterling performance. 

The hall burst into a disoriented panic, all except for her mother who remained sitting, completely unperturbed with an annoyingly enigmatic smile on her face.