The Queen's Mage

Chapter 170: Thirty-Two Minutes

Lessa slung the growing collection of prizes over one arm.

Everly carried the enormous stuffed sun in both hands, its absurdly cheerful face peering over her shoulder.

Serali had one prize. The hare fit rather comfortably beneath her arm.

That was irrelevant.

Around them, First Sun carried on.

Music. Lanterns. Children laughing. Someone calling about hot cider.

And, increasingly, food.

Real food.

Lessa stopped. “Before anything else.”

Everly looked up from behind the sun. “What?”

“You are eating.”

“I ate.”

“You ate a honey spiral.”

“It was very big.”

“It was still a honey spiral.”

“It had bread.”

Hagen made the mistake of nodding.

Lessa turned toward him. “Do not.”

He raised both hands. “I said nothing.”

“You were about to support her.”

“I was considering the legal definition of bread.”

“Stop considering it.”

Serali looked toward the nearest food stall.

Steam rose from enormous iron pans. Roasted potatoes disappeared into little wooden bowls beside sausages glazed with mustard and honey. Farther down, someone carved slices from a roast while baskets of warm bread emptied almost as quickly as they could be refilled.

Still no one was paying.

She was beginning to suspect the food truly was free.

This remained one of the stranger things about Avalusia.

Lessa steered them toward the potatoes. “Something with substance.”

Everly looked at the stuffed sun. “I can’t hold food.”

“I noticed.”

She handed it to Hagen.

The thing consumed most of his torso. Hagen stared over its cloth rays. “Why am I holding this?”

“Because you’re taller.”

“An excellent qualification.”

Everly received her bowl.

Lessa looked at Serali.

Serali looked back. “No.”

“You haven’t eaten since—”

“I had the honey spiral.”

Lessa’s expression did not change.

Serali sighed. Apparently that defense had already been rejected.

She accepted a bowl.

Hagen did too, still carrying the enormous sun beneath one arm.

Serali looked at him.

The painted golden sun on his cheek made the effect considerably worse.

“You look very festive.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I’ve chosen to receive it as one.”

They found space at a standing table.

Pell and Orran settled naturally at its edges, close enough to reach Serali without crowding her. Everly and Hagen’s guards did the same on the opposite side.

Serali noticed them.

Then looked back at her food.

The potatoes had been roasted with rosemary and enough butter to constitute an argument against moderation.

She ate another. Then another.

Lessa noticed.

Serali pretended not to notice Lessa noticing.

She had nearly finished the bowl when a familiar voice cut through the festival noise.

“Lady Serali!”

Serali closed her eyes.

Hagen looked toward the sound. “Oh.”

Marielle was coming toward them at speed. Not running. Technically.

Her version of walking apparently required everyone else to get out of the way.

Her festival cloak flew open behind her. “Lady Serali.”

“I’m eating.”

“I can see that.”

“You sound as though you intend to interfere.”

“No. Food is good.”

Marielle stopped in front of them and drew a small notebook from somewhere inside her coat. “Eat while I talk.”

Serali stared. “Where did that come from?”

“My pocket.”

“I don’t see a pocket.”

“That’s because it’s hidden.”

Everly gasped. “Hidden pocket?”

Marielle looked at her.

Then apparently noticed everything else.

Her gaze moved over Everly’s stuffed sun, the prizes accumulating around Lessa, Hagen’s painted cheek, and stopped on Serali.

“You have a moon.”

Everly bounced. “And stars.”

Marielle leaned slightly closer. “That’s very good.”

Serali shifted the hare beneath her arm. “We have discussed it sufficiently.”

Marielle’s gaze dropped.

There was a pause. “Is that yours?”

“No,” Serali said.

“Yes,” Everly said.

Marielle looked between them.

Serali sighed. “It is mine.”

“It’s for her first First Sun,” Everly explained.

Marielle’s expression softened.

Serali immediately regretted allowing the conversation to continue.

“And I have a sun.” Everly hoisted the enormous thing. “And a bird. And ribbons. And a fox. And a spinning top. And Uncle Hagen won a rooster that screamed.”

“It was a whistle,” Hagen said.

“It screamed.”

“Both can be true.”

“Lessa took it.”

Marielle nodded. “Reasonable.”

Hagen looked betrayed. “You too?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“I thought you were on my side.”

Marielle considered. “Professionally, sometimes.”

Serali choked on a potato. Hagen stared at her.

Marielle added, “You still shouldn’t have a screaming rooster.”

Then she looked toward the palace clock.

Her expression changed. “Right.”

Serali’s smile disappeared. “How long?”

“Thirty-two minutes.”

Hagen looked up. “You know it to the minute?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you do.”

Marielle flipped open the notebook. “We should go over the sequence.”

“We have gone over the sequence.”

“Yes.”

“Several times.”

“Fourteen.”

Serali stared at her. “You counted?”

“No.” A pause. “I wrote it down.”

“That is worse.”

Marielle reached into another invisible opening and produced a pencil.

Everly stared. “Another pocket.”

“Yes.”

“How many do you have?”

Marielle looked down at herself. “Fifteen.”

Hagen slowly lowered his bowl. “Fifteen?”

Serali stared at Marielle’s coat. “Mistress Callene actually gave you all fifteen?”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Yes.”

“I thought she would negotiate you down.”

“I explained why I needed them.”

Serali shook her head. “Remarkable.”

Marielle demonstrated her surplus of pockets by producing a second notebook, a coil of string, and a small brass gear from three entirely different places.

Serali looked at the gear. “Why do you have that?”

“Spare part.”

“For what?”

Marielle glanced toward the demonstration structures. “Three different fittings, if something goes wrong.”

Everly was patting the sides of her own dress. “I need fifteen pockets.”

Lessa said, “No.”

Everly looked down at herself. “I only have two.”

“Two is enough.”

“But Marielle has fifteen.”

“Lady Marielle is an adult.”

Everly considered this. “Callene can make me more.”

Hagen nodded thoughtfully. “She clearly possesses the technology.”

Lessa looked at him.

Hagen returned his attention to his food.

Marielle tucked the gear away and flipped open her notebook. “Can we discuss the demonstration now?”

Serali looked toward the palace clock. Thirty minutes.

The potatoes suddenly became considerably less interesting. She set down the bowl.

Marielle was already turning toward the ceremonial path. “Come.”

They followed.

Pell and Orran fell in behind Serali. As the crowd thickened nearer the lantern path, Everly and Hagen’s guards drew closer around them as well.

Serali looked down at the hare.

She was not going to rehearse the most important public magical demonstration of her life carrying a stuffed rabbit.

Obviously.

She held the hare toward Lessa. “Would you—”

Everly looked up. “Wait. His ears.”

Serali stopped. “What about them?”

“They have to stick out.”

Lessa looked at Serali. Serali looked at Lessa.

Neither spoke.

Lessa arranged the hare so its head and long cream-colored ears remained visible.

Everly inspected it. “Good.”

Serali chose not to participate further.

Marielle had opened the notebook again. “Canopy first. Full extension over the lantern path.”

“I know.”

“Once it stabilizes, the choir begins. You maintain it through the song, Father Edras, and the oath.”

Serali’s stomach tightened. The oath.

Marielle noticed. “The conditions are better than practice.”

“You cannot promise that.”

“No. But the harbor wind has been steady for the last two hours.”

“Of course you’ve been watching it.”

“Yes.”

Marielle glanced toward the lanterns. “No gusting. The canopy should redirect it cleanly.”

“Should.”

“You’ve held it longer under worse conditions.”

That was better. Serali nodded.

Marielle continued walking. “After the choir, Father Edras speaks.”

Hagen glanced over. “How long?”

“Approximately four minutes.”

Serali narrowed her eyes. “Approximately?”

“He has been informed.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“No.”

Hagen nodded gravely. “Never trust a priest who has been given a captive audience.”

Marielle continued. “Then Verya gives you the oath. After you finish, Queen Allandra lights the eastern flame.”

Serali looked ahead.

The ceremonial brazier waited beneath the eastern arch. Unlit.

“And then,” Everly said.

Marielle smiled. “And then the birds.”

Everly brightened instantly. “All seven.”

Marielle turned a page. “Pip first. Biscuit follows.”

“Because Biscuit likes Pip,” Everly said.

Serali glanced at her. “That was not previously established.”

“It is now.”

Marielle’s pencil moved.

Serali’s head snapped toward her. “Do not write that.”

“I’m writing the sequence.”

“You were thinking about it.”

Marielle covered the page with one hand.

Suspicious.

“Verya holds center—”

“Wait.” Hagen stopped walking.

Marielle looked up. “What?”

“Verya?”

Everly nodded. “There is a bird named Verya.”

Hagen stared at her. Then at Serali. Then at Marielle. “You named a shadow bird after Lady Verya?”

“Everly named the shadow birds. Verya holds the center.”

“Because she’s serious,” Everly explained.

Hagen’s mouth twitched. “Of course she does.”

Serali folded her arms. “Are you finished?”

“Absolutely not. Does Verya know?”

“No.”

“Excellent.”

“Hagen.”

“I’m simply appreciating the situation.”

“Appreciate it faster.”

Marielle checked the clock. “Twenty-seven minutes.”

Serali looked at her. “That was unnecessary.”

“It was accurate.”

Hagen was still smiling. “I cannot decide whether she will be offended or secretly pleased.”

“You are not telling her.”

“I would never.”

Serali stared.

Hagen put a hand over his heart. “Before the demonstration.”

“Hagen.”

Everly giggled.

Marielle resumed. “Verya holds center. Pebble stays close to the group. Feather stays close to you.”

“Feather likes Serali best,” Everly said.

Serali elected not to respond.

“Button Two drifts wide.” Marielle continued.

“Because he gets distracted.” Everly added.

Serali corrected: “Because I make him drift wide.”

Everly considered. “Both.”

Serali sighed.

“And Danger comes last.”

Everly brightened. “With his trick.”

“One controlled aerial manoeuvre,” Marielle said.

Everly held up two fingers.

“One,” Serali said.

“What if he gets excited?”

“He cannot get excited.”

Everly gave her a deeply skeptical look.

Serali pointed at her. “One.”

“Fine.”

Marielle closed the notebook. “Then they circle in formation and pass through the eastern light.”

“And the canopy?”

“Still holding.”

From beginning to end.

The first unfurling. The song. The sermon. The oath. Allandra’s flame. The birds.

Only then could Serali let it go.

Her heart had begun beating too quickly again.

Marielle looked at her. “You know the sequence.”

“Yes.”

“You know the magic.”

“Yes.”

“We tested the wind.”

“Yes.”

“The lantern teams know their positions.”

“Yes.”

“The choir knows its cue.”

“Yes.”

“Father Edras has been threatened with brevity.”

Hagen nodded. “Important.”

Serali almost smiled.

Marielle shut the notebook completely. “It works.”

Not it should work.

Not probably.

It works.

Serali looked ahead.

The lantern children were beginning to gather with their attendants.

More guards had appeared along the path since she had last looked.

Pell and Orran were no longer merely following her. They had folded into the inner security line, trading brief signals with the other palace guards. Farther out, Serali caught glimpses of Watch uniforms moving through the festival crowd.

Daravan had doubled the security.

Of course he had.

Beyond them waited the eastern brazier.

Unlit.

Waiting for Allandra.

Half an hour ago, Serali had been throwing cloth balls at wooden moons and insulting Hagen.

Now the demonstration existed again.

Everly slipped her hand into Serali’s.

Serali looked down.

The golden suns on Everly’s cheeks had begun to smudge again.

“You already did it.”

Serali frowned. “What?”

“At practice.”

“Practice isn’t the same.”

“No.”

Everly squeezed her fingers. “But you already know how.”

Serali looked toward the waiting path.

The canopy.

The choir.

The oath.

Allandra’s flame.

Seven ridiculous birds.

Serali exhaled slowly.

Ahead of her, the lanterns waited.

And somewhere behind them, sticking out of Lessa’s increasingly burdened prize bag, two ridiculous cream-colored ears bobbed through the crowd.

Chapter 171: Lady Serali, Royal Mage

Half an hour disappeared much faster than the previous three.

One moment, Everly was arguing that Danger should be permitted a second manoeuvre if the crowd looked sufficiently impressed.

The next, Daravan was there.

“Royal Mage.”

Serali looked at him.

He had acquired the expression he wore when the entire world had become a security problem.

Which, Serali supposed, meant it was time.

Marielle checked the palace clock anyway. “Four minutes.”

“I know.”

Marielle put her notebook away.

The pencil vanished with it.

Within seconds, all evidence that she had spent the last half hour reorganizing the demonstration in her head was gone.

Serali looked at her. “You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

That was considerably more reassuring than probably.

Daravan waited.

He did not tell her to hurry.

Somehow, that was worse.

Lessa had gathered the accumulated prizes again. Serali’s hare sat among them with its head and long cream-colored ears protruding exactly as Everly had demanded.

Serali looked at it.

Then away.

Later.

There would be later.

The thought came strangely easily.

“Serali.”

Everly held out her arms.

Serali looked toward Daravan.

Then at the crowd gathering beyond him.

Then back at Everly.

“May I hug you?”

Her chest tightened. “Yes.”

Everly shoved the enormous stuffed sun at Hagen.

He caught it with a grunt.

Then Everly wrapped both arms around Serali’s waist. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

“And remember Danger only gets one trick.”

Serali looked down at her. “That was my rule.”

“I’m reminding you.”

“Of my own rule.”

“Yes.”

Serali sighed.

Everly squeezed her once more.

Then leaned closer. “And Feather likes you best.”

“That remains unproven.”

Everly smiled.

Daravan cleared his throat.

Not impatiently.

Still.

Time.

Hagen handed the stuffed sun back. “Come on, little sun.”

Everly took it.

Her expression had changed.

Not frightened.

Not yet.

But she understood enough to know that playtime had ended.

Lessa walked with them as far as the family platform, where Everly’s guards were already waiting. Hagen took his place beside her.

Then Lessa stepped back down and rejoined Mara, Callene, and the rest of the palace household below.

Serali watched until Everly looked back. The stuffed sun nearly obscured her face.

She waved anyway.

Serali lifted one hand. Briefly. Then lowered it.

“Ready?” Marielle asked.

“No.”

Marielle nodded. “Good.”

Serali looked at her.

“Readiness is often overstated.”

“You have said that before.”

“It remains true.”

Daravan made a sound that might have been a sigh. “Positions.”

The festival changed.

Not all at once.

The fiddles finished their song.

The drums quieted.

Dancers cleared the center of the square.

Conversations softened as people noticed guards shifting into position along the lantern path.

One person turned. Then another. Then dozens. The square gathered itself.

Serali stood just beyond the first lantern arch and tried not to count them.

She had made that mistake earlier.

Marielle knew the approximate attendance.

Serali had forbidden her from sharing it.

Now she could see enough for herself.

People filled the square to its edges and spilled into the streets beyond. Children sat on shoulders. Apprentices leaned from upper windows. Festival lanterns glowed from balconies and bare branches.

The noble pavilion had filled.

Verya stood near its front with the oath secured in a slim leather folder. Yvander and Merrow remained nearby.

Harrek moved along the western perimeter, speaking briefly to Watch officers as he passed.

Pell and Orran had folded into the inner security line now that their escort duty was finished, one near the lantern path and one closer to the eastern approach.

Marielle stood beside the demonstration markers.

No notebook.

That was how Serali knew this was serious.

Farther back, Lia waited at the healers’ station with two apprentices.

Mara, Callene, Lessa, and the palace household stood together on the eastern side.

On the family platform, Hagen had positioned himself beside Everly, her own guards forming around them.

And across the path— Allandra.

Serali stopped.

She stood beside the eastern brazier in deep green and white, gold tracing every edge of her gown. The white ceremonial cloak rested over her shoulders, bright beneath the lanterns.

Queen.

Sun Fae.

Mate.

Allandra looked at her.

For half a heartbeat, the square disappeared. The bond remained partitioned.

Closed deliberately, as it had been all evening.

But not silent.

Warmth pressed faintly against the barriers.

Not words.

Never words.

Something gentler.

Here.

Perhaps Serali invented the meaning.

She sent something back anyway.

Allandra’s expression did not change. Only her fingers shifted against the edge of her cloak.

Then Daravan crossed Serali’s peripheral vision.

Not between them.

Near enough.

Captain again.

Queen again.

Royal Mage again.

The moment passed.

“Thirty seconds,” Marielle murmured.

Serali breathed.

The lantern children entered.

Two lines.

One from the west.

One from the east.

Serali recognized several of them immediately.

The solemn girl who had asked whether the birds could bite walked near the front, both hands wrapped around the pole of a little amber lantern.

She saw Serali. Her eyes went immediately to the moon and stars painted across Serali’s face. She smiled.

Serali’s heart did something inconvenient.

The children took their places along the path.

Gold glass.

White paper.

Amber panes.

Tiny flames moving inside them.

Serali looked at their hands. Small hands wrapped around lantern poles.

They were going to stand beneath her magic.

Voluntarily.

That realization was somehow worse than the crowd.

Daravan passed behind her. “Royal Mage.”

Serali looked at him.

His voice was low enough that only she could hear. “If anything feels wrong—”

“I look at you.”

He paused.

Then nodded. “Good.”

Serali almost told him he had already said that.

Decided against it.

He was nervous enough.

Daravan returned to the inner ring.

The square quieted.

Thousands of people did not become truly silent.

There were coughs. Boots shifting against stone. A baby fussing somewhere near the fountain. The crackle of braziers. Wind moving through paper lanterns.

But the festival noise was gone.

Serali could hear herself breathe.

A priest stepped to the edge of the lantern path. Not the sermon yet. Only the opening.

He raised one hand. “On the last night of winter, we gather beneath the dark.”

The traditional response moved through the square. “And wait for the returning sun.”

Serali knew that line. Mara had made her practice.

The priest turned toward her. “Lady Serali, Royal Mage of Avalusia.”

There it was.

Not princess.

Not Xuiven.

Not prisoner.

Lady Serali.

Royal Mage.

Serali stepped forward.

The entire square seemed to move with her.

She reached the center of the lantern path.

Stopped.

Marielle gave the smallest nod.

Now.

Serali lifted her hands. Shadow answered. It slipped first from beneath her sleeves.

Thin. Almost delicate.

A murmur moved through the crowd.

Serali ignored it.

The shadows climbed. One strand became three. Three divided again.

Darkness stretched upward between the lantern arches, crossing and recrossing in patterns she had practiced until she could see them behind her eyes.

Not a wall.

Not a shroud.

A lattice.

It spread over the children.

Someone inhaled sharply.

Serali kept going.

The shadow reached the western edge.

Then the eastern.

The final strands caught.

The canopy opened.

For one terrifying heartbeat, Serali saw it as they must.

Night suspended overhead.

Darkness gathered above children.

Lyehiran magic in the center of First Sun.

Then lanternlight struck it.

Gold shone through the spaces.

The darkness did not swallow the light.

It shaped it.

Every lantern beneath the canopy seemed suddenly brighter, each flame outlined by shadow, warm gold reflected against the dark weave overhead.

The little girl near the front tipped her face upward.

Her mouth opened. “It’s pretty.”

Her whisper carried farther than it should have.

Someone nearby laughed softly.

Not cruelly.

A woman murmured agreement.

The sound loosened something in the square.

Serali breathed.

The canopy held.

Wind moved in from the harbor. Cold. Steady.

Exactly as Marielle had promised.

It struck the lattice. Serali felt the pressure through her arms.

The shadow flexed.

Bent.

Redirected.

Below it, the lantern flames did not flicker.

Not one.

Serali looked toward Marielle.

Marielle did not cheer. Did not clap. Did not reach for a notebook.

But her entire body seemed to say: I told you so.

Serali resisted the urge to glare at her.

The canopy settled. One part done.

The choir rose.

Voices from the temple steps.

Soft at first.

One clear soprano carrying the opening note into the winter night.

Others joined beneath it.

The old First Sun hymn began.

Serali had heard them rehearse it. She knew where the voices would rise. Where the harmony would open. Where the children beneath the canopy would lift their lanterns.

She knew what came next.

Song.

Sermon.

Oath.

Allandra’s flame.

The birds.

She could do this.

The choir reached the second line.

And the air beside the third lantern arch folded.

Serali saw it. A distortion.

A wrongness.

Like light bending across water.

Her heart stopped.