TO&FQ: Book 1 - Chapter 25 (RAW)

Chapter 25 - Correction

A good education can change anyone. A good teacher can change everything.

- Unknown.

The evening meal was a veritable feast as the castle prepared for some impromptu celebrations. Local craftsmen had been invited to process the animals, rendering meat from bones and preparing hides. A few townspeople had volunteered to help in exchange for a good meal of fresh forest meat. Indeed, the castle had taken on a most festive air.

Seraphina, seeing an opportunity, spent that time ingratiating herself with the local dignitaries and common folk. Her charm was almost magical, making everyone she spoke to feel that they were the center of the universe. But while people found her company delightful, the same could not be said for her. Her social batteries were swiftly draining as the evening wore on.

"Why did they have to invite half the town to what should have been a simple dinner?" muttered Seraphina to herself as she nibbled on another piece of meat. 

Another problem with adolescence was her almost ridiculous appetite. She could eat anything, and it seemed to simply disappear. Was her stomach some sort of bottomless pit? Was this the true gift of the Old Ones?

The bard Haze Finleigh had been invited to join the celebrations, and he played his music, strumming his strings and lending an air of true wonder to the proceedings. Thankfully, no one had asked her yet to sing, which would have been really too much for her. Yet, at the same time, she was annoyed that no one had recognized her.

Next to her, Ibn fidgeted silently in his seat. Despite Seraphina's and Catherina’s efforts, the boy had yet to utter a word since she had taken him in. The young girl had initially thought that this was some form of childish rebellion, but she was forced to admit that it might be rooted in something deeper.

The young noblewoman spent some of her time instructing him in proper manners, including the correct use of cutlery. It had been difficult, but recently he no longer used the utensils to hack apart his food or as impromptu toys. However, his elbows were currently on the table, and a light smack on the head corrected that. He looked as if he was about to cry, but a stern look from the girl dissuaded him.

Ibn himself had mixed feelings toward the beautiful blonde girl. A swirl of emotions—half-forced adulation, honest respect for her Strength, deep-seated resentment, and his love for his departed mother—created a conflict within him. Strangely, this resulted in the boy almost worshipping her.

Eloise and Mili delighted in the music, clapping along to the raucous, bawdy tunes. The blonde girl watched them, shaking her head at how much they seemed to enjoy it—far too much, in her opinion.

The true stars of the evening, however, were the Duchess and the Duke. They danced together under the watchful eyes of the gathered crowd, her father surprisingly light on his feet. What must it be like to live with a woman who can see the future? she wondered. The crowd erupted in applause as the couple finished their joyful performance. In response to this, her father ordered the cellars opened and drinks distributed to the people, a gesture that was met with roars of approval and unrestrained cheer.

Though the evening seemed perfect, Seraphina could not ignore the pang of annoyance simmering beneath her composure. Her parents had stolen much of her thunder. This was supposed to be her day.

*****

Preparing for an impromptu feast was one thing, but cleaning up afterward was quite another. Here and there, drunken revelers lay sprawled across the castle grounds. Seraphina, with the help of the grumbling men-at-arms who had not been allowed to join the festivities, took it upon herself to clear them out. Leaving them there would set a bad precedent—and offend her sense of order and aesthetics.

One such reveler was the boy Ibn, fast asleep with a tankard of beer cradled in his arms. It seemed some irresponsible lout had introduced him to the joys of the local vintages. A frown marred Seraphina’s otherwise flawless features. She worried over how to correct this budding flaw—there was already so much about him that needed fixing.

She ordered two guards to carry the boy back to the servants' quarters—gently, of course. With that chore crossed off her list, Seraphina allowed herself a moment to relax. Exhausted from the day’s trials, she decided to retire to her rooms. If she could find a servant, she would ask for a bath to be drawn. Washing her hair would have to wait until tomorrow—thankfully, short hair made maintenance a much simpler affair.

*****

Now, at last, she had time to focus on her next challenge: fixing the boy. Why on earth was Ibn mute? In the game, he had a lot of dialogue—voiced dialogue, no less. It defied everything she thought she knew. Had Este Lize, the heroine of the story, faced this kind of problem? If Seraphina did not know for certain that Ibn would grow into someone important, she might have been tempted to foist him back onto Este Lize. A quick delivery to the fortress-monastery where her rival currently resided, accompanied by a sharp note, would solve just about everything.

But of course, that was not an option. It would be like handing her opponent a loaded gun. No, Seraphina de Sariens would persevere. The honored role of educator, it seemed, was yet another role she would have to take on. Truly, the world never appreciated her sacrifices.

She summoned Ibn to the pantry near one of the dark, cluttered basements where odds and ends were stored. It was just time for brunch, and Seraphina had arranged a small table for herself and Eloise to enjoy a light meal. Like Seraphina, Eloise was seemingly always hungry. Well, they were growing girls—there was no helping it.

Ibn’s eyes widened at the spread of steaming pancakes, rolls, and freshly made jams and creams. His lips parted in overt hunger. Seraphina smiled and stood, taking him by the hand.

“Would you like some, Ibn?” she asked gently, her tone almost maternal.

Eloise, seated nearby, smirked knowingly. She had a fair idea of what Seraphina had planned for the boy. Corrective measures, if she remembered correctly. Swiftly, she schooled her expression into a warm smile that mirrored Seraphina’s own.

The two girls shared a private laugh, as if enjoying a joke only they understood. Meanwhile, Ibn stared longingly at the feast, his hands clenched at his sides in an impressive show of restraint.

*****

"Well, Ibn, all you have to do is say that you want some—just one word," Seraphina taunted, a delicate hand covering her mouth as she stifled a giggle. Her eyes glittered with a mix of mischief and intent.

She knew full well that nothing physical was preventing the boy from speaking; in the game, he had plenty of dialogue—perhaps half a book's worth of romantic, unrequited drivel about his love for the Saint of Silver, Este Lize. Seraphina had concluded that the boy was simply being stubborn, and that simply wouldn't do. Even if he hated her for a day, he would thank her later. After all, she had his best interests at heart.

Besides, judging by the way he looked at her, Seraphina surmised that the feelings Ibn was supposed to develop for Este Lize had somehow been transferred to her. Was it like imprinting in birds? Had the lad fixated on her for some reason? If so, it was laughably pathetic—but endearing in its own way.

"Oh yes, Ibn, just say, 'I would like some, please,' and you can have as much as you like," added Eloise playfully, her gentle words masking a sharper edge.

The boy could only nod desperately, his pride cast to the wind. He really, really wanted those pancakes. For a moment, he imagined their sweetness; the aroma of warm syrup and freshly baked bread was already wafting toward him, clouding his judgment.

His stomach rumbled loudly, echoing in the quiet room—a plaintive plea that made the girls' smiles widen.

"It seems your little tummy is much louder than your words," Seraphina observed, her pleasant smile unwavering.

Thinking this was an invitation, Ibn stepped forward, reaching out with trembling fingers toward the tempting feast laid before him. This, of course, was a grave mistake; he had sorely misjudged the golden heir of the Sariens.

Like a viper striking, Seraphina's hand darted out, her fingers gripping his wrist with surprising strength. His eyes widened in shock, a mix of fear and betrayal flashing across his face as he instinctively tried to pull away. Realization dawned—he had been baited and trapped.

"Please stop struggling and come with me," she insisted, her voice soothing yet commanding. The juxtaposition made him hesitate, his resistance faltering.

Without a shred of gentleness, Seraphina led him toward the shadowed doorway of the basement. With a swift motion, she pushed him into the darkness. It was only a small drop; he'd probably be alright, she assured herself. Any permanent damage, she could heal later, after all.

Ibn scrambled to his feet in the pitch black, panic rising as he rushed toward the door just as it began to close with a slow, ominous creak. The unoiled hinges groaned, a sound that seemed to echo his despair. He banged on the heavy wooden barrier futilely, his fists thudding dully even as he heard the decisive click of a lock sliding into place.

"You won't be getting out of there unless you say a word—a real word in any language!" Seraphina's voice drifted down to him, muffled yet unmistakably smug.

A strangled sound escaped his throat—a mewl of fear and desperation.

It was an immediate improvement, but not quite what Seraphina was looking for.

"As I said, little Ibn, you'll be staying there until you learn—or relearn—how to speak. Remember, any word will do! Just shout it out!"

The boy continued to make animal-like noises, his panic intensifying in the suffocating darkness.

Now it would be a test of patience—and mercy. The thing was, Seraphina possessed little of either.

"Oh, Ibn, I heard the scullery lads say that the rats down there can grow as big as small dogs—and they're very hungry," she called out, her voice dripping with feigned concern. "I wouldn't want to stay down there too long. You never know—they might start feeling a bit peckish."

Her cruel, callous laugh echoed as she turned away, leaving him enveloped in darkness and fear.

*****

Was it a minute… or an hour? Time blurred into an endless stretch as Ibn pounded on the heavy wooden door, his small fists growing sore with each strike. The pain eventually forced him to stop, and he leaned against the unyielding barrier, panting, his breaths ragged and shallow.

Just a few inches away, on the other side of the door, lay freedom. He could hear the muffled voices of the girls outside, their conversation punctuated by occasional laughter. Each word was a reminder of how close—and yet utterly unreachable—that freedom was.

Ibn's heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder than the last. The oppressive darkness pressed in on him from all sides. In his imagination, he swore he could hear the chittering of the promised rats. He sank to the cold, damp floor, his hands trembling as they brushed against rough stone.

"Please," he whispered hoarsely, the word barely audible even to himself. It was the first time sound had formed into a word on his lips in as long as he could remember. He thought he felt something furry crawling next to his foot. Fear clawed at his throat, threatening to choke him.

Above, Seraphina paused, her ears catching the faintest hint of a plea. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, quickly replaced by a satisfied smirk. "Did you hear that, Eloise? I think our little bird is trying to sing."

Eloise leaned against the door, her expression a mix of curiosity and mild concern. "Perhaps we've pushed him enough, Lady Seraphina. He is just a child."

Seraphina shot her a sharp glance. "He needs to learn, Eloise. Coddling him won't do any good. Besides, a little incentive never hurt anyone."

Back in the darkness, Ibn squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside him. The thought of rats gnawing at his feet sent a shiver down his spine. Gathering every ounce of courage, he forced himself to speak again.

"Please," he repeated, louder this time, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space.

Seraphina's eyes widened ever so slightly. "There it is again," she remarked, a hint of triumph in her tone. "He's getting there."

"Maybe we should open the door," Eloise suggested softly, a pang of guilt tugging at her.

"Not just yet," Seraphina replied firmly. "He needs to do better."

Ibn took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists. Images of his past flashed through his mind—the warmth of his mother's embrace, the laughter of friends long gone. "Please... let me out," he called out, his voice cracking.

Seraphina's smile deepened. "Now that's more like it," she said. She moved closer to the door. "What was that, Ibn? I couldn't quite hear you."

"Let me out!" he repeated, desperation seeping into every syllable.

Eloise placed a hand on Seraphina's arm. "He's done what you wanted, Lady Seraphina. That’s enough now."

Seraphina considered for a moment, tapping her finger against her chin. "Very well." She stood up with a sigh. Getting the rusty iron key, she unlocked the door, pulling it open to reveal the boy standing there, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" she said, her tone deceptively gentle. “Good, I see that you did not cry.”

Ibn stared at her, a mix of relief and wariness etched on his face.

"Now, come along," Seraphina continued, extending her hand. "We wouldn't want your pancakes to get cold."

He hesitated before taking her hand, his small fingers curling around hers tentatively. The boy was drawn to her as a moth to a flame.

As they walked back to the table, Eloise trailed behind, her gaze fixed on Ibn. "You're a brave one," she murmured softly.

Seraphina glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, he'll be braver still by the time I am done with him. Much braver," she promised.

They reached the table, and Seraphina gestured grandly. "Go ahead, Ibn. You've earned it."

He sat down slowly, eyeing the food with a mixture of hunger and uncertainty. Picking up a fork, he took a small bite. The sweetness exploded on his tongue, a stark contrast to the bitter experience he had just endured.

"Is it good?" Seraphina asked, her chin resting lightly on her hands as she watched him intently, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

He nodded, swallowing before speaking. "Yes... thank you."

She smiled, a genuine one this time. "You are very welcome."

Eloise daintily settled into her seat, observing the two of them. Perhaps there was more to Seraphina's tough methods than met the eye.