Book 3: Chapter 17 – Loyalty [Part 2]
Book 3: Chapter 17 - Loyalty [Part 2]
Miriam stared. “In their sleep? How would you go about doing that?”
“Lucid dreaming. The legacy of Al-Lazar,” Seraphina clarified, the glint in her eye returning. “We’ll increase their Dust allotment. A stronger blend, enough to induce a hyper-real dreamstate. There, they can review their lessons, repeat their drills. Time flows differently in the dream… we could see their training progress at a truly incredible rate.”
Indeed, this was one of the training methods Seraphina had considered using to gain a few attribute and skill points. However, it meant suffering an addiction to the Dust of Al-Lazar, which had many, many drawbacks—especially for a mage. Namely, the risk of falling deeper into one’s Path.
“But the expense…” Miriam protested, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“Do not interrupt me,” Seraphina snapped, her gaze flashing. “This is entirely feasible. The dreamscape from the Dust will serve as a crucible. They will become better than they ever could be with just normal training methods.”
“You would have them train even in sleep? Will you allow them for no rest at all?” Miriam asked quite aghast.
The girl played with her hair, imagining grand things. “It is a noble thing,” Seraphina said calmly. “To better yourself, to strive endlessly toward perfection. I think they should all thank me for presenting them with this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for self-improvement. Or do you dare disagree, Miriam?”
The maid shook her head quickly. “No, my Lady Seraphina. Never. Only… that level of Dust, taken continuously, leads to dependence. A most frightful addiction.”
“Exactly, Milly. Exactly. And we will be the only ones in the kingdom able to meet their needs,” Seraphina smiled, slow and pleased, as though her maid had just recited a correct answer to a riddle. “And what better anchor for loyalty? These are not common workers we are talking about. They will be embedded across Aranthia, in sensitive positions where betrayal would cost me dearly. Better they crave the Dust than betray me. You know what they say: hope for the best, prepare for the worst, etcetera.”
“Still,” Miriam said carefully, “you ask much of them. Attrition rates are already extremely high. And the ones you have—they are loyal, milady. Fanatics would be an apt description of them. You handpicked most of them. Even that crippled girl…”
The girl smiled like a fox. “She is doing well?”
“Yes, milady. And, I have heard, she even prays in your name. Thinks you are the Goddess made flesh.”
Seraphina rose to her feet, sunlight glinting off her hair. “Which is why she, and the others like her, must never falter. None of them must. A single moment of weakness, a single chink in their loyalty, is all it takes to unravel everything. But those bound by need—they do not waver. Not for coin, not for love, not even for power. A layered defense, Milly. That is how empires are built. That is how empires are kept.”
The young lady adjusted her dress before she addressed her maid. “If there is nothing else, I think I could do with some food. I do believe I am working quite an appetite, I will be having lunch in the city today. Find us a nice place.”
“At once, milady,” Miriam murmured, bowing low.
***
The restaurant, the Pale Moon, was one of Meridian City’s newer darlings: pale-plaster walls, brass-framed mirrors, and a long window looking over a slim canal where Serenelles slid past like dark stitches in blue silk. In the center of the floor was the grand mosaic from which the restaurant derived its name, depicting a night sky with a moon at its center. Young scions of minor noble Houses and well-heeled traders filled the room, murmuring over glass carafes of white wine and plates arranged with painterly fuss.
Her salad came in a shallow porcelain bowl: Panan leaves, like spinach, but a little nuttier, tossed with river-cress, and slivered moon-pear, crisp and sweet. There were ribbons of an orange root vegetable, sunroot—carrot’s analog in this world—pickled so they snapped bright on the tongue. Everything was glossed in a citrus-honey dressing with just enough salt to round out the taste of the leaves.
Still in a good mood, Seraphina gave her compliments to the chef.
Across from her, Sir Frest stabbed uncertainly at his plate.
“Just eat it up, Frest. It’s not poisoned, you know,” the young girl said with a smile.
Frest looked around uncomfortably. “This fare is just, well, very light, Lady Seraphina. No disrespect, of course.”
“I see what you and the other Knights eat, and you could do with some more greens in your diet. And it is just that a heavy lunch leaves me so sleepy in the afternoons, and I have much left to do this day. I need to speak to six or so other people this afternoon about potential promotions to certain important positions,” sighed de Sariens as if she bore the weight of the world upon her dainty shoulders.
“Also, pardon my impertinence, but is it exactly proper for a teacher to be dining with a student?” he added, looking around worriedly.
“I hope you are not implying that this is anything but proper, Sir Frest,” she replied archly.
“Perish the thought, milady,” he answered, dutifully shovelling down some greens.
Seraphina’s eyes narrowed, an irrational slash of jealousy crossing her. “And you need not worry about Miss Templeton. I do not think she is here,” she continued a tad crossly, eyes flashing.
“That was not…”
She clicked her fingers and one of the waiters rushed to her side.
“This man will have a pig’s head. I do believe it will suit him,” she said sweetly as she turned to her maid, who hovered behind her.
“Milly, settle things here. We will be leaving to see to those other six,” sniffed Seraphina primly as she stood up and made to leave. “You, Frest, will finish your lunch, or I will have you flogged.”
Miriam shot Frest a somewhat victorious look. “Of course, milady.”