The Queen's Mage

Chapter 116: Dress Rehearsal

Everly discovered the dress sketches by accident, which meant she discovered them with the force of destiny.

Serali had left them on the study table for exactly six minutes while she attempted to convince Mara that a formal brooch was not a “beginning,” but a surrender with hinges. Mara had ignored this with the practiced calm of a woman who had already won.

Then the door opened, and Princess Everly entered with Lessa, a small basket, and the expression of a child who had been promised only a “brief visit” and had immediately decided to expand the treaty.

“Serali!” she announced.

Serali looked up from the hearth chair. “Princess.”

Everly frowned. “No. Serali.”

“Everly.”

“Good.”

She crossed the sitting room at speed, stopped two steps away, remembered herself, and held out her arms. “May I hug you?”

Serali glanced at Lessa.

Lessa looked as if she had been prepared for this exact negotiation.

“Yes,” Serali said. “Briefly.”

Everly hugged her around the waist.

This time, briefly meant four seconds. Possibly five.

Serali chose not to prosecute.

Everly released her and held up the basket. “I brought you chestnuts.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. They are roasted and warm and I did not eat all of them.”

“A heroic restraint.”

“I ate some.”

“A realistic restraint.”

Everly nodded, satisfied, and turned toward the study table.

Then froze.

Serali saw the moment happen.

The sketches lay spread across the table in neat, traitorous rows: gowns in smoke blue, deep plum, silver-gray, charcoal, dark teal, and black, each drawn with Callenne’s clean hand. Small notes crowded the margins. Sleeve options. Collar lines. Embroidery placement. One sketch showed tiny silver stars worked along the cuffs and hem.

Everly’s eyes widened.

“Oh.”

Serali stood too quickly. “Those are nothing.”

Everly looked at her as if she had just claimed the moon was a biscuit.

“They are dresses.”

“Unfortunately.”

Everly approached the table with reverence. “For you?”

“So I am told.”

Everly set the basket down and climbed onto the nearest chair before anyone could stop her.

Lessa inhaled. “Your Highness—”

“I am looking carefully.”

Mara, who had emerged from the bedroom with folded linens, paused in the doorway.

Serali pointed at her. “Do not look pleased.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“Only moderately.”

Everly leaned over the sketches, small finger hovering just above the paper. “This one is blue.”

“Very observant.”

“And this one is purple.”

“Also true.”

“And this one is like Verya.”

Serali looked down.

The charcoal gown had severe lines, silver edging, and a high, elegant collar.

Mara made a sound and turned it into a cough.

Lessa murmured, “Your Highness.”

“What? Lady Verya is gray.”

Serali covered her mouth.

Everly looked up. “Will Lady Verya be cross?”

“Yes,” Serali said.

Everly considered. “But quietly.”

“Extremely quietly.”

Everly nodded, reassured, and returned to the sketches.

Her attention caught on the smoke-blue gown with silver stars. “This one.”

Serali braced. “What about it?”

“It is the best.”

“It is only a drawing.”

“It is still the best.”

Mara came closer. “A fine judgment, Your Highness.”

Serali shot her a look.

Mara ignored it.

Everly traced the air above the tiny stars. “It has night on it.”

Serali went still.

Not badly.

Not entirely.

Everly looked up at her with all the unguarded certainty of four years old. “But nice night.”

The room quieted.

Serali did not know what to do with that.

Nice night.

Not shadow. Not danger. Not Lyehira. Not the things painted on walls by people who had never met her but hated her anyway.

Night with silver stars on the sleeves.

Nice night.

Mara’s face softened in a way Serali could not bear to look at directly.

Serali folded her arms. “That is not a formal court category.”

“It should be,” Everly said.

Lessa smiled despite herself.

Everly moved to the plum sketch. “This one is for being important.”

“I am already important.”

“Yes. But this one tells people.”

Serali stared.

Mara looked delighted.

Lessa whispered, “Her Highness has strong opinions about clothes.”

“I have noticed,” Serali said.

Everly pointed to the black formal gown. “This one is for scaring Lord Merrow.”

Serali looked at the sketch.

Then at Everly.

“That is not what Callenne wrote.”

“She forgot.”

Mara made another cough-like sound.

Serali turned on her. “You are making several noises.”

“I apologize.”

“You do not.”

“No.”

Everly straightened in the chair, suddenly solemn with purpose. “When are they finished?”

“Not soon enough for this conversation to matter.”

“When?”

Mara answered, because Mara had no instinct for self-preservation. “The first two should arrive within two days, Your Highness.”

Everly gasped.

“Two days?”

“Approximately.”

Everly turned to Serali. “You must tell me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes, because I need to see.”

“You will see them when I wear them.”

“That is not enough.”

“It is precisely enough.”

Everly slid off the chair and planted herself in front of Serali. “I must judge them.”

Serali blinked. “Judge them?”

“Yes.”

“Like the block tower?”

“No. Like fashion.”

“What?”

Everly lifted her chin. “When the dresses are finished, you have to put them on and walk in the room so I can see.”

Serali looked at Mara.

Mara looked serenely back.

“No,” Serali said.

Everly’s eyes narrowed.

Serali recognized the beginning of legal proceedings.

“You already wear dresses,” Everly said.

“Not for sport.”

”It is not sport. It is looking.”

Mara’s mouth twitched.

Lessa looked down at her hands.

Everly continued, gathering confidence. “And I can say which ones are best. And Mother can come too.”

“No,” Serali said immediately.

Too immediately.

Everly frowned. “Why?”

“Because your mother is busy.”

“Mother likes dresses.”

Serali’s face heated.

Mara became intensely interested in the linen in her hands.

“She is queen,” Serali said. “She has many responsibilities.”

Everly looked unimpressed. “She can have one responsibility about dresses.”

Lessa turned away, shoulders suspiciously tense.

Serali pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is not happening.”

Everly looked to Mara. “Mara?”

Serali’s head snapped up. “Do not appeal to Mara.”

Mara folded her hands. “A brief private showing might help determine alterations.”

“Mara.”

“It would be practical.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“That word is becoming a weapon.”

Everly brightened. “A fashion show.”

“No.”

“A little fashion show.”

“No.”

“A tiny one.”

“No.”

“With chestnuts.”

Serali paused.

Everly saw the weakness instantly.

“With honey cakes too,” she added.

“Absolutely not. You are negotiating with baked goods.”

“Yes.”

“At four.”

“I am almost five later.”

Serali looked at Lessa. “Has anyone considered law school?”

Lessa said gravely, “The subject has been discussed.”

Everly returned to the table, gathered one sketch, the smoke-blue one, and held it carefully in both hands. “This one first.”

“You are very certain.”

“It is nice night,” Everly said again. “And you are night. But nice.”

Serali’s throat tightened.

Damn child.

“Fine,” she said.

Everly went still with triumph. “Fine?”

“A small showing. When the first gowns arrive. You may judge two dresses.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“Two and the cloak.”

“There is no cloak yet.”

“When there is.”

Serali stared at her.

Everly stared back.

Horrifyingly, Serali respected the tactic.

“Two dresses and, if there is a cloak, the cloak.”

Everly nodded. “And Mother.”

“No.”

“Mother likes you.”

Lessa made a tiny strangled sound.

Mara closed her eyes.

Serali’s entire face went hot. “Your mother likes many people.”

Everly looked skeptical.

“She likes Captain Daravan,” Serali added desperately.

Everly wrinkled her nose. “Not like dresses.”

“I do not know what that means.”

“Yes, you do.”

No one breathed.

Everly, mercifully unaware that she had just aimed a cannon through the middle of the sitting room, returned the sketch to the table.

“I will invite Mother,” she announced.

“You will not.”

“I will ask.”

“That is worse.”

Everly smiled sweetly.

Serali suddenly understood why Hagen found this child so entertaining.

Mara stepped in with the calm of someone rescuing a battlefield. “Perhaps, Your Highness, the first showing should be for you. Then you may choose which gown is most suitable to show Her Majesty.”

Everly considered.

Serali stared at Mara with betrayed admiration.

“That is a good plan,” Everly decided. “I will choose the best one.”

“Exactly,” Mara said.

Serali mouthed, Traitor.

Mara’s expression said, Efficient traitor.

Everly picked up her basket again and held it out. “Chestnut?”

Serali took one because she had apparently agreed to a fashion show and needed food to survive the consequences.

Everly smiled.

The room, infuriatingly, warmed around it.

After several more minutes of discussion — during which Everly named the smoke-blue dress “nice night,” the plum dress “important plum,” and the black gown “Merrow danger” — Lessa finally managed to steer her toward the door.

At the threshold, Everly turned back. “You will tell me when the dresses come.”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

Serali hesitated.

Everly’s face became solemn.

Serali sighed. “Promise.”

Everly beamed. “Good. I will make judging cards.”

“Judging cards?”

“For scores.”

“No.”

But Everly had already swept into the corridor with the confidence of a princess whose paperwork was inevitable.

The door closed.

Silence settled.

Serali looked at Mara.

Mara looked back.

“Judging cards,” Serali said.

“Yes.”

“I blame you.”

“Reasonable.”

“And Callenne.”

“Also reasonable.”

“And Lady Verya.”

“For teaching her judgment?”

“For existing near law.”

Mara nodded. “Very reasonable.”

Serali looked down at the sketches.

Smoke blue with silver stars.

Nice night.

Her fingers touched the edge of the paper.

“Do not tell Allandra,” she said.

Mara’s eyebrows rose.

Serali pointed. “Do not.”

“Of course.”

“You are going to tell her.”

“No.”

“You are going to arrange for Everly to tell her.”

Mara smiled faintly. “That seems beyond my control.”

“It is absolutely within your control.”

“Not if Princess Everly has judging cards.”

Serali groaned and sank into the hearth chair.

The good one.

The warm one.

The treacherous one.

“Court is diseased,” she muttered.

Mara began gathering the sketches with far too much satisfaction. “Deeply.”

Serali picked up another chestnut.

It was still warm.

Chapter 117: Nice Night

The first two gowns arrived in a long cedar box lined with tissue and scented paper.

Serali stared at it as if it had been delivered by an enemy state.

Mara stood beside the table, hands folded, expression composed enough to be criminal. “Mistress Callenne sent them personally.”

“I can see that.”

“And her note says alterations can be made within two days if needed.”

“I hate that there is a note.”

“There are three notes.”

Serali looked at her.

Mara continued, “One for the gowns, one for the undergarments, and one regarding the jewelry suggestions.”

“No.”

“You have not heard the suggestions.”

Before Serali could answer, a knock came at the outer door. Not Lia’s. Not Allandra’s.

A small fist, three rapid strikes, followed by Everly’s voice calling, “It is me, and I have cards.”

Serali opened her eyes.

Mara’s composure cracked at the edges.

“I blame you,” Serali said.

“Reasonable.”

Mara opened the door.

Everly marched inside wearing a dark blue dress, polished shoes, and the solemn expression of a magistrate approaching sentencing. Lessa followed with a basket over one arm and the expression of a nurse who had accepted that the law had left her behind.

Everly carried a stack of small cards tied with green ribbon.

She held them up.

“Judging cards,” she announced.

Serali looked at Lessa.

Lessa said, “She made them after lessons.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

Everly untied the ribbon and spread the cards across the low table. Each had a category written in large, determined letters.

PRETTY

IMPORTANT

TWIRL

CAN RUN

MOTHER WILL LIKE

LORD MERROW SHOULD BE AFRAID

Serali stared.

Mara made a sound.

Lessa closed her eyes.

Everly pointed at the cards. “These are the important things.”

“The category ‘can run’ is extremely sensible,” Serali said.

Everly beamed. “I know.”

Mara murmured, “More sensible than some court categories.”

“Exactly,” Serali said.

Everly picked up the last card. “And this one is because of the black dress.”

“The black dress has not arrived.”

“Yet.”

“That is not ominous.”

Everly set the card down with great care. “We must be ready.”

Serali looked at Mara. “She has been speaking with Verya.”

Mara said, “Almost certainly.”

Everly moved to the cedar box and bounced once on her toes. “Are they in there?”

“Yes,” Mara said.

“Can we start?”

“No,” Serali said.

Everly froze.

Mara froze.

Lessa looked resigned.

Serali sighed. “We cannot start until someone explains the rules.”

Everly’s whole face lit. “I have rules.”

“Of course you do.”

“Rule one: I sit in the big chair.”

“Why?”

“Because I am judging.”

“That is corrupt.”

“It is procedure.”

Mara, traitorously, moved the blue hearth chair slightly to face the sitting room.

Serali pointed at her. “You.”

Mara’s expression remained serene. “The judge requires a view.”

Everly climbed into the chair and arranged her skirts with great seriousness. “Rule two: Mara writes the scores because I am busy looking.”

Mara inclined her head. “An honor.”

“Rule three: Lessa has snacks.”

Lessa lifted the basket. “Honey biscuits and sliced pears.”

“Rule four,” Everly continued, “you have to walk from the study door to the hearth and turn around.”

“No.”

Everly frowned. “That is the fashion part.”

“I can stand.”

“You must walk so I know if you can run.”

“That is not how walking works.”

“It helps.”

Serali looked at the ceiling. “Fine. I will walk. I will not twirl.”

Everly checked one of her cards. “Twirling is a category.”

“Then I accept a zero.”

Everly looked horrified. “You cannot accept a zero before trying.”

“I can.”

“That is bad judging.”

“I am not judging.”

“You are being judged.”

“Worse.”

Mara opened the cedar box.

The smell of cedar and clean linen rose into the room. Tissue paper rustled. Beneath it lay the smoke-blue gown.

Serali stopped objecting.

Just for a moment.

Callenne’s sketch had been pretty. The real dress was worse.

It was not bright. Not soft in the way court women wore softness like a trap. The blue was dusk-deep, almost gray in shadow and silvered where the light struck it. The bodice crossed neatly at the front with hidden fastenings, no helpless lacing at the back. The sleeves were fitted but not tight, lined at the wrists with something soft. Along the cuffs and hem, tiny silver stars had been embroidered so finely that they looked scattered rather than arranged.

Nice night.

Everly slid off the chair and came closer, eyes wide. “Oh.”

Serali swallowed.

“No,” she said, to no one in particular.

Mara looked at her. “No?”

“No to whatever feeling this is.”

Mara’s face softened.

Serali immediately scowled.

Everly reached toward the fabric, then stopped herself and looked at Mara. “May I touch?”

Mara glanced to Serali.

The choice passed to her.

Ridiculous. Necessary.

Serali nodded. “You may.”

Everly touched the hem with one finger.

Very carefully.

“It is soft night,” she whispered.

Serali looked away.

Lessa made a small sound behind the snack basket.

Mara lifted the gown. “Shall we?”

“No,” Serali said.

Then, because apparently no had become a ceremonial objection rather than a final answer, she went behind the screen.

The fitting was easier than the first measuring had been. The gown had been made to close at the side, with hooks large enough that Serali could manage most of them herself. Mara helped only at the shoulder, fingers quick and respectful.

When Serali looked down, she saw herself in smoke-blue fabric and silver thread.

She did not know what to do with that.

Mara adjusted one sleeve. “Breathe.”

“I am.”

“Angrily.”

“That still counts.”

“It does.”

Mara stepped back. “Ready?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Serali came out from behind the screen.

Everly sat up straighter in the judge chair.

Lessa smiled before she could hide it.

Mara moved to the low table, pen in hand.

Serali walked from the study door to the hearth with all the dignity possible for a woman being graded by a four-year-old.

Everly watched with terrifying focus.

At the hearth, Serali turned.

Not twirled.

Turned.

Everly looked down at her cards.

“Pretty,” she said.

Mara wrote.

“Important.”

Mara wrote.

“Can run.”

Serali lifted her brows. “You have no evidence.”

Everly pointed. “Walk back faster.”

“No.”

“Please.”

Serali walked back faster.

The skirts moved easily around her legs.

Damn Callenne.

Everly nodded. “Can run.”

Mara wrote it down.

Serali returned to the hearth. “I am not twirling.”

Everly looked at the card.

Then at Serali.

Then at the gown.

“Maybe a little turn?”

“I just turned.”

“That was a serious turn. I need a dress turn.”

Serali stared.

Everly clasped both hands under her chin.

Weaponized innocence.

Serali narrowed her eyes. “You are learning politics too quickly.”

“I am almost five later.”

Serali sighed, took the smallest step, and turned once. Not a full twirl. Not enough to count, legally.

The hem moved anyway.

Silver stars caught the firelight.

Everly gasped.

Mara’s pen stopped.

Serali froze. “What?”

Everly whispered, “Nice night.”

Serali’s face warmed.

Mara wrote something.

Serali pointed. “Do not write poetry.”

“I am recording the judge’s remarks.”

“Read them.”

Mara looked down. “Nice night. Very good. Stars move.”

Serali looked away.

Everly added, “Mother will like.”

Mara wrote.

Serali’s head snapped back. “That is not a valid category.”

Everly held up the card.

There it was.

MOTHER WILL LIKE

Serali’s face went hot. “That card should not exist.”

“It does.”

“It is speculative.”

“I know Mother.”

“So do I,” Serali said before she could stop herself.

The room went very quiet.

Mara’s pen hovered.

Lessa looked intensely at the pears.

Everly considered Serali with solemn satisfaction. “Then you know she will like it.”

Serali closed her eyes.

Defeated by logic.

“Yes,” she muttered. “She may.”

Everly frowned. “May?”

Serali opened one eye. “Will.”

Everly nodded and awarded the gown what appeared to be a very high score, though the scoring system consisted mostly of stars, circles, and one drawing of a smiling pear.

The second gown was deep plum.

Serali changed with considerably less protest, which she hoped no one noticed and knew everyone did.

The cut was more formal than the first: structured bodice, softened high neckline, long sleeves embroidered in silver-black, the skirt falling in clean, deliberate lines.

It made her shoulders look sharper.

It made her feel, uncomfortably, like someone who might be believed before she spoke.

When she stepped back into the room, Everly’s eyes widened.

”Important Plum.”

”I feared that.”

Everly watched as Serali crossed the room once.

”Can run.”

”I appreciate your confidence.”

Everly looked at the next card, then at the gown. “Lord Merrow should be a little afraid.”

Serali smiled. “Only a little?”

“This is not the black one.”

“Fair.”

Mara wrote: Merrow: moderate concern.

Serali leaned over. “That is not what she said.”

“It is the formal translation.”

”And Lady Veryya will like it.” Everly said.

Serali glanced down. ”Do you think so?”

”Yes.”

”Why?”

Everly answered as though it were obvious. ”It looks like you are going to say something true and make people sad.”

Mara made an unfortunate choking sound.

Lessa abruptly found the window fascinating.

Serali looked at Everly.

“That,” Serali said slowly, “is an alarmingly precise description of Lady Verya.”

Everly smiled, pleased to have been understood.