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The Queen's Mage
Chapter 176: Let the Record Hold It So, Chapter 177: Damaged, Not Ruined and Chapter 178: My Mage · Oct 18, 2026
Chapter List (120)
- 101 Chapter 156: By Oath, Not Blood and Chapter 157: Before Someone Else Does 2026-10-18
- 102 Chapter 158: Sunrise Cake and Chapter 159: The Queen’s Bed 2026-10-18
- 103 Chapter 160: Unfinished Hems and Chapter 161: Controlled Conditions 2026-10-18
- 104 Chapter 162: Artistic Direction and Chapter 163: Birds of a Feather 2026-10-18
- 105 Chapter 164: Holding Things Together and Chapter 165: Four Hours 2026-10-18
- 106 Chapter 166: “It Is First Sun” and Chapter 167: Festive 2026-10-18
- 107 Chapter 168: Three Introductions and Chapter 169: Your First First Sun 2026-10-18
- 108 Chapter 170: Thirty-Two Minutes and Chapter 171: Lady Serali, Royal Mage 2026-10-18
- 109 Chapter 172: Princess Serali Xuiven and Chapter 173: Change Targets 2026-10-18
- 110 Chapter 174: Just A Cut and Chapter 175: Let Her Decide 2026-10-18
- 111 Chapter 176: Let the Record Hold It So, Chapter 177: Damaged, Not Ruined and Chapter 178: My Mage 2026-10-18
- 112 Bonus Content: Playlist, Worldbuilding, and Edits Announcement 2026-10-18
- 113 Fault Line Coming Soon! 2026-10-18
- 114 [Fault Line] Ch. 1: Ten Bells and Ch. 2 Remorseful Dagger 2026-10-18
- 115 Ch. 3: Suboptimal and Ch. 4: Separate Decisions 2026-10-18
- 116 Ch. 5: After the Lanterns and Ch. 6 What He Could Control 2026-10-18
- 117 Ch. 7: The Shape of Leaving and Ch. 8: Peaceful Avenues 2026-10-18
- 118 Ch. 9: Where She Could See Them and Ch. 10: Lying to Itself 2026-10-18
- 119 Ch. 11: Useful Failure and Ch. 12: Expected Answers 2026-10-18
- 120 Ch. 13 A Working Dinner and Ch. 14: Visible 2026-10-18
Chapter 176: Let the Record Hold It So
Verya arrived carrying the oath.
Serali stared at her.
Verya’s hair had partially escaped its pins. One sleeve was torn. Dust covered the front of her First Sun gown, and a shallow cut crossed one palm.
The leather folder was tucked beneath her other arm.
“You still have that?”
Verya looked offended. “Of course I still have it.”
Behind her, Merrow limped toward the palace with one hand pressed to his ribs.
He looked over. “I attempted to explain that the document was unlikely to flee.”
Verya ignored him.
Yvander, several paces behind, said, “She also attempted to retrieve it while part of the pavilion was collapsing.”
“I did not.”
“You looked at it.”
“Looking at a legally significant document is not the same as attempting to retrieve it.”
Yvander sighed.
Serali almost smiled.
Almost.
Verya reached her.
Then stopped.
Her gaze moved over Serali carefully.
Torn sleeve.
Blood that was not hers on the front of her gown.
Moon and stars still painted across one cheek.
Shadow canopy overhead.
Still standing.
Verya’s mouth tightened. “You wish to continue.”
“Yes.”
“That was not a question.”
“Oh.”
Verya looked toward Allandra.
Allandra gave one small nod.
Verya exhaled. “Then we need to amend this.”
She opened the folder.
Of course she did.
Serali looked toward Daravan.
He stood several paces away with Pell, watching the newly narrowed perimeter.
The prisoners had already been moved under heavy guard.
The dead were covered.
The wounded were being carried toward the palace.
Every approach to the square now held more Watch than festival-goers.
No one pretended this was the ceremony they had planned.
Good.
Serali was tired of pretending.
Verya pulled the oath free. “What do you want added?”
Serali looked toward the northern street.
Nothing moved there now except guards.
“They called it rescue.”
Verya waited.
“They said my father had ordered me returned.”
A muscle moved in Allandra’s jaw.
“I want it clear that he has no right to do that.”
“Good.”
Serali blinked. “You usually object first.”
“I object when you say something legally imprecise.”
“That happens frequently.”
“Yes.”
Serali considered. “I reject his custody over me.”
Verya’s expression changed immediately. “No.”
“There it is.”
“Custody implies that a legitimate custodial relationship exists and that you are disputing its exercise.”
Serali stared at her.
Verya stared back.
Even after an attack.
Apparently.
“What word do I want?”
“Claim.”
“Claim?”
“Claim over your person.”
Serali repeated it silently.
That felt different.
Not he has authority and abuses it.
Not he owns something he should release.
No foundation at all.
Nothing to recognize.
“I reject any claim over my person by Vulmar.”
“King Vulmar of Lyehira,” Verya said.
Serali’s mouth twisted.
“For the record.”
“Unfortunately.”
“And not merely him.”
Serali looked at her. “His agents acted in his name. If he sends others—”
“Then include the crown and anyone acting under its authority.”
Serali nodded.
Verya made several quick additions despite the cut across her palm.
Serali noticed. “You’re bleeding.”
“So are half the people in this square.”
“That is not an argument.”
“It is tonight.”
“Lia would disagree.”
“Lia is occupied.”
Verya finished writing. “There.”
She held the amended page out.
Serali read it.
Once.
Then again.
The words felt strange.
Not because they were wrong.
Because they were allowed to exist.
“Does that work?”
Verya looked at the page.
Then at her. “It does now.”
Daravan approached. “We’re ready.”
Serali looked toward the temple steps.
The choir had not returned.
Some singers remained in the square with their families.
Others had been escorted away.
Father Edras stood near the eastern path, robes torn at one shoulder, speaking quietly with a guard.
There would be no second opening.
No hymn.
No sermon.
Those had belonged to the ceremony that had been interrupted.
This one began somewhere else.
At the choice.
Daravan moved into position beside the lantern path.
Pell stood farther down it.
Orran guarded the eastern side.
Harrek had refused to sit, but a healer had apparently won enough of the argument to bandage his head. He stood at the western perimeter with three Watch officers close enough to catch him if necessary.
The crowd was smaller now.
Much smaller.
Families with injured members had gone. Children were being kept behind the inner barriers. Some people had fled and would not return.
Serali did not blame them.
Those who remained stood among overturned benches and broken festival stalls.
Some still had blood on their clothes.
Some were crying.
Some watched her.
Not all kindly.
Not all fearfully.
Just watching.
The lantern children had been gathered with their families near the front.
The solemn girl was still there.
Serali’s shadow wall had finally dissolved.
The canopy had not.
It stretched overhead, thinner than before but steady.
Night held above them.
Waiting.
Verya stepped forward with the oath.
She did not raise her voice dramatically.
She did not need to. “Lady Serali.”
Serali faced her.
Verya held out the document. “Do you freely accept the office of Royal Mage of Avalusia?”
Freely.
The word went through her.
Serali looked at Allandra.
The Queen stood beside the eastern brazier.
White cloak torn near the hem.
Borrowed sword gone now.
Gold no longer blazing beneath her skin.
Only Allandra.
Waiting.
Not commanding.
Serali looked back at Verya. “I do.”
Verya nodded.
Serali drew a breath.
“I, Serali, do freely accept the office of Royal Mage of Avalusia.”
Her voice carried farther than she expected.
Perhaps because the square had gone so quiet.
“I swear to exercise the authority of that office according to the laws of Avalusia.”
A man somewhere near the back shifted.
No one spoke.
“To defend its people to the best of my ability.”
Her gaze found the lantern children.
“To advise the Crown truthfully.”
Allandra’s eyes remained on her.
“To act within the lawful limits of the office entrusted to me.”
Serali swallowed.
The next words had existed before tonight.
They felt different now.
“To serve without coercion.”
Somewhere behind her, Daravan went very still.
“To refuse unlawful command, regardless of its source.”
Vulmar’s voice existed in memory.
Your father commands your return.
Serali let it exist.
Then let it pass.
“I swear this freely.”
Verya lowered the page slightly.
That could have been the end.
It was not.
Serali looked out over the square.
“I say that again tonight because men entered this square claiming I required rescue.”
No one moved.
“They spoke in my father’s name.”
Allandra’s fingers tightened around the edge of her cloak.
“They called me Princess Serali Xuiven.”
The name sounded wrong here.
Smaller, somehow.
“I do not recognize that name as a claim upon me.”
A whisper moved through the crowd.
“I was not taken from Lyehira.”
She paused.
“I escaped it.”
Silence.
Not shocked silence.
Something heavier.
Serali felt the old fear rise.
The certainty that she had said too much.
That someone would punish her for saying it aloud.
She kept going.
“I reject any claim over my person by King Vulmar of Lyehira, by his crown, or by those acting in his name.”
The words settled into the square.
No taking them back now.
Good.
“I do not stand here because Avalusia captured me.”
Her gaze found Daravan.
His face gave nothing away.
Almost.
“I do not stand here because its Queen commands me.”
Allandra’s eyes shone.
“I stand here because I choose to.”
Serali’s voice did not shake.
“I choose this office.”
The shadows above her stirred.
“I choose its obligations.”
A lantern flame moved beneath the canopy.
“And I choose Avalusia.”
Something warm struck the bond partitions.
Hard enough that Serali nearly lost the next breath.
She did not look at Allandra.
Not yet.
“My oath is given freely.”
Verya waited.
One heartbeat.
Then she lifted the document.
“Let the record hold it so.”
Serali exhaled.
Across the lantern path, Allandra moved.
She stepped to the eastern brazier.
For an instant Serali remembered the other light.
The Mantle. Sunfire wings opening over a battlefield. Power crushed down before it could hurt the people standing too close.
This was not that.
Allandra laid one hand above the unlit brazier.
Warm gold gathered beneath her palm.
Gentle.
Controlled.
The flame caught.
Light rose.
Not violently.
Not like a weapon.
A single golden flame became two.
Then five.
Then the entire eastern beacon came alive.
Gold spread beneath Serali’s canopy.
Shadow caught it.
Shaped it.
The lattice overhead darkened around the light until every strand seemed edged in sunrise.
Night and sun.
Together.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Serali looked toward Marielle.
Instinct.
The demonstration marker stood empty.
No notebook.
No pencil.
No Marielle waiting with the expression that meant obviously it worked; why were you concerned?
The absence hit harder than Serali expected.
Marielle had spent days on this.
Fourteen reviews tonight alone. Fifteen pockets. A ridiculous amount of engineering devoted to seven shadow birds and a canopy that would not extinguish lanterns.
She had wanted to see it.
Serali swallowed.
Then I will have to tell her.
Later.
There would be later.
Serali lifted her eyes.
Above her, the canopy stirred.
One strand of the lattice thickened.
Folded.
Separated.
Wings opened.
Pip dropped from the darkness overhead.
A breath moved through the crowd.
Another shape loosened from the canopy.
Biscuit.
Then Verya, holding the center exactly where Marielle had planned.
Pebble woke next, peeling neatly from the lattice and dropping into place.
Close.
Steady.
Then Feather.
The shadow above Serali’s left shoulder gathered itself into a small dark body.
Feather opened her wings and descended.
Pip crossed left.
Biscuit climbed.
Verya held the center.
Pebble tucked closer.
Serali guided Feather into the turn—
and felt the pattern change.
Not wrong.
Different.
Feather broke formation.
Serali’s heart jumped.
She almost corrected her.
Then stopped.
They had discussed this.
One bird could land on her if it worked in the moment.
One.
Serali had never decided which.
Apparently her magic had.
Feather circled once.
Then descended.
Onto her left wrist.
Serali froze.
The shadow weighed almost nothing.
Still, she felt it.
Tiny feet against the soft cuff Callene had made.
Against skin that remembered iron. A scar beneath it. Allandra’s mouth against that wrist months ago.
Once, something closed around that part of her body had meant she could not leave.
Now a creature made from her own magic sat there because it wanted to.
Because she had let it.
Everly’s voice carried from the family platform. “Feather picked her!”
A few people laughed.
Serali looked toward her.
Everly was wrapped in a blanket now, tucked close to Lessa with Hagen beside them.
Her painted suns were still smudged.
She was grinning.
Feather launched from Serali’s wrist.
Back into the formation.
Another piece of the canopy detached itself.
Button Two.
He immediately drifted too far toward the western edge.
Of course.
Serali curled one finger. A strand of shadow stretched after him and nudged him gently back toward the others.
Then only one shape remained.
A small knot of darkness gathered directly above the lantern path.
Everly sat forward.
Danger dropped out of the canopy with considerably more enthusiasm than necessary.
He joined the formation.
Held.
One circle.
Two.
Then Serali gave the tiniest turn of her wrist.
Danger rolled once through the air.
Exactly once.
Everly clapped both hands over her mouth.
One trick.
Serali had followed the rule.
The seven birds rose.
Pip.
Biscuit.
Verya.
Pebble.
Feather.
Button Two.
Danger.
They circled beneath the canopy.
Then crossed toward the east.
Toward Allandra. Toward the beacon.
Gold met shadow. For an instant, the birds flew directly through the light.
They did not burn.
Did not disappear.
The beacon caught along their edges instead, turning every dark wing gold.
Shadows welcoming dawn.
For one heartbeat, the square stood beneath night and sun together.
Then the birds opened outward and vanished into sparks of dark silver above the lantern path.
The beacon burned.
Silence held.
One second.
Two.
Then a small pair of hands began to clap.
Everly.
She stood on the family platform, face pale, cheeks painted with little suns, clapping as hard as she could.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
The sound was tiny in the great square.
Then Hagen began clapping beside her.
Not theatrically.
Not elegantly.
Firmly.
Allandra turned from the beacon.
For one moment, she looked at Serali.
Then she clapped too.
Daravan, sword still in one hand, stared as if this were the most unreasonable order of the night.
Then he shifted the blade to his left hand and brought his right against his wrist guard.
Metal rang.
Harrek followed.
The Watch followed.
The lantern girls clapped next.
Then their parents.
Then someone in the common crowd shouted, “Royal Mage!”
Another answered.
Then another.
The sound grew unevenly, imperfectly, dangerously.
Clapping.
Cheering.
Not everyone.
Serali saw the ones who did not.
Nobles in the pavilion with still hands.
Men near the back whispering.
Faces afraid.
Faces angry.
But enough.
Enough that Vulmar’s story cracked in public.
Enough that the agents had not gotten the last word.
Enough that when Everly shouted, “Serali!” at the top of her four-year-old lungs, half the square took it up without knowing they were answering a king.
“Serali!”
“Royal Mage!”
“Serali!”
The sound struck her harder than the attack had.
Serali stood beneath the fading shadow lattice with her hands at her sides, exhausted, shaking, and suddenly terrified for a completely different reason.
They were cheering.
For her.
Not princess.
Not daughter.
Not hostage.
Her name.
Across the lantern path, Allandra looked at her.
There was no safe way to look back.
Serali did anyway.
Just for a heartbeat.
Allandra touched her signet ring.
Serali touched her cuff. Still here.
Warmth pressed against the bond. Still here.
The eastern beacon burned.
First Sun had not dawned.
But they had reached it anyway.
Daravan allowed approximately twelve seconds of this.
Then apparently reached the limit of his tolerance for public emotion.
“CLEAR THE SQUARE!”
The cheering broke.
Harrek immediately turned. “Families and children first! District routes only! Leave anything you dropped where it is!”
The Watch moved.
“Do not cross the barricades unless directed!”
Daravan was already coming toward Serali. “Inside.”
Serali looked at the beacon.
Still burning.
At the lanterns.
At the people beginning to move in controlled lines rather than panic.
Somewhere beyond the square, a fiddle started.
Only three notes.
It stopped.
Then began again.
Quietly.
First Sun had not ended.
Not yet.
Everly reached Serali before Daravan could object.
She stopped directly in front of her. Looked up. “May I hug you?”
Of course she remembered.
Serali’s throat tightened. “Yes.”
Everly wrapped herself around Serali.
Carefully this time.
Serali put both arms around her.
The eastern beacon burned beneath the last of her shadows.
Daravan waited.
Five seconds.
Possibly six.
Then: “Inside.”
Allandra came up beside them. “He’s right.”
Serali looked at her. “I know.”
Daravan blinked. “That was unexpectedly easy.”
“Do not ruin it.”
“Inside, Royal Mage.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Everly let go.
Serali looked once more at the square.
Broken.
Bloodied.
Still lit.
Then she turned toward the palace.
Chapter 177: Damaged, Not Ruined
By the time Lia successfully corralled everyone who required treatment into the infirmary, dawn had begun.
Harrek had been the primary obstacle.
“I do not require an infirmary,” he had said for the fourth time.
“You were hit in the head.”
“I have been hit in the head before.”
Lia had stared at him.
“That is not the argument you think it is.”
Harrek had ignored her and turned back to the Watch officer attempting to give him an update on the northern gate.
“The east routes?”
“Sealed.”
“Harbor?”
“Locked down.”
“Bridges?”
“Captain Daravan sent another—”
Harrek frowned.
The officer stopped.
“What?”
“Stop jumping.”
A pause.
The Watch officer looked down at himself.
Then back up.
“…I’m not jumping.”
Silence.
Lia pointed toward the infirmary.
Harrek looked at her.
Then at the officer.
Then, apparently deciding there were limits to how much dignity could be recovered from the situation, walked in without another word.
The officer waited until his back was turned.
Then followed.
Lia caught his sleeve.
“Is he always this difficult?”
The officer considered.
“Yes.”
“Good. I was worried the concussion had changed his personality.”
Harrek, from halfway across the room:
“I can hear you.”
“Excellent.”
That had been fifteen minutes ago.
He was now seated on a cot with a bandage around his head, glaring at an apprentice who had confiscated the security report he was trying to read.
Apparently concussions did not improve his temperament.
Serali sat on the edge of another examination table and watched dawn creep across the infirmary windows.
It came slowly.
Grey first.
Then silver.
Then the faintest wash of gold along the palace roofs beyond the glass.
People kept moving beneath it.
Healers.
Apprentices.
Guards.
Council members.
Palace staff.
The room smelled of herbs, smoke, blood, and whatever Lia used to scrub wounds.
Lessa had already been through.
Her forearm had been cleaned and wrapped, the cut shallow enough that Lia had permitted her to leave once she stopped arguing about whether she needed treatment at all.
She had gone immediately back upstairs to Everly.
Merrow had required bandaging along one side where flying debris had caught him.
Verya had surrendered her cut palm with considerably more grace than Serali expected, though she had continued discussing the legal implications of the attack while an apprentice cleaned it.
Yvander had acquired several small cuts and a bruise across one shoulder.
All three had been treated and released into the machinery of the palace.
Council.
Statements.
Emergency orders.
Whatever came after twelve Lyehiran agents appeared in the middle of First Sun.
Around them, apprentices were working their way through the palace staff.
One young footman sat with his sleeve rolled above a burn.
A maid had a cut near her hairline.
Another servant was having a makeshift bandage carefully removed from around his hand.
Serali glanced at it.
Then looked again.
Dark green fabric.
Gold thread along one torn edge.
She knew that fabric.
Her gaze moved across the room.
Another apprentice was unwinding a strip of the same green cloth from a maid’s forearm.
A third lay bloodied in a basin beside one of the cots.
Serali stared.
Callene’s gown.
The one she had worn to First Sun.
Serali remembered Callene crouched with the palace household during the attack.
Dragging one maid behind cover.
Ordering people down.
Keeping Mara from running into the fighting.
Apparently somewhere in the middle of all of that, Callene had started tearing apart her own dress.
Not for fashion.
For bandages.
Triage.
Serali looked toward the windows again.
The gold had strengthened.
Sunlight reached the upper palace walls.
For weeks, everyone had explained First Sun to her.
The lanterns.
The last night of winter.
Staying awake beneath the dark.
Waiting together until morning.
The ceremony had been interrupted.
People had bled.
Some had been carried inside.
Four attackers were still somewhere in the city.
But the eastern beacon had been lit.
The birds had flown.
And now—
Dawn.
Serali looked around the infirmary.
Hagen complaining quietly from his cot.
Harrek arguing with an apprentice.
Palace staff being unwrapped from strips of Callene’s ruined gown.
Lia moving from patient to patient as though exhaustion were a problem affecting other people.
People she had watched fight.
People she had watched bleed.
People who had stood beneath her shadows.
Still here.
Something in her chest loosened.
Oh.
They had made it to dawn together after all.
First Sun.
Properly this time.
Serali looked back toward the window as the first true sunlight crossed the sill.
“Happy First Sun,” she murmured.
“What?”
Hagen.
Serali looked at him.
“Nothing.”
He narrowed his eyes.
She ignored him.
Lia appeared in front of her.
“Your turn.”
Serali sighed.
“Of course.”
Lia pressed careful fingers into her left shoulder.
“Pain?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Manageable.”
Lia pressed slightly harder.
Serali inhaled sharply.
Lia looked at her.
Serali reconsidered.
“Moderately manageable.”
“Better.”
Across the room, Hagen laughed.
Then immediately regretted it.
His hand went to his side.
Lia did not even turn.
“If you reopen that wound, I will stitch it again without numbing you.”
Hagen stopped laughing.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I was a battlefield medic before you learned to read.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“It does if you know me.”
Hagen considered.
Then sat very still.
The infirmary had become an accounting of the night.
Not a particularly orderly one.
Pell had apparently acquired bruised ribs somewhere between the first lantern arch and the final prisoner.
Orran had a cut along one shoulder that he had covered with his own coat until an apprentice noticed blood dripping from the cuff.
Neither seemed especially concerned.
Lia was concerned enough for everyone.
The civilians had been luckier.
Mostly.
Cuts from flying stone.
Burns.
A broken wrist from being knocked down in the panic.
One elderly woman who had apparently bitten a Lyehiran agent and then required treatment because he had struck her.
Serali liked her.
Everly had not been hurt.
That fact had been repeated so many times that it had begun to feel like prayer.
Unhurt.
Not even a bruise Lia considered worth mentioning.
She had been examined anyway.
Twice.
Once by an apprentice.
Once by Lia after Allandra demanded confirmation.
Then Lessa had taken her upstairs, where she had reportedly fallen asleep before anyone finished removing the ribbons from her hair.
Serali held onto that.
Everly asleep.
Safe.
Somewhere above them, dawn was reaching her windows too.
Allandra had remained long enough to see Hagen treated.
Then someone from the council had found her.
The Queen had disappeared into the machinery of aftermath.
Prisoners.
Closed gates.
Witness statements.
Diplomatic consequences.
Four Lyehirans still somewhere beyond the palace walls.
Serali had watched her go.
She understood.
That did not mean she had liked it.
“Move your arm.”
Serali obeyed.
Pain pulled through her shoulder.
Lia frowned.
“The old injury is aggravated.”
“I noticed.”
“You’re going to notice more tomorrow.”
“Excellent.”
“No magic practice.”
Serali looked at her.
Lia stared back.
“How long?”
“Three days.”
“No.”
“Four.”
“That is not how negotiation works.”
“It is when I am negotiating.”
Serali sighed.
“Three.”
“Four.”
“Lia.”
“Five.”
Serali stopped.
Across the room, Hagen murmured, “You walked directly into that.”
“Be quiet.”
“Gladly. I have been threatened with unanesthetized surgery.”
Lia finally stepped away.
“Nothing is torn. Nothing appears newly damaged. You strained it, exhausted yourself, and used entirely too much magic.”
Serali flexed her fingers.
“I didn’t know there was an approved quantity during an attack.”
“There is.”
“What is it?”
“Less.”
Hagen nodded solemnly.
“Excellent medicine.”
Lia threw a cloth at him.
He caught it.
Then winced.
Serali almost smiled.
Almost.
Then her gaze went to the closed door at the back of the infirmary.
The smile disappeared.
Lia noticed.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You have been looking at that door every thirty seconds.”
Serali looked at it again.
“Marielle?”
The room changed.
Only slightly.
Hagen stopped examining the cloth Lia had thrown at him.
Even Harrek looked up from whatever argument he had begun having with the apprentice guarding his confiscated report.
Lia’s expression was enough to tighten something in Serali’s stomach.
“She is stable.”
Serali frowned.
“That is healer language.”
“All language spoken by a healer is healer language.”
“Lia.”
Lia sighed.
“The blade was poisoned.”
Serali went still.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what?”
“Enough.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It means I identified what it was doing and counteracted it.”
Serali looked toward the closed door.
“And?”
“Once I neutralized the poison, the bleeding stopped.”
Something inside Serali loosened.
Not entirely.
Lia had not finished.
Serali narrowed her eyes. “There’s a but.”
Lia gave her a look. “Yes.”
Hagen sat forward.
“The poison explains the bleeding,” Lia said. “It explains some of the difficulty I had treating her.”
“Some,” Serali repeated.
“The wound resisted healing before I counteracted it. I assumed the poison was causing that too.”
“And it wasn’t?”
“Not entirely.”
The relief vanished again.
Lia folded her arms. “The bleeding has stopped. Her pulse is good. She is in no immediate danger.”
Serali waited.
“But the tissue still isn’t responding to healing magic the way it should.”
Harrek frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means exactly what I said.”
“That is not very useful.”
“I know.”
Lia sounded personally offended by the lack of a better answer.
Serali remembered the dagger.
Narrow. Dark. The shallow groove running almost to its point.
Marielle’s blood along one edge.
Then, later— Again and again, that same blade coming for exposed skin.
“The same blade.”
Lia looked at her. “What?”
“He cut Marielle with it.”
“Yes.”
“At the end, he tried to cut me with it.”
Silence.
Lia’s eyes moved to Serali’s wrist. “The blade never touched you?”
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.” Serali touched the torn place in her sleeve. “Daravan noticed it too. Near the end, the leader stopped trying to restrain me. No cord. No net. No needle.”
Lia’s expression tightened.
“He kept going for exposed skin. My wrist. My forearm. My face.”
Serali looked toward Marielle’s door. “He wasn’t aiming like someone trying to kill me.”
“What was he trying to do?” Hagen asked.
“Cut me.”
Hagen had gone completely serious. “He only needed blood.”
Serali looked at him. “I don’t know what he needed.”
“No,” Lia said.
Her gaze returned to the closed door. “But I would very much like to.”
The words settled unpleasantly.
Serali looked toward Marielle’s room. “Can I see her?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because she is asleep.”
“You said she was stable.”
“Stable people are permitted to sleep.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
Lia’s expression softened. Barely. “She was awake earlier.”
Serali waited.
“Then I gave her something to ensure she ceased attempting to assist with her own treatment.”
Serali considered. “That sounds like Marielle.”
“It was.”
“Did she object?”
“At length.”
That helped.
More than it should have.
“Tomorrow,” Lia repeated.
Serali nodded. “Tomorrow.”
“Good.” Lia pointed toward the infirmary doors. “Now all of you leave.”
Harrek reached automatically toward the place where his report had been.
The apprentice moved it farther away.
Harrek stared at her.
She stared back.
Apparently concussion had finally introduced him to an opponent he could not intimidate.
Hagen got carefully to his feet.
Serali followed.
Her shoulder protested.
So did most of the rest of her.
Apparently she had reached the portion of First Sun where her body submitted formal complaints.
But when she glanced once more toward the windows, morning had fully arrived.
They had made it.
All of them who could.
To dawn.
Mara was waiting when Serali returned to her rooms.
Of course she was.
The instant Serali crossed the threshold, Mara stood.
She looked at her.
Really looked.
Serali knew what she was checking for.
No new blood.
Both arms moving.
Walking normally.
Still herself.
Mara’s shoulders dropped.
“That’s my lady,” she whispered.
Serali stopped.
She had heard Mara say it in the square.
Or thought she had.
There had been so much noise.
“Mara.”
Mara crossed the room.
Stopped.
Her hands twitched.
Serali understood.
“Yes.”
Mara hugged her.
Carefully.
Very carefully.
Serali closed her eyes.
Mara smelled like smoke.
So did she.
Probably everyone in the palace did tonight.
“You frightened me,” Mara said into her shoulder.
“I know.”
“I was trying to get to you.”
“I know.”
“Mistress Callene physically restrained me.”
“That was sensible.”
“I did not think so at the time.”
“I suspect Callene did.”
Mara pulled back.
Her eyes were red.
Serali pretended not to notice.
Mara pretended the same.
“Bed.”
Serali blinked. “I have apparently lost all authority tonight.”
“Yes.”
“I am Royal Mage.”
“Yes.”
“I swore an oath.”
“I was there.”
“There was cheering.”
“I heard.”
“Mara.”
“Bed.”
Serali sighed.
Apparently constitutional office offered no protection against attendants.
The dress had to be cut off her.
Serali had forgotten that part.
Mara had not.
The little scissors slid carefully beneath Callene’s emergency stitches.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
The gown loosened.
Serali looked down at it.
Smoke marked one side.
There was dirt along the hem.
One section of gold embroidery had snagged where the leader’s dagger caught her sleeve.
And one tiny gold star had torn loose entirely.
Mara caught it before it fell.
“Oh.”
Serali touched the empty place. “Can it be fixed?”
Mara looked at her.
Serali frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was a face.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You and Lia have both become very irritating about faces.”
Mara smiled. “Yes. Callene can fix it.”
“All of it?”
“The sleeve will need work.”
Serali waited.
“The embroidery can be repaired.”
“And the star?”
Mara opened her palm.
The tiny gold star lay there.
“Yes.”
Serali exhaled. “Good.”
Mara’s smile changed.
Softer.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing it again.”
Mara looked down at the gown.
“It’s damaged.”
Serali’s hand rested against the midnight-blue fabric.
Her first First Sun dress.
Smoke.
Dirt.
A torn sleeve.
Loose stitching.
One missing star sitting safely in Mara’s palm.
“But not ruined,” Mara said.
Serali looked at her. “No.”
Mara folded the gown with considerably more care than its current condition warranted.
Serali watched.
Damaged.
Not ruined.
That seemed appropriate somehow.
Mara helped her into a nightgown.
Serali endured another inspection of her shoulder.
Then Mara pulled back the blankets.
Serali climbed into bed.
Every muscle in her body immediately informed her that this had been a mistake because now they intended never to move again.
Mara drew the curtains.
Put water beside the bed.
Then food.
Serali stared at it. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I ate at the festival.”
“That was hours ago.”
“I am not hungry.”
Mara gave her a look.
Serali knew this look.
Mara suspected Serali’s understanding of hunger was fundamentally defective.
Serali suspected Mara was correct.
She took the bread.
Mara nodded.
Victory.
Serali ate.
Slowly.
More than she wanted.
Less than Mara probably preferred.
Eventually Mara appeared satisfied.
She checked the fire.
Checked the windows.
Checked the door.
Serali watched.
Different checks than Lyehira.
Not to make certain she could not leave.
To make certain nothing could get in.
Mara crossed back toward the bed.
On the table beside Serali’s books sat the cream-colored hare.
Its ears had survived the attack.
Apparently.
Serali still was not entirely certain how it had become her responsibility.
Mara followed her gaze. “Lessa brought it back.”
“Of course she did.”
“She said Lady Everly was very specific.”
“That also sounds correct.”
Serali reached out and touched one ridiculous soft ear.
Her first First Sun.
She had promised to keep him until the next one.
That remained an unreasonable length of time.
Mara drew the blankets a little higher. “Anything else?”
“No.”
Mara hesitated.
Serali looked at her. “What?”
Mara shook her head. “Happy First Sun, my lady.”
Serali looked toward the folded gown.
The damaged constellations.
The tiny gold star resting safely on top.
Then at the hare beside her.
“Happy First Sun, Mara.”
Mara smiled.
Then she turned out the lights.
Chapter 178: My Mage
Darkness settled over the room.
Almost.
Mara had left one lamp burning.
Only one.
The flame was turned low on the table beside Serali’s bed, enough to soften the corners of the room without making sleep impossible.
Mara had not mentioned it.
Serali had not thanked her.
They both knew why it was there.
Serali lay beneath the blankets and listened to the palace.
It was quieter than she had ever heard it.
No festival music beneath the windows now.
Only distant footsteps. Doors opening and closing. Occasional voices muffled by stone. The machinery of a palace that would not sleep simply because she was supposed to.
Serali closed her eyes. Immediately saw the net.
Opened them.
Lamplight.
Closed them again.
Marielle bleeding.
Open.
The familiar wardrobe opposite the bed.
Again.
The needle at her neck.
Open.
The leader holding out his hand. Come home.
Serali rolled onto her side. Home.
She hated that word in his mouth.
A knock sounded. Not at the door.
Serali went still.
It came from the wall beside her wardrobe.
Three.
Pause.
Two.
Her whole body loosened.
The servants’ passage. Of course.
“Come in.”
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the narrow panel beside the wardrobe shifted inward.
A line of darkness appeared.
And within it—
gold.
Allandra stepped through the hidden passage with a small orb of sunlight floating above one palm.
It cast warm light across her face and caught in the loose fall of her hair.
No crown.
No green-and-gold gown.
No white ceremonial cloak.
No Queen of Avalusia standing beside an eastern beacon.
Just Allandra in a night robe over a simple shift, carrying her own little sun through the dark.
She closed the panel carefully behind herself.
Serali looked at the orb. Then at her.
“You knocked.”
Allandra raised an eyebrow. “I did.”
“On the wall.”
“It seemed appropriate.”
Serali considered that. “It was.”
“I’m improving.”
“Slowly.”
Allandra smiled. Then glanced at the sunlight still hovering over her palm.
“I only needed this for the passage.”
Her fingers began to close.
The little sun dimmed.
Something old and ridiculous rose immediately to Serali’s tongue. “Are you taking away my sun, Majesty?”
Allandra froze.
The light brightened again.
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.
Serali remembered another room. Another night. Another version of herself watching Allandra carry sunlight toward the door and reacting before pride could stop her.
Allandra remembered too.
Serali could see it in her face.
Very carefully, Allandra opened her hand again. “No.”
The orb settled into a steady glow. “I suppose not.”
Serali stared at it.
Warm gold.
Soft.
Enough to see Allandra by.
She became acutely aware that what she was about to say was appalling. There was still time not to say it.
She should not say it.
Her shadows moved.
The flame in Mara’s lamp went out. The room darkened.
Not completely.
Allandra’s little sun remained.
Serali immediately regretted every decision that had brought her to this moment. “You are my sun now.”
Silence.
Gods.
That had sounded even worse aloud.
Serali stared determinedly at the blanket. “I am aware that was excessively—”
“And you are my mage.”
Serali stopped. She looked up.
Allandra was smiling.
Not laughing.
Worse.
Smiling.
Softly.
Serali narrowed her eyes. “You are never repeating any of this.”
“To whom?”
Serali opened her mouth.
Stopped.
There was, in fact, only one person Allandra could tell.
“Daravan.”
Allandra’s smile deepened. “You think I should tell Daravan?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
Serali considered. “I think he would melt.”
“Melt.”
“Or retire.” A beat. “Possibly both.”
Allandra laughed.
Serali pointed at her. “This is precisely why you are forbidden from telling him.”
“Your dignity?”
“His continued employment.”
“Very thoughtful of you.”
“I am Royal Mage. I have responsibilities.”
“Clearly.”
Allandra opened her hand.
The little sun drifted away from her palm and crossed the room, settling above the bedside table where Mara’s lamp had been burning.
Gold light spilled across the water glass.
The books.
And the cream-colored hare sitting between them.
Allandra stopped.
Serali saw exactly where she was looking. “No.”
Allandra looked at her. “I haven’t said anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to ask why there is a rabbit beside your bed.”
“That is saying something.”
Allandra came closer and inspected him.
One long ear leaned slightly to the side.
“Is this the one Everly chose for you?”
Serali frowned. “She did not choose him for me.”
“No?”
“I won him.”
“Ah.”
“Everly selected him after I won him.”
“An important distinction.”
“Yes.”
Allandra touched one of the hare’s ears. “And now he lives beside your bed.”
“Temporarily.”
“Of course.”
“I promised to keep him until next First Sun.”
Allandra turned slowly. “You promised?”
Serali immediately disliked her expression. “There were circumstances.”
“I see.”
“You do not.”
“No. But I would very much like to.”
Serali folded her arms. “He is a historical artifact.”
Allandra’s mouth twitched. “Naturally.”
“He commemorates my first First Sun.”
“Very important.”
“You are making fun of me.”
“I would never.”
Serali looked pointedly at the little sun floating over the rabbit.
“You are already under restrictions regarding what you may tell Daravan.”
“I would never endanger his continued employment.”
“Good.”
Allandra came closer.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Serali pushed herself higher against the pillows.
“Everly?”
“Asleep.”
“Actually?”
“She made Lessa promise three times that you were alive.”
Serali’s chest hurt.
“And Hagen?”
“Complaining.”
“Then he will survive.”
“That was approximately Lia’s assessment.”
“Marielle?”
“Still stable. Lia says the poison is neutralized.”
Serali looked toward the little sun. “And the rest?”
“Still unexplained.”
A pause.
“There are guards on the infirmary.”
“Because four Lyehirans are still loose in the city.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Allandra’s gaze moved over her.
Not subtly.
Serali sighed. “Lia already examined me.”
“I know.”
“Mara examined me after that.”
“I assumed she would.”
“All relevant pieces remain attached.”
Allandra’s mouth twitched. “That is reassuring.”
Serali looked at the empty side of the bed.
Then back at her.
“You can come here.”
Allandra stopped.
It was ridiculous.
They had done considerably more scandalous things in this bed.
Still—
something about tonight made the invitation different.
No urgency.
No heat.
No bond dragging at them.
Just Serali wanting her close.
Allandra removed her robe.
Climbed beneath the blankets.
Serali moved toward her immediately. No hesitation.
That was different too.
Allandra opened her arms.
Serali tucked herself against her.
Above the bedside table, the little sun continued to glow.
And finally—
finally—
the day ended.
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