Chapter 46 - The Easier Path [Part 2]
Seraphina allowed herself the slightest, razor-thin smile—an expression more felt than actually seen—before practicality, that most unwelcome of guests when planning vengeance, intruded.
The roads to Carcaronne were long, the welcome uncertain, and the dowager duchess’s memory of Seraphina’s mother less than friendly. They had been estranged ever since her marriage to Anatoli, her father. That, and the fact that Adelaide referred to her own daughter as “The Witch,” would probably not help matters. Still, Seraphina was determined to polish both arguments and apologies before presenting them at that august threshold.
“Milly! We are going to the Palipula Woods, have the carriage readied,” she ordered with a determined huff.
Miriam bowed low to her mistress. “At once, milady, but you did say earlier that you wanted to enjoy a picnic by the sea… The day is still generous with its hours.”
For a heartbeat, Seraphina nearly snapped, habit or perhaps the faint sting of being corrected, but she mastered the impulse, inhaling the salt-sweet breeze. “You are quite right, Miriam. A stroll upon the sand and a glass of chilled cordial—or perhaps some tea—will fortify one’s spirits admirably.”
Sensing her mistress’s ire, Cornelia opened an eye, tasted the air, then promptly returned to her torpid sleep. Reflecting her mistress’s thoughts, in the sleeping serpent’s mind, it was just Miriam being Miriam.
The maid frowned as this was not the response she had been expecting. Was it her imagination, or did her mistress look a tad defeated? However, such thoughts were for the birds, the Palisa Slug concluded. “At once, milady.” With a crisp clap, she summoned the waiting attendants.
From behind the dunes emerged a small army of footmen and housemaids moving with the precision of a ballet. Stakes were driven into the yielding sand, over which rose a pavilion of white linen panels that billowed like the sails of some stately frigate. A lacquered table, its legs tipped with bronze lion’s paws, was set beneath, followed swiftly by damask-draped chairs. Hampers appeared next, disgorging tiered stands of sandwiches, raspberry tarts crowned with spun sugar, and a silver urn breathing the gentle fragrance of quality tea.
Within scarcely ten minutes, an unremarkable patch of sandy shore had been transformed into a scene fit for a royal engraving: Lady Seraphina de Sarien, solitary sovereign of her makeshift court, poised to take tea as gulls circled overhead and the waves whispered. She settled into her chair, lifting a porcelain cup whose rim glimmered with gold. In the cup’s dark mirror, she glimpsed her reflection—a young woman of impeccable breeding, yes, but also of iron will.
Everyone could see that she had the makings of a true queen.
In the winter holidays, she would ride north to court an old matriarch and enlist hardened soldiers, all in pursuit of her vision of the future. For the moment, however, strategy and ambition could wait. Seraphina inhaled the mingled floral scents of rose, permitted herself a leisurely sip, and let the sun gild her reverie. Even the best, after all, must occasionally take the time to bask in the warmth of their own greatness.
***
Seraphina reminded herself that wealth existed to be spent, not to languish like a dragon’s hoard. The time to use it was now, and she would use it well. I will need all the advantages my privilege and position can afford me.
Golden evening light washed over the clearing of the woods. A lively tune from a hired ensemble mingled with the grunts of Silver-rank adventurers who wrestled a massive bear forward, long poles looped around its neck. The beast twisted and bared its fangs, yet the seasoned men and women held it firm for their patron’s inspection.
“Hold it steady,” Seraphina called, snapping her crimson fan shut before tucking it into her pocket. At her side, Miriam pressed a heavy throwing spear into her hand.
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With a single smooth motion, Seraphina invoked Power Throw and sent the weapon hurtling across the space. It flew like a ballista bolt, punched through the bear’s thick chest, and dropped the creature in one thunderous heartbeat.
“Next!” she ordered, her words as hard as iron, her manner as hard as steel.
Seraphina had most certainly learned from her last experience of hunting down dangerous creatures. The trick was to remove all the danger from them.
As she had expected, the system had displayed the name of the creature she killed if she knew of it. Nonetheless, she still hungered to acquire an Identify scroll.
“This way, milady,” the adventurer said, bowing deeply with an armored clank.
Despite being of the Silver, he wore rather mismatched-looking armor. This was actually quite a common occurrence, as many more successful adventurers often wore magical treasure created from a bygone era, as they were sometimes more useful than more modern, yet mundane, arms and armor.
The magics of old often outshone newer steel, giving some adventurers a very anachronistic look.
He guided her to a blinded cockatrice, its eyes removed and pickled hours ago, staked to the forest floor with shards of spelled obsidian and coils of ensorcelled bronze. The beast greeted them with a furious shriek, its head sweeping blindly toward her, scales rippling and crippled wings beating feebly. Once upon a time, well, at least until a few hours ago, it had been the acknowledged lord of this stretch of forest.
“No one has harmed the creature in the last two hours?” Seraphina asked. The young girl wanted all the experience points from the kills for herself.
“Exactly as you specified,” he replied, his eyes focused on somewhere in the middle distance.
She studied him closely. “If those words are untrue, I shall be most displeased. Most displeased. Your name, adventurer?”
“Ferdinand Marcos, Your Grace. We followed your instructions to the letter.”
The pay more than justified putting up with the young noble Magister’s quirks—and her fearsome reputation. He was well compensated to ask no questions. As for the girl’s reputation, many in the Guild had already begun whispering the title “The Golden Ogre,” inspired by tall tales of a deadly tavern brawl—rumors Marcos found difficult to believe.
Seraphina extended her hand; Miriam produced a greatsword. The noblewoman discarded its jewel-studded scabbard with a casualness that only the truly affluent could afford. Raising the blade one-handed almost at the pommel, the young girl brought it down in a single, devastating stroke.
The enchanted bindings that had contained the raw power of the Cockatrice snapped like so much twine, and the blade bit deep into earth and flesh, nearly cleaving the cockatrice cleanly in two.
“Seems I still need to polish my swordsmanship,” Seraphina muttered, irritation edging her voice.
“It was an impressive strike all the same, milady,” Miriam said, hoping to console her.
Her mistress gave her only the ghost of a smile in acknowledgment.
“And Marcos…” Seraphina’s tone turned velvety smooth.
Ferdinand swallowed hard. Across the clearing, Sir Gravens narrowed his eyes, ready to act at a gesture.
“Yes, Your Grace?” he managed.
“Well done. If you had ignored, or made light of, my instructions, your head would be adorning a pole,” she replied, flashing a brilliant smile. “Now, where is the next creature?”
He mustered a professional smile and stepped ahead. Why would someone so powerful hire adventurers like him to drag monsters to her, only to slaughter them just like any other vain noble?
As for Seraphina, she fixed on him with flinty emerald eyes as she followed at a measured, regal pace.
While the others danced and sang in celebration of Este Lize’s achievement, the weekend’s harvest of experience had only begun. Just the thought of missing out on such an event made her even angrier.
She might not yet be able to tame a Manticore, but with enough levels under her belt, she was quite certain she could crush its skull in.
