Chapter 116: In the Shadow of the Forge
The sound of blades slicing air had changed.
Gone was the gentle clink of foils dancing for play. In its place: the harsh rhythm of drills, barked orders, and the persistent tap tap tap of heavy boots on stone.
Eva stood in the courtyard again — but it was no longer a realm of games. Her fencing gear was replaced with lighter, tighter apparel meant for speed and precision. Sweat slicked her forehead, strands of her dark hair sticking to her face. Her chest rose and fell with each strained breath.
Opposite her was not Seraphina, but a tall man with iron-gray eyes and a scar that sliced diagonally from his temple to jaw — Master Colgrave, brought in personally by her papa, Reginald Ainsley.
He was not cruel, but he was not gentle either. He corrected her form with clipped words. He made her run laps before drills and hold stances until her muscles trembled. Every word he said echoed with the weight of war.
Again.
Faster.
Again.
Eva never cried in front of him.
Seraphina watched from the edge, her fists curled tight at her sides. Her lips parted each time Eva stumbled or flinched — but her presence was all she could offer for now. Maman had warned her to let it run its course. "It's Reginald's idea of toughness," Evelyn had said with a sigh. "A lesson in cruelty, not strength."
But Seraphina knew the truth: Eva didn't want to quit. She just wanted to be seen.
That night, as twilight folded gently across the Langford estate, Eva sat curled in Seraphina's lap in the sunroom, wrapped in a thick fleece blanket and shivering despite the warmth of the hearth. Her hair was damp from a bath, her face clean, but her lashes still wet.
"He doesn't love me," she whispered, voice cracked and hollow. "Papa doesn't love me. He only ever says how soft I am. And when he looks at me… it's like I disappoint the shape of what he expected."
Seraphina held her tighter, her hand stroking gentle circles over Eva's back. "You are not soft. You are layered. Like fire beneath silk. That is strength."
"But I don't want to be a soldier," Eva sobbed. "I want to be a poet and a musician and a queen with dove wings. I want to make gardens grow and steal the stars for you."
Her voice wavered, buried against Seraphina's collarbone. "But I still run laps until my bones cry."
Seraphina kissed her temple. "You're allowed to cry, little moonbeam. You're allowed to hate it and still do it."
"I only complain when it's just you," Eva mumbled.
"That's because I'm your safest place."
Eva nodded.
Then, quieter: "Promise you'll never let me be like him."
Seraphina closed her eyes. "Never. I'll remind you who you are, always."
*****
The next day, under the guise of "recovery," Eva spent the afternoon with Mère — aunt Vivi in the study. The air smelled of lilac and old paper, and the soft rustle of market reports accompanied the clinking of ice in Mère's champagne flute.
On the oak table were tablets, folders, and velvet boxes. Eva stood on a footstool beside Mére — Aunt Vivi, their heads nearly touching as she clicked through graphs and commodity charts with an astonishing sense of focus for someone so small.
"I want one in N•••••," Eva said thoughtfully, pointing at the map. "Gold. Clean, old seams. They haven't drilled the western pocket yet. It's sleeping treasure."
Mére — Aunt Vivi smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Eva's cheek. "And what else shall we buy today, mademoiselle?"
Eva ticked items off on her fingers. "Rare gems in S•• L••••, cobalt from C•••• — just enough to play. Not too much. People get suspicious. And we're buying fuel. Diversified — no petrostates with unstable regimes. And we're increasing shares in aerospace."
Mère — aunt Vivienne raised a brow from her chaise longue. "Eva, darling, you are five."
"I'm six in two weeks," Eva corrected, before sipping her hibiscus tea. "And genius has no age."
The velvet box beside her clicked open with her small fingers. Nestled inside were samples of stones — a glimmering rainbow of rubies, tanzanite, uncut emeralds, and a strange opal with veins of lightning.
"I want mines because people think they belong to men," Eva said solemnly. "But I will own them with poetry."
Aunt Vivi laughed gently. "You're becoming a dragon. Hoarding beauty in caverns and calling it empire."
"Not empire," Eva said, shaking her head. "Inheritance. For my Ina."
Seraphina entered just then, still in her uniform from her own music school classes, her violin case slung casually over one shoulder. She looked around at the scene — Eva surrounded by jewels and digital stock tickers, Mère — aunt vi I pouring another glass while humming.
"You're conspiring," she said, amused.
Eva beamed, jumping down from her stool to meet her. "I'm building your kingdom, Yue. You don't have to do anything but be beautiful."
"I already have a kingdom," Seraphina replied, lowering to her knees. "It's you."
Eva flushed and buried her face in Seraphina's shoulder, hiding her smile. "Don't say that when I'm feeling dramatic. It makes me explode."
Seraphina hugged her, whispering, "Then explode. You're safe too."
The days blurred between intense training and secret meetings with Aunt Vivi, between tears shed only behind closed doors and plans whispered over piano keys.
Eva had a small notebook she kept hidden beneath her pillow — filled not with poems, but purchase notes. Page after page of property acquisitions, assets, percentages. Her handwriting was careful and slanted, the flourishes unmistakably hers.
She sometimes read the pages aloud to Seraphina at night.
"This is a coal venture in S•••• A••••••••," she murmured, tracing the ink. "But I only did it because the land also has opals. I'll convert it to solar farms later. When I'm older. But shhh, that part's secret."
And Seraphina listened, fingers playing with Eva's curls, whispering only, "You're going to own the world's veins."
Eva paused. "Do you think Papa will notice then?"
Seraphina turned her gently to face her. "You don't need to be noticed to matter."
Eva looked down. "But I want to matter to him."
The silence that followed was the heaviest silence of all.
*****
On a soft Sunday afternoon, Eva skipped training and instead hosted a "revolutionary summit" in the garden. She wore a cape made of silk scarves and assigned everyone roles—Mère was the Ministry of Grace, the butler the Commander of Secrets, and Seraphina, as always, her General of the Heart.
They buried a time capsule under the apricot tree: a velvet pouch with a single ruby, a piece of sheet music Seraphina had composed, a gold coin from one of their mines, and a note written in Eva's looping, imperfect cursive.
To the future: this was our beginning. We were small, but we were not weak. We loved fiercely and bought the stars. Remember us not as children — but as seeds.
After the capsule was buried, Seraphina sat back on the blanket, pulling Eva into her lap. "Will we still be this close when we're old?"
Eva looked at her seriously. "I will still sit in your lap when I'm ninety - nine. And kiss your nose eleven times."
"I'll hold you to that."
"Promise. Crossed with the moon."
At dusk, with her fencing gear discarded at the edge of the rose arch, Eva leaned against Seraphina, both of them watching the shadows grow long over the grass.
"I'll do the training," she said at last. "I'll run and swing and sweat and scream. But only if I get you after."
Seraphina touched her hand gently. "Always."
Eva nodded.
"Then I'll become strong in secret. I'll make him proud and break his expectations. And then I'll take my sword and turn it into a pen."
Seraphina smiled. "And what will you write?"
Eva answered without pause. "My Ina is the home the world forgot it needed."