Book 1: Chapter 37 - Cornelia [Part 1]
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“The man who kills the animals today is the man who kills people who get in his way tomorrow.”
- Dian Fossey
Seraphina continued her journey toward the capital, stopping at each major urban center along the way. News of her progress traveled faster than her entourage, ensuring that welcoming parties were already assembled well in advance of her arrival. In each town, mayors hosted lavish receptions, and the local nobility showered her with fine gifts, all for the honor of hearing her sing. The young heir to the Sariens Duchy was effectively cultivating a fan base and group of supporters that bordered on the devout, with some openly declaring that the Goddess herself guided Seraphina’s voice. Though she remained unaware, there was truth to this: the divine influence truly worked through her songs.
Now, halfway along the King’s Highway to Aran, Seraphina and her company approached the town of Jablines. Instead of staying at a fashionable inn, she chose to accept the hospitality of Count Jacques de Viserac. This region, unlike her father’s which was situated along the border, was far less fixated on martial pursuits. Rather than mandatory archery drills or sword-training sessions, local citizens paid a modest surtax to support the Count’s household, allowing them to enjoy a peaceful life at a more leisurely pace.
The Count’s residence was not a grim fortress keep looming over the countryside, but rather an elegant, walled mansion of white stone and graceful lines. Tall windows captured the afternoon sun, and delicate carvings of floral motifs adorned the lintels and doorways. Beyond the mansion’s courtyard lay the Count’s pride and joy: a sprawling rose garden. Neatly tended paths curved through rows of yellow blossoms that glowed like coins in the gentle light. Each rosebush was meticulously pruned to encourage perfect blooms, and small marble benches invited guests to linger and inhale their soft perfume. A tinkling fountain at the center of the garden further enhanced the atmosphere, its waters reflecting the petals’ golden hue. Seraphina found this tranquil haven delightful, and the harmonious beauty of the place resonated with her own sense of aesthetics.
“I must say, Lady Seraphina, that was a truly stellar performance,” complimented the Count, taking a moment to sit at stone bench. “I fancy myself a connoisseur of the arts, but I daresay I have heard a song so pure. I do believe the rumors are true that the Goddess herself has touched your voice.”
Seraphina was both pleased and vaguely annoyed by the compliment. Inwardly, she bristled at the talk that the Goddess was in some way responsible for her song voice. No, it was the fruit of hours of merciless practice with her hateful instructor, a failed diva who had shriveled on the vine, that could produce such a crafted result.
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She fixed her face into a semblance of a smile. “Why my Lord Count, you are far too kind. I simply have a little talent with song and music that I wish to share with the people,” she replied, with a small nod of her head in false humility.
Seraphina continued to smile, her composure carefully balanced between courtesy and subtle irritation. The Count, leaning back slightly on the stone bench and rolling his shoulders, allowed himself a moment to admire the blooms of his rose garden before continuing.
“You are far too humble. I must say, Lady Seraphina, this estate is rather quiet compared to the lands you hail from,” he began, gesturing to a neatly trimmed hedge. “Your father’s duchy sits at the border, does it not? I have heard it can be a more turbulent area, though I’m sure the realities are less grim than the tales suggest.”
Seraphina’s gaze drifted momentarily to the rows of yellow roses, glowing softly in the fading light. “Peaceful, my Lord Count. Well relatively so,” she replied, affecting a delicate, measured, and cool tone. The man was trying to pry for information. Very well she would allow it in exchange for a few tidbits in return.
“My father’s holdings are peaceful, but we must remain more vigilant. We guard the frontier with a steady hand. And so far from the capital life can be a little rustic, but it is not without its simple joys. Also, there has been a decline in the quality of living with a certain type of people coming into our domain. My father is busy dealing with them in a suitable manner unique to him,” she continued casually.
The Count nodded thoughtfully, smoothing the front of his elegant doublet. “I suppose vigilance is key,” he mused. “Though I have heard rumors, unsavory rumors that something is afoot in the realm. Riff raff from less than civilized places coming into the kingdom—indeed, just a few weeks back, a large number of men passed through my lands. Someone really has to do something about it. We need fewer foreigners coming in if we are to make Aranthia great again.”
He rubbed at his well-maintained beard. “Traveling south, I believe. Not soldiers of any banner I recognized, yet some of them were armed nonetheless. Mercenaries perhaps, or—”
Before he could complete the thought, his butler appeared at the garden’s edge, black tailcoat catching the last of the sinking sun’s light. A single tap of his well-polished cane on the gravel announced his presence. “My Lord Count, Lady Seraphina,” the man said in measured, respectful tones, “dinner is served. The roast has just reached perfection, and the first course awaits your pleasure.”
“Ah, splendid timing,” Count de Viserac said with a gracious smile. Rising to his feet, he offered Seraphina his arm. “Shall we?” he invited, his earlier line of inquiry momentarily abandoned.
Seraphina accepted the man’s arm, inwardly grimacing at having to accept his touch but relieved to let the matter rest for now. There would be time enough to probe again later.