TO&FQ: Book 1 - Chapter 34 (RAW)

Chapter 34 - The Master Bard

"Music is the profound essence of moral law, a divine principle that imbues the universe with its soul. It grants the mind the wings of elevation, the imagination the freedom to soar, and life itself an ineffable charm, filling existence with grace and joyous vitality."

- Attributed to the playwright Vlan di Panoli.

Seraphina had been informed over the rest of dinner that neither of her parents would accompany her on her journey to the capital. Though they did not explicitly say so, it was clear her mother saw this as a test—her first step into adulthood as a fully independent woman. As for her father, he would defer to whatever Anaselena suggested.

A silly excuse but she would make sure that would be traveling with a full escort of her father’s best. There was no need to tempt fate after all.

It did not take much thought to understand why King Elidion feared the Duke. The man was a formidable commander and an unrivaled warrior—a rare combination that made victory under his banner almost a certainty. That certainty was amplified by her mother’s aid, who could tip the scales with her ability to peer into the future. Even if the rest of the Lords of the Realm united against the Duke if he raised his banner in rebellion, they would pay a terrible price in blood. Worse still, the other nobles knew such a move would be a near-futile endeavor.

The Duke’s lands, bordering the Empire, were another source of his power and respect. No matter how mighty their legions, the Empire would suffer grievous losses if they dared wage war in Aranthia. In essence, the de Sarien family was both the Kingdom’s shield and a knife at the monarchy’s throat.

This was why Elidion had sought Seraphina’s hand for his son. The union would have solidified his power and bolstered the royal line for generations. However, the King seemed to forget that his branch of the royal family was not the only one. Intermarriage among the noble houses was common, and the de Sariens held the second-strongest claim to the throne.

Seraphina smirked at the thought of the King’s panic once word of his son’s failure reached him. She couldn’t help but laugh.

She still remembered Sir Donahan’s words and how Vellens had all but supported him. Those words had stung deeply. Though she had made the Crown Prince pay, she knew she would never truly forgive him for his foolish inaction. Her father’s remark at the dining table had been sharp and true, lingering in her thoughts even now.

Seraphina looked into the mirror of her vanity table as objectively as she could. She saw beauty reflected back at her with all the innocent charm of youth, something that no amount of cosmetic treatment could ever gift. It welled up from something true beauty from within. She was a treasure and a prize.

So be it, she would sell herself again. Give all of herself until the youthful charm and innocence she saw before was worn down to a thin veneer. And she would extract her own prize. Her Progress to Aran would be an opportunity. She would win the hearts and minds, not only of the nobility, but of the masses.

Every single last one of them would view her as the Goddess herself reborn. She would make it so.

“Miriam!” she called out suddenly as a sh formed her next plan of action.

Her personal maid scuttled as in quickly as possible.

“Yes, Lady Seraphina!” the monstrous maid squeaked, adjusting her spectacles.

The young girl looked at her maid haughtily with her reflection. “Get me Haze Finleigh…”

Her maid looked to the left and right, worried as she clutched her uniform. “The Bard, milady? At this late hour…” she ask.

She should have known better to than to question her lady’s orders as the look Seraphina gave her was a withering one.

“At once, Lady Seraphina,” she squeaked, rushing off to do her mistress’ bidding.

*****

Seraphina waited, idly nibbling on a late-night snack of dried fruit and cheese to pass the time. A fine, light-bodied white wine accompanied her indulgence, its crisp notes perfectly complementing the flavors of the food. She savored each morsel, drawing out the experience, mindful not to overindulge.

Though her youthful figure remained enviable, she refused to risk bad habits. Discipline was key, after all—no matter how trivial it seemed now. Not that it mattered much; her body, young and ravenous, seemed to devour calories like a black hole. Still, Seraphina preferred to err on the side of caution. Discipline, she mused, was a habit worth cultivating. 

After all, discipline had always set her apart from the teeming masses of would-be stars. Discipline—and something rarer still: raw beauty, as sharp and dangerous as a drawn blade, and talent that burned brighter than a comet streaking across the heavens.

“Leave us, Miriam,” Seraphina commanded, her voice sharp as steel.

The maid hesitated, wringing her hands. “Milady—”

“Miriam,” Seraphina repeated, her irritation slicing through the air like a whip.

The maid bowed deeply, her face pale. Without another word, she scurried from the room, unwilling to tempt her mistress’s wrath.

Left alone, Haze Finleigh stood awkwardly, his roguish grin faltering under Seraphina’s withering gaze. “Well, this isn’t the first time I’ve been summoned to a noble lady’s chambers at such an hour…” he quipped, though his bravado rang hollow.

The heir to the Sariens Duchy regarded him like one might a cockroach on an expensive rug. Her cold scrutiny made Finleigh’s bravado crumble; he fidgeted, tugging nervously at the brim of his feathered cap.

Seraphina stepped closer, her movements languid, feline. She stopped so near that Finleigh could feel her breath and catch the faint scent of lavender on her skin.

“Mr. Finleigh,” she drawled, her voice like honey laced with venom. Her finger trailed down his chest, pausing as though to consider something. Then she nodded, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement.

“Milady…” Finleigh stammered, his voice cracking, unsure whether to step back or hold his ground.

In a flash, Seraphina’s hand darted forward, pressing against the space between his legs.

Finleigh’s breath caught, and he froze.

Seraphina smiled wickedly, withdrawing her hand with a flourish. “That is why you’re allowed into a lady’s chamber so late at night,” she declared.

“How did you—?” Finleigh’s voice shot up an octave or two, betraying the secret she had fought so hard to conceal. Her hand flew to her mouth. “You knew I was a girl…”

Seraphina smirked, savoring her small triumph. “Could you be any more obvious? A bard who doesn’t chase tavern maids, with an almost spotless reputation? And let’s not ignore the fact that…” Her gaze flicked dismissively over Finleigh. “You’re far too pretty to be a man.”

Finleigh’s shoulders sagged. Her expression teetered between embarrassment and curiosity. “I’m… pretty?”

Seraphina arched a golden brow, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “In a certain light… with some effort,” she allowed. Victory called for a degree of grace, after all.

The internet was a tool that gave the masses the power to communicate, to share their thoughts recklessly, at any time and from anywhere. Its speed and reach were unparalleled, spreading information like wildfire. A vast flow of chaos, it was an unmanageable deluge that could not be controlled or moderated.

The World Wide Web morphed into a thing that preyed on human cognition. It swallowed individuality, merging countless voices into a single, indistinct gestalt roar. This collective awareness, insidious and relentless, further shrouded its victims with sloth and malice, dragging them ever deeper into an abyss.

For Seraphina, it had been a tool of unparalleled convenience—a stage on which to showcase her greatness, a megaphone for her brilliance. But now, without it, she was forced to rely on cruder methods, on lesser tools like this Bard. It was an inconvenience, but one she would overcome. She always did.

“I’m pretty…” Finleigh murmured, as though testing the words aloud.

Seraphina’s patience wavered. “Honestly, some people are painfully dull,” she muttered under her breath before continuing, louder. “Why are you pretending to be a man?”

She, of course, already knew the answer. But people seemed to enjoy it when she feigned interest in them. They wanted their little existences validated. So, she asked the question anyway, pretending a curiosity she didn’t feel.

The bard hesitated, her gaze dropping. “Because only a man can be a Master Bard, Lady Seraphina,” she admitted, her voice heavy. “The rules demand it. I wanted to be the best, to have my songs heard throughout the land. To bring joy to people.”

Seraphina tilted her head, her expression skeptical. “And you needed to be a Master Bard for that?” She crossed her arms, her tone dripping with mockery. “Spare me the nonsense about spreading smiles. Be honest. Is it the recognition you crave? The fame? The immortality?”

Finleigh flinched but said nothing, her silence an answer in itself.

Seraphina stepped back, her smile turning predatory. “I thought as much. Honesty, Finleigh—it’s a rare commodity, even among bards.”

She looked at the bard, her expression softening into a disarming warmth that belied the hardness beneath. “If it’s fame you seek, Bard Haze Finleigh, then fame you shall have,” Seraphina purred, her voice like silk with an edge of iron. “For a thousand years, they will speak your name. You will become synonymous with music itself. I have chosen you Haze Finleigh, out of all the Bards in the realm. You will do your duty to me and to the country. All I ask in return are a few… small things.”

Finleigh swallowed hard, the weight of Seraphina’s emerald gaze pinning her in place. Her throat felt dry, her heart pounding like a drumbeat of dread. “What… what things?” she asked hesitantly, her voice trembling. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was striking a deal with a demon.

“First,” Seraphina began, her tone dropping to a velvety whisper, “you must simply be yourself. There is beauty in truth… and truth in beauty.”

Haze nodded slowly, her unease only growing. “And…?” she asked, her voice barely audible. The nobility had a habit of demanding the strangest of things, their notions of common sense a far remove from that of the every day man, or woman, for that matter.

“And,” Seraphina continued, her voice sharpening like a fine blade, “you will play as though you are performing for the gods themselves. But the songs you play will not be your own. They will be mine. Is that clear?”

The command in her words was unmistakable, and Finleigh could do nothing but nod, her mind swirling. She had no choice at all in the matter. If a woman of Seraphina’s status wanted something, she would get something. 

For a second, Haze regretted not putting up more resistance in the tavern. Dealing with a lout like Frest would have been infinitely easier than dealing with this devil in the shape of a young girl.

Seraphina’s smile widened, radiant yet chilling. She reached out, patting the bard’s cheek with an almost mocking tenderness. “Good. Because if you ever decide to defy me…” Her voice turned sweet, dangerously so, as her smile took on a sinister edge. “I’ll have Sergeant Frest hang you from the trees. Do we understand one another?”

Haze’s blood ran cold. Her nod this time was almost imperceptible, the weight of Seraphina’s words sinking deep into her soul.

“Excellent,” Seraphina said brightly, as though the threat had never been spoken. “That is what I like about you Haze… so swift on the uptake! I think you and I are going to get along just fine!”

Lady Seraphina’s smile lingered as she dismissed the bard with a graceful wave of hand, leaving Finleigh to grapple with the weight of the pact she had just made. Respectfully, with a deep bow at her door, Haze slipped out of Lady Seraphina’s chambers, her thoughts churning like a stormy sea.

This time, uncaring, she wore her hair down.

The offer was tantalizing, for patronage from a noble as powerful as Lady Seraphina would secure her future, title of Master Bard or not. Not to mention that with such backing, her songs—she corrected herself, Lady Seraphina’s songs—would echo across the land. But it would be her name, too, that would be etched into history. It was everything she had dreamed of, everything she had worked for.

More powerful than that… was the thought that she would no longer have to pretend. It had been oh-so tiring! Yet, deep within her, a faint, unshakable whisper echoed—a quiet voice that insisted she had just sold away something far more precious than her future.

Her soul, and perhaps even her integrity.