The Queen's Mage

Chapter 72: Learning to Knock

Lia looked faintly pleased with their progress.. “Good. Now we make a latch.”

Serali stared. “A what?”

“A voluntary signal. Something small enough to send intentionally, not strong enough to flood the bond. You need a way to say: I am here, may I come closer?”

Serali’s expression closed at once. “That sounds like opening a door.”

“It is.”

“I dislike doors.”

“You dislike locked doors,” Lia said. “That is not the same thing.”

Serali went still.

Allandra looked down before Serali could catch whatever had crossed her face.

Lia continued, mercilessly calm. “The latch is not a command. Not a summons. Not a claim. It is a question. A knock.”

Daravan shifted against the wall. “That may be the least alarming thing anyone has said today.”

“Do not ruin it,” Serali said.

“I am supporting the lesson.”

“You are standing there with a sword.”

“Supportively.”

Allandra almost smiled.

This time, when amusement warmed the bond, she did not pull away.

Serali’s internal veil rustled.

But it did not bare its teeth.

“Good,” Lia said. “Majesty, you first.”

Allandra’s smile vanished. “What exactly am I doing?”

“Choose something small. A spark. A thread. A touch of warmth. Whatever feels like you without becoming all of you.”

Serali muttered, “That sounds dangerous.”

“It can be,” Lia said. “Which is why we are doing it with witnesses, chalk, and a captain who believes his sword is emotionally useful.”

Daravan inclined his head. “Thank you.”

“That was not praise.”

“I choose to receive it as such.”

Lia ignored him. “Majesty.”

Allandra closed her eyes.

A spark was too sharp. Too easily fire.

A thread of sunlight, perhaps.

No.

Sunlight had weight in her. Authority. Mantle. Crown.

She needed something smaller.

Warmth at a window in winter. Light touching the edge of a closed shutter. Not entering. Not insisting. Only asking whether the room within wished to open.

Carefully, Allandra shaped the feeling.

Then sent it.

The smallest pulse she could manage moved through the bond.

Serali’s breath caught.

Allandra froze.

Lia snapped, “Do not retreat.”

Allandra held.

Every instinct demanded she pull back. Apologize. Make the space empty again before Serali could be crowded by it.

But Serali did not step away.

Her eyes were wide, wary, and furious at being startled, but she did not step away.

“What was that?” Serali asked.

“A question,” Lia said.

Serali looked at Allandra.

Allandra kept her hands still. “I meant it as one.”

Serali swallowed.

Then, after a long moment, she said, “It was too warm.”

Allandra’s chest tightened. “I’m sorry.”

Lia pointed at her. “No.”

Allandra stopped.

Serali’s eyes narrowed. “No?”

“No apologizing for an answer you asked for,” Lia said. “Adjust.”

Allandra exhaled slowly.

Serali looked almost pleased.

Almost.

“Less warm,” Allandra said.

“Yes,” Serali replied. “Less sun invading a room under diplomatic pretense.”

Daravan coughed.

Allandra closed her eyes briefly. “Understood.”

She tried again.

This time, the warmth barely touched the bond. A pale thread beneath a door. Present. Waiting. Easy to refuse.

Serali’s veil shifted.

Not open.

Not closed.

Considering.

“That,” Serali said slowly, “is less offensive.”

“High praise,” Daravan murmured.

Serali ignored him.

Lia nodded. “Now answer.”

Serali went rigid. “How?”

“The same way. Something small. Not a wall. Not a weapon. Not that shadow creature you accidentally invented.”

“It was not a creature.”

“It hissed.”

“It had concerns.”

“Give it fewer concerns.”

Serali scowled.

Allandra did not smile.

Barely.

Serali closed her eyes.

The room seemed to gather around her. Not physically. Not visibly. But Allandra felt the bond narrow, felt Serali searching the edge of it with the care of someone touching a blade to see which side cut.

Then something cool brushed the thread of warmth.

Not cold.

Not rejection.

Shadow, but not darkness. More like shade offered beneath a tree. A small answer, cautious and edged, but deliberate.

Allandra’s throat tightened.

There you are, she thought, and immediately buried the thought before old magic learned ambition.

Serali’s eyes opened. “Did that work?”

“Yes,” Allandra said.

The word came out too soft.

Serali looked away.

Lia, thank the gods, had no mercy. “Again.”

They practiced until the exchange stopped feeling quite so much like walking barefoot over broken glass.

Warmth.

Stolen story; please report.

Shade.

A knock.

An answer.

Once, Allandra sent too much and Serali’s veil snapped tight enough that the candles guttered.

“Too much,” Serali said.

Allandra drew back only halfway this time. “Do you want to stop?”

Serali looked at Lia.

Lia said nothing.

Good.

Serali looked back at Allandra. “No. But less.”

“Less,” Allandra agreed.

Once, Serali answered too sharply, and Allandra caught a flash of irritation with it.

Serali’s jaw tightened. “That was irritation.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to continue?”

Allandra looked at her.

No one had taught Serali that language gently.

She was learning it anyway.

“Yes,” Allandra said. “Do you?”

Serali hesitated.

The room held itself very still.

“Yes.”

The next knock was cleaner.

The answer cleaner still.

Not easy.

Not safe.

But chosen.

When Lia finally stepped back, the winter light had shifted across the infirmary floor. Daravan looked as though he had witnessed an entire diplomatic treaty conducted by people trying not to combust.

“Enough,” Lia said.

Serali lowered her hand, though she had not needed her hand for any part of it. “That was exhausting.”

“Good.”

“You say good to too many terrible things.”

“It confuses patients into surviving.”

Daravan said, “I may begin using that.”

“Do not,” Allandra and Serali said together.

The bond sparked with mutual amusement.

This time neither of them flinched.

Lia noticed.

“Progress,” she said.

Serali looked suspicious. “That sounded almost like praise.”

“It was not. Do not become difficult.”

“I was difficult before praise.”

“True.”

Allandra smiled.

Serali caught it.

Not through the bond. With her eyes.

For once, that felt important.

At the door, Lia stopped them. “One more thing.”

Serali closed her eyes. “I hate that phrase.”

“You will practice tonight,” Lia said. “Briefly. Separately first. Then once together, if both of you agree. No heat work. No magic work. No testing whether amplified power feels impressive.”

Daravan looked sharply at both of them.

Serali pointed at him. “Why are you looking at me?”

“Experience.”

“I have none.”

“Temperament, then.”

Allandra almost laughed again.

Lia continued, “If anything flares, you stop. If either of you feels crowded, you stop. If one of you says no, the other withdraws and does not make nobility out of suffering.”

Allandra absorbed that.

Serali too, if the stillness in her face meant anything.

“No nobility out of suffering,” Serali repeated.

“Correct.”

“That rules out most courts.”

“Sadly.”

Lia opened the door.

The guards straightened in the corridor.

Serali stepped out first, notebook clutched to her chest. Allandra followed.

Halfway into the hall, the faintest thread of warmth moved through the bond.

Not from Allandra.

From Serali.

A knock.

Allandra looked at her.

Serali stared straight ahead, expression severe enough to intimidate marble.

Allandra answered with shade.

Small. Careful. Deliberate.

Serali’s mouth softened by a fraction.

The bond stirred between them, quiet and chosen.

For the first time, it did not feel like old magic deciding anything.

It felt like a door.

And someone on the other side learning to wait.

Chapter 73: Friends Need Biscuits

Everly was under Allandra’s desk when she began the argument.

Allandra knew this because the desk sighed.

Not the wood itself, obviously. The great western solar desk was carved from old sun-oak and had endured five reigns, seventeen ministers, and one incident involving a foreign ambassador, spilled ink, and a parrot. It did not sigh.

Her daughter did.

Allandra stopped reading the report in her hand. “Everly.”

The underside of the desk went very still.

“I know you are there.”

“No you don’t,” said the desk.

Allandra closed her eyes.

It had been that kind of morning.

“Desks do not speak.”

“This one does.”

“Then this desk is late for arithmetic.”

A small, offended face appeared between the carved legs. Everly’s hair was coming out of its braid in coppery-gold wisps, and there was blue chalk across her chin. One stocking had slipped halfway down her calf. Both shoes, miraculously, remained present.

“I am not late,” she said.

“You are under my desk.”

“Master Ilovan told me to count things. I counted the hallway.”

Allandra stared at her. “You counted the hallway.”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“One.”

Allandra pressed her fingers to her brow.

Everly crawled fully out, leaving behind three chalks, a wooden horse, and one dried apricot. “I want to see Serali.”

“No.”

Everly frowned. “You didn’t think.”

“I have thought.”

“No, you said it with your no-mouth.”

“My what?”

Everly pressed her lips into a flat line and lowered her voice into a disturbingly accurate version of Allandra at council. “‘No.’”

Allandra looked toward the window, as if Myrae might bear witness to her suffering.

It did not.

“Serali is busy,” Allandra said.

Everly climbed into the chair across from the desk, upside down. Her legs hooked over one arm, her head hanging over the other so that her hair nearly brushed the carpet. “Doing what?”

“Preparing.”

“For what?”

“A magical demonstration.”

“Why?”

“Because the council needs proof that she can do the work required of the office.”

Everly considered this from her inverted position. “That sounds stupid.”

“It is not stupid.”

“Can’t you tell them?”

“I have.”

“Then why don’t they believe you?”

“Because councils are not built for belief. They are built for objection.”

Everly nodded solemnly, as if this confirmed a private theory. “Like geese.”

Allandra paused. “Geese?”

“They hiss when you walk near them.”

“That is… not entirely wrong.”

Everly slid from the chair and landed on the rug with a thump. “If Serali is doing work, then she is not a prisoner anymore.”

Allandra’s hand stilled.

There it was.

“She is not exactly a prisoner,” Allandra said.

Everly brightened. “Then I can see her.”

“No.”

Everly’s expression darkened. “Mother.”

“She is not exactly free either.”

Everly considered this. “That is worse.”

“Yes,” Allandra said quietly. “It is.”

The admission slowed her, but only for a breath.

“Then she needs friends.”

“She has Mara.”

“Mara is grown.”

“And Lia.”

“Lia pokes people.”

“She is a healer.”

“She still pokes.”

Allandra pinched the bridge of her nose. “Everly.”

“And Daravan is too serious to be a friend.”

“Daravan has friends.”

Everly gave her a look.

Allandra sighed. “A few.”

“And you are queen.”

“I am also capable of friendship.”

Everly looked doubtful.

That, Allandra decided, was wounding.

“I am,” she said.

Everly leaned both elbows on the desk, chin in her hands. “Are you Serali’s friend?”

The question struck with such precision that Allandra almost reached for a report to hide behind.

Almost.

“I am trying to be someone she can trust,” Allandra said.

“That is friend practice.”

“In a way.”

“Then I can practice too.”

“No.”

Everly slapped both hands on the desk. “Why?”

“Because you are four.”

“I will be five later.”

“That does not help today.”

“Because she is Night Fae?”

“No.”

“Because she has magic?”

“No.”

“Because she hid in my playroom?”

“That is part of it.”

“I already saw her there.”

“Yes, and I have aged considerably since.”

Everly climbed halfway onto the desk before Allandra caught her by the waist and set her firmly back on the rug.

“You said she liked my card,” Everly said.

Allandra’s throat tightened.

Serali laughing over the crooked dragon. Serali smoothing the bent corner. Serali holding the card against her chest with kiss-bruised lips and eyes too bright.

“Yes,” Allandra said. “She liked it.”

“Then I should see her.”

“No.”

Everly’s face fell.

This time, she did not shout.

That was worse.

“You said she is hurt,” Everly said. “You said she is important. You said she is not exactly a prisoner.”

Allandra closed her eyes.

“Everly—”

“No.” Her voice wobbled, but she pushed through it with terrible determination. “You said things. I listened. That means they have to fit.”

Allandra opened her eyes.

Everly’s lower lip trembled. She bit it. Finnian had done that when he was trying not to laugh, not cry. In Everly, the gesture was her own and his and somehow a knife.

“They have to fit,” Everly repeated. “If she is dangerous, you should say dangerous. If she is bad, you should say bad. If she is sad and hurt and important and not-prisoner, then I can say hello.”

Allandra had no immediate answer.

Because the thing was, Everly was wrong.

And also she was not.

The risks remained. Serali’s position was fragile. The council’s conditional approval could shatter under the wrong rumor. Hagen was watching every crack in Allandra’s composure.

Serali had walked the east gardens under escort. Servants had seen her. Guards had addressed her by name. Lia had begun teaching them privacy instead of panic.

The danger of Everly seeing Serali had not vanished.

But the moral usefulness of refusing had thinned.

Allandra leaned back. “You will not ask about Lyehira. Or her father. Or why she was in your playroom. Or why she is guarded.”

Everly’s brows drew together. “That is a lot of not-asking.”

“Yes.”

“What can I ask?”

“You may ask if she is feeling better. You may ask about books. You may ask about dragons.”

“Can I bring another drawing?”

“Yes.”

“Can I bring biscuits?”

“Mara may bring biscuits.”

“I can carry them.”

“One plate. With help.”

Everly narrowed her eyes, then apparently decided victory was victory. “Can I see her today?”

Allandra looked at the security report. Then the council docket. Then her daughter, blue-chalked and jam-sticky and utterly convinced lonely people should not be left alone if there was someone available to sit with them.

“All right,” Allandra said.

Everly went still. “All right?”

“Yes.”

“Today?”

“Yes. With Mara, guards, and me present.”

Everly frowned. “You will hover.”

“I will supervise.”

“That is hovering with a crown.”

“I will supervise from a reasonable distance.”

“How far?”

“Serali may decide.”

Everly looked satisfied. “Good.”

“You will listen if she asks you to leave.”

Everly’s satisfaction faltered. “Why would she?”

“Because she might be tired. Or overwhelmed. Or simply not want visitors.”

“But I am nice.”

“That does not obligate anyone to receive you.”

Everly considered this very seriously.

Then she nodded. “I will ask.”

“Good.”

Everly nodded once, then she squeezed Allandra’s hand.

“Then let’s bring biscuits,” she said. “Friends need biscuits.”

Serali was trying to convince a thread of shadow to hold the shape of a key when someone knocked.

The shadow immediately collapsed.

“Traitor,” she muttered.

A voice came from the other side. “That sounded like magic.”

Serali froze.

Not Allandra.

Not Mara.

Smaller.

Brighter.

Dangerous in a completely different direction.

The door opened before Serali decided whether to answer.

Allandra entered first, which Serali expected. The queen wore a dark blue coat and her expression had arranged itself into something calm, careful, and infuriatingly composed.

Behind her came Mara, carrying a tray.

And between them, holding a napkin-covered plate with the intensity of a priest bearing holy relics, was Princess Everly.

Her hair had been braided, then apparently negotiated with, and was now escaping around her face in coppery-gold wisps.

She stopped just inside the room and stared.

Serali stared back.

Everly looked around the room first: the desk, the lamps, the practice papers, the hearth, the neatly made bed, the window. Then her eyes returned to Serali.

“You are not in the bed,” Everly said.

Serali blinked.

Of all possible openings, this was not one she had prepared for.

“No,” she said.

Everly nodded, as if this confirmed something important. “Good. Beds are boring when you are not sleepy.”

Mara made a tiny sound behind the tray.

Serali lowered the hand that had been practicing magic. “Are those biscuits?”

Everly brightened. “Yes.”

“Are they safe?”

“Mostly.”

Allandra closed her eyes.

Serali looked at her. “Mostly?”

“I chose the good ones,” Everly said.

“That does not answer the question.”

Everly frowned, then looked up. “Mama, are the biscuits safe?”

“Yes,” Allandra said.

Everly looked back at Serali. “See?”

“She is biased.”

“She is queen.”

“That is a larger form of biased.”

Everly considered this with serious interest.

Allandra said, “Serali.”

Serali gave her an innocent look.

It was wasted effort. Allandra seemed immune to innocence on principle.

Everly marched forward, plate still held in both hands. Halfway across the room, she stopped and looked back. “How close am I allowed?”

The question struck so unexpectedly that Serali had no answer.

Allandra’s gaze moved to Serali, not Everly.

Waiting.

Mara, too, waited.

Serali looked at the small girl holding biscuits like a peace treaty.

How close am I allowed?

No one in Naerith had ever asked that.

Not Vandra. Not court ladies. Not guards. Not Rania. Not even Allandra, at first.

Now everyone in this room seemed determined to ask permission until Serali either answered or threw herself out a window from sheer discomfort.

“The table is fine,” she said.

Everly nodded and carried the plate to the low table by the fire. Mara set down the tea tray beside it, then retreated to the wall near the door.Allandra remained standing farther back than necessary, hands folded behind her.

Careful.

Always careful now.

Serali felt the faint edge of her through the latch they had practiced the day before: worry, warmth, restraint. She kept the door mostly closed.

Progress, apparently, was choosing what to let in.

Serali refused to look grateful.