Book 1: Chapter 35 - Her Progress [Part 2]
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As they neared the town, its famed bridge came into view—a masterwork of stone and ingenuity designed by the legendary architect Luc de Lucalle. The bridge arched gracefully over the wide river Loierre, a lifeline for the trade and travelers that passed through this vital crossing. A hub of trade, the town itself was alive with activity: carts laden with goods, merchants calling their wares, and townsfolk bustling about their lives.
Seraphina had sent word ahead, instructing Mayor Franzo of Lucalle’s Ford to prepare the main square for her arrival. It was to be cleared and ready for her performance, and the citizenry were to be informed. If he had failed to heed her demands, she thought with a flicker of menace, his tenure as mayor would end swiftly—and perhaps permanently. She would perhaps even see to it personally.
As they reached the gates of Lucalle’s Ford, a long line of wagons and travelers stretched out before them. The queue was a reminder of the town’s prosperity, but Seraphina had no intention of waiting. With her entourage flanking her carriage, they bypassed the common rabble entirely. Waiting, after all, was for peasants.
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Mayor Franzo had, of course, extended an invitation for Seraphina to stay at his own townhouse, a gesture of politeness and respect. Yet she declined, not wanting to be an imposition, and instead chose the Swan’s Song. Ill-omened though the name might seem, she hoped its original meaning had not crossed over to this world. Besides, she had always admired swans for their easy grace, and that alone amused her enough to decide on such accommodations.
Also, the Swan’s Song was no common inn—its reputation reached far beyond the city’s borders. It catered exclusively to the distinguished and wealthy, its marble floors and polished balustrades gleaming like a polished jewel. Its proprietor, a certain Mr. Martelli, practically fell over himself when Seraphina arrived. He offered her and her immediate retinue the finest suites, free of charge, a lavish courtesy meant to secure her favor. The only problem was that her father’s soldiers, the men serving as her escort, would have to lodge elsewhere. Though they could of course find lesser lodging, it could hardly compare to the splendor of these suites, and the limited courtesy rankled her sensibilities.
At first, she coolly refused Martelli’s offer, suggesting instead that he might petition the Duke, her father, for a reduction in the year’s commerce and trade tax. It was a subtle message, letting him know she was well aware of his ‘creative’ bookkeeping. Martelli, shaken but perceptive, promptly amended his proposal. Soon enough, the entire party, including her armed escort, would enjoy the Swan’s Song’s hospitality. For free, of course.
Pleased, Seraphina sweetened the arrangement by offering to sing for her supper—an act that, if nothing else, would provide a little spectacle. Martelli’s skeptical half-smile betrayed his doubt in her talent. She allowed herself a brief flash of annoyance before realizing that he simply did not know who he was dealing with. He would learn soon enough.
Overall, it was yet another instance where her deep understanding of the game proved to be an invaluable asset.
Once settled, Seraphina ventured to the main square with a smaller escort led by the stalwart Sergeant Frest. Her usual retinue accompanied her, including her new Bard, though absent were Eloise and the two brothers.
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She had Eloise remain behind because she was engrossed in her studies of the Earth, while the brothers stayed as her capable guards at the Swan’s Song. Meanwhile, the diminutive Ibn trailed after her, a disgruntled shadow with a demeanor that was equal parts surly and curious.
“Why are you doing this…?” he dared to ask, voice somewhat rough and resentful. Was there a hint of eagerness there too? Seraphina wondered.
The young noble’s eyes slid toward him, cold as fresh polished steel. He visibly shrank beneath that aristocratic glare. “...Lady Seraphina,” he added hastily.
“In a way, for the same reason I took in an ungrateful little urchin like you,” she said, her tone mocking yet honeyed, watching him flinch at the word ‘little.’ He was so easy to needle. “My charitable heart,” she continued. “I mean to bring a spark of joy into their otherwise gray lives.” She smiled sweetly, a challenge in her eyes, as if daring him to defy her. “This might very well be one of the happiest days they’ll ever know.”
“I see, Lady Seraphina,” Ibn muttered, gaze downcast with a sigh.
Once they entered the main square, she found only a handful of onlookers—surly figures in rough work clothes, likely dockhands and field laborers readying for the end of their day. Not the crowd she had envisioned. Even more vexing was a stubborn merchant who refused to leave despite the town guards’ threatening stance. The man was still fussing over his stall, which displayed small cages rattling with trapped creatures—a disconcerting menagerie destined either for some noble’s exotic table or pampered child’s pet. Their frantic chirps and squawks set Seraphina’s teeth on edge.
She advanced, her presence immediately silencing the grumbling guards and causing the merchant to doff his cap, clinging to it as though it were a shield. “What seems to be the matter, gentlemen?” she asked icily, her voice cutting through the tension. Each word was a shard of frozen crystal, cold and precise. The guards fell silent. Seeing her noble bearing, the merchant swallowed hard.
“M-My lady,” he began nervously. “Me name’s Gage Barrelmaker, if it please you.” He glanced at her formidable armed escort, then at her eyes, which were even more formidable.
She inclined her golden head with regal delicacy, wordlessly commanding him to continue. As the Duke’s daughter, it was her right to dispense justice as she saw fit—no one present would dare challenge her authority.
Gage swallowed again, words tumbling out. “It’s like this, milady. I paid near double for the right to set up here for the whole day, on account of not being from these parts. Now I must heading to Belleville tomorrow. Not sellin’ my stock today has cost me dearly. I beg your pardon, but I be needing to sell my goods, and this is the only place I have permission to be selling.”
Seraphina sighed inwardly. She would have to dispense more noblesse oblige. More problems of the mundane world laid at her feet. “What is the most expensive item you have?” she asked without preamble, her patience waning.
The merchant blinked, utterly surprised. “P-Pardon, milady?”
She arched one eyebrow, tapping her foot lightly against the cobblestones. “Must I repeat myself? What is your most expensive item?”
Understanding dawned, and he fumbled to answer. “Ah, yes, milady… I have this mysterious egg from the mangrove swamps far in the southern jungles. A rare sort of…”
“I’ll take it,” she announced, cutting him short.
“But milady, it’s quite rare and precious…”
She waved a hand languidly, as though brushing aside a trifling insect. “Speak to my maid Milly about the price,” she said, motioning to one of her attendants. “Now then, kindly remove all these cages and creatures from the square at once.”
The order was absolute. The merchant, Gage Barrelmaker, nodded fervently, bowing repeatedly as he hurried to arrange his things. Soon, the animals and their discordant cries would be swept away, leaving the square free for whatever grand performance Seraphina intended.
Let the world see her charity, her magnanimity, and her glorious splendor. Let them witness the day she bestowed upon them a memory that would glitter, if only briefly, in their otherwise dim and meaningless lives.