Chapter 91
Naturally, duty reared its dreadful head once more, and thus we found ourselves sequestered in Millicent's study, drowning in parchment and ink. I sat opposite her, valiantly battling my own stack of documents, while Vincent had been corralled back into his lessons with the aid of a generous bribe involving sweets.
At last, with the dramatic flourish of a war-weary hero signing a treaty, I scrawled my name on the final page and collapsed forward, slumping over the desk like a dying swan.
"Finally done," I moaned. "May the heavens grant that Laura does not return bearing reinforcements."
Across from me came the sound of a soft chuckle. "Florence," Millicent said without looking up, her quill dancing effortlessly across the page, "if you are tired, you may simply bring them to me. I shall see to them for you."
I lifted my head and slowly surveyed the veritable fortress of paperwork looming on her desk. It could have qualified as an architectural marvel.
"You cannot be serious," I said flatly. "Have you not seen what sits before you? It is a paper mausoleum."
"I have seen it," she replied, still serenely writing.
"Then how, precisely, do you intend to complete both your work and mine? Will you sprout a second pair of hands?"
"I shall complete yours first," she said, glancing at me with a smile.
"Stop speaking nonsense. I am moments away from early retirement. Let the kingdom collapse under the weight of its own bureaucracy. At worst, I shall be copperless and disgraced."
Then I brightened. "Perhaps I shall simply come live off you. You can keep me in silks and sweetmeats while I lounge uselessly in your estate."
"I approve of this arrangement," she said as she finished yet another letter and slid it onto the modest stack of completed work then reached for another from a towering pile.
A rather marvelous idea struck me, sudden and inspired. "What if I were to retire from all things Lorynthall and devote myself instead to assisting with your affairs?" I declared.
Millicent handed over the parchment she held. "That sounds delightful. Why not begin with this?"
I accepted it with confidence.
As my eyes scanned the contents, my smile grew steadily wider. "Oh, how thrilling. It concerns the Zar stone and its healing properties."
Then something struck me, and I looked up with a sudden spark of hope. "Wait, can it mend blindness? Could it fix this?" I gestured vaguely toward my left eye.
"So far, its efficacy has been observed solely in the mending of bone. The research continues. I do not intend to relinquish hope, and I hope you shan't either."
My heart warmed. "You are, without question, a woman capable of conjuring miracles."
She laughed softly. "Is that so? Let us not forget that I merely instruct, analyze, and organize. The true efforts belong to the alchemists."
"Yes, yes," I waved a hand, "but who tells the brilliant alchemists what to do, hmm? Without your brain, they would be chasing butterflies in their flasks. It is your discovery by extension."
Her lips curved faintly. "Well, if you insist on phrasing it that way. Then thank you. I shall cherish the compliment."
"You know me. I do not hand out praise like sugared almonds." I resumed reading, now wholly immersed. "Ah, look at this. A certain fellow named Danial wishes to resume human testing. Apparently, he intends to examine whether the stone's properties might treat long-standing scar tissue. The document seeks your approval."
I beamed and handed it back to her. "There. My very first task completed. Entire document dripping with ink, and I summarized it with stunning precision. I expect applause."
Millicent accepted the parchment. "I have never doubted your skill."
She reached for her quill to sign the document. But before her ink could touch paper, I sprang up with the urgency of one intercepting a royal decree and slammed my palm down upon the parchment. She looked up at me, amusement flickering in her eyes, her composure beginning to break into something that resembled laughter.
"Are you not going to read it?" I asked, truly baffled by her calm refusal to so much as glance at the contents.
"You have already read it," she replied simply. "If I were to read it as well, would that not constitute unnecessary duplication of labor? The entire purpose of assigning it to you was to relieve myself of that burden, was it not?"
I collapsed back into my chair. "Yes, but I did not report every fine detail. What if you happen to disagree with something buried therein?"
"Then why did you not bring these details to my attention?"
"Because they were useless details," I muttered.
"Then there we have it. If they were unworthy of your regard, they are unlikely to warrant mine."
"That is... rather sound logic."
She handed me a sealed letter which I accepted and freed the paper. "Ohhh this one concerns a magic stone called Fumiah." I glanced up at Millicent, nearly vibrating. "The very one you intend to use for your teleportation portals. How many of these enchanted little marvels are there?"
"Approximately six," she replied, eyes still on her own document. "Though we have yet to determine the full extent of their properties."
"I had no idea there were so many! I thought it began and ended with Zar and Vessit."
"They were only recently unearthed," she said, casting me a smile before returning to her reading.
"Are you the sole possessor of such stones?"
"Fortunately not. Were that the case, every kingdom and duchy from here to the sea would join arms and declare war upon Ivoryspire. As it stands, no one yet knows of Fumiah, save for the merchant who uncovered it, the viscount you glimpsed in the alley, Issac, Laura, my team of alchemists, and myself. We have all remained silent, as we must acquire as much of the stone as possible before its existence becomes public."
She looked at me then, softer somehow. "And now, you know too."
And so, that peculiar afternoon, I found myself quite unexpectedly becoming Millicent's secretary. I reviewed her reports, drafted her replies, even composed full letters on her behalf, all of which she signed with that elegant.
It was a wholly different experience from handling my own correspondence, which I typically approached with the enthusiasm of a woman walking to the gallows. My work felt loathsome, insipid, soul-shriveling.
But hers?
Hers was rather delightful.
Perhaps it was not the content, but the company that rendered the task so agreeable. We laughed. We bantered. We teased one another with the ease of old familiarity. We debated phrasing and wrestled over punctuation. More often than not, she was correct, of course she was.
I had missed this.
With Kyle, such exchanges were an impossibility. The poor man could barely string together a sentence without offending grammar itself. And Laura, though dear to me, was far too deferential; she would simply nod along and declare me brilliant, regardless of the absurdity I had just proposed.
But Millicent was possessed of a keen mind and not the slightest hesitation in telling me when I was wrong. And I adored her for it.