The Villainess is the Villainess [Otome Isekai LitRPG]

Book 3: Chapter 23 - Raining On My Parade [Part 1]

- Naveen Jain.

Much as the business of the upcoming duel between Velens and Hughes weighed on her mind, Seraphina still kept a rather full schedule of “extracurricular” obligations. Which was why, on the very evening Velens had thrown down the gauntlet, she sat in one of the newly renovated offices of Bottleworth’s Confectioneries, interviewing candidates for her program of placing servant staff with noble households across the realm.

The candidates were all excellent. A rather young, scarred—but very promising—girl named Estala stood out the most. Seraphina frowned; the girl looked vaguely familiar, and the way Estala gazed at her with raw devotion was unsettling even to someone who had basked in the adoration of millions.

No, the problem was with the last candidate—a certain Thomas Buttersworth. Though he had not realized it, for the past ten minutes, Seraphina had been speaking to him with the Beast Lore Amulet around her neck. She had moved her mouth and feigned speech while projecting her thoughts through. To her mild surprise, Thomas had answered in kind.

Do you know what a Palisa Slug is? Seraphina’s thought brushed his mind.

The young man adjusted the ribbon at his collar, fretful. “With all due respect, I don’t know of what you speak, Lady de Sariens.”

“I will give you another chance,” the young noblewoman said aloud, eyes narrowing. “Do you know what a Palisa Slug is?”

Seraphina nodded to her maid. “Miriam.”

Miriam crossed to a cupboard and opened it to reveal a neatly kept rack: an arbalest, a leather case of quarrels, a small pot of tallow, and a folding spanning lever. She took the weapon down with practiced ease. The wood was dark, its steel prod was thick, and brass inlay winked along the groove.

Thomas watched, color draining.

Without hurry, Miriam set the arbalest’s stirrup to the floor and slipped her boot through it, bracing the weapon’s nose against the boards. She unfolded the goat’s-foot lever with a soft click, hooked its twin claws to the bowstring, and seated the hinge against the tiller. Then she drew. The lever worked in two smooth arcs—one, two—ratchet teeth knocking faintly: tack… tack… tack. With the second pull, the string came back and settled into the polished nut with a crisp, satisfying clack that sounded, to Thomas, very much like a judgment.

She thumbed the safety bar into place, checked the catch, then unhooked the lever and stowed it beside the quarrel case. From the case she chose a short, heavy bolt, its fletchings dark. The quarrel slid into the groove; she tapped it once so the head kissed the inlaid mark at the rail’s end. Her hands never trembled.

“Lady de Sariens…” Thomas began, eyes flicking between Seraphina and the loaded weapon.

“Milly,” Seraphina said without looking away from him, “shoot Master Buttersworth if he lies to me again. I will not suffer it.”

The young noblewoman turned back to Buttersworth. “Are you a Palisa Slug?” she drawled, letting each word fall like heavy coins. Her green eyes picked up the lamplight and seemed to kindle with it. “Be very careful with your next words.”

“We prefer to be called—” he began, voice tightening.

“Lamassu. Protectors.” Seraphina’s smile was small and cold. “I know.”

Buttersworth shifted, the chair creaking beneath him. A tremor worked its way through his hands; his gaze flicked to the arbalest in Miriam’s hands and then back again. “How did you know?”

The blonde only shrugged indifferently.

“If the others find out,” he pressed, danger ghosting through his tone, “they will come after you. It is not yet our time to be revealed.”

“You have already come after me. Twice now,” Seraphina laughed softly, but the mirth never touched her eyes. “Such boldness, once the mask slips.” She tipped her chin toward the crossbow. “Those bolts are laced with Dragonroot. Enough to kill even one like you with but a kiss. Enough to leave you thrashing like any other man. I have no intention of ‘revealing’ you. In truth, I would prefer you remain hidden. Your purposes suit mine.” Her voice thinned to a razor. “Do try to grasp that it is your survival on the block… by your, I mean the entirety of your people, not mine. Should I wish it, the people of Aranthia could scour you out of your dens and burrows in a week.”

She drew open a drawer, the quiet skritch of wood on wood loud in the hush, and took out a slender file. As she spoke, she set to her nails with unhurried strokes. “Miriam is one of you,” she added without looking up. “A gesture of good faith, I think, keeping one of your number by my side, don't you agree?”

“Milady has the Sight, brother,” Miriam recited her rehearsed lines, never lowering the arbalest. The quarrel’s head, kissed with a sheen of deadly paste, glinted like a wet fang.

“Shush now, Milly. He didn’t need to know that,” Seraphina chided, a spark of feigned irritation and a real warning both. She turned her attention back to Buttersworth, smile returning and curdling at the edges. “As a little caution: if your kind continues to antagonize me, I will start a few pogroms here and there. I wonder how quickly a Palisa burns on the stake. Then things will really escalate…”

“You don’t understand what you—”

“No.” Her file paused mid-stroke. “You do not interrupt your betters.” She set the file down and leaned forward, elbows on the desk, the emerald of her eyes catching the room’s light. “And the thing is, I understand very, very well. You fancy yourselves arbiters of good and morality. Guardians of Order!” She wagged a finger, almost playful. “Allow me to introduce you to the only morality that matters: survival. You work for me now—because if you don’t, your people die. I have letters sealed, and riders briefed on what is to happen should anything untoward befall me. Anything. Our destinies, Master Buttersworth, are already entwined.”

The Palisa Slugs would soon be looking all over in search of her agents that did not exist. No doubt, being unable to find them, they would think her intelligence network a shadowy thing indeed. Seraphina was bluffing.

His throat bobbed. “What do you want from us?”

“Oh, nothing so onerous. Well, at least not yet.” She reclined again, boredom delicately feigned. “Support. Information. My newspaper needs fuel for its fire of enlightenment. Later, when it is time to ascend the throne, I will want more direct service. For now, take my words to the others—to the Elders who rule your people and know that the fate of nations now lies upon your shoulders. For now, your next assignment, Master Buttersworth, is to go to the de Lumierre’s and enter their service. That is all… You may go.”

“Just like that?” He rose a fraction, hesitating, eyes skittering to the loaded bow, to Miriam’s unblinking stare, to the door that suddenly looked very far away.

“Well, you could start by being polite and calling me by my title,” Seraphina said, sweetness dripping from every syllable. “Try again. I can always find another Palisa Slug to carry my message.”

“I will leave at once, Lady de Sariens,” Buttersworth croaked.

“Good,” she said absently. She lifted the file once more, attention already drifting to the faint crescent of a nail. “And don’t fret. Your secrets are safe with me.” The smile she gave him then was bright as broken glass. “For as long as I find you and your kind useful.”