Book 1: Chapter 44 - The Saint of Silver [Part 1]

It is said that Este Rizel, exiled from the Land of Streams, was the first to dance the Water Dance. She performed on the banks of the Aran, giving thanks to the gods who guided her safely to what would become the Kingdom of Aranthia. So moving was her dance that onlookers believed her a messenger of the divine. To this day, young girls approaching their twentieth-year dance upon the Aran’s banks in hopes of securing a peaceful year. It is for this reason that no performer is ever asked to pay for the privilege of performing along the river.

- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.

The door opened again, drawing everyone’s attention as a procession of white swept in. At its head was a girl about Seraphina’s age, moving with measured, graceful steps. She was slightly shorter than Seraphina, her silver, argentine-silk hair braided into a crown and cascading down to her chest. Her figure was svelte and lithe, her limbs long and elegant.

Her face was, of course, beautiful: a perfect oval with precise angles, and a nose placed as though by a mathematician’s hand. An air of serene confidence made it seem as though she wore humility like a fashionable cape—giving her a quiet, smug superiority. Her beauty, different though it was, could rival Seraphina’s own. In this world, or her last, an objective fact that the heir to the Sarien’s Duchy was loathe to admit.

Her rival looked to the gathered nobility like an angel had descended from heaven to deliver a message from upon high.

“Archbishop Rowan’s ward, Este Lize, the Living Saint!” proclaimed a deep male voice, ringing through the hall.

A hush fell over the room. Seraphina locked eyes with her nemesis, the Saint of Silver. Living Saint, my foot, she thought. One must be dead to be canonized, after all. She silently vowed to rectify that in due time.

Yet the timing was wrong. This arrival was too soon, completely unexpected, catching her off guard. She had foreseen a scene like this happening later. Clearly, her actions had tilted the world off its original course, making precise predictions of the future now unreliable. She could only rely on broad possibilities now. Generalizations.

Even so, Seraphina had prepared for this encounter—just not at this exact moment. At such a close distance, killing Este Lize would be child’s play. She could literally tear her head off. But here, in front of so many witnesses, it would violate the King’s Peace, a grave offense with consequences even she could not evade.

A thousand and one thoughts flashed through her mind as she searched for an optimal choice.

Normally, Seraphina might have seized this chance, yet something held her back—a piece of wisdom gained during her stay in this unfamiliar land. Killing Este Lize here and now would deny the Saint of Silver any chance to grow, but Este Lize was not the only threat standing in Seraphina’s way. The girl was forced to conclude that even she could not deal with the potential aftermath in a clean way.

Nor was she the only one capable of growing stronger.

Seraphina had one advantage, though, one more card that she could yet still play. Este Lize did not yet know that she was her enemy. Like a serpent, she would wait until the most opportune, engineered moment before striking a single overwhelming blow.

The blonde girl had once entertained notions of twisting the girl to her side, but seeing the Archbishop next to her meant that Este Lize had risen too quickly from obscurity that were her origins. Too soon by far for the Rowan to have seen Este Lize’s potential.

It raised another dark possibility that it was not only Seraphina’s actions that were shaping the world, but someone else, someone like her who also had some foreknowledge of the world of The Maiden of the Wisterias. A disturbing thought indeed, for up until now Seraphina had assumed that she had held all the aces.

The game was truly afoot.

Seraphina still needed to build up her base of power to destroy her from a position where she did not need to sacrifice anything of herself. A greedy choice that may yet prove to be her downfall, but a choice that was intrinsically her.

Seraphina gave the Archbishop Rowan a deeper curtsy than she had even toward King Elidion. Let the onlookers think of that what they wished. A small move to muddy the waters.

On her way to exit the room, the proud girl dipped her head to the girl who would one day be known as the Saint of Silver, doing her best to conceal her violent urges. The girl’s silver eyes met her own for a moment, Este Lize’s gaze lingering upon her for a moment longer than was proper as the silver-haired girl smiled at her.

An unwelcome sense of dread overcame Seraphina, an emotion that she was unused to dealing with so she simply pushed it down and ignored it. Still, a niggling doubt remained. Was Este Lize like her? she thought as she exited the court, the gathered notables tittering over something new.

Seraphina would have to see about having Este Lize watched, a difficult thing as she had no intelligence network of her own. Not to mention that she was protected, even more thoroughly now, by the Church.

Inside Seraphina fumed. Her pet snake sensing her disquiet stirred, popping out between her breasts to look at her mistress. She soothed it with a few calming words until it settled back down.