Chapter 36 - The Narrative

“Whoever controls the narrative, controls the people.”

- Abhijit Naskar.

Miriam quickly returned carrying Seraphina’s favored weapons. The Zweihander came first, wrapped in dark cloth. The tall blade had been reforged during Seraphina’s winter in Carcaronne, its steel folded around Mithril, the Godmetal lurking beneath its surface. The estoc, too, held a little Mithril within its length, tempering it far beyond a normal blade. Neither weapon glittered with unnatural silverine light, and to the casual eye, they were merely excellent steel.

Miriam laid both weapons upon the low table with great care, displacing the expensive tea Fan Xiwei had nearly spilled.

The Flower General looked from the great sword to the estoc, then back to Seraphina. “You intend to use live steel?”

“You challenged me to choose a weapon,” Seraphina replied. “I have chosen two.”

“There are Grace Blades,” Fan countered. “Weighted practice swords. They bruise and break bones, but they are less likely to kill.”

“We are well beyond Grace Blades,” refuted the noblewoman.

Fan studied her for another moment, perhaps searching for the trick.  “Very well.” Fan turned to the men behind her. “Go to my residence. Bring my shuang chui.”

The soldier with the missing finger bowed. “General.”

Soon after, two of her men withdrew at once. 

Meilin made a soft, distressed noise. “General Fan, this is no longer a contest. Those hammers were made for the battlefield.”

“So are her swords,” Fan answered.

Seraphina rested one hand on the wrapped hilt of the zweihander, deigning not to give a reply for now.

Fan’s eyes sharpened. “Will you wear armor?”

Seraphina laughed directly in her face. “Armor? To give a peasant a good beating? No, General. I would never forgive myself for being so cowardly.”

Frest closed his eyes for the briefest moment. It was the expression of a man watching someone toss a torch into a dry hayloft and wondering whether duty required him to catch it before it landed. 

Fan’s mouth flattened into a hard line. “Then neither will I.”

“Do not be absurd,” Meilin half-shouted, stepping forward. “You cannot strike one another with war weapons while unarmored. Whatever insult began this has already been witnessed by half the palace. There is no honor left to preserve, only lives to waste.”

“Stand aside, Lady Wen,” Fan ordered.

Meilin did not, and that surprised everyone. Seraphina did not expect the girl to have quite that much steel in her.

“No,” Meilin replied, her voice trembling. “You entered the residence of a foreign guest, issued a challenge over the First Prince, and now propose to fight with weapons capable of breaking plate. If either of you dies, the court will not call this honor. It will call it a crisis.”

Desdemona leaned toward Haze and murmured, “I rather like her when she remembers she has a spine.”

Frest moved to Seraphina’s side and lowered his voice. “Milady, a word.”

Seraphina allowed him to guide her three steps away, though she made certain everyone understood that she was allowing it.

“Is this wise?” he asked, glancing toward Fan before he continued in a quiet voice. “I can end this before her men return.”

“And prove her accusation that I am weak and hide behind powerful men? No. I have it in hand. But keep our men ready,” Seraphina added. “General Fan understands the rules of a challenge. Her followers, however, might prove to be too loyal. Passions may run high. Let us just say that I expect upcoming disappointment to make them stupid.”

“Very well, Lady Seraphina,” he acquiesced with a rueful shake of his head.

They returned to the others.

Meilin was still appealing to reason. “Fight unarmed, if you must fight at all, fight to satisfaction. No killing. Please, let the matter end here.”

Fan looked to Seraphina and the noblewoman sighed as though surrendering a beloved pleasure. “Very well. Since Lady Wen has begged so prettily, we shall fight with our hands.”

Fan unbuckled her sword belt and threw it toward her men without looking. The general shrugged out of her military coat next, revealing the close-fitted red-and-black armor beneath.

Seraphina raised one eyebrow.

Fan understood. With visible irritation, she removed the armor as well, stripping down to a sleeveless padded tunic, trousers, and boots. Her skin, despite her martial reputation, was for the better part unscarred and unblemished.

The two soldiers sent by Fan returned at a run before the preparations were complete. Each carried one of the general’s shuang chui with both hands. The paired war hammers had round steel heads somewhat larger than a man’s skull, mounted upon short, reinforced hafts. They were not elegant weapons; they existed to crush people into a bloody paste.

The soldiers stopped when they saw Fan without armor.

“General?” asked the one with the missing finger.

“Set them aside,” Fan ordered. “They will no longer be required.

He looked toward Seraphina, then to the weapons laid upon the low table. “But—”

Fan turned her head, and the single look ended the objection.

Seraphina clicked her tongue. “A pity. I was curious whether you could actually lift them with any grace.”

Fan flexed one hand. “You would not have survived long enough to judge.”

Meilin stepped between them before the exchange could undo her work. “The weapons remain outside the circle. Neither lady may use magic, a hidden weapon, or call upon a servant or soldier. The contest ends when one yields, loses consciousness, or is judged unable to continue.”

“Judged by whom?” Fan asked.

Meilin looked toward Frest.

The Knight gave a pained smile. “Apparently, by the servant whom you did not wish to fight.”

Fan disliked that answer but accepted it, confident in an easy victory. Seraphina did as well. Frest was hers, which made him the best possible neutral judge.

Seraphina handed her outer robe to Miriam. Beneath it, she wore a fitted under-robe and divided riding skirt that allowed considerably more movement than Imperial fashion usually tolerated. She removed her jeweled pins and rings, leaving only her necklace and bracelet.

Servants cleared the low tables and cushions from the center of the garden court. Word had already spread. Palace guards appeared at the outer gate, ostensibly to maintain order and in practice to obtain a better view.

Frest drew a broad circle in the gravel with the butt of a poleaxe. The fish in the nearby pond, drawn by the motion, rose to the surface as if to spectate.

“Until one yields or cannot continue,” Fan said.

“Or, to satisfaction,” Meilin added firmly.

Seraphina stepped into the circle. “I am always satisfied by a total victory.”

Fan entered opposite her and bowed, clasping her hands in front of her, but Seraphina decided not to return it.

“Courtesy,” Seraphina began. “Integrity. Perseverance. Self-control. Indomitable spirit.”

The words sounded very strange when spoken in Imperial, but the translation was close enough.

Fan regarded her blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“The tenets under which I learned to fight.”

“You have no idea what any of those words mean,” dismissed the general, rolling her shoulders once, then bending from side to side, testing her freedom of movement.

Opposite her, Seraphina laughed, stretching one leg straight above her head.

Then Fan moved, before her last peal of laughter faded. The Flower General crossed the circle without warning, leading with a low kick toward Seraphina’s knee. The blonde girl shifted her weight back, and the boot passed close enough to disturb her skirt. Fan followed with a straight punch attacking her center line, then another, not thrown wildly but linked with the efficient economy of a soldier who had practiced the sequence ten thousand times.

Seraphina turned her shoulder, parried the second strike, and answered with a side kick to Fan’s ribs. Xiwei caught it on one forearm. The impact moved her half a step.

That was all. Seraphina was surprised she had not reduced her arm to a broken, bloody mess.

The soldiers behind Fan grinned.

Seraphina lowered her foot. “You are sturdier than you look.”

Fan came forward again. Her style had little of the theatrical beauty favored by the Temples. She used short punches, elbows, shoulder strikes, low kicks, and sudden attempts to seize joints or clothing. Every movement sought to break balance, damage a limb, or create an opening.

Seraphina answered with the cleaner lines of taekwondo of her original homeland: a snapping front kick that Fan swept aside, a turning kick that struck her upper arm, then a high crescent kick that forced the general to duck.

Fan drove forward beneath it and struck Seraphina in the stomach with her shoulder.

Air burst from Seraphina’s lungs. She slid backward through the gravel, recovered before Fan could follow, and smiled despite the unpleasant ache beneath her ribs as she noticed that her Health had dropped by around seventy points.

“Too much nonsense,” Fan said. “You are not grounded.”

“That was the style of my homeland,” Seraphina replied, circling. “A martial art from a nation that could have subjugated your entire Empire before breakfast.”

Fan stared at her blankly.

The blonde girl shook her head. “You would not understand.”

They met again. Seraphina feinted high and kicked low. Fan checked the kick with her shin and drove a palm toward her opponent’s chin. The noblewoman slipped outside it, struck Fan twice across the face, then spun into a back kick.

The heel landed squarely against Fan’s chest with a solid thump, and the general staggered three steps and stopped at the edge of the circle. Her men fell silent.

Seraphina’s smile widened as she lifted one leg up. “There. Now we have both learned something,” she taunted, one hand gesturing for her to come on.

Fan wiped blood from the corner of her mouth, then she charged.

This time, there was nothing measured about the collision. Fan accepted a kick to close the distance, caught the noblewoman around the waist, and tried to throw her. Seraphina widened her stance and hammered an elbow between Fan’s shoulders. Fan’s grip tightened. Seraphina twisted, drove a knee upward, and felt it strike hard muscle instead of anything fragile. In response, Fan hooked one leg behind hers, and they went down together.

Gravel tore at the young girl’s palm. Fan landed above her and immediately sought control of her arm. Seraphina caught the general’s wrist and threw her sideways with an unladylike grunt. They rolled once, separated, and rose almost together.

Fan was breathing harder now, but so too was Seraphina as her Stamina was dropping with each exchange. The fact that Fan had lasted longer than ten seconds irritated her immensely.

Identify, she commanded, casting the spell silently with her skill. Answering the call, the spell reached out and opened fresh information across her vision.

[STATUS] Fan Xiwei - Villager/White Tiger Vanguard General (Human, Level 41)

Health: 870/1045

Stamina: 59/74

Mana: 12/12

The numbers were irritatingly respectable. No doubt caused by a boring life dedicated to warfare.

Fan struck before the girl could clear the display, which the girl thought was rather rude. Seraphina ducked a hook, but the general changed the angle and clipped her temple with an elbow. Light flashed through Seraphina’s vision as her Health dropped again.

The young noblewoman was stronger. She was quite certain of that. Her Constitution was almost certainly higher, and her body could survive punishment that would kill most warriors. Yet Fan’s speed had begun pressing beyond the limits of sense.

So, Seraphina could continue trusting her reflexes. Or she could trust something considerably less dependable, her Luck. The attribute that had been raised with deliberate investment. Luck was not mere chance. Not entirely. In the game, it influenced everything that could not be cleanly measured: critical blows, discoveries, coincidences, favorable encounters, the subtle tilt of the world toward one possible outcome over another. It influenced how one could resist fate itself.

So, Seraphina closed her eyes.

Fan did not attack immediately. “What are you doing?” she asked, perplexed. “Do you yield?”

De Sarien’s laugh was the only answer she got, incensing the Imperial to relaunch a counterattack. Now that Xiwei was “tagged” by her Identify spell, Seraphina could see her approximate location even with her eyes closed. Her Improved Blind Fighting skill would take care of the rest.

Her mother had been an Oracle, and now ostensibly so was Seraphina by her Status. Identify had appeared with the class as a utility spell, useful for appraising artifacts, people, weapons, potions, and all the countless little things a gamer disliked leaving unknown. But an Oracle was not an appraiser. An Oracle looked forward.

There had to be a reason why she had received the Identify spell upon choosing the Oracle calling. It simply could not have been a waste.

The blonde girl retreated two steps and cast Identify again, urging the spell to find out more, trying to push more Mana into it while she focused entirely on her defense. She blocked another lightning strike, retaliating with a spinning kick, a warding motion to keep Fan away. Even a perfect block cost her Health, such was her opponent’s power. 

Then realization came while the Prince’s Promised spearhand was traveled toward her throat. In that moment, Seraphina instead turned Identify upon herself.

Her Status started to appear across her mind’s vision.

[STATUS] Seraphina de Sariens - Noble/Oracle (Human lvl.27)

STR:

DEX:

CON:

INT:

WIS:

CHR:

LCK:

58

29

56

32

13

43

32 [37]

Health:

Stamina:

Mana:

Experience:

1023/1154

59/101

20/20

9957/11447

…..

Then another Status appeared behind it, almost identical. And another. And another. Then the words were replaced by a picture of herself. The world broke as thousands upon thousands of identical screens unfolded into the distance, reflected against one another like mirrors placed face to face. Each contained Seraphina, yet no two were entirely the same.

The visions came next. In one, Fan’s hand struck her throat. In another, Seraphina leaned away. In another, she caught the wrist. In another, she slipped, fell, and struck her head upon the pond’s stone border. In another, Frest intervened and the garden dissolved into crimson slaughter. In another, Spike came over the wall and slaughtered, as was his nature. And, in another unassuming vision, a little yellow bird took flight.

Possible moments spread around her in a corridor without end, each one living for less than a microsecond before splitting again. Seraphina saw herself seeing herself. The recursive vision folded inward, Status reflected in Status, thought observing thought until the distinction between question and answer disappeared.

Until finally, something snapped into place.

You have learned Precognition (lvl.1)

You have gained 1 Luck.

You have gained 1 Intelligence.

Fan’s fist continued its journey toward her. Seraphina moved before she consciously understood why. The punch missed by less than an inch, and in retaliation, she struck Fan beneath the ribs and sprang away.

Fan shifted her lead foot as she came upon her again. Weight gathered over the front leg and it snapped forward. But, Seraphina saw the kick before it began and easily dodged it.

The Flower General spun back, anger now mixed with calculation. She had realized something had changed. Her next exchange was slower, filled with half-movements designed to draw reactions.

Seraphina watched possibilities bloom and collapse.

Precognition was not sight of the future in any divine sense. It was a narrowing of probability, Identify turned forward by the logic of Crystal understanding the present in its totality, strengthened by the instincts of an Oracle. To see without using mundane sight. It showed what might happen, not what must. For the first time in her life, Seraphina finally understood some of her mother’s ramblings.

That was more than enough. Fan threw a straight punch that she evaded, slipping under it. A low kick followed, but the blonde girl checked it. An elbow after the kick, but Oracle leaned back and felt the point pass her nose.

She answered with three fast strikes and a turning kick that caught Fan behind the ear.

The general dropped to one knee with a groan, and a murmur ran around the court. So, Seraphina stepped back, giving Fan room to rise. Not from mercy. She wanted everyone to see her stand and fail again.

Fan lifted her head, weariness etched in features. Her men cheered her on, begging her to win.

Nothing visibly changed, yet Seraphina saw something pale gather around her—not light or mist, but the suggestion of white fur and dark stripes beneath the skin. A vast presence seemed to rise behind the general, its silent jaws opening above her head. 

The White Tiger. One of the sacred guardians woven into the Empire’s oldest beliefs. A beast of the west, of metal, war, autumn, courage, and righteous violence and the source of Fan Xiwei’s impossible speed and power.

Something black within Seraphina answered. Something of the north and winter. Not with fear, but recognition as it reacted to the presence of a rival. A cold, predatory part of her lifted its head and bared its teeth.

Precognition showed five possible attacks, but failed to analyze them properly before even the first arrived. Seraphina blocked high. Fan struck low, then drove an elbow into her shoulder. Seraphina spun away, but a second blow caught her back and sent her to one knee.

Pain spread down her arm as Fan seized a fistful of her under-robe and pulled her upright.

“Yield!” the presumptuous general demanded.

In response, Seraphina drove her forehead into Fan’s face.

Cartilage crunched. Fan’s nose bled, but the White Tiger’s only grew stronger. The hero of the Empire answered by throwing Seraphina bodily across the circle.

Seraphina struck the gravel, rolled, and came up near the pond. The water lay beyond a low stone border, green and quiet beneath drifting petals. Large ornamental fish moved below the surface, disturbed by the violence nearby.

Fan approached without hurry now. “Yield,” she repeated.

Seraphina laughed. “To you?”

“You cannot win.”

“Never,” Seraphina replied, gritting her teeth.

Fan entered range and her nascent Precognition opened another scatter of futures. In most of them, Seraphina lost the next exchange. In one future she defied her pride and used Heal, but that ended with Xiwei crying foul.

That was unacceptable. It was all unacceptable. She looked beyond Fan toward the garden.

Hana, the little yellow songbird, sat upon a branch above the pond. The creature had watched the fighting with the uncomplicated interest of something too stupid to understand danger.

Seraphina touched the Beast Lore amulet at her throat.

Hana, darling, she sent.

The bird’s head turned.

Come here. I have tasty things.

Hana launched from the branch.

Fan began a finishing combination, her left hand fixing Seraphina’s guard while her right fist drove toward the jaw.

The songbird darted between them, a flash of yellow crossing the path of Fan’s punch. Instinct checked her fury, and she twisted her wrist to avoid crushing the small creature—but too late. Her fist struck it, killing it instantly.

Blank, almost bovine confusion crossed Fan’s face.

The hesitation lasted less than half a second, but Seraphina used every fraction of it. She would mourn the innocent life spent in service of her own later.

She stepped inside, trapped Fan’s extended arm beneath her injured one, and drove her good shoulder into the general’s chest. Her foot hooked behind Fan’s ankle, and their combined momentum carried them over the stone border.

They struck the shallow pond together, sending water and startled fish in every direction. The impact drove Fan to her knees, but the water reached only to their waists when they struggled upright.

Fan recovered first and planted her feet against the muddy bottom. Seraphina locked both arms around her from behind.

The Flower General drove an elbow backward. It struck Seraphina’s ribs once, then again. The water robbed the blows of some force, but not enough.

Seraphina tightened her grip, her unnatural Strength inexorable. Her mother had been right, there was only one way to guarantee the future, and that was to crush all other possibilities.

Through her Sight, she saw the White Tiger thrashing around them, its pale, striped form distorted by the rippling water. Its jaws opened in a silent roar, but spirits possessed neither weight nor lungs. It could not breathe for its chosen vessel.

Fan tried to straighten, but Seraphina hooked one leg around hers and forced her forward. She drove the general’s face beneath the surface while keeping her own head above it.

Xiwei tore at Seraphina’s forearms. One hand found her thumb and tried to bend it backward. Precognition flickered with possible escapes, but the mud dragged at their feet and the water slowed every movement.

The Flower General managed to lift her face once and dragged in half a breath. Seraphina soon forced her under again.

The general bucked violently, clawing at the pond bed and throwing up clouds of mud. Bubbles streamed from her mouth as Seraphina leaned her weight across Fan’s shoulders, keeping her face submerged as she used all of her power even as her own Stamina and Mana bled.

The White Tiger writhed around them, its striped form breaking apart into pale ribbons.

You have gained 1 Strength.

Seraphina laughed hysterically.

Fan’s resistance remained frantic for several moments, then gradually weakened until she went limp. For an instant, the Oracle considered ending her, but killing a hero of the Empire would have carried rather severe repercussions. Instead, Seraphina counted another ten heartbeats after the last deliberate movement.

Only then did she release her. The Oracle hauled the unconscious general toward the stone edge, where Meilin and two servants seized Fan beneath the arms and dragged her from the pond.

Seraphina climbed out after her and pushed the others aside. Fan was not breathing. She cleared the general’s mouth, tilted her head back, and forced air into her lungs. Once. Twice.

Fan convulsed and coughed, choking out pond water as breath returned to her. Meilin rolled her onto her side while another spasm shook her body. The Flower General dragged in a wet, ragged breath and opened her eyes.

Confusion lasted only a moment.

Then she saw her six companions gathered at the edge of the court, their hands resting uncertainly near their weapons as the Carcaronne Knights closed around them.

“No,” Fan rasped.

Seraphina allowed Miriam to drape a cloak around her shoulders. Pond water pooled around her feet, while a few paces away Hana’s tiny yellow body lay still among the scattered petals.

Fan had asked her something before the duel. What do you want if you win?

At the time, Seraphina had not given her a proper answer, but now she had one.

“You asked what I wished to claim should I defeat you,” Seraphina said.

Fan stared at her, still struggling to breathe.

The Oracle smiled. “I want my pound of flesh.”

Her gaze shifted to Frest. “Kill them.”

For the first time since the duel began, Frest hesitated.

The six soldiers froze. One opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, while another slowly raised his empty hands.

“Milady,” Frest said carefully, “is that altogether wise?”

“They attempted to assassinate me inside an Imperial residence.”

Frest’s expression did not change. “They did not.”

“No,” Seraphina agreed pleasantly. “But that is what happened.”

Silence settled over the garden.

Fan understood first and her eyes widened, and she forced herself upright despite Meilin’s attempt to restrain her.

“No,” she said in a hollow voice.

Seraphina looked toward the gathered servants, palace guards, nobles, and Knights.

“General Fan challenged me before witnesses. After her defeat, her armed escort rushed forward in a desperate attempt to murder me. My Knights intervened and defended their lady.”

One of Fan’s men found his voice. “That is a lie!” he cried.

“It is simple,” Seraphina replied. “That makes it stronger than the truth.”

Fan staggered to her feet. “Run!” she screamed at her men.

But they had nowhere to go. The Carcaronne Knights already surrounded them, armored men with drawn steel standing between the escort and every path from the garden.

Desdemona caught Fan before she could reach them. The noblewoman seized the general’s wrist, wrenched her arm behind her back, and forced it upward with deliberate cruelty. Fan cried out as her injured body folded beneath the pressure.

“Release me!”

Desdemona twisted harder and Fan’s knees struck the wet gravel.

“They are soldiers!” the general shouted. “They are heroes of the Empire! They have done nothing wrong!”

Seraphina regarded her coolly. “This might surprise you, General, but the world is not always about you.”

“Please! Punish me instead!”

“You challenged me. You lost. I am merely collecting what I am owed.”

Fan fought against Desdemona’s hold, but de Savant was possessed of her own fresh, monstrous power. Each struggle only drove her arm higher behind her back.

“Frest,” Seraphina said.

The Knight shrugged as he lowered his visor. “I do my Lady de Sariens’ bidding. Take them!” he ordered.

The Carcaronne Knights moved.

Fan’s escort were veterans, but they were lightly armed, surrounded, and unprepared for execution to descend upon them in the instant after their general’s defeat. One managed to draw his ceremonial blade. Another attempted to break through the line toward Fan. The scar-lipped soldier shouted her name.

None reached her.

The struggle was brief, and when it ended, six bodies lay across the gravel.

Fan made no sound at first. She stared at the dead as though unable to comprehend that men who had followed her from a village into the militia, and from the militia into the army, could be reduced to corpses by a few softly spoken words.

Then something broke within her. The sound that escaped her was neither a scream nor a sob, but something rawer than either. She threw herself against Desdemona’s hold, heedless of the pain in her shoulder.

Seraphina covered her mouth as laughter escaped her.

Fan turned toward her and hatred burned in the general’s eyes with such purity that it had become almost beautiful. Whatever jealousy or rivalry had brought her to the Spring Palace was gone. Something simpler and far more enduring had taken its place.

Seraphina lowered her hand. “People will always believe a simple lie before a convoluted truth,” she explained. “Your men attacked me. My Knights defended me. You may spend the rest of your life explaining otherwise.”

“You murdered them.”

“I survived an assassination attempt.”

“You murdered them!”

Seraphina laughed again, hiding the smile behind her fingers.

“Listen to yourself. You already sound hysterical.”

Fan strained against Desdemona, but her legs finally failed beneath her. She collapsed to her knees, trembling with weakness and fury.

Seraphina looked toward Desdemona. “Let her go, darling.”

Desdemona laughed cruelly as she released Fan with a final twist that sent the general sprawling beside the bodies.

Only then did the Spring Palace guards find the courage to rush into the garden. Their captain took in the dead soldiers, the drawn Carcaronne steel, and the foreign noblewoman standing unharmed beneath her cloak.

His face went pale. “What happened?”

Seraphina answered before anyone else could speak.

“General Fan’s escort attempted to assassinate me after she lost the duel. My household defended my life.”

It was simplest story, and thus by far, the most believable.

“That is not what happened!” Fan shouted.

Seraphina glanced toward the captain. “The poor woman has nearly drowned and just witnessed the deaths of her men. She is understandably confused.”

Fan surged toward her, but the Spring Palace guards caught her beneath the arms. “You lying foreign whore!”

The insult rang across the garden, but Seraphina just smiled. Her defeated opponent was already helping.

“Escort General Fan from the palace,” she ordered. “She requires a physician and time to recover her composure.”

The captain hesitated. “My lady, I must first—”

“You must remove the woman who challenged an Imperial guest, lost, and then watched her subordinates attempt murder within an Imperial residence while she herself did nothing to stop them.”

Fan fought the guards as they dragged her away, but the White Tiger had already left her.

“I will kill you!” she screamed. “Do you hear me? I will kill you!”

Seraphina watched her go. “Please record that as well, Haze.”

The Bard gave her a nod.

Fan continued shouting until the guards led her beyond the garden doors. Her threats faded into the corridors of the Spring Palace, leaving only the bodies of her companions behind.

Seraphina turned to the guard captain.

“Hang the assassins from the outer wall. Leave their weapons beneath them and place a tablet beside each corpse stating their crime.”

The captain stared at her. “My lady—”

“The Jade Dragon Court will send investigators. I would not wish anyone to misunderstand what occurred.”

His gaze moved from Seraphina to the witnesses, then to the Carcaronne Knights. He understood the enormity of what just transpired.

“Seal the gates,” Seraphina continued. “No witness leaves until a statement has been taken. Separate the servants, soldiers, and palace guards before they speak to one another.”

“I cannot detain Imperial servants without authority,” he argued.

“You can prevent them from leaving until their testimony has been recorded. Unless you would prefer the Jade Dragon Court to learn that its foreign guest was attacked inside an Imperial residence while your guards did almost nothing.”

Seraphina leaned closer. “If the Emperor hears that version first, Captain, I suspect you will soon become quite a bit shorter.”

The man paled and began shouting orders.

“Miriam, dry clothes. Haze, prepare the official account. Meilin—”

Seraphina looked around, but Lady Wen had followed Fan into the corridor, leaving without permission.

How disappointing.

“Desdemona, stop smiling.”

Desdemona covered her mouth. “I am overcome by horror.”

The Oracle’s eyes grew hard and flinty. “Try harder, if you please, Lady de Savant.”

Seraphina’s gaze fell upon Hana. The little songbird lay where it had fallen, its bright feathers darkened by blood. A young servant had placed a folded handkerchief beneath its body, though no one had instructed her to do so.

Whispers moved among the palace servants.

“The bird flew between them.”

“It gave its life for the Lady.”

“The Divines sent it.”

“A creature like that  would never have acted unless guided.”

Seraphina listened without correcting them. Rumor was rarely improved by honesty, especially when it served her purpose.

She knelt and lifted Hana carefully in both hands, feeling a small twang of sorry. The bird weighed almost nothing.

“For faithful service rendered in defense of my life, Hana will receive full honors,” she declared. “Prepare a proper bier. Wrap her in yellow silk. She will be buried in the palace garden beneath a marker bearing her name.”

The captain blinked. “The bird?”

Seraphina looked at him. “Hana demonstrated greater courage than half the men present.”

He wisely said nothing further.

Miriam approached with a lacquered box lined in silk. Several servants followed her, carrying dry robes and a writing set for Finleigh. Seraphina placed Hana inside and closed the lid herself.

“Milly, have the kitchen prepare the finest fruit they possess for the offering.”

“Yes, milady.”

Only then did Seraphina turn to the greater disaster. “Send messengers to the Jade Dragon Court. One sealed account for the Emperor’s household.”

Haze lowered her brush to the waiting paper.

“Copies are to be delivered to the First Minister of the Right, the Ministry of Rites, the Ministry of War, and the office responsible for the Spring Palace guard. Another message will go to the First Prince, since this began with his regrettable inability to manage his affairs.”

“Which account shall I record?” Haze asked.

Seraphina smiled. “The true one, of course.”

The Bard’s brow lifted.

“General Fan challenged me before witnesses. Lady Wen attempted to prevent the duel. We agreed to fight unarmed and to satisfaction. After General Fan’s defeat, her six armed followers attempted to assassinate me. My Knights acted in defense of their lady.”

Several of the servants shifted uneasily, and Seraphina looked at them one by one.

“The men had weapons. They are dead. I remain alive. General Fan threatened to murder me before numerous witnesses. These are the facts that matter.”

“And the bird?” Haze asked.

Seraphina glanced toward the lacquered box. “Her name was Hana. Include her if you please.”

The Bard’s brush paused. “In the official report?”

“She died intercepting a blow intended for me. The ministries may decide for themselves whether that was chance, or divine intervention.”

Several servants lowered their eyes. Any dissenting voice would look mad or traitorous. It was a simple story, and by sunset, everyone in Tianhua would know it.