The Queen's Mage

Chapter 70: What Feeds It

Lia did not permit the romance novels into the infirmary.

Serali brought them anyway.

Three of them, stacked beneath her notebook with The Sun King’s Unwilling Heart on top because she had decided that if humiliation was inevitable, it might as well arrive organized. Allandra stood beside the examination table in a dark green morning coat, hands folded behind her back, face composed into the particular calm that meant she had not slept well.

Daravan leaned against the wall near the door.

Serali looked at him. “Why is he here?”

“In case something explodes,” Lia said.

Daravan lifted one hand. “Good morning.”

“That is not comforting.”

“It was not intended to be.”

Allandra’s mouth twitched.

The bond warmed.

Serali felt it and immediately resented everyone in the room.

Lia took the top book from the stack, read the title, and sighed. “I told you not to read too many.”

“You said alone.”

“Yes. And now you have inflicted them on me.”

“Knowledge is not surrender,” Serali said sweetly.

Lia gave her a dry look. “I regret teaching you words.”

Serali opened her notebook. “I have questions.”

“That has become obvious.”

“They are for both of us,” Serali said.

Allandra’s attention sharpened.

Serali hated that too. The way Allandra listened as if every word deserved weight. The way carefulness from her no longer felt like distance, exactly, but like a hand hovering near a door and refusing to open it without permission.

“Can the bond increase our magic?” Serali asked.

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

Allandra went still.

Serali looked up. “How much?”

“I do not know.”

“That is not comforting.”

“I am not here to comfort you.”

“Clearly.”

Lia glanced at the stack of books. “Bonded magic can amplify existing strengths. It can also destabilize them. Shadow and solar magic responding through a mate bond is rare enough that I would rather not make promises.”

“Have you seen it?” Allandra asked.

“No.”

Serali’s stomach tightened.

“But you have heard of it,” she said.

“Yes.”

“And?”

Lia’s mouth pressed thin. “Old accounts suggest complementary magics may strengthen one another when trust and desire align.”

Serali stared at her.

Daravan looked at the ceiling with heroic discipline.

Allandra’s face went very still, which was worse than blushing because Serali could feel the heat anyway.

“That,” Serali said, “is the most embarrassing sentence anyone has ever said to me.”

“I disliked saying it,” Lia replied.

“I disliked hearing it.”

“Good. We are allied in suffering.”

Daravan coughed once.

Serali pointed at him without looking. “Do not.”

“I have done nothing.”

“Continue doing it.”

He folded his arms and became, with effort, a wall.

Serali stood and began to pace.

The infirmary was not large enough for satisfying pacing. She crossed to the window, turned, crossed back, avoided the table with the romances, and stopped near the medicine shelves.

“Can the bond be rejected?” she asked.

The room changed.

Allandra did not move.

Lia’s eyes followed Serali. “Yes.”

Serali stopped. “How?”

“By choice. Repeatedly. With distance, wards, and refusal to feed it.”

“Feed it.”

“Attention. Desire. Trust. Touch. Emotional reliance. Magic used together. Dreams dwelt on instead of released.”

Serali hated every item on that list.

It sounded less like a bond and more like a court case assembling evidence against her.

“And if only one rejects it?” Allandra asked.

Her voice was quiet.

Lia looked at her. “It becomes painful.”

“For whom?” Serali asked.

“Both, usually. More for the one who continues to reach.”

Serali thought of Allandra.

She did not want to.

She did anyway.

The queen’s face revealed nothing, which meant too much.

“If both reject it?” Serali asked.

“It may weaken. It may settle into ache rather than fire. Some bonds go dormant.”

“Can it break?”

“Rarely. Usually through death, ritual severance, or profound mutual rejection.”

“Profound mutual rejection,” Serali repeated. “Sounds festive.”

“It is not.”

“Does it damage them?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

Lia did not answer.

Serali laughed softly. “Of course.”

The room blurred slightly at the edges. Not from tears. Absolutely not. From exhaustion, perhaps. From too much information arriving too late. From learning that wanting had rules, and the rules had teeth.

She sat again.

Lia let her.

For once, the healer did not tell her to drink something.

That was suspiciously kind.

Serali picked at the edge of her notebook. “The books say mates can heal each other.”

“They can.”

Her gaze snapped up. “Actually?”

“Yes. Sometimes.”

“How?”

“Life force. Magic. Stabilizing the other’s body through the bond. Sharing strength.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from NovelFire. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“That sounds dangerous,” Allandra said.

“It is.”

“Can it cure wounds?” Serali asked.

“Some wounds, in some circumstances, if both understand what they are doing and if the bond is strong enough.”

Serali knew the next question before she knew she was going to ask it.

“Can it cure iron damage?”

Lia went still.

There.

The question was in the room now.

Allandra’s composure cracked by a fraction.

Lia’s gaze dropped briefly to Serali’s ankle. The skin still bore the faded ring.

“Perhaps,” Lia said.

Serali’s heart beat once, hard.

“Do not look hopeful,” Lia added.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“I am evaluating.”

“You are hoping.”

Serali looked away.

Allandra did not speak.

That was somehow worse than if she had.

Lia’s voice gentled, which was also worse. “Iron damage is not only a wound. It is disruption. The bond may help your magic re-pattern itself. It may already be helping.”

Serali closed her eyes.

Allandra again.

Everything led back to her.

“I don’t want to owe her that,” Serali said.

“I know.”

“I don’t want my own magic to come back because of her.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to need her.”

“No.”

Serali opened her eyes. “That was not agreement.”

“No,” Lia said. “It was answer.”

Serali stared.

Lia leaned forward. “You do not want to need her. That does not mean you do not.”

The words landed quietly.

Brutally.

Serali’s hand tightened around the notebook.

“She needs me too,” she said.

Allandra’s breath changed.

Barely.

“Yes,” Lia said.

That helped.

A little.

Not enough.

“It feels like a trap,” Serali said.

“It is a bond.”

“Those are not mutually exclusive.”

“No,” Lia said. “They are not.”

For a moment, Serali could hear only the faint clink of bottles settling on the shelves, the distant tread of someone in the corridor, the soft, steady breath of the palace around them.

“What do we do?” Allandra asked.

Serali looked at her.

The question had not been what do I do with her. Not what do we do about her.

We.

“The first lesson is simple. A bond is not permission. It is proximity. You will feel things you did not ask to feel. That does not make them commands. It does not make them truth. It does not make them consent.”

Daravan’s expression sobered.

Good.

Some lessons deserved witnesses.

Serali opened her notebook again because paper was easier than eyes. “So. Strong emotions can pass. Desire first, often.”

Allandra’s throat tightened. “Yes.”

“Fear, pain, anger, magical strain may come through as well.”

“Yes.”

“Location sense may develop under distress.”

“Yes.”

“Telepathy is rare.”

“Thankfully.”

Serali looked up. “If you could hear my thoughts, Majesty, you would abdicate.”

“I am not certain I would survive long enough.”

That surprised a laugh from her.

Allandra allowed herself the smallest smile.

Lia’s eyes moved between them, sharp and assessing. “Good. You can still laugh. That will help.”

“How?” Serali asked.

“It is harder to build a prison out of something you can occasionally mock.”

Daravan said, “A philosophy Captain Harrek has lived by for years.”

Serali looked at him. “Do not make me like him.”

“I would not dare.”

Lia reached for a piece of chalk and drew a circle on the infirmary floor. “Enough theory. You both wanted privacy.”

“I wanted answers,” Serali said.

Lia looked at her.

Serali sighed. “Fine. I wanted privacy.”

“Allandra?”

“Yes,” Allandra said. “I want it.”

Too quick.

Serali heard the thing beneath it now.

For you.

Lia did too, if her expression meant anything.

“Then we start with what privacy is not,” Lia said. “It is not severing. It is not punishment. It is not rejection. If either of you treats the ward like a wall built from shame, it will become one.”

Serali looked at the circle.

“And if we fail?”

“Then Daravan earns his presence.”

Daravan straightened. “I dislike how plausible that sounds.”

“Good,” Lia said. “Come here.”

Serali did not move.

Allandra did not either.

For one breath, they simply looked at the chalk circle on the floor, the absurd boundary drawn by an old healer between old magic and choice.

Then Serali closed her notebook.

“If anyone sings,” she said, “I am leaving.”

Allandra’s mouth curved.

Lia pointed to the circle. “Inside.”

Chapter 71: Veils and Shutters

Serali did not sit in the circle.

She stood inside it with her arms folded and the expression of a woman enduring captivity by chalk.

Allandra stood opposite her, too composed by half. Daravan remained outside the circle near the wall, where he could reach his sword, the door, or an exploding queen with equal efficiency.

Lia stood between them with the irritated patience of someone who had expected all of this and disliked being correct.

“I’m not sitting in an arranged intimacy circle,” Serali said.

“It is not an intimacy circle.”

“It is a circle. For mates. With you supervising.”

Daravan coughed.

Allandra closed her eyes.

Lia looked unimpressed. “It is a warding circle. You are both standing, clothed, and being unbearable. The intimacy is theoretical.”

“That is worse.”

“No,” Lia said. “It is preliminary.”

Serali stared at her.

Lia’s mouth twitched. “Too much?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You are listening.”

Allandra heard Serali’s amusement before she saw it. A flicker through the bond, brief and bright, quickly smothered.

Not gone.

Only held.

Lia saw Allandra notice.

“Do not chase it,” she said.

Allandra went still.

Serali’s eyes sharpened. “Chase?”

“Following a feeling across the bond. Leaning toward it. Encouraging it. Trying to identify it too precisely. You will both be tempted.”

“I am not tempted,” Serali said.

Lia looked at her.

Serali’s mouth flattened. “Often.”

“Better.”

Allandra breathed slowly through the heat under her skin.

Not desire now.

Or not only desire.

The bond had been restless all morning, disturbed by words neither of them could unhear. Rejection. Feeding. Healing. Iron damage. Trust and desire align.

Gods.

Lia lifted one hand. “Think of the bond as a window.”

Serali’s face darkened. “I dislike windows.”

“Then think of it as a door.”

“Worse.”

“A bridge?”

“Structurally suspicious.”

Daravan murmured, “I am beginning to understand why Lia drinks the bitter tea.”

Lia ignored him. “Choose your own image, then. Something that lets contact exist without letting everything pass freely.”

Allandra considered.

A window was wrong. Too fragile.

A door was worse. Doors could be locked. Broken. Forced.

She thought of the palace at siege: shutters drawn over glass, not to deny the sun existed, but to keep arrows out.

Shutters, then.

Heavy ones. Fitted close. Gold light still leaking at the edges.

Lia’s gaze moved to her. “Allandra?”

“Shutters.”

Serali looked at her.

Allandra forced herself not to explain too much. “Against glass.”

“Useful,” Lia said. “But not a siege.”

Allandra’s mouth tightened.

Lia’s voice sharpened. “Not a siege, Majesty.”

Allandra exhaled. “Not a siege.”

“Good. Serali?”

Serali looked down at her hands.

For a moment, the room held still around her.

“A veil,” she said at last.

Lia nodded.

“With teeth,” Serali added.

Daravan made a faint sound.

Allandra did not smile.

Barely.

Lia said, “Acceptable, provided it does not bite everything that touches it.”

“No promises.”

“Then fewer teeth.”

Serali looked personally offended.

“Begin,” Lia said. “Do not block the bond. Shape it. Allandra, close the shutters halfway. Serali, lower the veil. No reaching. No testing each other. Simply notice what changes.”

Allandra obeyed.

Or tried.

The first attempt slammed the shutters shut so hard the candle nearest Lia went out.

Daravan’s hand twitched toward his sword.

Serali flinched, then scowled at the candle as if it had betrayed her.

Lia sighed. “Majesty.”

“I know.”

“Say it.”

Allandra’s jaw tightened. “Not a siege.”

“Again.”

She tried again.

This time she imagined the shutters half-closed, light still allowed through the slats. The bond dimmed. Not gone. Never gone. But Serali’s irritation softened from blade edge to weather behind glass.

Serali’s gaze lifted.

Allandra felt the shape of her noticing.

Then Serali tried.

The bond did not dim.

It vanished.

Allandra’s breath caught before she could stop it.

The room felt suddenly enormous.

Empty.

No pressure. No strange second awareness of Serali breathing across from her. Only the infirmary, chalk, Daravan by the wall, Lia’s unreadable face, and Allandra’s own pulse going too fast.

Serali’s eyes widened.

The veil snapped open.

The bond rushed back so abruptly the nearest lamp flared.

Daravan said, “There it is.”

Serali’s face went white. “I did not mean—”

“I know,” Allandra said at once.

Too quickly.

Serali’s mouth closed.

Lia stepped between them before apology could become a trap. “Good. That is why we practice.”

“That was not good,” Serali said.

“It was informative.”

“I hate when people call disaster informative.”

“You live in a palace. Learn to appreciate euphemism.”

Serali looked ready to argue.

Allandra could still feel the echo of absence.

Not rejection.

A failed ward.

A practice mistake.

Her mind knew that. Her body did not.

Lia looked at her. “Majesty.”

Allandra forced her hands to unclench. “I know.”

“Say this one too.”

Allandra swallowed. “It was not rejection.”

Serali went very still.

Lia nodded. “Again.”

Serali’s voice was quieter. “I did not mean rejection.”

“I know,” Allandra said.

This time slower.

Better.

The bond warmed.

Not heat.

Relief.

Serali looked down first.

Lia gave them exactly one breath before ruining it.

“Again.”

Serali groaned. “You are merciless.”

“Yes.”

They tried again.

Allandra’s shutters held, though they kept trying to become battlements. Serali’s veil lowered in uneven layers, sometimes too sheer, sometimes snapping too tight.

Then the air around Serali’s shoulders darkened.

Allandra felt it before she fully saw it.

A cool brush against the bond. Not emotion. Not exactly. Magic.

Serali’s magic.

It moved like shadow under a door, thin and wary and edged with something that knew how to survive teeth.

A veil of darkness flickered into being around Serali’s hair and shoulders, half mist, half fabric. It lasted only a breath before curling inward with the distinct impression of something hissing in the dark.

Daravan shifted. “Did her veil just threaten me?”

“No,” Serali said at once.

The shadow veil snapped toward Daravan.

Serali grabbed at it with both hands, which did nothing because it was shadow.

Lia said, “A little.”

Allandra almost laughed.

The bond carried it.

Serali’s shadow veil whipped toward Allandra next.

Not threatening.

Accusing.

Allandra pressed her lips together and failed to look innocent.

Serali stared at the veil in horror. “Stop that.”

The veil dissolved.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Lia said, “Your magic is returning.”

Serali looked down at her hands.

Allandra could still feel the echo of it through the bond. Cool, dark, alive. Fragile in some places. Scarred in others. But there.

Returning.

Serali’s face closed too quickly.

“That was accidental.”

“Yes,” Lia said.

“Accidental magic should not count.”

“It counts most.”

“That is a terrible rule.”

“It is an old one.”

Allandra’s voice came softer than she intended. “I felt it.”

Serali’s gaze snapped to hers.

Allandra did not move closer. “Your magic. Not only the bond.”

Serali went very still.

The room seemed to hold its breath.

Lia’s expression sharpened, but she said nothing.

Serali looked away first. “Then we should add that to the list of things I dislike.”

Daravan, wisely, said nothing.

Allandra kept her hands folded.

“It was beautiful,” she said.

Serali’s mouth tightened.

The shadow did not return.

But the bond warmed by a fraction, and this time Allandra did not chase it.

Lia let the silence stretch exactly long enough to become useful.

Then she said, “Again.”

Serali looked at her. “My shadow just threatened the Captain.”

“A little,” Daravan said.

Serali glared at him.

Lia pointed at the fading edge of shadow near Serali’s shoulder. “That was magic answering emotion. Not warding. Useful to know. Not what we are practicing.”

“It felt like the veil,” Serali said, grudgingly.

“It borrowed the image of the veil,” Lia corrected. “Because that is the image you gave it. Next time, keep the image internal.”

“How?”

“Smaller. Less teeth.”

Serali looked personally offended.

Allandra nearly smiled.

The bond carried the edge of it.

Serali’s gaze snapped to her.

Allandra caught herself too late.

The shadow did not manifest this time, but Serali’s internal veil flickered. Allandra felt it: the brief startled rustle, the defensive tightening, the quick flash of amusement beneath irritation.

Instinct took over.

Allandra immediately pulled back.

Lia pointed at her. “That was deciding for her.”

Allandra froze.

Serali looked at her.

The lesson from the night before rose between them with uncomfortable precision.

Do not decide my answer before I give it.

Allandra lowered her eyes. “You are right.”

Serali’s expression softened by an amount no one who did not know her would have noticed. “I was amused. Not overwhelmed.”

“Thank you.”

“Do not sound so wounded by correction.”

“I am practicing.”

“So am I.”