Book 1: Chapter 34 - The Master Bard [Part 2]

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“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.

She looked at Haze with a certain sense of dissatisfaction, remembering why she had to choose this method in the first place.

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 banal nonsense about spreading smiles to strangers. Be honest. Is it the recognition you crave? The fame? The immortality?”

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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 everyday 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.