Chapter 34 – A New Challenger

“Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves; vanity, to what we would have others think of us.”

- Jane Austen.

Courtship, Seraphina decided, was a form of warfare, only won when both sides had surrendered. The weapons were compliments, gifts, family histories, carefully understated fortunes, and questions whose true meanings were sometimes lost through so many layers of courtesy.

The first young gentleman to present himself that morning was Lord Cao Jian, the second son of the Imperial Comptroller of Salt. He arrived at the Spring Palace dressed in pale blue silk, bearing a lacquered box of medicinal tea and the easy confidence of a man whose family was indispensable to the state.

He was handsome in the generic sense. His skin was pale, his hands were soft, and his eyebrows had plainly received more careful attention than an expensive courtesan.

Seraphina disliked him almost immediately. Not enough to dismiss him, naturally. Dislike was not always disqualifying. After all, some of the most useful people in her previous life had been thoroughly unpleasant.

Desdemona and Meilin sat nearby as chaperones, dressed in complementary shades of lavender and green. Miriam stood behind Seraphina with a pot of tea held between both hands, her attention fixed intensely upon the proceedings.

Sir Frest waited outside the open doors with two Knights of Carcaronne. His presence was technically unnecessary, but Seraphina believed that men spoke more honestly when the immediate threat of violence was present.

“Your family’s management of the western saltworks is spoken of very highly,” Seraphina said.

Lord Cao lowered his eyes with a precise, rehearsed modesty. “My father merely performs the duties entrusted to him by the Jade Dragon Throne.”

“Of course.”

Which meant his family had stolen no more than was customary.

Seraphina lifted her cup. “And what interests occupy you, my lord?”

“Administration. Classical poetry. The proper management of estates.” His gaze settled upon her with polite intensity. “I have also taken a particular interest in foreign commerce.”

Ah, there it was. Not her beauty, intelligence, accomplishments, or personality. Not even the Unicorn. Commerce. How utterly dull and predictable, she thought.

“How fascinating,” Seraphina replied with a polite, small smile.

He leaned forward slightly. “I understand that your family’s lands contain considerable deposits of Mithril.”

“My family’s lands contain a great many things. And people, of course, say the most extraordinary things.”

Lord Cao returned the smile, though a flicker of uncertainty passed beneath it.

“A marriage between our houses could open numerous opportunities. My family possesses long-standing connections within the ministries governing salt, internal trade, and public works.”

“How romantic,” the young girl responded dryly.

The young man paused, lost at sea for a moment.

Desdemona lowered her face toward her cup. Meilin’s expression remained admirably composed, though if you looked closely enough, you could see the tightening around her almond eyes.

Lord Cao rallied. “A marriage should be founded upon mutual benefit.”

“So should a commercial contract,” Seraphina said. “Yet one does not ordinarily share a bed with a contract.”

“No,” he conceded slowly.

Seraphina fixed her attention on her silly bird that had flown up to a branch nearby. “At least, not unless one has been working very late.”

Desdemona coughed violently into her tea.

Lord Cao looked as if he were uncertain whether he had been subjected to some obscure Aranthian joke. Seraphina allowed him several painful moments to consider the matter before rescuing him.

“Still, I appreciate honesty,” she said. “It is a rarer commodity than salt.”

They spoke for another quarter hour. Lord Cao carefully inquired about the quantity of Mithril that might accompany Seraphina’s hand. At the same time, Seraphina carefully learned which ministers owed his family money, which provincial governors were contesting the latest salt quotas, and which faction within the court hoped to control customs revenue from the western roads. It was a perfectly profitable exchange. As a courtship, however, it left something to be desired.

When he departed, having received no more encouragement than etiquette required, Desdemona waited until the attendants closed the outer doors before speaking.

“He was not completely hideous,” de Savant remarked.

“I am selecting a husband, not purchasing a decorative vase.”

“He seemed interested in your affairs,” Meilin offered diplomatically.

The blonde girl tossed her hair in mock annoyance. “He was interested in my mines.”

“Many wives would be pleased to have a husband who respected their business judgment,” Desdemona reasoned.

“He did not respect me. He respected my assets,” Seraphina explained neutrally, feeling slightly annoyed.

Desdemona snorted. “I am sure he did,” she tittered.

Seraphina selected a candied plum from the dish beside her. Perhaps sugar could assuage some of her negative feelings for the moment.

“Besides, his hands were too soft,” she mused.

Desdemona looked down at her in exasperation. “Better soft than calloused… imagine that touching you. Like sandpaper!”

“You are incorrigible,” de Sariens complained, though she did so with little acid.

***

The second candidate was the young Marquis Shen Tairen, a lord from a prominent military household in the southern provinces. 

Unlike Lord Cao, Marquis Shen possessed hands that had plainly held a weapon. He was broad through the shoulders, reasonably tall, and wore a short ceremonial sword at his side. A pale scar ran from beneath his right ear toward his collar, lending him a martial severity that might have been appealing had he not mentioned it within the first three minutes.

“The wound was taken during the suppression of the River Rebellion,” he explained in a deep voice.

“Was it now?” the young girl replied, trying to sound at least a little bit interested.

His eyes looked to the middle distance. “A rebel spear caught me as I led the third charge across the ford.”

Seraphina’s smile widened, an automatic reaction. “How fortunate that it struck nowhere important.”

At this, the Marquis laughed, slapping his thigh boisterously.

He brought her a fine cavalry bow of layered horn and wood. The workmanship was excellent, the limbs decorated with gold cloudwork and the leather grip dyed imperial red. This, at least, was a suitable gift. She might even give it to a member of her entourage. Seraphina tested its weight and balance while the Marquis watched her with growing approval.

“You understand and have an eye for weapons,” he observed.

“I understand many things.”

“I have heard you hunted sacred beasts in the northern lands.”

“I have tested myself against some of nature’s best,” was her cool response.

“Your father’s blood, no doubt,” he complimented, as if remarking upon a universal truth.

The remark pleased her enough that she decided not to immediately punish him for attributing her achievements to someone else.

“Perhaps,” she conceded.

The conversation proceeded rather better than the first. Marquis Shen spoke intelligently about cavalry, border security, and the difficulties of moving armies through the Empire’s southern riverlands. He had seen real fighting and, unlike many noble officers, appeared to understand that battles were not won solely by shouting commands.

Then he ruined everything.

“Naturally, once married, a lady of your rank would have little need to concern herself with such things,” he stated.

“Such things?”

“Military affairs. Commerce. The harsher duties of rulership.” He smiled in what he likely imagined was a reassuring fashion. “A husband should carry those burdens.”

“And what would I carry?” she asked, a little nonplussed.

“The dignity of the household. Children, in time. Charitable obligations. The management of the inner residence.”

Desdemona looked toward the ceiling. Meilin closed her eyes briefly. Even Miriam appeared to understand the gravity of the Marquis’ mistake.

Seraphina rested her hands upon her lap. “My dear Marquis Shen, I am the heir to one of the most powerful duchies in Aranthia. I control businesses that employ more people than live in some of your provinces. My decisions move armies, markets, and noble houses.”

“Of course. I meant no insult.”

“And yet you propose that after marriage I occupy myself arranging flowers and supervising the laundering of your undergarments.”

The Marquis stiffened. “I did not say that,” he refuted.

Seraphina held her head in her hands. “No, perhaps not. But the meaning was much the same, you just took considerably longer getting there.”

The interview ended shortly thereafter.

Seraphina returned his bow and, wishing to preserve the young noble’s dignity, she looked into a bowl of clear water. She then expressed her regret that the divination had yielded unfavorable omens. Heaven, it seemed, had not ordained a harmonious union between their two houses. 

The third suitor was a scholar named Yu Shuren, a younger son of the Duke of White Reeds, Bai Luwei. He was slender, soft-spoken, and pretty enough that Desdemona sat forward when he entered. He brought no weapon, no contract disguised as a marriage proposal, and no genealogical scroll demonstrating why his ancestors had been important seven hundred years ago. 

Instead, he brought a book which immediately raised Seraphina’s opinion of him. It was a collection of early Imperial poetry, copied by hand and illuminated with delicate paintings of birds, flowers, mountains, and lonely women gazing from windows while waiting for men who plainly did not deserve them.

“A first edition?” Seraphina asked, turning one of the pages carefully.

“A copy made from one,” Yu Shuren admitted ruefully. “The original remains within my family’s library. I thought it presumptuous to offer something that could not properly become yours.”

Honesty and common sense. How refreshing, she thought idly.

“You read Aranthian?” she asked, her voice softening a touch.

“A little.”

He demonstrated by reciting several lines from a famous Aranthian tragedy. His pronunciation was imperfect, but his effort was genuine. Seraphina rewarded him by not laughing.

They spoke of literature, painting, statecraft, and the proper relationship between a ruler and those being ruled. Yu Shuren’s opinions were, in Seraphina’s estimation, far too compassionate, but he explained them intelligently.

“A ruler must remember that the people are not merely tools,” he explained.

“No,” Seraphina agreed. “Tools are much, much easier to replace.”

He studied her for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed—but it was not Huan’s laugh. Seraphina disliked herself slightly for making the comparison. Almost at once, a memory of Velens intruded, and for a moment, the young girl came dangerously close to throwing her teacup. 

Yu Shuren possessed gentleness without stupidity. He did not object to the possibility of Seraphina ruling Aranthia in her own right. In fact, he seemed intrigued by it. Then he explained that he wished to retire from public life and devote himself to poetry, scholarship, and the preservation of old texts.

Seraphina understood immediately. He was not searching, but for a patron. A very elegant patron with sufficient wealth and political authority to protect him from responsibility for the remainder of his natural life.

Almost caught by his charm, she came very close to admiring him. Very close indeed.

“You would make a lovely ornament for someone’s household,” she told him as their conversation neared its conclusion.

Yu Shuren bowed his head. “I fear I lack the brilliance necessary to ornament yours.”

That answer was clever enough that Seraphina allowed him to depart with dignity.

The fourth was a widowed count with two children, a respectable fortune, three estates near the capital, and breath that smelled faintly of onions. Seraphina dismissed him in less than ten minutes, for there were limits to her patience, politeness be damned.

By the time the last suitor departed, the sunlight had moved across the receiving chamber and begun climbing the opposite wall. Empty teacups, opened gift boxes, scrolls, flowers, and carefully wrapped offerings occupied nearly every available surface.

Seraphina sat amid it all like a victorious general surveying the loot after a campaign.

“Well?” Desdemona asked.

“Well, what Lady de Savant?”

The brunette crossed her arms. “Which one did you like?”

“The bow was well made. It was a shame I had to return it.”

“I meant the men, silly,” sighed de Savant.

Meilin smiled faintly. “Lord Yu appeared to interest you.”

The young blonde noblewoman shrugged her shoulders. “He would be of tolerable company.”

“That is nearly a declaration of love, coming from you,” Desdemona observed.

Seraphina pointedly ignored her.

Miriam began directing servants to remove the tea things and sort the gifts according to value, political significance, and whether they required a reciprocal offering. The palace staff moved with quiet efficiency, though several still lingered close enough to hear the discussion. Gossip, like mold, flourished where it could find space in the gaps.

The previous day’s meeting with Huan had already become public knowledge in everything but official form. No one spoke openly of it, of course. They merely looked at the little wooden fox nestled among the gold ornaments in Seraphina’s hair and then quickly looked elsewhere whenever she noticed.

Suddenly, a disturbance arose in the outer courtyard. It began with the sharp call of one of the palace guards, followed by a deeper voice answering with calm authority. Boots struck stone in a measured rhythm. Several servants turned their heads toward the doors.

Sir Frest stepped inside a moment later.

His expression was not quite alarmed, but it was far removed from his usual amusement. One hand rested near the sword at his hip.

“Milady,” he said.

Seraphina sighed once more. “What is it now?” 

“The Flower General is at the gate.”

“How droll,” she replied. “Tell me, does she mean to smash down the gates with a battering ram?”

“She has brought several soldiers, Lady Seraphina,” explained Sir Frest.

“How many?”

“Six. Perhaps seven. They look rough, but not undisciplined.”

“Assassins?” Desdemona asked excitedly.

Frest shook his head. “I do not think they would make such a bold move in daylight. The men look to me like old companions, I think. They speak to her too easily to be ordinary guards. Too relaxed to be common line soldiers.”

Meilin rose. “General Fan should have sent notice before visiting a foreign guest of the court.”

“Perhaps flowers require no invitation in spring,” Seraphina commented airily, attempting poetry in the face of this new complication.

A serving girl near the wall made the mistake of snorting.

She turned pale when Seraphina looked in her direction. The girl bowed so quickly that she nearly struck her forehead against the floor.

Frest looked toward the courtyard. “Shall I refuse her entry?”

“No,” she allowed with a wave of her hand.

Meilin stepped forward. “Lady Seraphina, it may be wiser to receive her another day, after proper arrangements have been made. And, you do not know why she has come.”

Seraphina reached up and adjusted the wooden fox in her hair. “I believe I have a reasonable suspicion.”

Desdemona rose from her cushion. “Should we leave?”

“No, your support might be useful.”

Her friend’s expression became radiant.

Seraphina looked toward Frest. “Bring General Fan to the garden court. Since she has brought soldiers, let them enter as well. Have refreshments prepared.”

“Refreshments?” Frest repeated.

“Refreshments,” she nodded. “One must be hospitable before violence. Otherwise, people might think one uncivilized.”