TVisTV Book 4: Chapter 35 (RAW) (Patreon)

Chapter 35 - A Rose’s Thorns

Marriage, in life, is like a duel in the midst of a battle.

- Edmond About.

Frest accepted his mistress’ order with an attempt at a military salute. “As you command, I will bring her to you.”

The garden court of the Spring Palace had been designed for diplomatic leisure. It was a place for poetry, music, tea, and the subtle exchange of ideas between civilized people.

The Flower General Fan Xiwei arrived dressed for none of those things.

She wore a dark military coat over close-fitted red-and-black armor, with a sword hung at her left hip. Her long black hair had been tied high behind her head without jewelry or elaborate pins. The thin scar across the bridge of her nose was a pale line that did not diminish her coarse, common beauty.

The six men accompanying her looked even less suited to the Spring Palace. They were soldiers, but not the polished ornaments favored by the capital’s noble households. Their armor did not match. One wore old lamellar reinforced with newer plates. Another had a scar twisting his upper lip. A third was missing the smallest finger of his left hand.

Their weapons had been surrendered at the outer gate, save for the short ceremonial blades that military etiquette permitted them to carry. Even without their spears and bows, they moved like men accustomed to having weapons close.

They also looked at Fan Xiwei not as a distant commander, but as the leader of their pack.

These were the men who had followed the butcher’s daughter from her village into the militia, and from the militia into the army. They had watched her rise even as they rose beside her. They bore the same scars, had buried the same friends, and remembered who she had been before her ascent—or so, at least, Seraphina’s purchased informants had told her. 

That made them loyal in a fashion that normal soldiers rarely were. It also made them dangerous.

Fan stopped at the edge of the covered court and offered Seraphina a formal military bow. “Lady Seraphina de Sariens.”

Seraphina fanned herself. “General Fan Xiwei. Please, allow the servants to see to your men. Some light refreshment, perhaps?”

The words fell between them.

Seraphina did not rise. She remained sitting beneath the shade of the pavilion wearing gold, ivory, and dark red silk, her hands folded delicately upon her lap. Desdemona and Meilin occupied cushions on either side of her. Haze had taken a seat farther back with her Chordrelle resting across her knees, while Miriam stood in attendance.

Frest remained near one of the pillars. Beyond him, servants had begun finding urgent reasons to perform duties within hearing distance.

A gardener clipped the same branch three times. Two maids rearranged an empty table. A young footman carried a folded screen from one side of the walkway to the other, paused, and then carried it back again.

Seraphina smiled. “You have come at a fortunate time,” she offered. “I have only just finished receiving gentlemen of the court. Had you arrived earlier, you might have frightened them away.”

Fan’s companions shifted uneasily. One of them—the man with the scarred lip—frowned openly, but Fan ignored the provocation.

“No games. No refreshments. I have come to speak with you,” she demanded, her expression hard.

“So I gathered from your current disposition,” the blonde girl replied with studied indifference.

“Alone,” Xiwei added through gritted teeth.

“No,” Seraphina said pleasantly, without the slightest hesitation. The refusal carried the effortless dismissal of someone born to privilege.

The Flower General’s expression tightened further. “This concerns the First Prince.”

“Then it certainly should not be discussed in secret,” was the noblewoman’s rebuttal.

Meilin drew in a quiet breath, even as Desdemona’s mouth curved.

Fan looked incredulously around at the watching faces. “You prefer an audience?”

Seraphina yawned delicately behind a sleeve, growing quite bored. “I did not bring one. You did.”

One of Fan’s men stepped forward half a pace before another caught him lightly by the forearm. Fan lifted one hand, and her men stopped and stilled immediately.

A good commander, Seraphina thought. Or perhaps merely one surrounded by loyal lackeys.

Fan took two steps into the pavilion. “I will speak plainly. You know that First Prince Huan and I are promised.”

“I have been informed of the arrangement. Is it a reward? For services rendered to the state?” asked Seraphina testily. 

“Yet you continue encouraging his attention,” Xiwei insisted.

Seraphina raised one eyebrow. “Do I?”

“He visited you yesterday.”

“Many men visit me. You passed several of them on your way inside, no doubt.”

“He did not visit you as a representative of the court.”

“No,” Seraphina agreed. “He visited me as Young Master Chen.”

The name struck its mark, and Fan’s eyes darkened.

Behind her, several of the soldiers exchanged glances. They knew it, then. The old false name, that was.

“You should not call him that,” Fan growled possessively. “This is not one of your court games.”

“You have come into a palace to argue over a prince while servants listen behind pillars,” Seraphina replied. “It appears remarkably the done thing for your type of people from where I sit.”

Fan looked toward the servants, and they became intensely occupied with their duties. The gardener clipped the mutilated branch a fourth time.

The Flower General returned her attention to Seraphina. “Huan is not something for you to play with.”

“No. He is an adult man, an heir to an Empire, and supposedly capable of making decisions.”

“A girl like you knows what your presence does to him.”

Seraphina laughed. It began as a small sound, soft and musical, but the absurdity of Fan’s accusation drove it into something richer. She covered her mouth with one sleeve, though not enough to conceal her delight.

Fan stared at her.

“Oh, General,” Seraphina managed. “That is delightful.”

“I did not come here to entertain you.”

“And yet you have.”

Fan stepped closer. “You use your rank, your foreign title, and the Emperor’s interest to place yourself before him. You tempt him while knowing he is bound to another woman.”

The laughter stopped, and Seraphina lowered her sleeve. 

Her jade-green eyes settled upon Fan with sudden, crystalline coldness. “You believe I coerced and seduced the First Prince of the Empire?”

Fan’s mouth tightened, her expression growing strained. “You use every advantage you possess.”

“As do you. All is fair in love and war,” rebuked the foreign girl.

“I did not seduce him,” the general insisted.

“No,” Seraphina said. “You merely dragged him from the snow, undressed him, washed his wounds, fed him from your own hand. I am certain no impressionable young man could possibly find any of that stirring. And, who can say what happened when you were alone?”

Fan’s cheeks colored. Several servants looked quickly toward the floor. One of Fan’s soldiers muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

“How do you know that?” Xiwei demanded vehemently.

“Your prince told me,” answered Seraphina matter-of-factly.

That wounded the Imperial general. The change was small, but Seraphina saw it. No doubt, her would-be rival had considered those weeks in the butcher shop something private, a memory belonging only to the two of them before everything else had happened. And, Huan had carried it into another woman’s room.

Seraphina almost pitied her.

“He should not have spoken of it,” Fan said.

“Then take the matter up with him,” Seraphina shot back.

“I am taking it up with you,” she insisted, moving before anyone could react.

She crossed the distance between them with startling speed and planted one hand upon the low table. Porcelain cups rattled. Tea rippled over the edge of one and stained the polished wood.

Frest stepped away from the pillar. Fan’s men tensed. And the Knights beyond the garden doors reached for weapons.

Seraphina did not move, a perfect of placid stillness. She remained seated, looking up at the Flower General with an expression of mild interest.

“Careful,” Seraphina sighed. “That tea is expensive.”

Fan’s face was a thundercloud. “You will leave him alone.”

The blonde girl considered her, and then she smiled. “My dear General Fan, I would never fight another woman for a man.”

Fan blinked. The answer had not been the one she expected.

Then Seraphina continued, her voice gentle. “Men compete for my attention. I do not compete for theirs. To lower myself into a contest over one indecisive prince would injure my pride.”

“You speak as though you are above everyone.”

“Not everyone.”

Seraphina looked her slowly up and down. “Only most people of the common tripe.”

One of Fan’s companions made an angry sound.

Fan straightened. “You have no right to mock what exists between us.”

“And you have no right to enter my residence and order me to make your romantic life easier.”

“You know nothing of it,” the general hissed.

“I know enough. I know you crossed half the capital with lackeys in tow behind you because another woman attracted the eye of your promised husband. A man whom you cannot even keep from looking at another.”

Seraphina tilted her head, her smile sharpening. “It seems you are willing to fight over a man, to roll around in the mud. Perhaps you possess no pride at all.”

Fan’s face changed, the softness leaving it, the hurt leaving it. What remained was anger stripped clean of every softer feeling.

“You know nothing of pride,” the general declared.

“No?”

“You sit there in the finest soft silks while servants pour your tea. You speak from behind guards, titles, and your father’s name.”

Seraphina’s eyes narrowed.

Fan pressed forward. “You think you are strong because no one here is permitted to strike you. You think you are dangerous because men are afraid of the consequences of touching a foreign duke’s daughter.”

The watching servants had gone utterly still. Even Desdemona no longer smiled. Meilin rose slowly, anxiety tightening her face.

Fan pointed an accusing finger at her.

“You use your beauty and position to turn Huan’s head, then laugh because you believe there is nothing I can do. You are another soft court lady hiding behind powerful men.”

For one long heartbeat, Seraphina said nothing. The stupid girl did not realize that she was basically saying that Seraphina was more comely than her. Savoring the moment, she then rose. She did so slowly, allowing the long layers of her robes to settle around her. Fan remained taller, broader through the shoulders, and armored where Seraphina wore the finest silk.

The difference should have made Seraphina appear fragile, but it did not. Something in the air changed with her as her Charisma spread outward without spell or command. The same force of personality that had made soldiers follow her voice into battle and monsters hesitate beneath her gaze. The servants nearest the pavilion lowered their heads without understanding why.

Even Fan’s companions shifted uneasily.

“You look at silk,” Seraphina whispered dangerously, “and imagine softness.”

Her voice was quiet. “You see painted lips, and fine hands, and decide I must be some helpless flower cultivated behind palace walls.”

Fan held her gaze. “Are you not?”

A smile touched Seraphina’s mouth. “There is war in my barbarian Aranthian blood.”

She stepped around the tea table. “My people have fought one another, your Empire, the northern tribes, monsters, famine, disaster, disease, and every other misery this world has devised. We make songs from bloodshed because war is among the few subjects every Aranthian understands.”

“Your people’s violence does not make you a true warrior.”

“No. My victories do.”

Seraphina lifted her chin.

“My father is Duke Anatoli de Sariens. Your soldiers call him the Red Ogre. He has killed thousands of Imperial soldiers defending our lands, then crossed your borders and burned your forts when defense became dull.”

Several of Fan’s men stiffened at the name. They knew it. Every Imperial soldier near the western border knew it. For decades, the Red Ogre had been a nightmare attached to winter campaigns, ruined supply lines, midnight raids, and the Aranthian banners appearing where no enemy army should have been able to march.

Seraphina smiled at their recognition.

“I had thought my father’s legend remained vivid in the Empire. Perhaps it has begun to dim if some common upstart believes she may enter his daughter’s residence and challenge her without consequence.”

Fan’s hand curled into a fist. “A person’s parents do not determine their worth.”

“No,” Seraphina agreed.

The immediate answer surprised Xiwei.

Seraphina stepped closer until little more than an arm’s length separated them. “Birth determines where one begins. What follows determines whether one deserves to remain there.”

Her eyes flicked toward the scar upon Fan’s nose. “You rose from a butcher’s shop to command an army. That is worthy of a sliver of consideration.”

Fan’s expression shifted by the smallest degree.

Then Seraphina smiled sweetly. “But it does not, unfortunately, command my obedience. I slew a Dragon before I came north. I killed Ice Drakes and hunted beasts across the Atavasta plains. I broke a Unicorn beneath my hand and made him carry my carriage through the gates of your capital. I am more than you ever hope to aspire to be.”

Her voice never rose, for it did not need to.

“I have survived assassins, monsters, kings, princes, the Church, and an engagement to an idiot. Do not mistake my current appearance as a measure of my character.”

Fan stared at her, and she shook her head. “I do not believe you.”

The simple dismissal struck harder than an insult. Seraphina’s smile disappeared like water under a desert sun.

“You are bluffing,” Fan continued. “Perhaps some of the stories are true. Perhaps your men killed those beasts while you stood nearby. Perhaps the Kirin tolerates you because Heaven has some purpose for your presence. But you are not a warrior.”

Frest stepped forward before Fan could continue to insult his mistress. He placed himself slightly to Seraphina’s right, near enough to intervene without insulting his mistress by shielding her completely.

“General Fan,” he proposed, “Lady Seraphina need not answer a challenge personally.”

Fan looked at him. “And who are you?”

“Ferdiad Frest.”

Recognition passed through the soldiers behind her. Frest had acquired a reputation of his own since entering the Empire, particularly after firing the ancient projectile weapon at the Pillars.

“I have carried my lady’s honor before,” he continued. “I am willing to do so again.”

Seraphina looked at him, and the former bandit gave the smallest shrug.

Fan’s mouth hardened. “But, I did not challenge you, Sir Frest.”

The former bandit gave her a roguish grin. “A challenge against my lady may be answered by her sworn Knight.”

The general looked at him as if he were a bug. “I did not come to fight a mere servant.”

Frest smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “You really should not have come to fight at all. Such a thing is to court death.”

Fan’s soldiers moved forward and the Knights at the doors answered them.

Meilin stepped between the two groups. “Enough!” she cried, voice cracking through the air.

Everyone looked at her.

The Marquis’s daughter appeared momentarily surprised by her own volume, but she pressed forward before courage failed her.

“General Fan, Lady Seraphina is a foreign guest under the protection of the Jade Dragon Throne. A formal challenge against her could become a matter between the Empire and Aranthia.”

“It is a personal matter,” Fan said.

“There are no personal matters involving the First Prince,” Meilin replied. “Nor are there personal matters involving the daughter of Duke de Sariens while she is being considered for an Imperial marriage.”

She turned urgently toward Seraphina. “And, Lady Seraphina, speaking of General Fan’s birth in this fashion serves no one. It is crude and beneath you. Please.”

The last word was quieter, a genuine appeal.

Seraphina looked around the garden court. Every servant within a hundred paces appeared to have found reason to remain. Faces watched from behind screens, pillars, branches, open doors, and half-lowered windows.

By nightfall, the entire capital would know that the Flower General and the barbarian princess had nearly come to blows over the First Prince. One could not purchase publicity of this quality. Not cheaply, at least.

Seraphina allowed a slow smile to return to her features. “Very well, Lady Wen. There is no need for Sir Frest to fight.”

Meilin’s shoulders loosened slightly.

Then Seraphina continued on inexorably. “It would be terribly unfair for a woman to face a man.”

The general’s face went red. “You dare!,” Fan roared. You think I could not defeat him?”

Seraphina glanced toward Frest.

“I think Sir Frest is a man,” Seraphina observed coolly, sidestepping the question as she looked at Frest. “Or, mostly one. You, however, despite your boorish nature are not.”

The statement was technically indisputable, but it did not improve matters.

Fan took another step forward, but Seraphina did not retreat. Their faces were now close enough that Seraphina could see a small nick near the Flower General’s jaw where some battlefield blade had touched her.

“You wanted to challenge me,” Seraphina said. “Then speak clearly.”

Fan’s anger settled. It did not disappear; it instead condensed into something hard and disciplined. “Single combat,” she seethed.

Meilin made a small sound of despair.

Fan continued. “No soldiers. No champions. No servants carrying your honor.”

Frest folded his arms.

“Whatever weapon you choose,” Fan said. “Until one yields or can no longer continue.”

Seraphina considered her.

Spike’s irritated neigh sounded from somewhere beyond the garden wall. The Unicorn had likely sensed the anger through their bond and wanted to know why no one had been killed yet.

A moment later, a massive forest-colored head appeared above the low wall bordering the adjoining paddock. Spike’s spiral horn rose like a spear, while his ears lay flat against his skull.

His dark eyes found Fan Xiwei.

“Of course, I could simply feed you to Spike and be done with this entire matter.”

Fan glanced toward the Unicorn. “He is a heavenly beast. A Kirin would not devour a person merely because you commanded it.”

Spike stretched his neck over the wall and snapped his teeth together. Seraphina laughed. It was not the musical court laugh she used to soften insults. It was lower, crueler, and entirely sincere.

“My dear Fan Xiwei, you clearly suffer from delusion,” she baited, still laughing.

“Will you accept or not?” Xiwei rejoined, ignoring the threat.

Seraphina stopped, letting the echoes of her laughter fade into silence. She could refuse. Meilin was correct, of course, and Fan’s challenge was politically reckless. As the daughter of Duke Anatoli de Sariens, Seraphina could demand a formal apology, appeal to the Emperor, or simply have the Flower General removed from the palace.

She could turn the confrontation into a diplomatic weapon. Her pride, however, demanded something else.

Seraphina looked toward the watching servants, the nervous Meilin, the delighted Desdemona, the resigned Frest, and the soldiers who plainly believed their general had cornered a pampered foreign noblewoman. 

And were it just her pride, she could perhaps let the matter go and deal with it in a peaceful and “civilized” manner. After all, pride alone should not decide important matters. Unfortunately, Seraphina’s pride was rarely alone. It traveled with spite, curiosity, ambition, and a sincere appreciation for spectacle.

“I accept. Not because of the prince,” she clarified. “I will not fight for a man. I will fight because you entered my residence, insulted my courage, questioned my accomplishments, and mistook courtesy and good manners for weakness.”

Her smile widened. “And because I am bored.”

Fan nodded once. “If I win, you will leave Huan alone.”

Seraphina’s eyes cooled. “You presume to dictate whom I may receive?”

“You will stop meeting him privately. You will refuse his courtship and make it clear that you will not interfere with our marriage.”

“And should His Highness object?” the blonde girl asked archly.

“He will understand.”

Seraphina almost laughed again. Fan Xiwei, for all her martial brilliance, understood men even less than Seraphina had expected. Or perhaps she understood Huan and simply feared what that understanding told her.

“Very well,” Seraphina responded with a shrug. “But, make no mistake, you cannot win this.”

Fan looked at her carefully. “You will leave him alone.”

Seraphina yawned delicately even as she looked at her would-be rival.

The Flower General held her gaze, then gave a short nod. “We have an agreement.”

She placed one hand upon the hilt of her ceremonial sword.

“What are your terms?”

Seraphina stared at her, then she laughed directly in Fan’s face, the sound echoing beneath the painted eaves. Fan’s men bristled, but the general herself did not move, though fury returned to her eyes.

“You ask what I will demand when you lose?” Seraphina giggled. “You are planning to lose! How droll, my general. How droll, indeed.”

Seraphina stepped laughing immediately, her expression turning cold. “With that, you have already lost, General Fan.”

Fan’s fingers tightened around the sword hilt. “Name your demand!”

“I want nothing from you.”

The answer struck harder than any extravagant condition could have done. Fan looked as if she had been slapped.

Seraphina continued, each word chosen for its cruelty. “I do not want your title. It was given to you by men who may take it away. I do not want your lands, assuming the court has found some to reward you with. I do not want your cheap sword, your armor, or your pathetic soldiers.”

Her gaze moved briefly toward the men behind Fan.

“And I certainly do not want your prince as the spoils of a duel. Men are not horses to be wagered between women, no matter how often they behave like livestock.”

Seraphina smiled a fox’s smile. “There is nothing you possess that would make the slightest difference in my world.”

Fan’s expression hardened into stone.

The young noblewoman decided to twist the knife. “So that when you lose, you may keep whatever remains—provided it does not slip through your fingers first. After all, he appears to have grown bored with you, his eyes drawn to a finer prize. That is the trouble with romances born of obligation and forced circumstance: they seldom last.” 

For a moment, no one spoke. Then a bell rang somewhere beyond the palace walls, sounding from one of Tianhua’s innumerable temples.

Fan bowed—a curt acknowledgment, the absolute minimum before violence.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “At sunrise, in the eastern military court.”

“No. We do this now, or not at all.” Seraphina smiled. “Word will soon take wing on gossip, so unless you would prefer a larger audience for your defeat, allow your host a few moments to make the necessary preparations.” 

She delighted in how easily the country bumpkin could be provoked. How thoroughly the general had underestimated her. She would learn very soon that Aranthian roses had thorns that cut deep.

Fan Xiwei’s  hands clenched into fists. “Very well. But no games, Aranthian,” she nearly spat.