SAPR

by Scipio Smith

My Fair Emerald (New)

My Fair Emerald

Cinder prowled up and down in the library of Portchester Manor.

It was something that she had taken to doing a lot of: prowling. She had become a champion prowler these past nights. If you wanted a great prowler, then look no further than Cinder Fall.

It was not something she was proud of.

She was aware that it was bad form, bad leadership; she shouldn't be showing her impatience in front of Emerald or Lightning, certainly not in front of Sonata Dusk. She ought to have been still and calm, and affected to have no problems at all and thereby convince them that everything was going according to plan.

Still and calm were becoming harder for her. She feared that, in time, those concepts would become as foreign to her as sleep. There was a hunger in her that would not let her rest. It desired action, movement, purpose. It was not content to sit still, to wait, to watch. And it was becoming harder to control.

And so Cinder prowled the library, pacing up and down, roaming the bookshelves, growling and scowling and making it incredibly clear to any and all observers that things were not going as she wished.

They were not going at all. Cinder could not be still and patient, but it seemed that Tempest Shadow, Doctor Watts' superior agent, could be. She was so still and so patient that she had not yet found her way to Portchester Manor to chaperone Sonata into Vale. The siren was stuck in this house because there was no one to hold her leash and get her past the Red Line.

Cinder could not sit still, no longer could she stand idly by, and yet, all her plans were now sitting idly by on her behalf, on hold, put on pause, in limbo while she was forced to wait for this Tempest Shadow to deign to show herself.

It was intolerable. It was unbearable.

It was unavoidable, and it was driving her into a fury.

Who was Tempest Shadow to behave thus? To tarry thus? To treat Cinder thus? Did she not suspect Cinder's place? Did she not suspect the importance Salem attached to the successful completion of this mission? Had Doctor Watts not made it clear to her of what great import her new duties were and how much hung upon them?

Of course he had: that was almost certainly why he had advised Tempest Shadow to dawdle about getting to work. If he did not want Cinder to fail, then he certainly wanted her … well, he wanted her to be this angry, to feel the mounting impatience that grew greater every day she looked out of the window and saw no sign of Tempest Shadow.

He had put Tempest up to this that he might rile her by proxy, and done so moreover smug in the knowledge that she could not touch him or his protege.

Because, after all, she was out of other options. No matter how much Tempest might infuriate Cinder by her tardiness there was nothing that Cinder could do because she needed Tempest.

And so she was left to prowl, to pace, to growl inwardly and scowl outwardly and fret and wait with ever mounting impatience and how long would he try her patience so?

One word from her to Salem would be the end of the matter. Cinder knew that she had only to tell Salem that Doctor Watts was obstructing the mission, and Tempest Shadow would be at her door first thing the next morning, and Doctor Watts would carry a reminder not to put his pleasures before Salem's purpose ever again.

But if Cinder did that, she would have lost the battle of wills that was going on between them. She would have lost because she had proved unable to handle things herself but had to cry to mommy about it.

And so she waited, much though it chafed at her to do so.

It did not help matters that she was otherwise bored stiff.

If she had possessed something, anything else to focus on, then things would have been different. She would have been able to focus on that and leave Sonata for the moment.

But she did not. All her plans now hinged upon Sonata, and without her, they were all left standing at the start line, waiting for the race to begin.

It was getting to the point where Cinder was considering picking a fight with Ironwood's Atlesian specialists just to give herself something to do.

Plus, it would allow her to avenge her earlier defeat at their hands.

Plus, it would give her someone on whom to visit the rage she could not take out on Tempest Shadow.

Plus, it might be fun.

There were many advantages to it for a bored mind and a restless spirit.

It was a terrible idea, in many respects, and yet, Cinder had found that her mind, starved of stimulation, had planned out already how she would do it: she would remove herself from this house and choose a place of battle of her own choosing where Sonata would not be put at risk; then she would call Pyrrha and tip her off as to Cinder’s new location, with an implication that she was looking for a rematch with Mistral’s champion. Pyrrha, being a good girl, would alert the proper authorities to this — and even if she was tempted to accept Cinder’s challenge herself, Cinder was fairly confident that Sunset and Jaune would talk her out of it — and General Ironwood’s men would descend upon her from out of the skies.

And quite possibly best her, just as they had before.

The fact that Cinder was aware that it was a bad idea and yet was so bored she could not stop it growing in her mind was indicative of her situation.

She needed to find something to occupy herself, something with less attendant risk than battle against those who had already beaten her once — she would be revenged, have no doubt, but only once her plans were moving forward in other directions.

She needed something to do.

There was a knock at the open library door.

Cinder whirled around to face the doorway and saw Emerald standing there, head bowed.

"Well?" Cinder demanded.

"No sign of anyone," Emerald murmured, still not looking up.

Cinder fought back the urge to scream and throw things. She kept her voice soft and as sharp as one of her obsidian blades. "I see. Very well." She turned away from Emerald. "You may go."

"Of course," Emerald murmured. "I'm sorry, Cinder."

"Wait!" Cinder called, her voice to forestall Emerald's going because she had it now. She knew what she could do, into what she could pour her energies, with what she could occupy herself and so distract herself that, when Tempest Shadow eventually arrived, she would not find Cinder even slightly vexed.

And it would be … a nice thing. A kindly thing. The kind of thing that, if it were not lordly, was nonetheless kinder than the conduct of some lords.

"Cinder?" Emerald asked.

"Close the door," Cinder commanded her.

"Why?"

"Because this will be for us, not for Lightning Dust or Sonata," Cinder declared. "If they need us, they will have to knock. Shut the door."

This time Emerald obeyed Cinder's command; Cinder heard the door swing shut and close with a click of the latch.

Cinder turned around and gestured to a patch of floor in front of her. "Come here."

Emerald approached, confusion in her red eyes. "Is ... did I do something wrong because whatever it was I—"

"Stop," Cinder said, silencing Emerald with a word. "I did not bid you shut the door to muffle the sounds of your pain. You have done nothing wrong. You have done nought but seek to serve me well and do my bidding as I instructed you. And yet I in my turn have used you poorly."

Cinder paused for a moment. "The fact is, as you possess the manners of a peasant, I have found it easy to use you so and to dismiss you so. I have forgotten that, as I am your mistress, as I am responsible for you, it is my duty not to dismiss you but to uplift your manners to the standards of your betters."

Emerald frowned. "I … can I level with you for a second?"

"If you wish."

"I kind of feel as though I've been insulted, but I don't understand enough of what you just said to say for sure."

Cinder let out a bark of laughter. "My speech will seem less strange to you when we are done," she said. "But put plainly: Emerald Sustrai, I intend to make you a lady."

Emerald blinked. "Can you … can you do that?"

"I should hope so; I taught myself once upon a time," Cinder replied. "Like you, I was denied the opportunities offered to the likes of Pyrrha Nikos. Unlike you, I could read—"

"I can read," Emerald pointed out mildly.

"But did you have access to books growing up?" Cinder asked. "Were you culturally acclimated to understand which were the Great Books, the ones truly worth reading, the ones that would teach you everything you needed to know of how to live?"

"No," Emerald answered softly. "Why are you doing this?"

Cinder had no desire to confess her boredom, and so she answered with a question of her own: "Emerald, what do you think will happen when all this is over?"

"I don't understand," Emerald replied.

"When the battle is done," Cinder clarified. "When my task is complete for which I recruited you, what will you do?"

"I … I thought … I hoped … I want to stay with you, Cinder," Emerald said softly, her lower lip trembling.

"And why would you wish that?" Cinder asked. "I have done nought to earn your love or loyalty."

"Nothing but seek me out and ask my help," Emerald confirmed. "You … I've always been alone. I took what I needed to survive because no one ever gave me anything. You are the first person in the whole world to tell me that you needed me, so please, please, Cinder, let me stay by your side; even when this mission is completed, there will be other—"

"'Other battles'?" Cinder asked, cutting her off.

She felt … she felt as though Emerald had stolen Midnight and stabbed her through the gut with it. Truly, was there anything more pitiable and unfortunate than misplaced devotion? Cinder might have been forced to labour at her stepmother's command, but she had never been under the illusion that she was valued for her labour.

"Yes," she went on, "there will be other battles; there will be wars to come; after the Emerald Tower shall fall … the others, in what order my mistress shall decree."

It irked her somewhat that she was not privy enough to Salem's plans to name the next target, but that was something to brood on later.

"But to what end shall you stay with me?" Cinder asked. "What shall befall you if you stay by my side? Battles and wars and ranged against us such diverse several powers, any one of which, alone, might cause a gallant heart to tremble: Ironwood, Theodore, the noble lady Terri-Belle and all the blades of Mistral yet beside, hot-foot for vengeance for their princess slain. Four kingdoms and the power of Atlas stand opposed to us, and what are we to challenge them? Cunning and craft, hot tempers, knees that will not bend to do submission, are these such things to conquer realms and shatter armies? Perhaps," she allowed, turning away from Emerald for a moment. "Or perhaps not. But make no mistake, Emerald, I am the underdog, and if you fight with me too long … either you shall die, or I shall, and what then?"

She walked to the window, where sunlight streamed into the library, illuminating the dusty, leather-bound volumes where they sat upon the shelves, making the faded gold lettering gleam a little.

Cinder leaned upon the windowsill. "If you should die … well, then you will be dead, to speak plain, and dead is … dust. I will have no need of you in a grave, and nor will any other. And if I die—"

"You won't die," Emerald declared. "You're too—"

"Did you not hear me list the powers that are opposed to us?" Cinder demanded, rounding on her. "Do you not recall the champions most skilled and valiant which Ozpin may put on the field against us: vaunted Pyrrha Nikos, beloved Pyrrha Nikos, all the more vexing for being as she is my equal Pyrrha Nikos; and Sunset, who has great power and little honour to restrain it? My death is like as not, and yet … and yet, I fear it not, for ere I die, I'll do such things as will be the dread of kingdoms. Though I perish, they will speak for years and generations yet to come of what I did, and who I killed and ate up what I killed, and frighten little children prompt to bed with chiding them that Cinder Fall shall come to punish them their disobedience.

"But what of you, Emerald? What will you do when I am fallen, since you chose to stay by my side? I will give you means to live so that, when we part, me to my further wars, you may part to more than the thief you were when I found you."

"Live," Emerald murmured. "Live … where?"

Cinder turned to look at her. "I don't know, where you like," she said tartly. "Mistral, Vale—"

"There's still going to be a Vale?"

"I'm not planning to kill everyone!" Cinder declared. "What would be the point of that? Who would be left to tell my story, to remember me with fear and curses, to recall that once I lived and strove and battled against all the world?" She chuckled. "There will be a Vale, and you may live in it, or anywhere else you choose. Save, please, I beg of you, do not choose Vacuo, or all my work will be for nought.

"I will teach you how to move amongst the highest in the land, to speak as they do, move as they do, to blend in amongst them as though you are born to it."

"I still won't have the money that they do," Emerald murmured.

Cinder smiled. "Let me worry about that," she said. "So what say you? Would you like to be my equal?"

Emerald's eyes widened. "Yes!" she yelped, her voice rising. "I'd like that a lot. But…"

Cinder cocked her head to one side like a curious beast. "'But'?"

"Why me?" Emerald asked. "Why only me, and not Lightning Dust?"

"Lightning Dust is a brute beast, fit only to bear burdens and obey commands. She could not comprehend what I am about to teach, even if she had the willingness to do so. Man is born to follow and to adore, and Lightning Dust is a prime example of that, but you … you, I think, have the potential to be an object of worship, not a worshipper. You have it in you to be graceful; you have the wit to assume culture and a cultivated air. You are worth my time. Or do you so desire Lightning's company?"

"Not at all," Emerald said at once.

"Good," Cinder said. "Good." Her eyes fell upon the armband that Emerald wore upon her left arm, three rings of cold grey iron clasped about her dusky skin. "I gave that to you, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Emerald said, a smile appearing on her lips. "Yeah, you did."

Cinder nodded. "I'm going to ask you to give it back to me."

"What?" Emerald gasped. "But why?"

"Because I was too glib in the bestowing of it," Cinder answered, "cheapening its worth to you and to myself, giving too little thought to its meaning."

"'Meaning'?" Emerald repeated.

Cinder raised one eyebrow. "Does that not prove the point?" she asked. "I did not even trouble to explain to you what it was that I bestowed. Truly, I have been a poor mistress to you, and for that, I … you have my regret."

That was a more elegant way of saying it, and her opinion on the subject had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that she could not bear to say sorry.

"You could explain now," Emerald suggested.

That was fair enough, so Cinder said, "Amongst Mistralians of a certain rank or deference to tradition, an honour band is bestowed upon a young warrior once they have completed their training or otherwise proven themselves worthy to be regarded as a warrior and a peer."

"Bestowed by who?" Emerald asked. She paused for a moment. "I see that … you aren't wearing one."

"No," Cinder replied, in a voice that was almost but not quite a growl. "To answer your question, it can be variously bestowed: a parent, a master, a commander. I never had anyone to bestow one upon me."

"Couldn't you just start wearing one?"

"That is not the point," Cinder declared. "The worth of the thing is not in the possession but in … but in who granted it, and the esteem they demonstrated by the bestowing. The honour in the name is that of the bestower as much or more as they who wear it. It marks a bond, connecting they who gave and they who received. To simply start wearing a band around my arm would be meaningless. But, once we are done. I will give you a more worthy band, and you will choose some words to have engraved within it, and in this way. I shall mark you as my equal."

Emerald's eyes widened. "'Your' … I could never be your equal."

"Not in power, perhaps, but in courtesy and grace and nimbleness of tongue. I see no reason why not," Cinder said. "If your tongue can be but as nimble as your fingers you will sing prettily yet."

"I … if you say so," Emerald said. "So … where do we start?"

---

Lightning Dust frowned. "She said that? She said that about me?"

Sonata nodded. "I'm afraid so. I heard it myself. She hadn't even closed the door to say it."

Lightning was silent for a few moments. She rested her fists, knuckles down, upon the table. "'A brute beast'?"

Sonata nodded again. "Uh huh. I'm really sorry to have to tell you, but my sisters always used to say it was better to get hard truths than comforting lies. And believe me, they told me a lot of hard truths."

Lightning didn't reply. She didn't reply to anything for a few seconds. "Pretentious bitch," she growled.

"I'm really sorry!"

"Not you!" Lightning snapped, making Sonata cringe at her volume.

"Oh, you mean Cinder," Sonata said. "You know, just between you and me, I don't think she's very nice."

"I knew she didn't like me," Lightning said. "I didn't think she liked anyone, except maybe Sunset Shimmer—"

"Who?"

"One of our enemies."

Sonata tilted her head ninety degrees. "Why is one of our enemies the only person she likes?"

"Hell if I know," Lightning replied. "All I know is, whatever they've got going on between them makes them both weak."

"Does that worry you?" Sonata asked.

Lightning frowned. "A little bit," she said, her voice gruff. "She might be content to die gloriously, but that's not what I signed up for."

"Well, now you've got me a little worried."

"You're the one who told me what Cinder had been saying," Lightning pointed out.

"I was hoping you'd offer me some reassurance!"

Lightning let out a scoffing, snorting sound. "Sorry."

Sonata bowed her head. "I don't want to die," she whimpered.

Lightning felt a strong desire to stick her arm around Sonata's shoulders. She didn't, because she wasn't into all that mushy stuff, but she did say, "You're not going to die. You're going to be fine. Just stick with me; I'll see you right."

Sonata looked up at her. "Really?"

"I didn't get involved with this so I could die gloriously and become some little brat's nightmare," Lightning declared. "I'm here for power, the only thing that matters. The power that lets you do without being done to. Let Cinder and Emerald have their little lah-de-dah lessons, and we'll take care of ourselves."

Sonata leaned forwards. "How?"

"Like I told you, Cinder's weak," Lightning said. "Now, she might think that I'm a moron, but I've worked out what's going on. I've worked out why you've been stuck here all this time."

"You know, I was kind of wondering about that," Sonata admitted. "I thought maybe Cinder was trying to build hype for my big debut."

Lightning shook her head. "That's not it," she said. "You see, Cinder works for someone, I don't know who, but that someone has other people working for them besides Cinder, and that other person has people working for them like we work for Cinder, and Cinder is waiting for one of those people to come and help her out. You know what that means?"

"Everyone is working too hard, and we need a team outing?" Sonata suggested.

"No, no, that's not it," Lightning said.

"Aww," Sonata moaned. "We could have gone bowling."

"We'd be better off going to an escape room and locking Cinder inside," Lightning muttered. "But my point is that we don't have to be stuck working for Cinder; we've got options."

"Oh!" Sonata cooed appreciatively. "You mean we could get ourselves a new manager!"

"Exactly," Lightning said. "And all we have to do is wait for their guy to finally show up."

---

And so, as more days passed, Cinder threw herself into the education of Emerald Sustrai.

She found that she was quite distracted from the ongoing absence of Tempest Shadow because, much to her surprise, she found that she was enjoying herself.

She had not expected to do so. She had not expected anything but something to while away the tedium while Doctor Watts continued to frustrate her. But no, as it turned out, there was something … Cinder did not entirely know how to describe it. She did not have the word upon the tip of her tongue, although no doubt, she would find one if she searched for long enough.

Emerald was much like herself in some respects; that was not something that Cinder had appreciated before now. They were not alike in temperament, in any way, and that dissimilarity had disguised to Cinder's eyes the ways in which they were the same. Emerald had not been to a noble or even to a bourgeois family; she had not had so far to fall as Cinder had. And yet, she, too, had been reduced to nothing, cast out, forced to survive on her wits and on her strength. She had not Cinder's vaulting ambition, nor her wrath, but, well, if everyone could be Cinder Fall, then to be Cinder Fall would be nothing extraordinary, and that would never do.

The fact was that they were as alike as they were different, and for Cinder to have the opportunity to do for Emerald what no one had volunteered to do for her, to teach Emerald what she had had to learn for herself … it touched her humour.

The world did not desire such as they, but they could learn to play its games regardless.

And then there was the sense of rightness that accompanied. Ever since … ever since she had fled from Beacon, ever since Sunset had seen her truth and past, Cinder had felt … there was an itching in her back, something … she could not explain it. There was a beowolf inside her, she knew that; she felt it growl and prowl and thirst for blood. But she also felt of late as though there was something else inside of her as well. A lord inside? A better angel of her nature? Something else that had no name or defied easy categorisation? Regardless, it pushed her to do better. It didn't push her to turn away from her plans for glory — for which she was very grateful — but it did push her to be nicer to Emerald, to reward her service, to care for her servant. There was an extent to which it pushed her to use Lightning Dust better also, but it seemed that whatever was inside of her was something of a snob.

This was the only way she could think to repay the debt of Emerald's loyalty. She had no lands to give, no wealth to offer, and what power lay in their grasp could not be shared. But she could give Emerald the means to be more than a thief, to perform as though she belonged in the glittering world with the likes of Phoebe and Pyrrha.

That was all it was: performance. A wonderful performance at times, a stunning performance with elaborate costumes and grand sets, but a performance nonetheless. Speak in just such a way, walk in such a way, comprehend our cultural signifiers at the surface level, bandy quotations about, be able to recite our values, even if you don't live up to them.

And Cinder considered herself to be a very good performer.

And there was one final reason, the most unexpected of reasons why Cinder found herself taking pleasure in the instruction of Emerald: it was … pleasing to watch her progress. It was like watching a flower bloom before the sun. It was watching someone come into themselves and knowing that you had played some part in it.

It was something she could point to and say 'I did that.' Nothing else that she had done lately had yielded up that same sense of concrete accomplishment.

It was pleasant. It did not yield the same exultant satisfaction as, say, the death of an enemy, the glee like fire or scorching heat, but nevertheless, it was pleasing in a soft and gentle way, like a cool breeze on a summer's day.

Or the memory of such, from when she could still feel the breeze.

They began with stance and posture. Emerald moved like a thief, with a furtive, slinking gait and a slight hunch to her stance, as though she were preparing to duck at any moment. Cinder had her stand up straight, keep her chin up, to look down on people instead of bowing her head. Elocution followed, not words — they would come through reading, through exposure to them, but how to pronounce, how to enunciate, how to avoid clipping the edges of her words, how to affect the proper accent. How to say that the rain in Vacuo fell mainly … nowhere, since it was a desert, but Emerald could say that it fell mainly on the plain in such an accent that people would take her word for it.

Emerald concentrated, and it was a testament to her native wit that she picked up swiftly what Cinder sought to teach her, but Cinder could tell that she was at the same time a little bemused by it. When they got onto table manners, Emerald dared to give voice to her concerns.

"Cinder," she murmured, "I appreciate what you're doing—"

"And I appreciate that you are choosing your words with care," Cinder replied, smiling. She was sat at a little table she had moved into the library from the parlour, with a porcelain tea set — empty — spread out before her. Cinder had gone rooting around in the Manor to find it, discovering a great deal of smashed crockery before she did. "However," she went on, "it's quite unnecessary."

"Really?" Emerald asked.

Cinder's eyebrow rose. "Speak your mind," she commanded.

Emerald swallowed. "It's just that … some of this stuff … seems kind of pointless."

Cinder's hand clenched into a fist beneath the table. She took a deep breath, seeking to control her irritation; she had invited Emerald to speak freely, after all, and a display of anger would be a poor way to begin the lesson. Besides, it wasn't her fault: the fashion of the world trended that way and encouraged such thoughts and opinions.

And it wasn't as though she didn't have a point.

Cinder picked up one of the china cups, extending her pinkie finger outwards. The gold around the rim was gone, and so was most of the pattern around the sides. Cinder probably hadn't helped matters when she washed them; she detested washing dishes and had not taken the proper care she might have done.

She gathered her thoughts. "You are … not wrong," she conceded. "However, I have … three reasons why I do thus, three reasons why this is, in my opinion, worthwhile.

"You may say that class, in these times, is less important than money. Depending on which kingdom you choose to live in, you may be close to right. But money, unless one possesses a nigh-unlimited supply of it like Jacques Schnee, will not put one above suspicion. Suspicion, apart from anything else, as to where you got the money, particularly if you appear by manners and bearing to be unworthy of it, to have acquired it through illicit means. People will ask questions, people will investigate … but I have seen first-hand the way that the right accent, the right manners, can put one above all suspicion of wrongdoing. Convince them to accept you as a gentlewoman, Emerald, and the police will bow to you, defer to you, call you 'my lady,' and apologise for any inconvenience done to you. And behind closed doors, you may be as wicked as you please."

And the Kommeni had certainly known how to be wicked; the only lesson they had ever taught to Cinder.

"That ties into the second reason," she went on, "which is that, although it is true that these things have no real material value or benefit to them, nevertheless, they are important signifiers. Tell me, Emerald, why does Beacon Academy have leadership classes? Sit down; you look so awkward standing there like that."

Emerald sat, a slight frown crinkling her forehead. "Because Ozpin thinks that leadership can be taught?"

"Because Ozpin knows that leadership is performative," Cinder explained. "Though there is such a thing as innate leadership, most of those who choose to present themselves as such are not born leaders but, rather, those who have mastered the signifiers that we associate with leadership: the appearance of courage, the appearance of confidence. It is all put on.

"And so it is here. We are told that the world is moving in a more egalitarian direction, that we are all becoming more equal; leaving aside to what extent that is desirable, the fact is that it is not so. We are judged yet for how we seem, you know that well enough, no?"

Emerald nodded. "Well enough."

"And how we seem gives us the right to judge," Cinder said. "You will be amazed at how many people will consent to be looked down upon by one who fits their image of a social superior."

"I never did," Emerald pointed out.

Cinder smiled. "You are not most people," she replied. "And hence, you are worthy to join the elite. Again, mere possession of wealth will only carry you so far; certainly, it will not shield you against the sneers and snobbery which trail a parvenu. To be immune from sneers, you must act like they who sneer, and thus, you will also gain the right to sneer at others."

Emerald was silent for a moment. "And the third reason?"

"Hmm?"

"You said there were three reasons," Emerald reminded her.

"Ah, yes, of course," Cinder murmured. "Three reasons." She put down the teacup. "Humour me," she said.

"Cinder?"

Cinder said nothing for a moment. "There are times," she said, "when I hate these things."

"Manners?"

"The things that they are taken to signify," Cinder said. "Worth, chiefly; importance, acceptability. Do you recall I temporarily took leave of you to go to Mistral?"

Emerald nodded. "You met Sunset for the first time," she muttered.

"Indeed," Cinder agreed, a faint smile crossing her face at the memory. "I wore a gown of black, with white feathers in my hair; I almost looked like a grimm." She paused. "I wished that I could set a grimm amongst all those proud and indolent lords and turn their pretensions to blood and horror." Her whole body shuddered with that same desire, the beowolf inside awake now, prowling, growling within her. She bought her will to bear upon it, forcing it back to sleep, or at least back into its cage.

"I don't understand," Emerald said, "then why—?"

"Because I also remember my parents having afternoon tea on the veranda, with the view out to sea spread out before them," Cinder murmured.

Emerald blinked. "You … you've never talked about your family."

"Nor will I," Cinder said, "except to say that genteel manners … can be gentle. They may be of no practical import, they may cover up a host of misdeeds and abuses, they may be a paper facade that would prove worthless when the barbarity of the outside world intrudes, but at the same time … the fact that we can be something more than barbarians, that we consider one another to be worth more than coarseness and ill grace might be said to be something worth celebrating.

"Take," Cinder continued, "take Pyrrha, for instance." Little as she desired to take Pyrrha anywhere but an early grave, she was a good illustration of Cinder's point. "Take Jaune. Which do you think Pyrrha would prefer: that he touch her gently and speak her sweetly and kiss her softly and all things gallant and courteous besides, and at every step, inquire as to her comfort, or that he snarl and snap and rail at her and strike her and seize her body as by entitlement and use her to his pleasure and not hers?"

"The first one, obviously."

"Indeed, the second would leave her weeping," Cinder said. "For that which we use roughly, we esteem cheaply and show how little value we do place upon it. But that which we hold dear and precious, we treat with care and gentleness."

Emerald stared at her for a moment with a wide-eyed look of wondrous amazement on her face, though what cause she had to look amazed, Cinder could hardly say.

"I'm ready for the lesson now," she said.

Manners, then. How to sit, how to hold a cup, which knife and fork when many knives and forks were present, which wine to order with which meal — don’t order red wine with fish; it will give you away immediately. A lot of this, it was true, was covered in Atlesian etiquette classes, but Cinder was not certain that Emerald had been paying much attention in those classes; there was no harm in giving her … a refresher, at the very least.

Cinder herself … she had rather enjoyed those, and had been getting very good marks before she had been forced to flee from Beacon; as she had confessed to Emerald, it had reminded her of home, of her mother before she died, of the fellow officers of the Argus station who had called upon her and father at their home, who had dined with them. When she had been a very young girl, who ought to have gone to bed by the time the dinner parties got into swing, Cinder had been used to sit halfway up the stairs, arms wrapped around the bannisters, listening to the conversation in the dining room. She had not understood half, or more than half, of what was being said, but it had been pleasant to sit there nonetheless, to listen to the hubbub flowing around her and try to comprehend what words she could.

She could still remember their names: Major Croft, Captain Wentworth, Lieutenant Benwick, Lieutenant Harville. She remembered the way that they had brought her presents, doted on her. They had seemed so decent then, so noble.

She remembered the way that they had all disappeared after her mother died, all those decent, courteous, honourable officers. Not all at once; there had been visits at first, but these had been perfunctory things, etiquette and courtesy masking a fundamental disinterest: ‘are you in health’, that sort of thing. And then they had stopped coming altogether. They had abandoned Cinder to the mercy of the Kommeni.

That was the problem with manners, of course; it didn’t mean you actually gave a damn. It just enabled you to hide the fact that you didn’t care with nice words and proper behaviour.

It was all … a bit of a lie, really. But lies could make the world a better place, from time to time, and lies would allow Emerald to prosper in her future, and so, Cinder shook off her … mixed feelings and continued the lesson.

And after that … after that, it was literature, to which Cinder had, she would confess, been looking forward.

It was fortunate that they were having these lessons in the library, and it was fortunate that the library of Portchester was well stocked with the classics, because it meant that Cinder could, when the time was right, simply pluck The Mistraliad from the shelf and hold it lightly in one hand.

“There are books that are called Great Books,” Cinder said, “and we shall cover a few of those in summary—”

“Why are they called 'Great Books'?” Emerald asked.

“Because some professor at a university decided that they were,” Cinder answered. “Although, lest that should sound too cynical, I should add that those which are considered great are, in my opinion, rather good.”

While Phoebe had gone to Atlas to train in arms, Philonoe, her other stepsister, had wished to attend the University of Mistral and study Greats, otherwise known as literae humaniores, a mixture of ancient literature, languages, and history. Cinder had burned her alive before she got the chance, but before that, she had borrowed a great many of Philonoe’s books and read them by torchlight while the rest of the family was asleep. She had quite enjoyed some of them.

None, though, meant so very much to her as the book that she held in her hand. “This book, Emerald, this book is, in my opinion and in the opinion of other learned fellows, ancient and modern, the greatest of the great. When you read a text, and the author refers to simply ‘the poet’ — as the poet sang, as the poet teaches us, in the words of the poet, that sort of thing — they are always referring to Demodocus, who set down The Mistraliad, the song of arms and the man, many generations ago.”

“I’ve never read it,” Emerald murmured.

“I didn’t expect that you had,” Cinder replied. “But you have the chance now, seeing as we are not otherwise overburdened with work, and I … I really do recommend it to you, for every conceivable reason. This book is … this book is the foundation of Mistralian culture, it is the wellspring of all the values of that kingdom, even if they are values which are only pretended to. If you wish to pass for a lady, then you must at least be able to perform a familiarity with this book; everyone has read it, it will seem bizarre if you have not, so you must acquire at least a passing familiarity with the principal characters, the notable scenes, a few of the more quotable lines of dialogue. More than that, it…” She paused for a moment. “This book, this tale, could be completely unknown,” Cinder declared. “It could have been forgotten, lost save for a single copy which had fallen into my hands, it could be the case that you could read it and no one would understand what you were talking about, and still, I would urge you to read it regardless, because … because it is tremendous. There is a reason it has not been forgotten, there is a reason that a kingdom and a culture have been built upon it, and that reason is that it speaks powerfully to what it means to be … to be human.”

Again, Cinder paused, wondering if she had forfeited her claim upon this tale of humanity in her pursuit of … no, since she was in pursuit of all those things that animated the heroes of the tale, how could she lose her claim upon the tale by the means by which she pursued them?

“There is a tale,” Cinder went on, “that during the Great War, as General Colton and his Valish army were sailing from Sanus to Mistral, the general called upon an island lying between the two continents to consult with the famous philosopher Stessichus, and that all the wisdom Stessichus gave him was contained within the pages of The Mistraliad, for the wisdom of the poet is timeless.”

“Did General Colton pay attention?” Emerald asked.

“No, he mocked Stessichus for not having any new thoughts in his head.” Cinder said. “And so he was defeated in his campaign by Ares Claudandus; serves him right, the uncultured swine.”

Again, she took pause, weighing the book in her hand. “Emerald,” she murmured. “You and I … you and I are … we are not so different as I once believed. Both … alone, forced to fend for ourselves, forced to teach ourselves how to survive in the midst of a world that did not want us. The difference between us is that … is that I had this book, I had the great Pyrrha to inspire me, the cunning Diomedes to mentor me, the noble Juturna to steel my heart. They made me what I am, in my faults, but in my glories too.”

Emerald hesitated for a moment. “Is that … is that the story with the giant badger?”

“It was actually a giant rabbit, but no,” Cinder said. “Eventually, yes, as the legends go, Diomedes did construct a giant rabbit in which the warriors hid, so that when the Mistralians opened the gates to receive it, their enemies poured out and sacked the city, but that comes later; in fact, it comes in the Solitasis, now mostly lost to us save for fragments and summary. Everyone confuses The Mistraliad with all the other legends around the war — the kidnapping of the princess, the rabbit, and so on and so forth — but it is not. It is a much tighter work, more focussed, and yet, in its focus, universal.”

“Then what is it about?” asked Emerald.

“The wrath of Pyrrha,” Cinder said. “Yes, she was named after the hero; in fact, she is her descendant, and yes, I find that fact incredibly infuriating. Not least for the way that all of Mistral hangs upon her star, her Evenstar and praises her as though she were her namesake reborn, and yet, they are nothing alike. Pyrrha, the great Pyrrha, the Pyrrha that lives within these pages, that taught me and moulded me and spoke to me, she is … she is wild, chaotic, driven by an overriding, one might say overreaching, passion. Does that sound at all like that red-haired milksop back at Beacon?”

“Not really,” Emerald murmured.

“No,” Cinder said. “No, it does not. And yet, she is the Evenstar, she is the pride and glory of Mistral reborn, she is … she is everything, and everything wrong with what Mistral has become, the decay of … people know this story, but they do not understand it, or rather, they do not wish to understand it; everything has become softened, has had its hard edges smoothed away; everything has become acceptable for the consumption of children and tourists. And so, the pride of Mistral, the model of our virtue, is this soft, mild, shy, beauty of a girl who looks good on cereal boxes and would never say or do anything untoward while I…”

“Cinder?”

“I am the true Evenstar of Mistral,” Cinder declared. “All that is embodied in these heroes, I embody also: all their pride, all their vanity, all their overreach, it lives in me as it never could in Pyrrha Nikos, for all that she be descended from a line of heroes, princes, and emperors.”

Emerald was silent for a moment. She squirmed in her seat as though she had piles. “Is … is that a good thing, though?”

Cinder blinked. “I … what do you mean?”

“I mean … it doesn’t sound all that great,” Emerald said, speaking very quietly, as though she hoped that Cinder wouldn’t actually hear her. “None of those things … they’re not actually good things. I mean, they don’t sound good.”

Cinder frowned. “Do they not?”

“Pride, vanity, overreach,” Emerald repeated. “Not really.”

“No?” Cinder asked. “Without pride, how will we retain ourselves? Without ambition, for what will we be remembered? We live in a society that is eager to grind us down, you know this as well as I do; we are … we are nothing. What is Cinder Fall, what is Emerald Sustrai, what are we worth, to the rich and the powerful? What are we for, but to be used for their purposes and then discarded? We are nothing to them; we are nothing to the world. None will regard us unless we regard ourselves; we must hold our heads up high, we must believe that we are worth more than they believe, for no one else will believe it on our behalf. We must reach for more than they think us capable of. And you know this, Emerald; you may not like the words, but you know this, or why did I find you robbing high-end jewellery stores?”

“You could get good money for some of those things.”

“At a high risk,” Cinder pointed out.

“Yeah,” Emerald conceded. “But the risk is worth it.”

“Tell me that you did not think that you should be wearing some of the fine things you stole,” Cinder demanded, folding her arms — though she still held onto the book. “Tell me that did not enter into your consideration at all.”

Emerald hesitated. She squirmed in place. She looked away. “I did sometimes think … why not me? Why them? And when I would trick the jeweller, use my semblance to make him see a lady or a bride to be and her fiancée, I would think … why not me?”

Cinder nodded approvingly. “It shall be you,” she declared. “One day. I give you my word. That is why I chose you, Emerald, not for your semblance or your skill; I could find a hundred thieves with sticky fingers, I could find semblances of as much use as yours or greater, but I chose you because I saw your pride and your ambition; then, you may have wished to deny it even to yourself. It shall be yours. All that you desire.”

“But not yours?” Emerald asked. “Why are you doing this, Cinder?”

“This … what?”

“All of this,” Emerald declared. “This war, this fight, these plans … you said it yourself: you’re the underdog, you’re up against so much, it … it almost sounded like you didn’t expect to win. It sounded … you sounded as if you were going to your death.”

Cinder was silent for a moment. “In The Mistraliad,” she said, “when Pyrrha forsakes the battle, her dear friend — and more than friend, it is widely believed — Camilla leads out their forces in her stead, and in the fighting, she is killed by Juturna, the princess and champion of Mistral. Pyrrha flies into a rage, a rage made deeper by guilt; she hates Juturna, but more than that, she hates herself for having not been there when Camilla needed her the most, for being the cause of Camilla’s death. And so, Pyrrha makes a bargain with her mother, a goddess: the gods will grant Pyrrha vengeance, she will strike down Juturna … but her own death will follow hard upon. That is what the gods offer Pyrrha, and she accepts, without a second thought.

“Earlier that morning, as the Mistralian troops assemble at the gate, Juturna’s husband begs her not to lead the army out personally. He begs her to command from the walls, to take pity on him, to think of what would become of their family in her absence. Juturna, though she is not unmindful, refuses, for all that — or perhaps because — the day will come when Mistral must fall, the slaughter of Polyperchon and his people. She must go, you see, as Pyrrha must, as Sarpedon and Glauce must, they must go.”

“But why must you?” Emerald demanded. “Why do you have to fight, although you’ve just described the odds against you? Atlas, Mistral, Sunset and Pyrrha and General Ironwood and all his men, you’re going to send me away because the battles to come will be too dangerous, but you plan to let those same battles consume you until there’s nothing left? What are you even fighting for?”

“What am I fighting for?” Cinder repeated. “I…”

She trailed off. It was not a question so easily answered. She could not say, as Juturna had, that she fought for her home, her father, her people, her city. It was Pyrrha’s answer then. In some ways, she too had made a bargain with a god, although Salem perhaps did not understand the nature of the bargain that they had struck. Salem … Salem planned to win this war, with Cinder as her instrument. Cinder herself … Cinder would win this battle for Vale, and strike down Pyrrha Nikos, and then…

She would do all that she could, fight as hard as she could, strive with all her might and all the power that she could attain, but she was under no illusions. She might try to bring down the world, but she would not succeed. Nor, to be perfectly honest, would she wish to do so. For a hero, after all, the end of the story was as important as anything else, and ‘and then she won everything and went home content’ was not much of a heroic ending.

And that was without mentioning the fact that she had no home to go back to.

Everything but my pride was taken from me, and nothing was given in return but a rage that only bloody vengeance can begin to sate. And so, I will fight for those things because I have nothing else to fight for.

Certainly, I have nothing else to live for.

“What is there but the fight?” Cinder asked. She raised her hand and let flames spark at her fingertips. “I have a fire in me, Emerald; I must let it burn brightly, though it burn me out and consume me until only ashes remain. What have I else?”

“That’s not true,” Emerald declared. “You could—”

There was a knock on the door.

“What?” Cinder demanded.

“My name is Tempest Shadow,” came a voice from the other side of the door. “I believe you’ve been expecting me.”

Comments

[Kiue Jin]

I am reminded of a lesson from a Captain Bill Seacaster, a pirate of an evil alignment who owned that but was still the kind of bastard you could respect and want to call a friend.

"There are two types of people in this world. Those who fight for blood and those who fight for gold. Those who fight for blood they're a dead man, right away. Or woman. They only see combat for its own sake. Now those men would come to my ship and they would ask for a crew. They would ask 'Oh, put me in first mate'. But I could see in their eyes that the thirst for blood was going to put them into a grave. Soon. I have no use for dead men. Only those who can make me richer.

"Now a man for fights for gold... is a man who knows why he's fighting and that's what matters. I fear no one. Death to me is nothing more than a joke. and when my time comes, i will leap into hell, and kill the devil. However, the point is that death is apart of every combat, no matter how easy to overcome it may seem. So, the way you avoid death is by knowing why you fight. You don't fight to fight, you fight to win. And winning looks like whatever your gold is. For some your gold is gold. For others their gold is... other things. Silver sure, love certainly. Some people fight for abstract ideals that through they'll be impossible to achieve in their lifetime still give them a cardinal direction that they can move in."

[Mastermind4892]

I have little doubt that Cinder subconsciously hopes that this can in some way make amends for how she wronged Sunset. “You made me you.” To put right how she used Emerald in a similar manner.

Just as I’m sure she’s doing this to fill the hole left in her by Sunset’s absence. To have another well-spoken and cultured young woman at her side who was also scorned by the world. The only one Cinder felt a heartfelt connection to, the desire to have a kindred spirit with her that she didn’t hesitate to consider an equal.

To have a friend.

[Mister Morden]

I do enjoy these looks into Cinder's psyche. Though she is still pretty damn evil. But she is a very interesting person none the less.

[Mindscape]

"Close the door," Cinder commanded her.

"Why?"

"Because this will be for us, not for Lightning Dust or Sonata," Cinder declared. "If they need us, they will have to knock. Shut the door."

This time Emerald obeyed Cinder's command; Cinder heard the door swing shut and close with a click of the latch.

===

Lightning Dust frowned. "She said that? She said that about me?"

Sonata nodded. "I'm afraid so. I heard it myself. She hadn't even closed the door to say it."

Hmm, sounds like Sonata is doing the Siren thing and sowing a little discord. As innocent as she seems , it seems she's still got her own plots bubbling away, though I am curious what she could achieve like this, other than working towards her own freedom in some way.

[AdverseFlower95]

It’s good to see that Cinder’s and Emerald’s relationship is starting to become more healthy. There’s still a very large power gap between the two, but Cinder is now going out of her way to try to give back to Emerald. I’m glad that Sunset was able to influence her for her to try to be a more noble lord at least.

Speaking of which I think that Cinder may have missed her calling as a teacher of some kind. Since it has only been Emerald we can’t tell whether Cinder is good at teaching or Emerald is talented. No matter the case Cinder enjoyed teaching and that’s a nice little thing to add to her character and something she could do after all of this is over since Emerald brought that topic up.

[_CheckMate_]

Good to see that Cinder is taking the philosophy of noblesse oblige to heart and taking the time to teach and connect with at least one of her subordinates. Fanatical devotion can be strong, but it can be easily shattered when tested if not built upon. I'm really enjoying this route with Sonata, straddling the line between bumbling ditz and manipulative emotional mastermind; makes her into a legitimate threat in the long run while staying true to her canon counterpart's personality.

[Aleck_Ultimate]

I have the impression that you are trying to take Cinder out of the archetype of the demon who only knows hate, but are the changes from the canon about herself, or still a result of the empathetic contact with Sunset, as it was suggested the time she held back from slapping Emerald, or even both?

Or this would be to spoiler-like to talk about it ?

I think I'd like Cinder to have her redemption even very late, although it would be nice if it wasn't a brainwashing like Nightmare Moon, or at least not entirely.