Book 1: Chapter 36 - Rise of the Songstress [Part 2]
----------------------------------------
Though word drifted through the cobblestone streets and candlelit taverns at a much more languid pace than through electronic means, it was no less contagious than a fever. Within a few hours, every merchant, stable boy, and minor noble in Lucalle’s Ford knew of the Duke’s daughter and the enchantment of her voice. Her recent performance in the town square had sparked a quiet inferno: the name ‘Seraphina’ now flickered on every tongue, like gossip-embers dancing on the evening air.
Mister Martelli, the proprietor of the ill-named Swan’s Song, stood near Seraphina, wringing his hands with eager anticipation. He wore the greedy smile of a man who tasted gold in the very thought of her presence beneath his roof. “Will you truly sing tonight?” he asked, leaning in as if trying to catch the last strains of some secret note. The young lady knew that he was already charging ten gold pieces a head for table reservations. Frest could be useful like that at times.
His beady eyes glittered with avarice. In response, Seraphina allowed him the privilege of attending and waiting on her hand and foot before the performance—fetching food and drink, adjusting the cushions, and lighting the candles. She reveled in the fact that she could make the man do anything to assure himself that he might reap a tidy fortune from those drawn to her radiant fame. Such tiny creatures who would do anything for mere money, she thought to herself.
She remembered a private social experiment she had conducted many years before, back in her old world. It involved giving a seemingly ordinary, picture-perfect family what they would consider a fortune, no strings attached, and entirely tax-free. She had spotted them one day through the tinted window of her chauffeured car—so naively loving, so irritatingly wholesome that she could scarcely stand the sight of them.
Within weeks, they had destroyed one another. Naturally, her company recovered most of the money. After all, the family had funneled it right back into her businesses—her casinos fed the father’s gambling habit, and her services catered to the mother’s every ill-advised whim. Their teenage daughter, lured by dangerous foreign substances, wound up working for a criminal cartel that paid tribute to her through a string of shell corporations. And for the finale, she repossessed their home, leaving them all gasping under mountains of debt.
It had been, she reflected, a rather fascinating glimpse into the true nature of humanity.
She smiled to herself, savoring the memory as she savored a glass of wine. After easing her voice sufficiently with the crimson vintage aged half a century, its bouquet rich with oak and dark berry, Seraphina stepped lightly onto a small stage. Here, she would soften her tone and shape her melody to suit a crowd of fewer, yet far wealthier, patrons. This was not new to her; she had courted the ears of the powerful and well-to-do before, her voice a well-honed blade she wielded as deftly as any Rogue would his steel.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
Below her on a separate platform, Haze Finleigh, her accompanist and the latest addition to her entourage—settled onto a thick silk cushion, tuning her Chordrelle with delicate care. In a world where a female bard still drew raised eyebrows and scandalized whispers, Haze’s presence would only fuel the mystique around Seraphina. It added a certain spice to the gossip and rumor that surrounded her.
It would help them grow viral.
The pair, poised beneath the gentle glow of lanterns, readied themselves.
There would be no testing of strings or voice, they would launch straight into it at her silent command. And so together they simply did.
Seraphina sang a sad, melancholy love song. The ending theme tune for the game on which this world was based: The Maiden of the Wisterias. The lyrics were not written by her, the melody was not composed by her, but the song was hers. Here, in this very moment, that fact was undeniable. She wished it to be so, so she made it so.
For nearly a full minute after the final note faded, the dining hall of the Swan’s Song remained perfectly still. Guests hovered at the very edges of their seats, eyes alight with a silent, unvarnished plea for the music to begin anew. But Seraphina had already given what she meant to give, her mind drifting toward the next course of her meal.
As she rose, the applause struck like thunder, shaking the rafters above. She wended her way through the tables, politely inclining her head every now and again as she returned to her seat of privilege. Lesser musicians stepped onto the stage, daunted by having to measure up to her divine performance. Hers would be a very hard act to follow.
“That was so beautiful, Lady Seraphina!” Eloise gushed, her voice full of praise as she put a heavy book down. Yet to Seraphina’s practiced ear, there was the faintest whisper of jealousy beneath the compliment.
The maid Miriam quickly echoed, “Milady, it was as if the Goddess herself had come down to sing! Everyone thought so—I’m certain of it!”
She sighed softly, watching as Martelli lifted a gleaming silver cloche to reveal a succulent roast garnished with delicate herbs and fragrant spices. The aroma drifted warmly through the air, making her anticipation grow.
Miriam placed Seraphina’s two long metal chopsticks beside the dish.
“My thanks for all your kind words,” Seraphina replied, favoring Eloise with a sweet smile. Then, in a tone as gentle as it was firm, she added, “Next time, however, please refrain from bringing books to the dining table. It would be greatly appreciated.”
It was always a good habit to keep people in their place.
Even now, every eye in the establishment remained fixed on Seraphina, uncaring of the musicians on the stage, their gazes captivated as she deftly lifted a small morsel of food to her mouth with her chopsticks. Offering the gawkers her signature radiant smile, she had no doubt that many would soon follow her example—after all, she predicted, eating with chopsticks would soon become all the rage in Aranthian society.