TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 16 (RAW)

Chapter 16 - Boys & Girls

If you want anything said, ask a man; if you want anything done, ask a woman.

- Margaret Thatcher.

Seraphina barely managed to keep a polite smile plastered on her face as the crowd of girls closed in around her. Their voices rose and fell in a frenzy of curiosity, creating a disorienting buzz that thrummed against her skull. They were relentless—firing off questions like a machine gun on the battlefield. It reminded her of a rowdy press conference, except there was no secretary to shield her from the barrage, no cozy escape hatch back to her rooms.

She took a deep breath, determined to remember as many names as she could—Caroline, Beatrice, Mathilda from some noble house, Moleana, Violetta from some well-to-do merchant families. Each girl blended into a swirl of smiles and friendly faces: Moleana, with her shock of red hair, looked more like a wildflower that had taken root among pruned and pampered garden blooms.

But common to each of them was the fact that their eyes sparkled with naked ambition. An ambition that Seraphina planned to utilize to her advantage.

“Is it true you’re marrying the Prince? How utterly dreamy,” Caroline asked, her expression floating off into a daydream where, no doubt, she herself wore the crown.

Seraphina mustered a friendly nod. “Why, yes. But since you’re such a dear friend, Caroline, I do believe I could lend him to you until the wedding.”

Her scandalous tease earned a playful slap on the arm from Caroline, which made the other girls erupt in giggles. Seraphina automatically glanced at Status, confirming zero damage to her Health bar. For a moment, the young noblewoman was glad that her lady-in-waiting was in another class. Eloise, no doubt, would have unashamedly jumped on such an offer.

Truth be told, the attention and compliments weren’t entirely unwelcome; there was a certain satisfaction in being the sun around which lesser planets orbited. But this was still far too much stimulation for so early in the day.

The question was, did her rival, Este Lize, have to put with this too?

“Oh, your hair!” someone exclaimed—Beatrice, maybe. The flaxen-haired girl’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “It’s such a short cut. It looks so different. Is that the style from Quas or Qis? We’re so behind here in Meridian.”

Before Seraphina could answer, a flustered voice tried to interject. 

“Girls, I do believe Ms. Templeton is trying to speak,” Seraphina called out, wearing her most radiant smile. But even that did little good; the teacher’s tentative attempts to bring order were utterly drowned out by the excited chatter. Poor Ms. Templeton looked like she had wandered into a den of ravenous lions, uncertain whether to bolt or cower.

It might be wise, Seraphina mused, to earn a few points with the teacher. After all, influence was currency here—just as potent as gold or noble titles. Eventually, Seraphina shooed her eager admirers away so Ms. Templeton could finally commence the lesson. The homeroom tutor cleared her throat, visibly relieved, and introduced the schedule for the term. Much of the explanation was mundane: general classes would be in the Wisteria classroom, electives would require going to specialized areas around the Academy, and so on.

By then, Seraphina’s mind was only half-engaged. Her enchanted necklace allowed her to hear the surface-level, mentally voiced thoughts of certain creatures—namely animals and some monsters. At that moment, she was tuned in to Miriam, who sat nearby, repeating Ms. Templeton’s words with rigid concentration in her mind. Seraphina found it vaguely amusing, like hearing an echo of the lesson in her mind.

Make sure you take note of all this, Seraphina commanded silently, projecting the thought through her necklace to Miriam. Across the room, Miriam jerked slightly, throwing a startled glance in Seraphina’s direction.

Seraphina merely gave a mysterious smile and returned her attention to the class. If only the necklace worked on people, she mused. The idea of hearing every whispered thought from humans intrigued her—until a loud caw from the window reminded her just how overwhelming that might become. A bird hopped on a bare branch outside, crying out for a mate, and she realized that hearing too many minds at once would be a burden. Animals were bad enough—food, sex, survival. Humans could be far more complicated.

She had spent some time experimenting on small creatures with her necklace, trying to see how much she could influence them. Unfortunately, she discovered that she couldn’t compel them into loyalty or action just with a thought. She mostly used bribes—food, mostly—to encourage them into performing simple tasks. Rats, she’d found, were cleverer than their reputation suggested, but she had no desire to be known as the eccentric girl constantly followed by squeaking vermin with bald, fleshy tails. Besides, Cornelia, her pet serpent, would see the rats as a living buffet.

Of course, that presented its own problems. Cornelia was growing at an alarming rate; the once-tiny snake was now noticeably larger, her scales glimmering with a metallic sheen under the light. She also had an appetite that seemed boundless, forcing Seraphina to spend many afternoons teaching Cornelia not to indiscriminately eat everything in sight. It felt a lot like raising a child—albeit a scaly one with a forked tongue. 

Still, the thought of getting her father to commission some adventurers to fetch a Wyvern egg flickered through Seraphina’s mind. What a glorious companion that might be! She would positively be the talk of the town. But such a venture would bankrupt her father’s entire duchy, not to mention the headache of raising such a fearsome beast. And she was very content with Cornelia for now.

Maybe she could train her beloved serpent to help her with identifying and creating scents for a new line of perfume. Cornelia already possessed a remarkable sense of smell (or taste, really), and if Seraphina could refine that, it might even rival Desdemona’s much-lauded nose. It was a tempting prospect, but one for the future. 

For the moment, Cornelia’s talents were better employed elsewhere—like stalking the rat nest in the dormitory. Finally, the fat creature was getting some exercise, Seraphina thought with a slight sigh. That serpent had grown far too comfortable slithering around her neck like a feathered scarf.

At long last, Ms. Templeton’s introduction ended. The students bowed in unison—a gesture of respect for their teacher—before pouring out into the corridors to head for the next set of classes. Seraphina gathered her books for Weapons class and swept toward the door, only to notice Miriam trailing in her wake.

“Why, pray tell, are you following me?” Seraphina asked, arching a brow. “Don’t you have other classes to attend, Miriam?”

Miriam hesitated, her posture stiffening. “I do, but… I also have Weapons class. I thought I might—well, assist you, in case you needed anything.”

Seraphina narrowed her eyes. “And Gravens and my other Knights? He has Weapons with them as well, does he not?”

“Yes, Milady—he does. But his class is held elsewhere.”

“I thought this Academy prided itself on not separating the sexes in combat training,” Seraphina said impatiently. “Isn’t that the entire point of this more 'modern’ education?”

“It is,” Miriam replied, her voice quavering. “But for the first year, they like to teach the basics to each group separately, to accommodate different styles. Then, in the second year—”

“What kind of ‘different style’?” Seraphina scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Some silly, dancey nonsense, no doubt. I don’t have time to spin around in a choreographed fashion when I could be learning proper technique.”

“Well, yes… maybe,” Miriam stuttered. She already looked defeated, sensing the direction of Seraphina’s thoughts. “But we’ll be marked absent if we don’t go to the right—”

“Do not try to dissuade me, Milly.” Seraphina squared her shoulders, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “We are going to find Gravens and the boys’ class. I refuse to spend hours twirling in a circle when I could actually improve my sword arm.”

Miriam gave a resigned sigh. “Yes, milady.”

Seraphina swept off, her heart humming with anticipation. If she must endure being a student all over again, she intended to make a memorable splash. A little rule-breaking on the first day might be exactly what she needed to keep things interesting.

***

Mouths fell open the moment Seraphina stepped into the boys’ Weapons Training Hall. Her short, sunlit blonde hair shimmered, and her emerald-green eyes flashed with confidence. The breeches hugged her figure, highlighting her burgeoning curves. But, like all clothes that were not tailored for her, the thick arming jacket was particularly tight around the chest. She could practically feel the weight of every male gaze in the room. Behind her followed Miriam, looking every bit the timid shadow, her eyes darting nervously as if searching for a place to hide while wilting under everyone’s stares.

Standing among the boys was Gravens, flanked by Smith and Gascoigne—the three Knights who’d accompanied her to the Academy. They, too, gawked at Seraphina’s sudden entrance, though Gravens quickly schooled his expression, his brow furrowed in concern.

The instructor was a woman. Tall, with sharp gold eyes and light brown hair streaked with silver, she exuded a cold, predatory air that was intensified by a jagged scar running across her left cheek. As she looked over Seraphina and Miriam, her lips curved into a faint smile that held neither warmth nor welcome.

“I am Instructor Melisiandre de Vallieres,” she said, her tone brisk and unapologetically cool. “This is Weapons class for the boys. The girls’ class meets in Hall Two. You appear to be… misplaced.”

Seraphina arched a perfect eyebrow. “Yes, well, it would take entirely too long for us to walk all the way there. I was curious to see how you’d teach the boys differently from the girls.”

A low chuckle escaped Melisiandre’s lips. “There’s always one every year. To think that I used to be just like you, once upon a time.”

“I am Seraphina de Sariens,” the blonde girl continued sweetly, though there was a stubborn gleam in her eyes. “The principal no doubt informed you of my particular circumstances. My three attendants must remain close in most of my classes.”

Melisiandre’s gold eyes narrowed. “Yes, we’re aware. That’s why we made a special petition to have Sir Gallant of the Royal Guard assigned to oversee the girls’ training, my little lady.” She waved a hand dismissively, as if ushering Seraphina and Miriam toward the exit. “You will be perfectly safe there if assassin’s suddenly storm the Academy. Now, if you please—”

“No,” Seraphina cut in, her voice unwavering. “I’d much rather learn from you, Ms. de Vallieres—Adventurer of the Mithril, the Wolf of Glassfire Sea.”

The instructor’s brow lifted at the mention of her old title, and a husky laugh rumbled from her chest. “That name hasn’t been spoken aloud since long before you were a mischievous glint in your parents’ eyes. To think, this is the daughter of the ‘Red Troll.’”

Seraphina’s lips pressed into a thin line at the mention of her father’s rather unflattering epithet, but she maintained her composure. The older woman pressed on, her tone turning instructive.

“There’s a reason girls have separate first-year classes. In Aranthia, even the poorest peasant boy is taught the basics of martial arts from childhood. Add the sheer physical advantage men possess in size and strength, and it becomes critical that girls develop a different technique. So, yes, the girls’ classes are often more intense, because there’s more ground to cover. Because we are naturally disadvantaged, in the main, when it comes to physical combat.”

Seraphina gave a derisive snort, unconvinced. “I suspect the ‘Red Troll’s’ daughter may not need special treatment.”

Melisiandre inspected Seraphina’s slender arms and shoulders, her gold eyes missing nothing. “We’ll see,” she murmured, her mouth quirking in a grin. “I see no real muscle on you, but perhaps you’re sturdier than you look. Pick a practice weapon, de Sariens—I’ll humor you. The rest of you!” Her voice rose as she addressed the boys. “A hundred swings, as your fathers taught you.”

There was a collective groan from the rest of the class.

Seraphina lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated. “And Miriam joins us if I pass whatever silly test you have in mind.”

Melisiandre merely shrugged. “So selfless and noble of you. Hurry up, then, before I lose patience.”

Ignoring the prickle of unease at the back of her neck, Seraphina strode to the rack of practice weapons. Her eyes roamed over wooden swords, spears, and daggers—none of which seemed dramatic enough for what she planned. Finally, she settled on a very large, stout war club. It was a hefty thing, clearly designed for simple smashing, and usually only practiced with when both combatants were more protected. She had no formal ‘Skill’ with it—at least in the game’s terms—but truly, how different could swinging this club be from a large sword?

She hoisted the large club onto her shoulder and stepped into one of the chalk-drawn circles that marked the sparring area of the wooden floor. All eyes followed her, some with concern, others with amusement. Gravens sidled up to her, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

“Milady Seraphina,” he whispered, “is this altogether wise?”

Her temper had already sparked, and she refused to let it fizzle out. “I’ll be fine, Gravens,” she snapped through clenched teeth.

“Mistress…” Miriam began before shaking her head and shutting her mouth.

Melisiandre exhaled in mocking exasperation. “Well, now I can see the real reason why you are trying to join this class,” quipped the instructor teasingly. “Now, if you lovebirds are finished shall we begin?” 

The gathered boys, save for her Knights, chuckled lightly among themselves. The woman was infuriating, and Seraphina’s blood was truly up now. There would be no backing down, no surrender here. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Seraphina bit out, cheeks burning as she looked at each of the boys’ faces in turns, committing their features to memory.

The young girl’s knuckles gripped the handle of the training club, leaving a small indent. “Shouldn’t you be wearing some more protective?”

Her teacher laughed. “Don’t worry. You won’t be touching me today.”

Seraphina’s temper flared so hotly she could feel her heart thudding in her ears. The war club suddenly felt lighter in her hands. “We’ll see.”

“That’s an… interesting choice,” Melisiandre remarked, swishing her twin wooden blades through the air. The edges had been marked in red paint, presumably to show where blows would land in a real fight. “That war club you wield is heavy and slow. Soldiers often favor warhammers or maces for speed and control. But if you think you can handle it—”

“I do,” Seraphina replied icily. “This will do for the likes of you.”

The instructor’s gold eyes glinted, and she settled into a ready stance, one blade lifted, the other angled low. “Very well, girl. Come at me. Let’s see exactly what the Red Troll’s daughter can do.”