The Queen's Mage

Lia’s note arrived folded once, unsealed.

That was how Allandra knew it would be bad.

Properly sealed notes from Lia contained patient reports, supply requests, or tidy lists of instructions that made senior councilors look as if they were considering faking their own deaths. Unsealed notes meant the healer had not bothered with ceremony because the contents were already invasive enough.

Allandra dismissed the page, waited until the door closed, and unfolded the paper.

There were only three lines.

Irian’s hands remain well. No blistering.

Serali knows enough.

Tell her the rest before your guilt becomes another locked door.

Allandra stared at the final line for a long time.

Then she set the note down on her desk.

Then she picked it up again.

Then, because she was queen and therefore could do as she pleased in the privacy of her own office, she considered burning it.

She did not.

Lia would know.

Allandra leaned back in her chair and looked past the papers spread before her. The work waited.

The realm waited.

The Heat waited too.

Not at the surface tonight, thank the gods. Not like the bath. Not like the sick, scorching rush of memory and desire that had turned warm water dangerous beneath Irian’s hands. Tonight it sat banked beneath Allandra’s ribs, held behind the privacy work Lia had drilled into her with all the tenderness of a siege instructor.

Glass doors, not shutters.

Openable, not sealed.

Privacy, not war.

Allandra had repeated the lesson until the words no longer felt like language.

It had helped.

Not enough.

Serali knows enough.

Allandra closed her eyes.

She could imagine exactly how that conversation had gone. Serali standing in her rooms, sharp with suspicion and humiliation. Lia telling the truth because Lia considered truth a treatment and comfort an optional supplement. Serali going still when she realized Allandra had failed badly enough to frighten a maid.

No. Not failed. Lia would object to the word with clinical severity.

You lost regulation, she would say. Now learn from it.

Allandra pressed the heel of her hand against her brow.

She had intended to tell Serali. Truly. The words had been waiting all day, unpleasant and necessary.

The heat affected the bathwater.

Irian was frightened.

Her hands were reddened.

Lia treated her.

I am sorry.

No, not that. Sorry was too simple, too easy to turn into a request for absolution.

I am worried this is becoming unsafe.

Worse. That sounded like a burden laid at Serali’s feet.

I do not want you to think you must fix this.

There.

That was the heart of it.

And the very fact that Allandra had not said it yet made it less believable.

She opened her eyes and looked at Lia’s note again.

Tell her the rest before your guilt becomes another locked door.

“Interfering woman,” Allandra muttered.

The office door opened.

“I am not a woman,” Everly announced. “I am a princess.”

Allandra looked up.

Her daughter stood in the doorway wearing her nightgown beneath a robe embroidered with small suns, her braid half-unraveled over one shoulder. She held two folded cards in both hands and wore the expression of a person arriving with official business of enormous urgency.

Behind her, Lessa hovered with the apologetic despair of a woman who had already lost the argument twice in the corridor.

Allandra set Lia’s note beneath Harrek’s report. “You are supposed to be in bed.”

“I was.”

“You are not currently.”

“I had to deliver these.”

Allandra looked at the stack of folded papers clutched to her daughter’s chest.

“I see that.”

“They need royal hands.”

“That sounds serious.”

“It is. Lessa said a page could carry them, but pages do not have royal hands.”

Lessa’s expression suggested she had not expected this to become constitutional.

Allandra held out a hand. “May I see?”

Everly considered, then surrendered the top card.

It was purple, covered in stars, breakfast rolls, and what appeared to be a spider wearing a crown.

Allandra looked at the spider.

The spider looked ambitious.

“Is this for me?”

“No. It is for Serali.”

“Ah.”

Everly climbed into the chair opposite Allandra without permission, which was either confidence or hereditary entitlement. “You read it.”

Allandra unfolded the card.

SERALI,

YOU SHOULD COME TO BREAKFAST TOMORROW.

ROYAL MAGES NAP AFTER FOOLISH PEOPLE, BUT BREAKFAST IS BEFORE NAPS.

THERE WILL BE TOAST.

ALSO JAM.

PLEASE COME.

At the bottom, the crowned spider said, in a bubble of uneven letters:

I AM POLITE.

Allandra stared at it.

Everly watched eagerly. “Do you think she will like the spider?”

“I think she will have several questions.”

“That means yes.”

“It does not.”

“It does if I write it down.”

“You are becoming legally dangerous.”

Everly brightened. “Good.”

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Allandra set the card down. “Why does the spider have a crown?”

“Because he is important.”

“Is he a royal spider?”

“No. He is a breakfast spider.”

“Of course.”

“He was in my nursery first.”

“The spider was in your nursery?”

“Yes. Lessa made a noise.”

Lessa said, “It was on the curtain, Majesty.”

“It had knees,” Everly added gravely.

“All spiders have knees.”

“This one had too many.”

“That is also usual.”

“I named him Button.”

Allandra looked at the crowned spider again. “Did Button survive this encounter?”

“Lessa put him outside.”

“In a cup,” Lessa added, with the firmness of a woman defending her record.

Everly nodded. “So now I am studying spiders. They are useful because they wait very quietly and then catch things.”

“That is one interpretation.”

“I thought Serali would like that.”

Allandra’s mouth softened before she could stop it.

Yes.

Serali would have several opinions about that.

Everly leaned forward. “Will you bring it to her?”

“A page can—”

“No.” Everly shook her head with great severity. “Important letters need royal hands.”

Allandra looked down at the card again.

Royal hands.

Not a page. Not a servant. Not the passage.

A small folded invitation with jam, toast, and an ambitious spider, and somehow her daughter had arranged it into a moral test.

“Everly,” Allandra said slowly, “Serali may not come to breakfast.”

Everly frowned. “Why?”

“She may be tired.”

“Then she should eat.”

“She may want quiet.”

“Breakfast can be quiet.”

Allandra looked at her.

Everly thought about that for one visibly difficult second.

“Some breakfast can be quiet,” she amended.

“Better.”

Everly folded her hands on the desk in a passable imitation of Verya. “She is my friend.”

“Yes.”

“So you have to bring the letter carefully.”

“I will.”

“And not queenly.”

Allandra paused. “Not queenly?”

“Not too queenly. It makes your forehead angry.”

Lessa turned toward the window.

Allandra closed her eyes briefly. “My forehead is not angry.”

“It is when you are being queen instead of Mama.”

“That distinction is not always clear.”

“It is to me.”

Of course it was.

Everly tapped the card. “Also, you like Serali.”

Allandra went still.

Everly looked very pleased with herself for this observation. Not worried. Not uncertain. Merely triumphant, as if she had found a second spider and expected applause.

“I do,” Allandra said.

Everly narrowed her eyes. “She is my friend.”

“I know.”

“You can also be her friend,” Everly allowed, with the reluctance of a ruler granting disputed land.

“How generous.”

“But I was friends first.”

Allandra’s chest tightened.

Then, unexpectedly, she laughed.

Everly looked satisfied. “That means yes.”

“It means I understand the terms.”

“Good. You may be friends too.”

“Thank you.”

“But I am still inviting her to breakfast.”

“Yes.”

“And you are only carrying the letter.”

“Of course.”

Everly watched her for a moment, then nodded as if the matter had been settled in law. She produced a second folded paper.

“This is the nap law.”

“The what?”

“Serali said Royal Mages nap after foolish people, so I made it official.”

Allandra unfolded it.

ROYAL MAGES MUST NAP AFTER FOOLISH PEOPLE.

FOOLISH PEOPLE MUST NOT INTERRUPT.

UNLESS THERE IS CAKE OR WALLS FALLING DOWN.

At the bottom, someone, almost certainly Lessa, had added in small neat script:

This has not been reviewed by Lady Verya.

Allandra laughed before she could stop herself.

Everly beamed.

Lessa looked faintly vindicated.

“I see,” Allandra said. “And this also needs royal hands?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because if a page brings a law, people might ignore it.”

“Disturbingly accurate.”

Everly leaned closer. “Also, you should go tonight.”

Allandra looked at her daughter.

Everly looked back with absolute innocence.

Too much innocence.

“Why?” Allandra asked.

“Because breakfast is tomorrow.”

Allandra sighed. “That is true.”

Everly slid down from the chair. “I will tell the kitchen to make not weird jam.”

“You will ask Lessa to tell the kitchen.”

“I will supervise.”

“Of course.”

“And you will tell Serali the spider is polite.”

“I will.”

“And if she says no breakfast, tell her I said please.”

“I will.”

“And if she still says no, tell her I am practicing patience.”

Allandra’s brows rose. “Are you?”

“No. But I will if needed.”

Allandra stared at the card.

There it was: a child’s invitation instead of a queen’s need.

Allandra’s fingers tightened on the card.

Everly looked pleased.

Then suspicious. “Are you going to tell her that?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

A pause.

“Tonight?”

Allandra looked at the card on the desk.

The excuse.

The bridge.

The cowardice.

“Yes,” she said. “Tonight.”

Everly smiled triumphantly. “Good. Now you can walk me to bed.”

“Can I?”

“Yes. Because you need practice leaving work.”

Allandra stood and held out her hand. “A brutal teacher.”

“I am four.”

“Yes. I had noticed.”

Everly took her hand, small fingers warm and sticky with something that was hopefully honey.

Lessa looked relieved enough to faint.

They walked through the private corridor toward the nursery, Lessa trailing behind. The palace was quiet at this hour, its public grandeur softened into lamplit corners and shuttered windows. Rain whispered faintly against the glass. Somewhere far below, a guard’s boots crossed stone and faded.

Everly swung Allandra’s hand as she walked.

“Do you think Serali will like the spider?”

“Yes.”

“Will she say spiders can come to breakfast?”

“No.”

Everly sighed. “Everyone says that.”

“Perhaps everyone is right.”

“Not everyone.”

“No?”

“Spiders probably disagree.”

Allandra’s mouth twitched. “That is likely.”

“Serali would let a polite spider sit on the table.”

“I assure you she would not.”

“How do you know?”

Because Serali made a face when a pantry moth flew near her tea.

Allandra said, “Because I know Serali.”

Everly looked up at her again.

Still measuring.

Still possessive in the uncomplicated, absolute way of children who had begun to love someone and did not yet understand that love could expand without being replaced.

“She knows me too,” Everly said.

“She does.”

“She knows I like honey rolls.”

“Everyone knows that.”

“She knows I do not like the green soup.”

“Yes.”

“And that I am almost five.”

“You are four.”

“Almost five later.”

Allandra sighed. “Yes.”

Everly looked satisfied. “So she is my friend.”

“Yes,” Allandra said. “She is your friend.”

And mine? some quieter part of her asked.

No.

Not enough.

More than that.

Too much for a corridor, too much for a child’s hand, too much for a card folded on her desk.

They reached the nursery.

Everly’s room was warm and dim, the fire banked low behind the screen. A small army of toys had been arranged across the rug in what looked like a trial. The stuffed fox occupied a chair of judgment. A wooden horse lay on its side near the accused block tower.

Allandra stopped at the sight. “What happened here?”

“Legal proceedings.”

Lessa closed her eyes.

Allandra looked down at her daughter. “Against whom?”

“The tower.”

“What did it do?”

“Fell on the horse.”

“Was the tower pushed?”

Everly hesitated.

“Everly.”

“It was encouraged.”

“Ah.”

Lessa murmured, “We were going to clean it in the morning.”

“Leave it,” Allandra said. “Verya may wish to review the case.”

Everly beamed.

Lessa looked as if she could not decide whether to laugh or resign.

Allandra helped Everly into bed, tucked the blanket under her chin, and returned the stuffed fox to its proper place beside her. Everly accepted all of this with the weary patience of a princess indulging ceremony.

Allandra bent and kissed her forehead.

“Good night, little sun.”

“Good night, Mama.”

A pause.

“Deliver my letter.”

Allandra sighed. “Good night.”

She remained at the bedside until Everly’s breathing slowed into sleep. Only then did she rise, pulling the blanket back over the foot Everly had already kicked free.

At the door, she looked back.

Her daughter slept among soft blankets and legal proceedings against block towers, loved by a court that adored her and underestimated her in the same breath. She would learn, one day, that adults could make even love into a thing with borders. Perhaps she had already begun learning it.

Allandra left the nursery quietly.

In the corridor, Lessa dipped her head. “Majesty.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Allandra hesitated. “Has Irian returned to duties?”

“Yes, Majesty. Mistress Lia cleared her this afternoon. She is well.”

The words should have eased her.

They did.

Not enough.

“Good,” Allandra said. “See that she is given tomorrow morning free.”

Lessa’s eyes softened. “Yes, Majesty.”