Transmigrated Teri is an ongoing isekai/portal fantasy series about Teri Graves, an embittered middle-age GenX office lady who gets into a massive car accident and wakes up in the world of the fantasy series she loves to hate, The Allisar Fireborn Chronicles. She knows the characters, she knows the plot, and she knows that its all a massive coma dreamâŚexcept for how nothing is as it should be. Worse? She woke up in the body of the doomed evil stepmother! She escaped a pandemic for this?
Previously: Teri ate strange meat on a stick and tried to enjoy herself......
Lord Ferdiff Allisar strode from the treeline with the unhurried certainty of a man who had never once considered the possibility of failure. Behind him, dragged by six straining huntsmen, came the carcass of the beastâa Thornspine Serpent of monstrous proportion, its razor-edged spines still quivering with residual venom, its sheer mass flattening the undergrowth beneath it. Ferdiffâs hunting leathers were dark with blood, his broad shoulders squared and easy, as though the kill had cost him nothing more than mild inconvenience. He had taken a gash across the jawâvisible now as a vivid line of red against weather-roughened skinâand had apparently declined to acknowledge it, in the same way he declined to acknowledge most inconsequential things. His flat eyes swept the assembled huntsmen and courtiers with the same expression he wore at council tables and dinner gatherings and the scenes of punishments: measuring, satisfied, utterly unmoved. When he finally came to a stop before his assembled court, the silence that greeted him was not the silence of awe so much as the silence of people who had learned, collectively, not to speak first.
~ Allisar Fireborn Chronicles, Book 1: Embers of Destiny
The two hours between the runnerâs arrival and Ferdiffâs actual appearance were the most efficiently miserable two hours Teri had spent in Luttiron, which was saying something.
About an hour into the wait, the gala did not so much end as dissolve as word moved through the crowd quickly and brutally of Ferdiffâs imminent arrival. The music tapered off, the dancing stopped, and half the general population found reasons to be elsewhere with speed, packing up and speeding out of the castle grounds. The maypole stood abandoned. The knights had sheathed every weapon and were busy shining their armor. The roasting spits were still turning but nobody was paying attention to them anymore.
When she finally decided it was time for them to get ready, Teri had been returned to her wheelchair with minimal ceremony and maximum efficiency, the household reorganizing itself around her with anxious precision. Roos was everywhere and nowhere, appearing at intervals to report, redirect, and disappear again. Lady Elisandar had materialized from somewhere and was standing very straight next to Teriâs chair and giving nothing away, which Teri filed under things to think about later.
The children had been brought down from the platform by Lady Sariat, who took the time to straighten their clothes (Aurguth and Gervyn) and take the flowers out of Vycetteâs complicated updo.
It was common for the kids to line up behind Lady Greyrage, Teri remembered from the first book, but Robern had come to stand slightly ahead of the others at the base of the manor steps. He was still in his blue finery, still taller than he probably felt, and he had his chin up defiantly, which was probably dumb of him but Teri understood. Behind him, Aurguth stood with her arms crossed and her jaw set. Vycette was, as usual, still and watchful. Gervyn had found his way to Teriâs side and was pressed against the arm of her wheelchair, which Teri thought was probably unintentional on his part. He had on the brave face of young boy who was actually terrified. In short, none of them were where they would normally be, and Teri knew that, if nothing else, would likely piss Ferdiff off.
Tellingly, in the first sign that Teri had seen the man had a backbone, Ota stood by Robernâs side.
Theo sat at her other side and radiated disapproval, glaring at the gate with his entire body.
:I can smell him from here,: he announced.
:Please donât do anything rash,: Teri told him.
:Iâm not going to do anything rash.:
:I mean it, Theo! This guy is dangerous.:
:I said Iâm not going to do anything rash.: A pause. :Probably.:
She did not have time to pursue that before the the caravan came into view through the open gates, Ferdiff Allisar at the head of the procession.
He was large. That was the first thing Teri noticed, the fact around which everything else arranged itself. Not the decorative largeness of a man who meant to cultivate an impression, but the functional size of a man who had been genuinely formidable in his youth and still retained enough of it to make a point. He had gone slightly thick at the jaw and through the shoulders in the way of a powerful man just beginning to hit middle age, but he rode confidently in the saddle nonetheless. His hair was dark brown, dull and going grey at the temples; his face was broad and weathered, and his eyes were flat and assessing as they swept the courtyard.
Everything, those eyes said. Everything here is mine.
Beside him, on a grey mare that was almost certainly chosen to complement her coloring, rode the most deliberately picturesque woman Teri had seen since arriving in this world.
She was young, maybe early mid-twenties, with dark gold hair and a riding habit that showed off her generous hourglass shape. She held herself with the practiced ease of someone who knew exactly how she looked from every angle and had arranged herself accordingly. She rode next to Ferdiff with a comfortable proximity, even if her posture screamed deliberate defiance.
Teri knew what a mistress looked like when she saw one.
So did everyone else, she realized as she looked at the family and staff arrayed around her. Lady Elisandar had a gleam in her eyes that meant she was going to enjoy the drama. Teri was certain, if this had happened with the actual Lady Greyrage, there would have been plenty of drama to enjoy. Instead, she just kept herself still and silent.
Ferdiff drew his horse to a stop and looked at the assembled household with the air of a man who had expected a different picture and was deciding what he thought of this one.
His gaze moved across Roos, across Lady Elisandar, then across Ota with something that might have been contempt dressed as indifference. It landed on Teri in her wheelchair and stayed there for a moment that was one beat longer than comfortable.
Then it moved to the children.
To their clothes, specifically, Teri could tell as his eyes scanned them top to bottom. Otaâs careful, expensive choices, the deep blue and green and rust, nothing like the serviceable plainness Ferdiff preferred his children to present in public. Robern in particular, standing slightly ahead of the others, chin up, looking back at his father with an expression that Teri recognized, her heart lurching. It was the expression of a child who had borrowed courage from somewhere and was not entirely sure how long it would hold.
The silence stretched.
Ferdiff dismounted.
He did it without hurry, absently handing the reins to a groom, and when he stood on the ground he was somehow even larger than he had been on horseback â the horse had just been a vehicle, this was the actual man, and the actual man took up considerable space in ways that had nothing to do with physical dimension.
He walked toward the steps.
He stopped in front of Teri.
She looked up at him from the wheelchair, a disadvantage in height and position, and met his eyes and concentrated on remaining calm and in control. He was dangerous, and she did not know what he would do.
âMy lord,â she said. Her voice came out flat and even, which surprised her slightly.
âMy lady.â His voice was deep and unhurried. His eyes moved over her, over the wheelchair, over Theo, and she saw the thing she had been waiting for, the faint but distinct recoil that Ferdiff covered immediately with blankness. He did not like Theo.
Theo, for his part, was sitting perfectly still.
:Good boy,: she thought at him.
:Donât push it,: he grumbled.
Ferdiffâs gaze had moved on, back to the children. To Robern specifically, still standing his ground at the front of the small formation, still chin up, still holding, Ota next to him radiating nervousness.
His gaze moved to the children.
He did not say anything about the clothes. That was the unnerving part, Teri realized. He looked at them, the deep blue and green and rust, Otaâs careful expensive choices, and he simply noted it, the way you noted an item in an inventory that had been moved without authorization. His expression did not change. He did not frown. He did not speak.
He just looked, and the looking was enough.
Teri saw Robernâs reaction, the slight adjustment in his shoulders, the chin coming down a fraction from where heâd held it. He had been braced for confrontation and gotten silence instead, which was somehow worse, and after a moment he made the mistake that silence was designed to produce.
âMy lord father,â he said. âWelcome home. I hope your journeyââ
Ferdiff had already looked away.
Not pointedly or with any intentional cruelty. He simply moved his attention elsewhere as if inspecting furniture, and Robernâs sentence died half-finished in the air between them like something that had never quite been alive.
Into that silence, uncharacteristically, stepped Ota.
âBrother!â he said, spreading his arms in a gesture that managed to step between Ferdiffâs sightline and Robern. âYouâre looking tremendously well, the road must have agreed with you!â He spoke with expansive warmth, indicating that he had not noticed anything was wrong, which was either oblivious or a performance so committed it had become its own kind of art. Teri wasnât sure if she should pity him or admire his guts. âThough I confess we expected you, ah, well, not quite yet, but no matter, everything is perfectly in hand, the gala has been a triumph if I do say soââ
âHas it,â Ferdiff said.
It was not a question. It was two words that landed in the conversation like stones dropped into water, but Ota of course did not stop talking as any sane person would.
âAbsolutely! The Merrevane Players were exceptional, the floral arrangements came together beautifully â well, mostly beautifully, there were some last-minute adjustments, but Lady Greyrage handled everything with remarkable efficiency, I must say, remarkable, really quiteââ
âThe children,â Ferdiff said.
Ota blinked. âYes?â
âI was given word that they were on the platform.â
The statement sat there. Ota opened his mouth, and what came out was: âThe light was very good up there, for the colorsââ
Ferdiff looked at him.
Ota closed his mouth.
Thankfully, Ferdiff did not pursue it. That was the thing about him, Teri was beginning to understand. His fury was a cold one, and calculating. He turned back to Teri in a smooth, unhurried motion, nodded, then turned, fractionally, toward the woman on the grey mare. She sat with the patient, lovely composure of someone who enjoyed being looked at.
âLady Mayyar,â he said, âwill be staying with us through the season.â
He said it to Teri, watching her closely for a reaction. Teri was certain Lady Greyrade would have had one. She, on the other hand, did not.
She looked over at Lady Mayyar, who looked back at her with dark, bright eyes and a smile that was perfectly calibrated and completely empty of sympathy. She was expecting a fight, Teri realized with surprise. How many times had Ferdiff brought home âcompetitorsâ for the title of âLady of Allisarâ?
She could feel the household waiting at her back with bated breath.
Lady Mayyarâs smile didnât waver.
âOf course,â she said pleasantly. âLady Elisandar will arrange rooms. Welcome to Luttiron, Lady Mayyar.â
Lady Mayyarâs smile shifted into something that was reassessing rather than triumphant.
Ferdiff was still watching Teri with a flat expression.
She smiled back at him with all the warmth of a woman who had spent twenty-three years smiling at university administrators who were trying to make her life difficult.
She had no idea what she was doing, but she knew she was going to have to do it carefully or it would backfire on her hard.
NEXT: The End, Again
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