Chapter 67: Weather
By evening, Serali had read enough romance to consider surrendering to ignorance.
Mara had returned from the south gallery shortly after Allandra left, carrying five books, two scholarly indexes, and the expression of a woman who had committed treason in a library and enjoyed the silence.
Serali had looked at the stack.
Then at Mara.
“This is excessive.”
Mara had set the books on the low table with great care. “The librarian said these were the oldest references to mate bonds outside temple records.”
“The librarian said mate bonds?”
“No. The librarian said ‘recognition traditions in late pre-unification romantic literature.’”
Serali had stared.
Mara folded her hands. “I interpreted.”
“That is dangerous.”
“Yes.”
For the next several hours, Serali read.
She did not read like a court lady seeking entertainment. She read like a prisoner searching a wall for cracks.
Moonfire at Thornwell lasted three pages before she rejected it for excessive use of beloved and a hero whose silver eyes appeared to be his entire personality.
The Stag and the Star-Marked Bride proved more useful, though the stag became increasingly literal in a way Serali chose not to respect.
Bound by Briar and Blood began with a glossary. This seemed promising until the glossary included throbbing.
A Courtship of Ashes and Amber had been attacked by a prior reader with excellent instincts, who had written nonsense beside every declaration of eternal trust and then underlined all the anatomical passages.
The Sun King’s Unwilling Heart she left until last.
On principle.
Then read twice.
Also on principle.
By the time Mara returned with tea, Serali had three marked pages, a headache, and a notebook divided into columns.
Mara set the tray down, glanced at the heading, and covered her mouth.
Serali did not look up. “Do not.”
“I said nothing.”
“You inhaled.”
“I apologize for breathing.”
“You should.”
Mara sat opposite her, far too composed for a woman who had procured indecent literature for state purposes. “Did any of them help?”
“No.”
Mara reached for the teapot.
Serali sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Mara’s mouth twitched.
Serali pointed her pen at the stack. “The novels agree on several points, which is distressing because they are otherwise written by people who should not be trusted with ink. Recognition may begin before either party understands it. Dreams are common. Strong emotions may travel through the bond. Proximity makes everything worse.”
“Worse?” Mara asked.
“More noticeable. Which is worse.”
Mara nodded as if this distinction were medically sound.
Serali wrote quickly. “Fear. Pain. Anger. Desire.”
Her pen paused on the last word.
Mara, wisely, said nothing.
“Some claim mates can sense location,” Serali continued. “Some claim thoughts, though those writers also believe one kiss can repair a stab wound, so their reliability is limited.”
“Limited,” Mara agreed.
“Several mention healing through touch.”
“That sounds useful.”
“It sounds like an excellent way to die because someone trusted chapter seventeen of Bound by Briar and Blood.”
Mara glanced at the book. “Was chapter seventeen very bad?”
“Chapter seventeen was flexible.”
“I see.”
“You do not.”
“I probably do not.”
Serali turned a page too quickly. “Then there is the heat.”
Mara’s face colored.
Serali narrowed her eyes. “You know about that.”
“Only from stories.”
“Mara.”
“Only from stories,” Mara repeated, with the grave terror of a woman who wished to vanish into the teapot.
Serali looked down at the notes. “The stories describe it as pressure after the bond is acknowledged but before it is settled. Desire intensifies. Tempers shorten. Magic rises. Separation becomes unpleasant. Touch becomes…”
She stopped.
Mara waited.
Coward.
“Treacherous,” Serali finished.
“Ah.”
“I hate that you said ah.”
“I did not know what else to say.”
“Nothing would have been preferable.”
Mara’s cheeks remained pink.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Good.
At least someone else was suffering.
Serali shut the notebook. “This is absurd. I cannot make decisions based on old romances with titles like The Sun King’s Unwilling Heart.”
“No.”
“I need facts.”
“Yes.”
“I need Lia.”
Mara nodded. “Yes.”
Serali groaned. “I hate needing Lia.”
“She is useful.”
“She is dangerous.”
“She can be both.”
“Everyone here can be both. It is tiresome.”
Mara smiled faintly.
Serali looked at the stack of books, then at her notes.
The questions were clear now, whether she liked them or not.
Can Allandra sense desire only, or fear too?
Can it be blocked?
Does heat remove choice?
Is it worse for Sun Fae?
Can the bond make magic unstable?
Can wanting be used against me?
She underlined the last one twice.
Mara’s smile faded.
“For what it is worth,” she said quietly, “I do not think wanting is weakness.”
Serali went still.
Mara looked down at her hands, suddenly more maid than conspirator. “But I think not knowing what wanting can be used for makes it frightening.”
Serali’s throat tightened.
She wanted to dismiss it.
Instead, traitorously, she said, “That is almost wise.”
Mara smiled. “I apologize.”
“You should.”
Serali gathered the notebook and three of the books. Then, after a moment, she added The Sun King’s Unwilling Heart to the stack because if Lia was going to be unbearable, Serali intended to bring evidence.
Mara watched this with heroic restraint.
Serali looked at her. “Not one word.”
“I said nothing.”
“Your face did.”
“I will discipline it.”
“See that you do.”
At the door, one of the guards glanced at the books in her arms.
“Royal Mage?”
Serali lifted her chin. “I am going to ask a healer about pornography.”
The younger guard made a choking sound.
The older one stared forward with admirable discipline.
Mara turned away very quickly.
Serali stepped into the hall, the guards fell in behind her.
For the first time since Allandra had left that morning, she almost felt prepared.
Not calm.
Not safe.
Prepared.
There was a difference.
Serali stood in the infirmary doorway three days before her demonstration, clutching a notebook, three marked pages, and a slim violet volume titled The Sun King’s Unwilling Heart.
Lia looked up from a tray of labeled jars.
She took in Serali’s face, the book, the notebook, and the visible displeasure.
“Ah,” Lia said.
Serali narrowed her eyes. “Do not ah me.”
“Too late.”
“I am here for medical consultation.”
“So I gathered.”
“Not commentary.”
“That seems unlikely.”
Lia dismissed the apprentice healer with a look. The young man glanced once at the violet book, developed a sudden interest in the west cupboard, and vanished.
When the door closed, Lia set down the jar in her hand. “You found the educational filth.”
Serali closed her eyes. “I hate this palace.”
“This palace did not write The Sun King’s Unwilling Heart.”
Serali’s eyes opened. “You know it?”
“I have been alive a long time.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the answer I prefer.”
Serali dropped the books on the examination table. They landed with an undignified thump. “I need you to separate fact from embroidery.”
Lia picked up the notebook.
Her expression shifted as she read the columns: POSSIBLY TRUE, LIKELY EMBELLISHED, OBSCENE NONSENSE
Under the last, she had written:
Glowing antlers. Instant trust. One kiss curing stab wounds. Men becoming less annoying after declarations.
Lia looked up. “Men becoming less annoying?”
“Fiction.”
“I see.”
“No, you do not. If I start singing from bond madness, I expect someone to kill me.”
“Noted.”
“Not compassionately.”
“Naturally.”
Serali sat before Lia could tell her to. “Can she sense when I want her?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
Serali’s stomach dropped, though she had known the answer. Knowing and hearing were different forms of injury.
Lia folded her hands. “Strong desire is often one of the first things to cross an acknowledged bond.”
“Acknowledged,” Serali repeated.
“Yes.”
“Meaning we made it worse.”
“Possibly.”
“By talking about it?”
“Partly.”
“By kissing?”
“Likely.”
Serali stared at the wall.
The wall was pale yellow.
She disliked it.
“How precise is it?” she asked.
“Usually not thoughts. Not at first. More like emotional weather.”
“Weather.”
“Yes.”
“Lovely. Every time I am compromised, the queen gets a forecast.”
Lia’s mouth twitched. “That is one way to phrase it.”
“It is the correct way.”
“It is an irritated way.”
Serali pointed at the notebook. “Continue.”
Lia’s humor faded. “The degree varies. Some mates sense only intensity. Some can distinguish fear, anger, desire, pain, or magical strain. Location sense may develop under distress. Words or images are rarer. Usually years, ritual strengthening, grave danger, or a deeply settled bond.”
“Usually.”
“Would you prefer I lie?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Then do not ask questions like that.”
Lia inclined her head, accepting the rebuke with maddening calm.
Serali looked down at the notebook. “Can it be blocked?”
Lia was quiet too long.
Serali looked up and repeated herself. “Can it be blocked?”
“Dampened.”
“How?”
“Distance. Grounding. Practice. Privacy wards.”
Serali sat back. “You were not going to mention privacy wards?”
“You did not ask.”
“I dislike you.”
“I know.”
“What kind of wards?”
“Not severing. Not iron. More like closing shutters over a window.”
Serali hated the sudden wanting that moved through her.
Not desire this time.
Silence.
A room inside herself where no queen, no father, no old magic, no court could enter without permission.
“I want that,” she said.
“I thought you might.”
“You thought many things and said almost none of them.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because information given before someone is ready can become another violation.”
Serali looked away.
That answer was annoyingly difficult to hate.
“And,” Lia continued, “because privacy wards are not only for you.”
“Allandra.”
“Yes.”
“Can she use them?”
“Yes.”
“Will she?”
“I imagine she would consider it her duty.”
Despite herself, Serali smiled.
“That sounds like her.”
“It does.”
The smile faded. “Is the heat real?”
Lia’s gaze lowered briefly to the page.
“Yes.”
Serali closed her eyes.
Of course.
“Does it remove choice?”
“No.”
The answer came so firmly that Serali opened her eyes again.
Lia held her gaze. “No. It presses. It does not command. It may make wanting louder. It does not decide what either of you does with it.”
Relief moved through Serali so sharply it hurt.
“Good,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And if someone says the heat made them—”
“They are either lying, weak, or badly educated.”
Serali stared at her.
Lia’s face was calm. “Old magic is not innocence. It is power. Power makes choices more consequential, not less.”
That sounded like something Allandra would need to hear.
Perhaps already had.
“Is it worse for her?” Serali asked.
“Yes.”
No hesitation again.
Serali’s hand tightened around the notebook. “Because she is Sun Fae?”
“Partly. Solar magic often expresses bond pressure through heat, light, restlessness, and increased magical responsiveness. She is also Mantle-bearer, which complicates anything ancient moving through her.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“It is.”
“Does it make her dangerous?”
“Yes.”
Serali went still.
Lia continued before the word could become cruelty. “Not because she lacks control. Because she has power enough that control matters more.”
Serali stared at the notebook.
Allandra sensing her want and stepping back anyway.
Dangerous.
Careful.
Both.
“What do I do?” Serali asked.
It came out too young.
Lia did not react to that.
Another mercy.
“You learn. You set boundaries before heat sets them badly for you. You practice privacy wards. You tell Allandra what you do not want her to sense, even if she cannot help sensing it yet.”
Serali looked down.
“And,” Lia said, “you stop treating knowledge as surrender.”
Serali’s mouth twisted. “Is that what I am doing?”
“Yes.”
“I came here, didn’t I?”
“Yes. Eventually.”
“That should count.”
“It does.”
Serali looked up suspiciously.
Lia’s expression remained calm, but there was approval in her eyes.
Not soft.
Recognition.
Serali gathered the notebook and books. “Can you teach me the ward?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you arrived with three romance novels and the emotional state of a cornered hawk. You will eat, rest, speak with Allandra, and return tomorrow.”
“I am not a hawk.”
“No. Hawks are quieter.”
Serali pointed at her. “Dangerously neutral.”
Lia’s brows lifted. “Pardon?”
“That is what I’ve decided you are.”
“I like it.”
“You would.”
Serali reached the door before Lia spoke again.
“One more thing.”
“I hate that phrase.”
“I know. Do not read too many of those alone tonight.”
“Because of the heat?”
“Because they are badly written and will make you irritable.”
For one second, Serali simply looked at her.
Then she laughed.
It broke out of her, sharp and startled and embarrassingly relieved. Lia smiled, small and brief.
Serali opened the door.
The guard outside straightened at the sight of the books. His eyes flicked to the titles, then away with impressive speed.
Good man.
Serali paused at the threshold. “Lia.”
“Yes?”
“If Allandra asks you the same questions…”
“She already has.”
“Oh.”
“She asked fewer of them,” Lia said, “more badly.”
Serali smiled again.
Then Lia added, “She is trying very hard not to make her wanting your burden.”
The smile faded.
The words moved through her slowly.
Not comfort.
Context.
Serali looked away. “She already is my burden.”
“Yes,” Lia said. “And you are hers.”
Serali’s throat tightened.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“No.”
Serali almost laughed again.
Instead, she stepped into the hall with far more knowledge than she had wanted.