Book 3: Chapter 20 – Print [Part 1]
Book 3: Chapter 20 - Print [Part 1]
The press is our chief ideological weapon.
- Nikita Khruschev.
The trick with bad news was to get ahead of it. Frame the situation, and you controlled it. It was finally time to set Rashana to writing something that actually mattered. Or, in fact, to set Rashana to write something at all.
The distribution routes were already secured, with vendors in every major township across the realm. Each issue would be tabloid-size—though she would never call it a tabloid—designed for ease of reading. She wanted immediate, mass-market appeal across the entire population. And at only a single copper coin, the newspaper would be affordable to every walk of life and social stratum.
To think that, in the modern age, a precious resource like current news was being given away for free. Ha! she thought to herself.
***
Seraphina ventured forth with a singular purpose, determination adding steel to her stride as she ignored the carefully cultivated beauty of the gardens around her.
If Velens wanted it that way, he would have it that way.
She climbed the steps to the second-year dormitory. The corridor smelled of rosewater and varnish; somewhere, someone murdered the scales of a piano, or this world’s equivalent, with dutiful zeal. She rapped once on a door dressed with a tasteful tassel instead of a nameplate—the Al-Lazarian way.
“Enter,” came Rashana’s unhurried voice.
The room was curated calm—cushions instead of chairs, a low table set by the window, ledgers stacked with a merchant’s neatness, summer flowers drying from a cord. Sunlight glanced off the bangles at Rashana’s wrists as she set a book aside and looked up with that polite, appraising smile.
“My dear Seraphina,” the dusky girl greeted, “What a lovely surprise. How are you? You will forgive the current state of my room, I simply was not expecting you. Oh, do tell me—are you practicing your dance? I am quite looking forward to it.”
Seraphina’s answering smile was a small, wicked curl. “Apologies, Rashana, darling, but I come with news. As for the dance, diligently. With luck, my performance will not dishonor your mother’s culture.”
“How wonderfully confident of you.” Rashana’s amusement chimed as softly as her bracelets. “Now, that look of yours. News, you say? What storm do you bring me today?”
“The paper. It is finally time to put words into print,” Seraphina said, sliding a leather folio onto the floor table and untying the cords. “You will write. I will speak. And you will have the first exclusive of your very promising career.”
Rashana’s brows rose. She reached for a pen without being asked. “How thrillingly improper. Very well. Give me your lede.”
“Headline,” Seraphina said, taking a seat on a thick cushion. Rashana looked confused, but, not wanting to disrupt the flow of her words, the young girl decided to explain it to her later. “‘Declaration in the Gardens’ with the subheader, ‘Lady Seraphina de Sariens Announces Intent to Dissolve Betrothal with His Highness Crown Prince Velens de Barbierri.’”
The nib kissed paper; Rashana’s eyes brightened. “Intent,” she repeated, savoring the word. “Clean. Dignified. Tell me everything. This is delicious. But is it true?”
“It is,” the blond girl answered as she folded her hands, the very picture of refined composure. “In the Academy gardens, you know, near the little shrine. I had… a chance encounter. The Crown Prince and the Living Saint were together.”
Rashana didn’t look up, though her smile sharpened. “Together?”
“Unchaperoned as well. A very compromising situation. The Prince’s hands were wandering, if you get my meaning,” Seraphina added sweetly. “I offered my pleasant greetings and simply gave him some suggestions on the matter. In turn, he decided to insult and censure my house!”
The blonde girl got up and whispered some of the salacious details into the other girl’s ear.
“They did not!” exclaimed Rashana as her pen quickened. “Now then, direct quotes, if you please.”
Seraphina’s tone cooled, precise as cut glass. “You may attribute this to me: ‘Hear me, Velens de Barbierri. Whether or not our engagement is yet stamped upon parchment, you and I both know the promise that was made. If you persist in humiliating me, and by extension House de Sariens, then I will do what you refuse to do. I hereby dissolve our engagement.’”
She let the silence after it sit a heartbeat, as it had in the garden. “He said: ‘You do not mean that.’ I answered: ‘I do. As my mother and father before me, I will marry for love, and not just for the realm.’”
The young girl knew well enough to be liberal with the truth. It was the emotions behind the words that counted, not the little words themselves.
“Oh, that sings,” Rashana breathed, eyes sparkling as the lines took shape beneath her hand. “Setting aside the melodrama of young love, of course.”
“Of course,” Seraphina murmured. “Color, if you must to be a little bit racier. Add something, perhaps about the Crown Prince caught cheating. I’ll leave the wording to you. Attention-grabbing. You will not print the scullery remark.”
Rashana’s shoulders shook once—silvery laughter smothered before it could be born. “Tragic, because it was wickedly funny, but not becoming of a daughter of a Great House.” She drafted a margin note and then crossed it out, obedient. “What of witnesses?”
“None officially,” Seraphina said. “You may write ‘several students nearby,’ which is, of course, perfectly true.”
“As you wish.” Rashana sketched a neat box: Sources: Lady de Sariens (on the record). Royal Palace (comment requested). “And the ring?”
“We never exchanged rings,” Seraphina answered softly.
In that rare moment of vulnerability, Rashana felt sympathy for her haughty friend. She reached over and touched Seraphina’s hand. It was enough for the girl to rally.
The blonde girl sighed. “We will do things properly. Include: ‘Formal communications to follow between Houses de Barbierri and de Sariens.’ It sounds civilized.”
“Lovely.” Rashana’s nib danced. “Motivation?”
“Dignity, of course. My personal dignity and that of my House. Mention that we have been stolid supporters of the Crown, etcetera, etcetera,” Seraphina continued, smooth as cream. “Mention something about that hussy threatening the stability of the realm. No one knows of her origins, right? Perhaps she is a spy for a foreign nation. What is known is that she is a puppet of the Church.”
“Are you sure you wish to antagonize such an… organization?” the olive-skinned remarked lightly.
Seraphina looked away for a moment. “Perhaps not antagonize, but at least throw some doubt. Mention something about, despite the label of being a ‘Living Saint’, our dear Este Lize can not even cast a simple Heal spell. Suspicious, don’t you think? Also, there is the matter of timing. Those creatures she acquired for the Academy, and then shortly, there was the Dragon attack? The timing…”