The Queen's Mage

Chapter 168: Three Introductions

Everly pulled Serali down the palace steps.

Lessa followed.

Hagen fell into step on Serali’s other side.

Pell and Orran, under orders to remain within ten paces of Serali for the entire night, followed with Everly and Hagen’s own guards.

Serali had expected the crowd to close around them.

Instead, it shifted.

Not dramatically.

No one bowed as a group. No one stopped the music. No herald announced her passage.

People simply noticed.

A woman drew her children slightly closer. A man carrying two cups stepped aside. Someone whispered Royal Mage.

Someone else whispered Xuiven.

Serali kept walking.

Everly kept hold of her hand.

“Mistress Tarl first.”

“You have said.”

“She has honey spirals.”

“You have also said that.”

“They’re very good.”

“That appears to be the primary qualification for important people.”

Everly considered. “Old Perren doesn’t make food.”

“Reassuring.”

Mistress Tarl’s table stood beneath a string of golden lanterns, nearly buried beneath trays of twisted pastries glazed with honey.

Everly released Serali’s hand. “Mistress Tarl!”

The round-faced woman turned.

Her face lit. “There’s our Princess.”

“I brought Serali.”

Mistress Tarl looked up.

The smile remained.

But changed.

Serali knew that change.

Recognition.

Calculation.

A little fear.

Mistress Tarl wiped her hands unnecessarily against her apron.

Everly looked between them.

“This is Serali. She’s my friend. And Royal Mage. And not scary.”

Serali closed her eyes briefly. “Everly.”

“What?”

“I believe Mistress Tarl has identified me.”

“Oh.”

Everly considered. “Good.”

Mistress Tarl laughed.

It escaped before she could stop it.

Then she looked horrified.

Serali sighed. “You are allowed.”

Mistress Tarl blinked.

“To laugh.”

“Oh.”

A pause.

“Thank you, my lady.”

That was somehow worse.

Hagen made a suspicious sound behind his cup.

Serali ignored him.

Mistress Tarl’s expression softened.

“Happy First Sun, my lady.”

“Happy First Sun.”

Then she produced a honey spiral.

Serali stared.

It was enormous.

Not a pastry.

Architecture.

“For you.”

Serali looked at it.

Then at her.

No money.

Of course.

First Sun apparently intended to feed her whether she cooperated or not.

“Thank you.”

She accepted it carefully.

Mistress Tarl reached behind her again.

Lessa saw what was happening.

“No.”

Everly saw what was happening.

“Yes.”

A second honey spiral emerged.

Somehow larger.

Everly accepted it with both hands.

Lessa stared.

“Your Highness. You have already had two desserts.”

Everly looked at the honey spiral.

Then at Lessa.

“This is one.”

Hagen nodded gravely.

“Technically correct.”

“Do not.”

“You are the reason we’re at three.”

“We remain at three.”

“That is the size of her head.”

Everly held it beside her face.

It was disturbingly close.

“Still one.”

Mistress Tarl covered a smile.

Serali bit the inside of her cheek.

Lessa looked toward her.

Serali immediately rearranged her face.

“Lady Serali.”

“I said nothing.”

“You were about to.”

“I was not.”

“You looked exactly like Prince Hagen.”

Serali’s expression collapsed.

“That was unnecessary.”

Hagen put a hand over his heart.

“I am wounded.”

“You should be.”

Everly had already taken an enormous bite.

Honey appeared immediately on one cheek.

Serali looked down at her own pastry.

Hagen leaned closer. “One bites it.”

“I know that.”

“You were regarding it as a treaty.”

“It might be one.”

“Then bite carefully.”

Serali did.

Warm dough. Honey. Cinnamon. Orange.

Unfairly good.

Everly watched her.

So did Mistress Tarl.

Several strangers had somehow become invested.

“Do you like it?”

Serali swallowed.

“It is acceptable.”

Everly looked appalled.

Serali took another bite.

“…Very acceptable.”

Mistress Tarl laughed.

This time she did not stop herself.

“That isn’t how you say it,” Everly said.

“How should I say it?”

“It’s really good.”

Serali looked at Mistress Tarl.

“It is really good.”

The woman smiled.

Something loosened around them.

Nearby conversations resumed.

The attention did not disappear.

But it changed.

Only slightly.

Pell shifted somewhere behind Serali as another cluster of festivalgoers edged closer, quietly keeping the space around her from becoming quite as crowded as the rest of the square.

Serali noticed.

Then stopped noticing.

Everly pointed across the square with her pastry.

“Old Perren next.”

Lessa caught her wrist before honey could fling from the end.

“Point with the other hand.”

Everly transferred it.

“Old Perren next.”

Serali heard the bells before she saw him.

Brass. Silver. Copper. Tiny bells, long bells, bells suspended from blue and gold cords.

The breeze stirred them into a soft confusion of sound.

Everly ducked beneath a string.

“Old Perren!”

An elderly man looked up from polishing a silver bell.

One eye was milky with age. The other crinkled.

“Little Sun.”

“I brought Serali.”

“So I see.”

Old Perren bowed.

Not deeply.

Not fearfully.

Just enough.

“Happy First Sun, Royal Mage.”

“Happy First Sun.”

Everly pointed toward the smallest bell.

“Show her.”

Old Perren handed it to her.

Everly passed Lessa her honey spiral and rang it.

The note was clear and bright.

It lingered strangely in the cold air.

“See?”

Serali frowned.

“I hear it.”

“It’s pretty.”

“It was.”

Old Perren smiled at Serali.

“Shadows make bells sound sweeter, I always thought.”

Serali looked at him.

“Do they?”

“They do tonight.”

He winked.

Serali decided some statements were not intended to survive examination.

Everly rang the bell once more.

Then they moved on.

Behind them, Old Perren called, “Happy First Sun!”

Serali glanced back.

He lifted one hand.

She lifted hers in return.

Two introductions.

One remained.

Three had edges.

Three was manageable.

The lantern girls were more difficult.

They stood near the procession markers holding small glass lanterns, pretending not to stare.

Badly.

Pell and Orran adjusted with Serali as they approached, one drifting toward the lantern path while the other remained behind her. Everly’s guards shifted too.

Serali barely noticed anymore.

Everly marched straight toward the girls.

“This is Serali.”

Serali looked down at her.

“We have met this problem before.”

Everly frowned. “What problem?”

“Your introductions.”

“Oh.”

Everly looked back at the girls.

“Lady Serali.”

Serali blinked.

Everly looked proud of herself.

One girl giggled.

That helped.

Slightly.

“She’s Royal Mage,” Everly continued. “And she’s my friend.”

There it was again.

Something tightened beneath Serali’s ribs.

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

“And she’s not scary.”

“Everly.”

“What?”

The smallest girl stared at Serali with solemn fascination.

“Are the birds real?”

“Not exactly.”

“Are they alive?”

“No.”

“Can they bite?”

“No.”

A slightly older girl asked, “Can they land on people?”

“That remains under dispute.”

Everly nodded. “They can.”

Serali looked at her.

“Director.”

Everly smiled.

Then the smallest girl looked at Serali’s hands.

“Do shadows feel cold?”

That quieted her.

Around them, adults were listening.

Not obviously.

Avalusians were getting better at pretending not to listen to her.

They were still terrible at it.

Serali could answer and leave.

Instead, she lifted one hand.

A ribbon of shadow slipped from beneath her cuff.

Several people inhaled.

The girls went completely still.

The shadow curled above Serali’s palm, thin as thread.

Soft.

Controlled.

She guided it toward the nearest lantern.

It circled the glass without touching the flame.

Darkness framed gold.

The light seemed brighter for it.

“No,” Serali said. “Not always.”

“Can I touch it?”

The woman behind the girl made a tiny sound.

Serali hadn’t expected that.

She lowered her hand.

“One finger.”

The girl reached out.

Hesitated.

Touched.

Shadow curled around the tip of her finger.

Her eyes widened.

“It isn’t cold.”

“No.”

“It doesn’t feel like anything.”

“Mostly it doesn’t.”

The girl smiled.

Another leaned closer.

“Why did the lantern get brighter?”

“It didn’t.”

Serali curled the shadow around the glass again.

“The flame hasn’t changed. Your eyes have.”

She looked at the contrast.

Gold inside dark.

“Sometimes shadows help you see the light better.”

Silence.

Then the smallest girl said, “That’s nice.”

Serali had no defense against that whatsoever.

“Yes,” she said.

Perhaps it was.

She let the shadow unravel.

Everly looked insufferably pleased.

Serali pointed at her.

“Do not.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to anymore.”

Hagen laughed.

By the time they left the lantern girls, Everly had finished the honey spiral.

All of it.

Lessa stared at the empty paper.

Then at Everly.

“How?”

Everly shrugged.

“Determination,” Hagen said.

“No one asked you.”

“I’ve noticed that has very little effect on whether I answer.”

Lessa crouched.

“Come here.”

Everly obeyed.

Mostly because she had not yet realized what Lessa intended.

Then the cloth touched her cheek.

“No.”

“You have honey on your face.”

“I can keep it.”

“You cannot keep honey on your face.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re sticky.”

Everly squirmed through another wipe.

Then Lessa stopped.

“Oh.”

Everly froze.

“What?”

Gold stained the cloth.

One painted sun had become a smear.

Everly’s eyes widened.

“My sun.”

“It’s all right.”

“My sun is broken.”

“It is smudged.”

Everly immediately looked around.

“The painting lady.”

Lessa sighed.

“No.”

“She can fix it.”

“We were going to the games.”

“After my suns.”

Hagen leaned toward Serali.

“This appears to be an emergency.”

Lessa pointed at him without looking.

“No.”

Serali smiled.

Hagen glanced at her.

“Careful. You’re becoming one of us.”

“Never.”

Everly had already found the booth.

The face painter looked delighted to see Everly.

Then she saw Hagen.

Then Serali.

Her delight became terror.

“Your Highness.”

She bowed too quickly.

Her brush nearly disappeared into a pot of gold paint.

Hagen caught it.

“Careful.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“I would hate to see such a dangerous instrument lost.”

The painter blinked.

“Dangerous?”

“You’ve convinced half the square to walk around with suns on their faces.”

His smile appeared.

Serali knew that smile.

Gods.

The woman did too.

Color rose beneath the paint already decorating her cheeks.

“I don’t believe that qualifies as dangerous.”

“Then you haven’t seen what Avalusians become like when someone offers them gold.”

She laughed.

Nervously.

Hagen handed the brush back.

“There. Much better.”

Serali looked at him.

“Do you flirt with everyone who nearly drops something?”

“Only when they recover elegantly.”

Everly tugged impatiently at the stool.

“My sun is broken.”

The painter restored it in a few quick strokes.

Everly inspected herself in the mirror.

“Better.”

“Much,” Hagen said.

Then Everly looked at him.

“No.”

“You don’t know what I’m asking.”

“Yes, I do.”

“One little sun.”

Hagen lasted approximately ten seconds.

Then sighed.

“One.”

Everly cheered.

Hagen sat.

“Apparently I have surrendered my dignity to the Crown.”

“You are the Crown,” Serali said.

“Then this is an internal dispute.”

The painter lifted her brush.

“Where would you like it?”

“I defer to the artist.”

“That’s dangerous.”

Hagen smiled.

“See? I knew you were dangerous.”

Her hand steadied.

A small golden sun appeared high on his cheekbone.

Everly inspected it.

“Good.”

Then she turned to Serali.

“Your turn.”

“No.”

“Serali.”

“No.”

“Please?”

Gods damn it.

Serali sat.

The painter’s nerves returned immediately.

Hagen noticed.

“Careful,” he said. “She bites.”

The woman’s eyes widened.

Serali turned toward him.

“Hagen.”

“Metaphorically.”

“I will demonstrate literally.”

The painter made a startled sound.

Then covered her mouth.

She was laughing.

Unfortunately, it had worked.

“What would you like, my lady?”

“Something small.”

The painter reached toward the gold.

Then stopped.

Her eyes caught on Serali’s gown.

The constellations climbing the sleeve.

Twilight beneath white.

“May I do something different?”

Serali frowned.

“Different?”

“A moon.”

Serali went still.

The woman faltered.

“Unless you would prefer the sun. I only thought—with your gown, and the stars—”

“A moon,” Everly whispered.

Serali ignored her.

“Is that appropriate?”

“For First Sun?”

“Yes.”

The painter’s expression softened.

“First Sun is just as much about the night as the day, my lady.”

Serali said nothing.

“We stay awake through the last night of winter. We carry lights through it. We thank it before we welcome the dawn.”

She glanced toward the lanterns.

“You can’t have First Sun without the night before.”

For a moment, Serali forgot the crowd.

“All right.”

“My lady?”

“The moon.”

The painter selected a finer brush.

“Close your eyes.”

The touch was cold.

Serali almost flinched.

When she opened them again, the painter handed her the mirror.

A slender crescent curved near her temple in pale silver-gold. Tiny stars scattered outward across her cheekbone.

Not Lyehiran.

Not Avalusian, exactly.

Just night.

Beautiful night.

“It’s pretty,” Everly said.

Serali looked at the painter.

“Lovely.”

The woman’s shoulders loosened.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Everly leaned closer.

“Now we match.”

Serali looked at her golden suns.

“We very specifically do not.”

“We both have sky.”

Serali paused.

Hagen made a thoughtful sound.

“She’s got you there.”

Sun on Everly.

Sun on Hagen.

Moon and stars on Serali.

All part of the same festival.

Something warm settled beneath Serali’s ribs.

Dangerously close to happiness.

She handed the mirror back.

“Thank you.”

This time, when the painter smiled at her, she did not look frightened.

“Happy First Sun, Royal Mage.”

“Happy First Sun.”

Everly seized Serali’s hand.

“Games!”

Serali sighed. Of course.

The booth was too small for the entire escort, and when Serali stood she found Pell and Orran waiting several paces back with Hagen and Everly’s guards, an unobtrusive wall between them and the passing crowd.

Still there. Still watching. Still keeping her safe.

Serali looked past them at the festival.

People were staring. They had been staring all night.

But as Everly pulled her toward the games, the little moon catching lanternlight against her cheek, Serali realized something had changed.

For perhaps the first time that night, when someone in the crowd looked at her—

she did not immediately wonder whether they were afraid.

Chapter 169: Your First First Sun

The first game occupied a broad table painted like a golden sun. Narrow wooden rays extended from its center, each ending in a peg marked with a number. Four baskets of colored rings waited beside it.

Behind the attendant hung rows of prizes: ribbons, whistles, painted animals, wooden toys, cloth birds.

Everly went straight for the green basket.

Serali studied the board. “What is the objective?”

Everly looked at her as though this were obvious. “Crown the Sun.”

“That explained nothing.”

The attendant smiled. “Five rings each, my lady. Whichever pegs you catch determine your score.”

Serali examined the arrangement.

The highest-value pegs were narrower. Several sat at irritating angles. Simple enough.

She reached for the blue basket.

Hagen reached for the gold.

Serali glanced at him. “You’re playing too?”

“Naturally.”

“Everly invited me.”

“Everly invited everyone.”

Everly nodded. “Lessa too.”

Lessa stopped. “No.”

Hagen ignored her. He was already testing the weight of one of the rings in his palm.

Serali watched him. “You appear to be taking this seriously.”

“Do I?”

“You’re examining the equipment.”

“I like to know what I’m working with.”

Serali picked up one of her own rings. “It’s a wooden ring.”

“An important wooden ring.”

She narrowed her eyes.

Hagen smiled. “Unless you’re concerned.”

There it was.

Serali adjusted her grip on the basket. “Not remotely.”

Everly nodded, satisfied.

Then pointed at the remaining white basket. “Lessa.”

Lessa didn’t immediately pick it up.

“Hagen said everyone.”

Hagen immediately became interested in his rings.

Lessa looked at him.

“I was speaking generally.”

“You were speaking unwisely.”

Everly pushed the basket toward her. “We need four.”

“You do not need four.”

“There are four colors.”

“That is not the same thing.”

Everly clasped her hands. “Please?”

Lessa lasted longer than Hagen had at the face-painting booth.

Not considerably longer.

“One game.”

Everly cheered and shoved the basket into her hands.

Pell had taken up position beside the stall while Orran remained on the crowd side, Everly and Hagen’s guards spreading naturally behind them as they stopped.

None of them appeared nearly as concerned with the rules as Hagen.

“If a ring catches two pegs, which value applies?”

The attendant blinked. “The lower, Your Highness.”

“If it remains suspended between them?”

“Still the lower.”

“What constitutes crossing the line?”

Serali looked at him. “You’ve become unpleasant remarkably quickly.”

“I’m clarifying the rules.”

“You’re looking for weaknesses in them.”

“Those are often the same thing.”

Serali turned to the attendant. “Are bank shots permitted?”

Hagen’s head snapped toward her.

The attendant hesitated. “Technically.”

“Excellent.”

Hagen grinned.

Lessa looked at Everly. “This is your fault.”

Everly was already taking her place at the line. “I know.”

Her first ring missed everything.

Her second struck the edge of the painted sun and bounced away.

The third caught a three-point peg.

Everly threw both hands into the air. “Three!”

Hagen applauded solemnly. “Formidable.”

“I have four more.”

“You have two more.”

Everly looked into her basket. “Oh.”

She threw the fourth too hard.

The fifth caught another three.

“Six!” Everly announced.

The attendant presented her with a green ribbon stamped with a golden sun.

Everly pinned the ribbon proudly to her cloak. “I won.”

“You did,” Lessa said.

Hagen stepped to the line.

His first ring landed on seven. His second landed on five. His third dropped neatly over ten.

Serali stopped smiling. “You have played this before.”

“First Sun happens every year.”

“You neglected to mention that.”

“You neglected to ask.”

His fourth missed. His fifth brought him to twenty-nine.

Hagen stepped aside with a small bow. “Respectable.”

Serali looked at him. “You are enjoying this too much.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

He gestured toward the line. “Royal Mage.”

Serali took his place.

Her first ring missed.

Hagen inhaled.

Serali turned.

“I made no sound.”

“You considered one.”

“I would never.”

She threw again.

Seven.

Then five.

Her fourth caught ten.

Twenty-two.

Hagen leaned slightly closer. “Twenty-nine.”

“I can count.”

“Just making sure.”

Serali selected her final ring. “Stop talking.”

“Of course.”

She aimed.

Threw.

Ten.

The attendant looked at the board. “Thirty-two.”

Everly shrieked.

Serali turned slowly toward Hagen. “Respectable.”

His eyes narrowed. “Again.”

“I’ve already beaten you.”

“Once.”

“That is generally sufficient.”

Someone cleared her throat. Serali looked around.

Lessa stood beside the line.

Still holding all five of her rings.

“Oh,” Serali said.

Hagen stepped back. “Of course.”

Lessa gave both of them a long look.

Then threw.

Ten.

Seven.

Ten.

Hagen stopped smiling.

Seven.

Ten.

The attendant stared at the board. “Forty-four.”

Silence.

Lessa handed him the empty basket. “Are we finished?”

Serali looked at the board.

Then at Lessa. “Have you played this before?”

“Yes.”

Hagen stared at her. “You might have mentioned that.”

Lessa smiled sweetly. “You neglected to ask.”

Serali laughed.

Hagen looked betrayed.

The attendant reached behind him and produced a little painted wooden bird on a cord. “Winner’s prize.”

Lessa accepted it, looked at it, and then handed it directly to Everly.

Everly gasped. “You won me a bird.”

“Apparently.”

Hagen looked toward the prizes. “I didn’t receive anything.”

Serali glanced at him. “You didn’t win.”

“Neither did you.”

“I am coping with considerably more dignity.”

Hagen turned back toward the baskets. “Again.”

Lessa closed her eyes. “I should have seen that coming.”

Everly hugged the wooden bird to her chest. “Now we know how to play.”

Serali picked up the blue basket. “A compelling argument.”

Lessa opened her eyes. “Lady Serali.”

“For Everly.”

Everly nodded gravely. “For me.”

Hagen took the gold basket. “Entirely for Everly.”

Lessa looked between them. “You are both terrible influences.”

“Again!” Everly declared.

And apparently that settled it.

The rematch went faster.

Everly improved.

Lessa, having apparently proved whatever needed proving, did not.

Serali finished with thirty-eight.

Hagen had thirty-one and one ring remaining.

“Seven to tie,” Serali said.

“I can count.”

“Just making sure.”

Hagen looked toward the ten-point peg.

“You could take the seven,” Serali observed.

“Safest option.”

“Yes.”

Hagen threw for ten.

The ring dropped cleanly over the peg.

“Forty-one.”

His smile was unbearable.

“You could have tied.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because it was safer.”

“I wasn’t trying to be safe.” He bowed. “Respectable.”

Serali decided she hated that word.

His prize was a small golden rooster whistle.

Everly immediately held out her hand.

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s a rooster.”

“A victorious rooster.”

He blew it. The resulting shriek sounded less like a rooster than a bird experiencing a violent spiritual crisis.

Several people turned.

Everly dissolved into laughter.

Hagen stared at the whistle. “…Magnificent.”

Lessa held out her hand. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because if you blow that again, Everly will spend the next hour asking for it.”

Hagen glanced at Everly.

Everly smiled hopefully.

He sighed and surrendered the whistle. “Tyranny.”

“Planning ahead.”

The second game was called Chase Away Winter.

It involved nine small cloth balls and nine painted wooden moons arranged across a broad backdrop at varying heights.

Knock down a moon, earn a point.

Simple.

Serali liked it immediately.

More importantly, Hagen had just beaten her at Crown the Sun.

She had discovered that she disliked this.

Quite a lot.

The prizes were larger here.

Painted tops. Little puzzles. Cloth birds. Wooden animals. A ridiculous stuffed sun with embroidered eyes. A white bear in a green scarf.

And, near the end of the shelf, a small cream-colored hare.

Serali’s gaze stopped.

Long ears.

Green ribbon.

An unnecessarily round body.

She looked away.

Hagen noticed.

“Oh no.”

Serali’s stomach dropped.

“What?”

“You have the face.”

“What face?”

“The competitive one.”

Serali relaxed.

“I have one face.”

“Demonstrably false.”

Everly climbed onto the little throwing platform.

“I go first.”

“Naturally,” Serali said.

Hagen nodded. “Establish the baseline.”

Lessa looked at him.

“She’s four.”

“Almost five later,” Everly corrected.

Hagen inclined his head. “My apologies. A formidable baseline.”

Everly took her nine balls.

The first went wide.

The second knocked down a moon.

The third bounced harmlessly from the backdrop.

By the time she reached the ninth, she had knocked down two.

Everly threw both hands into the air.

“Two!”

The attendant handed her a little painted spinning top.

She examined it with delight, spun it once against the counter, then handed it to Lessa.

“Hold this.”

Lessa accepted it.

She was still carrying the wooden bird from Crown the Sun.

“Apparently that is my role now.”

Hagen stepped to the line.

By his eighth throw, eight moons lay scattered behind the stand.

His ninth missed.

Hagen turned.

“Eight.”

Serali looked at him.

“I can count.”

“Evidence tonight has been mixed.”

She took her nine balls.

Six moons fell.

Hagen smiled.

“Respectable.”

Serali decided she hated that word.

The attendant reached toward the adult prizes and handed Hagen a small painted wooden sun.

He barely looked at it before passing it to Everly.

“Spoils of victory.”

Everly beamed and immediately handed it to Lessa.

Lessa looked down at the top.

The bird.

The wooden sun.

Then at Everly.

“Excellent.”

“Again?” Hagen asked.

Serali was already gathering another set of balls.

“Obviously.”

The moons were reset.

Everly improved to four.

Her participation prize this time was a yellow ribbon stamped with a tiny gold sun.

She admired it for approximately three seconds.

Then held it out.

“Lessa.”

Lessa took it.

Hagen stepped up next.

Seven moons. He looked pleased with himself. “Seven.”

“Yes, Hagen.”

“Just making sure.”

Serali took her place.

The first moon fell.

Then another.

By her sixth throw, five were down.

A small group of spectators had begun to gather.

Orran quietly widened the space around the throwing line while Pell kept the path behind Serali clear.

Serali barely noticed.

Her seventh ball took down another moon.

Six.

The eighth struck high and clipped the edge of the seventh.

It toppled.

Seven.

Two moons remained.

Side by side near the far edge of the board.

One ball remained in Serali’s hand.

Hagen folded his arms. “Seven ties me.”

“I know.”

“One ball.”

“I know.”

“Two targets.”

Serali looked at him. “Do you require attention?”

“Not remotely.”

She looked back at the board.

The final two moons stood close enough that their inner edges nearly aligned.

Individually, either was easy.

Both—

Serali adjusted her stance.

Hagen’s smile faded. “You’re not.”

Serali smiled. “Concerned?”

“Never.”

She threw. The ball struck perfectly between the two remaining moons. Its edge clipped the first.

The rebound caught the second. For half a heartbeat both rocked.

Then they toppled in opposite directions.

Everly screamed.

Several strangers cheered.

Serali turned slowly toward Hagen. “Respectable.”

He looked deeply offended. “Again.”

“Gladly.”

“One moment, my lady.” The attendant gestured toward the highest prize shelf. “Nine earns one of the large prizes.”

Serali looked.

Golden rooster. White bear. Ridiculous sun.

The hare. Her eyes stopped.

Everly’s did too.

Serali recovered first. “Everly, which one—”

“The rabbit.”

Serali looked down at her. “I was asking which one you wanted.”

“I know.”

Everly pointed toward the top shelf. “That one.”

The attendant followed her finger. “The hare?”

Everly nodded emphatically. “For Serali.”

Serali went still. “No.”

Hagen made a suspicious sound.

Serali turned on him. “Do not.”

“I said nothing.”

“You were about to.”

“I was breathing.”

“Suspiciously.”

The attendant was already reaching up.

Serali looked back. “That is unnecessary.”

Everly frowned. “But you like him.”

“I do not know him.”

Hagen covered his mouth.

Serali pointed at him again. “Whatever is happening in your head, stop.”

The attendant took down the hare and held it out. Up close, it was even more absurd.

Cream-colored. Long floppy ears. A green ribbon beneath its chin. An embroidered nose that sat slightly crooked.

Entirely useless.

Serali wanted it.

This was deeply embarrassing.

She looked at Everly. “You should choose the prize. You played too.”

“I got prizes.”

“Small ones.”

“Lots of small ones.”

“That is not the same.”

Everly shook her head. “This one is yours.”

Serali looked back at the hare. The attendant continued holding it toward her. Apparently everyone had decided this was happening.

Serali accepted it.

Everly beamed. “See?”

“See what?”

“You like him.”

“There remains no evidence of that.”

Everly reached up and patted one dangling ear. “You took him.”

“Because refusing would have prolonged this conversation.”

“You have to keep him.”

Serali frowned. “Why?”

“So you remember.”

Serali looked down at her. “Remember what?”

Everly seemed surprised by the question. “Your first First Sun.”

The words landed somewhere Serali had not prepared for.

First.

Not merely First Sun.

Her first.

As though there would be another.

And another after that.

Serali looked down at the ridiculous hare in her hands. “I don’t think I’m likely to forget.”

“Still.”

Everly touched its ear again. “He can remember too.”

“That is not how memory works.”

“It can be.”

Serali looked at Hagen. For once, he was not laughing. His expression had gone unexpectedly gentle.

Unacceptable.

Serali tucked the hare beneath one arm. “Fine.”

Everly brightened. “Fine?”

“I will keep the hare.”

“Forever?”

“Do not become unreasonable.”

“Until next First Sun?”

Serali paused.

Next First Sun.

“…Yes.”

Everly smiled. “Good.”

Hagen looked toward the throwing stand. “Now that the Royal Mage has acquired her emotional-support rabbit—”

Serali pointed at him. “Finish that sentence.”

Hagen smiled. “We’re tied.”

She paused. He was right.

She had beaten him at Crown the Sun. He had won the rematch.

He had beaten her once here. She had beaten him once here.

Two each.

Serali looked toward the moons. “One more.”

Lessa said, “No.”

Neither of them looked at her.

“Deciding round,” Hagen said.

“Obviously.”

“I said no.”

Everly tugged Lessa’s sleeve. “But we don’t know who won.”

“I know who lost.”

Serali glanced at her.

Lessa gestured toward herself. “Me.”

The game attendant had already begun resetting the moons.

Lessa stared at him.

He froze. “Sorry.”

She sighed. “One final round.”

Everly went first. Five.

A personal record. She chose a small wooden fox figure as her prize.

Then Hagen. Eight.

His last throw clipped the ninth moon.

It rocked. Settled upright.

“Eight.”

He stepped aside.

Serali handed the hare to Lessa. Lessa looked down at it.

Then at Serali.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Everyone is becoming extremely irritating.”

She stepped to the line.

One.

Two.

Three.

By seven, the little crowd had grown.

Eight.

One ball remained.

Hagen had gone completely silent. Serali glanced at him. That was far more satisfying than any taunt.

She threw.

The ninth moon fell.

Everly screamed before it hit the ground. “Nine!”

The crowd applauded. A laugh escaped Serali.

She turned.

Hagen was still staring at the board.

“Respectable.”

Hagen looked at her. “You won by one.”

Serali smiled. “Is there a minimum?”

He stared at her. “You are a terrible winner.”

“I learned from you.”

Hagen laughed.

The attendant gestured toward the large prizes.

“Another one, my lady.”

Serali did not even look. “Everly.”

Her head snapped around. “Me?”

“Choose.”

Everly stared at the shelf.

She agonized. Then pointed. “The sun.”

The attendant handed it down.

It was nearly as wide as Everly’s chest.

She hugged it. Or attempted to. “He’s happy.”

Serali regarded its embroidered smile. “Disturbingly so.”

Behind her, Lessa was losing a battle against ribbons, a wooden sun, a fox figurine and a bird.

The attendant took pity. “One moment.”

He disappeared beneath the counter and emerged with a large cloth sack.

Lessa stared. “Oh, thank the gods.”

“We keep them for exactly this problem.”

“Children?”

His eyes flicked toward Hagen and Serali. “Winners.”

Lessa looked between them. “Yes. That appears to be the problem.”

The prizes disappeared into the sack.

Everly retained the enormous sun. Serali retained the hare. No one commented on this. Serali appreciated their survival instincts.

Hagen looked at her. “Next year?”

Serali raised an eyebrow.

“Rematch.”

She considered. “Absolutely.”

Everly’s face appeared over one cloth ray of the stuffed sun. “Can I play?”

Serali nodded. “You are required.”

Everly beamed. “Good.”

Lessa looked at the armful of prizes. “Excellent. I’ll bring a cart.”

Pell and Orran remained where they had been all night; near enough to reach Serali quickly, far enough that she could almost forget they were there. Everly’s guards still moved with the little group every time it shifted.

Serali glanced toward the palace clock.

And blinked.

Over an hour had passed.

She had come outside expecting to endure every minute until the demonstration.

Instead, she had eaten an enormous honey pastry, let a stranger paint a moon and stars across her face, touched shadows to a child’s hand, acquired a stuffed hare, and become genuinely invested in beating Hagen at throwing cloth balls at wooden moons.

She wasn’t entirely certain when the night had become… Fun.

The thought was almost alarming.

Everly was explaining to Lessa why five fallen moons was actually more impressive than nine because she was smaller.

Hagen leaned toward Serali. “She’s making a compelling argument.”

“She’s related to you.”

“Unfortunately for the rest of the kingdom.”

Serali laughed.