The Queen's Mage

Chapter 107: Some Breakfasts

By the time Serali reached the family breakfast room, she had decided several things.

First, she would not look guilty.

Second, she would not look pleased.

Third, she would not look at Allandra unless absolutely necessary.

Fourth, she would not think about Allandra’s mouth, hands, hair, voice, bed-warm skin, or the exact way the bond had settled between them after.

Fifth, she would behave normally.

This plan failed at the door, because Allandra was already there.

The queen sat at the round breakfast table in a dark blue morning gown, hair braided and pinned, a cup of tea in one hand, looking composed enough to make Serali suspect fraud. Everly occupied the chair beside her, kneeling rather than sitting, while Lessa attempted to persuade her that jam should be placed on toast rather than inspected by finger.

Daravan stood near the sideboard with the expression of a man who had already lived three lives before breakfast and found none of them acceptable.

Allandra looked up when Serali entered.

Only for a breath.

Only long enough for the bond to warm.

Settled, Serali thought.

Not quiet.

Never quiet.

But settled.

Allandra’s gaze moved from her face to her wrists, then back up again with the smallest betrayal of softness.

Serali almost tripped over nothing.

Daravan’s eyes closed.

Everly, fortunately, saved everyone.

“Serali!”

She launched herself down from the chair and ran across the room, nightgown replaced now by a yellow dress with a blue sash and one ribbon already escaping her braid. She stopped two paces away, remembered, and held out both arms in the air like a formal petition.

“May I hug you?”

Serali’s heart did the treacherous little thing it always did.

“Yes,” she said. “Briefly.”

Everly hugged her around the waist.

Not as brief as the last time.

Serali allowed the extra second because she was weak, exhausted, and had apparently become the kind of person who negotiated hug duration with royalty before coffee.

Everly stepped back, triumphant. “You came.”

“I was invited.”

“Yes. By me.”

“With a polite spider.”

Everly beamed. “He had tea.”

“I noticed.”

“He was less polite than you.”

“Many are.”

From the table, Hagen said, “A debatable claim.”

Serali turned.

Of course he was there.

Prince Hagen lounged in the chair opposite Allandra, amber coat immaculate, hair tied loosely at the nape, one hand curled around a cup of coffee as if he had been born specifically to annoy people in good lighting.

Serali stared at him.

Hagen smiled. “Good morning, Royal Mage.”

“No.”

His brows lifted. “No?”

“No. I refuse to discover you without warning before breakfast.”

Everly tugged at Serali’s sleeve. “I invited him.”

Serali looked down. “Did you?”

“Yes. Uncle Hagen is also my friend.”

Hagen placed one hand over his chest. “A title I cherish, despite the wounded manner of its delivery.”

Everly frowned. “What wounded?”

“My invitation,” Hagen said gravely. “Hand-delivered by Nurse Pella.”

Everly nodded. “Yes.”

“And yet Serali’s invitation received the full royal courier treatment.”

Allandra took a very calm sip of tea.

Daravan looked toward the windows as if considering escape velocity.

Everly considered Hagen’s complaint with deep seriousness. “Mother was busy.”

Hagen’s smile became delighted. “Too busy to deliver to her own brother, but not too busy to deliver to Serali?”

Allandra set down her cup. “Hagen.”

“What? I only ask for equal dignity in correspondence.”

Everly patted his arm. “You are already dignified.”

Serali made the mistake of looking at Daravan.

His face remained completely still, which somehow made the moment worse.

Hagen looked touched. “Am I?”

“Yes. But Serali is new.”

“Ah,” Hagen said. “So novelty outranks blood.”

Everly nodded. “Sometimes.”

Serali covered her mouth.

Allandra looked at the ceiling.

Daravan murmured, “Sound policy.”

Hagen turned his smile on him. “Captain, how loyal of you.”

“I live to support hierarchy.”

“You live to prevent incidents.”

“That too.”

Everly took Serali’s hand and led her to the chair beside her, which had obviously been assigned. A place card sat before it in Everly’s hand:

SERALI

Serali glanced at Allandra.

Allandra’s mouth curved faintly.

Serali sat before she could do something reckless like smile back.

The breakfast table was already crowded with tea, coffee, fruit, oat cakes, soft eggs, honey, butter, toasted bread, sliced pears, and a covered dish Everly was eyeing with proprietary intent.

Lessa leaned down. “Your Highness, toast first.”

Everly sighed with all the sorrow her small body could summon. “Fine.”

Hagen looked at Serali over his cup. “You look well-rested.”

Daravan coughed.

Allandra’s hand paused near the teapot.

Serali turned her head very slowly.

Hagen’s expression was innocent.

Perfectly.

Professionally.

“I slept,” Serali said.

“A triumph.”

“Rarely, but yes.”

“Her Majesty also looks somewhat less murderous than usual.”

Allandra said, “Would you like to revise that sentence?”

“No. But I will allow the opportunity to pass unexploited.”

“How wise.”

“Briefly.”

Everly leaned toward Serali and whispered loudly, “Uncle Hagen talks too much.”

Serali whispered back, equally loudly, “Yes.”

Hagen lifted a finger. “I am right here.”

“We know,” Everly said.

Lessa pressed her lips together.

Allandra’s mouth twitched.

The room relaxed by degrees. Not all at once. Daravan still looked like a man standing beside a powder keg with a breakfast service. Allandra still carried the polished composure of someone who had already had to explain herself once that morning. Hagen still watched too much.

But Everly made suspicion difficult to maintain.

She narrated her plate, reported that the pears were “less angry today,” explained that Nurse Pella had told her spiders did not wear crowns because they lacked necks, and demanded to know whether Serali agreed.

“Spiders have no use for crowns,” Serali said. “They already terrify rooms.”

Hagen looked pleased. “A governing philosophy.”

Allandra looked at Serali. “Please do not teach my daughter spider monarchy.”

“I would never.”

Everly’s eyes widened. “Spider monarchy?”

“No,” Allandra said.

“Maybe later,” Hagen said.

“Hagen.”

He smiled into his coffee.

Serali reached for the toast. Her sleeve shifted as she moved, and for one brief, disastrous moment she saw Allandra watching the inside of her wrist.

The place Allandra had kissed first.

The bond warmed.

Serali nearly dropped the toast.

Daravan made a small sound behind his cup.

Apparently he had acquired a cup at some point for defensive purposes.

Serali set the toast on her plate with tremendous dignity.

Everly missed all of this because she was attempting to determine whether butter counted as yellow food and therefore should be eaten on principle.

Hagen did not miss it.

Hagen missed nothing.

His gaze moved from Serali’s wrist to Allandra’s face, then to Daravan, then back to his coffee.

He smiled.

Very slightly.

Serali wanted to throw a pear at him.

She selected one from the bowl and put it on her plate instead.

Personal growth.

Allandra’s eyes briefly brightened, which suggested she had understood both the impulse and restraint.

Unfair.

Deeply unfair.

Everly finished half a piece of toast and immediately turned to the covered dish. “Now?”

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Lessa looked to Allandra.

Allandra nodded. “Now.”

Everly lifted the cover herself with ceremony.

Inside were small honey cakes shaped like stars.

Serali looked at Allandra. “Breakfast dessert?”

Allandra sighed. “Negotiated down from breakfast cake, breakfast custard, and breakfast sugared pears.”

“Her position had merit.”

“Do not encourage her.”

“I am merely observing.”

Everly placed one star cake on Serali’s plate, one on Hagen’s, one on Allandra’s, and one on her own. She considered Daravan near the sideboard.

“Captain Daravan?”

“No, thank you, Your Highness.”

Everly frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

She picked up the smallest star cake from the dish and carried it to him anyway.

He accepted it with the solemn despair of a man who had once commanded cavalry and now lost daily battles to baked goods.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“You have to eat it.”

“I intended to.”

“All of it.”

“It is very small.”

“Still.”

Daravan ate the entire star cake.

Everly nodded, satisfied, and returned to her chair.

Hagen watched this with open admiration. “She rules us all.”

“Yes,” Serali said.

Allandra glanced at her. “You say that as if surprised.”

“I am surprised you pretend otherwise.”

Everly looked between them. “Who pretends?”

“Your mother,” Serali said.

Allandra said, “Careful.”

Serali took a bite of star cake.

It was excellent.

Infuriating palace.

Hagen leaned back. “So, Royal Mage, will you be joining family breakfast often now?”

The room shifted.

Not much.

Enough.

Allandra’s gaze became a warning.

Daravan became a statue.

Everly brightened. “Yes.”

Serali swallowed.

Too quickly.

“Your Highness,” Lessa said.

Everly frowned. “What? I invited her.”

“And she came today.”

“She can come other days.”

“That depends on her duties.”

Everly turned immediately to Serali. “Do you have duties every breakfast?”

Serali looked at Allandra.

Then at Hagen.

Then at Daravan, whose face suggested he would prefer a siege.

She should say something light. Something evasive. Something that did not plant flags in rooms where every chair had ears.

But Everly was looking at her with complete confidence. The simple expectation of a child who had decided someone belonged at a table and saw no reason the world should disagree.

Serali’s throat tightened.

“I have duties most mornings,” she said carefully. “But not all.”

Everly accepted this as a victory. “Then some breakfasts.”

Allandra’s expression softened and pained in equal measure.

Hagen’s smile, when Serali glanced at him, was no longer mocking.

Not entirely.

“Some breakfasts,” he said. “How civilized.”

Serali narrowed her eyes. “Do not make it sound like a treaty.”

“Everything sounds like a treaty if said with enough exhaustion.”

Daravan murmured, “Unfortunately true.”

Everly looked at him. “Are you exhausted?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Because of foolish people?”

“Frequently.”

She nodded as if this explained much. “You need naps too.”

Hagen said, “The nap law spreads.”

Allandra looked at Serali. “This is your fault.”

Serali lifted both hands. “I merely advised.”

“You gave it legitimacy.”

“Royal Mages have authority.”

“Provisionally,” Daravan said.

Everyone looked at him.

Serali pointed. “Betrayal.”

Daravan’s mouth twitched. “Precision.”

Hagen laughed.

Everly did not understand the joke but laughed anyway, which made Allandra smile at her, which made the bond warm again, which made Serali look down very hard at her plate.

The morning might have been unbearable if it had not also been good.

That was becoming a problem.

Chapter 108: Rumors in Myrae

After breakfast, Everly insisted on showing Serali the newest addition to the legal proceedings against the block tower. Apparently, the stuffed fox had sentenced the tower to “rebuilding with apology.” Serali agreed this was just. Hagen attempted to argue for appeal and was overruled because he was “not the fox.”

Allandra remained at the table, signing two notes Lessa had brought and pretending not to watch them.

Daravan pretended not to watch Allandra watching.

Hagen noticed everyone noticing everyone and looked deeply nourished.

At last, Lessa gathered Everly for her morning lessons.

Everly hugged Serali briefly, then Allandra, then considered Hagen.

“Do you want a hug?”

Hagen placed a hand over his heart. “I thought you would never ask.”

Everly hugged his leg because he had not crouched quickly enough.

He looked down at her, and for a moment his face changed.

Softened.

Opened.

Serali saw it.

So did Allandra.

Hagen rested one hand lightly on Everly’s head. “Study well, little tyrant.”

“I am a princess.”

“Both can be true.”

Everly considered this and seemed satisfied.

Then she marched away with Lessa, already asking whether spiders had tutors.

The breakfast room seemed larger after she left.

Quieter.

More adult.

Worse.

Hagen watched the door close behind her. Then he looked back at Allandra and Serali.

“Well,” he said. “That was illuminating.”

Allandra set down her pen. “Hagen.”

“Relax, sister. I am only wounded that my invitation was demoted to nurse courier.”

Serali crossed her arms. “You survived.”

“Barely.”

“You were fed cake.”

“Compensation for insult.”

Daravan said, “I recommend accepting it and leaving.”

Hagen smiled. “Captain, you are eager to be rid of me.”

“Yes.”

“Honesty before noon. How bracing.”

Allandra stood. “I have council preparations.”

“Of course.” Hagen rose as well, graceful and annoying. “Royal Mage?”

Serali looked at him suspiciously.

He bowed slightly. “Some breakfasts, apparently.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Say whatever terrible thing you are implying.”

“I was implying nothing terrible.” His gaze flicked briefly to Allandra, then back. “Only that Everly chooses her people with alarming confidence.”

Serali did not answer.

Hagen’s smile softened by a degree. “And that she is rarely wrong.”

Then he left before anyone could decide whether to be angry.

Daravan watched the door close.

“I dislike when he is almost kind,” he said.

Serali exhaled. “So do I.”

Allandra looked toward the doorway, expression unreadable.

Then she turned back to Serali.

For one dangerous moment, the room held only the two of them and the memory of the morning before breakfast.

Allandra’s voice lowered. “Are you all right?”

Serali glanced at Daravan.

Daravan immediately looked at the ceiling.

Subtle as a brick.

Serali looked back at Allandra. “Yes.”

Allandra held her gaze.

Serali sighed. “Mostly.”

The queen’s mouth curved faintly. “Mostly is acceptable before noon.”

“I learned that from Daravan.”

Daravan said, “I would like to be excluded from romantic philosophy.”

Serali stared at him.

Allandra went still.

Daravan closed his eyes.

“I regret that sentence,” he said.

Serali’s smile spread slowly. “Romantic philosophy?”

“No.”

“Captain.”

“No.”

Allandra was laughing silently now, one hand over her mouth.

Daravan looked between them with the despair of a man watching discipline collapse into weather.

“I am leaving,” he said.

“This is your post,” Allandra said.

“I will post myself elsewhere.”

He opened the door, paused, and looked back.

His expression sobered.

“Council in one hour, Majesty. Royal Mage.”

A reminder.

A warning.

A kindness.

The world waited.

Allandra nodded. “Thank you.”

He left.

Serali stood with Allandra in the quiet breakfast room, the plates still on the table, Everly’s place sticky with honey, Hagen’s chair pushed back at an angle, Daravan’s tiny conquered star-cake plate abandoned by the sideboard.

The morning had held.

So far.

Allandra looked at her. “Some breakfasts?”

Serali’s chest tightened.

The sensible answer was: when appropriate.

The Verya answer was: subject to scheduling, security, and political discretion.

The truthful answer was more dangerous.

Serali chose something in between.

“You may invite me.”

Allandra’s expression changed.

There it was again.

That phrase, finding every weak place in the queen’s composure and pressing gently.

“All right,” Allandra said.

Serali picked up one of the remaining star cakes from the serving dish.

“And if there are cakes,” she added, “I may come.”

Allandra smiled.

Outside the windows, winter sunlight slipped over the palace gardens, pale and thin and real.

Council, Serali decided, was worse after breakfast.

Before breakfast, everyone was sharpened by hunger and spite, which made them predictable. After breakfast, they had eaten just enough to believe endurance was possible.

This was untrue.

Merrow had already used the phrase public confidence three times.

Yvander had arranged his budget notes in defensive stacks. Marielle had brought a rolled wall diagram and the bright expression of a woman hoping the morning might include structural failure. Verya sat with her hands folded over a leather folder, severe enough to make paper reconsider its behavior.

Daravan stood behind Allandra’s shoulder.

Hagen, regrettably, occupied a side chair with the air of someone expecting entertainment.

Allandra had not looked at Serali more than twice.

Serali had counted.

This was not because she cared.

Obviously.

Allandra set down Harrek’s report. “Commander.”

Harrek stepped forward. “The Watch has intercepted three versions of the same rumor. One says the queen has taken a Lyehiran mage into private service. One says a Night Fae prisoner has been given authority over palace defenses. The third says Princess Everly has been assigned a shadow tutor.”

Serali closed her eyes.

Hagen made a delighted sound.

Allandra looked at him.

He covered his mouth in a gesture that fooled no one.

Harrek grunted. “The third began in the lower market.”

“She is four,” Allandra said.

“Yes, Majesty. That has not slowed it.”

“Has anyone suggested the tutor is a spider?” Hagen asked.

“Not yet,” Daravan said.

“Pity.”

Serali opened her eyes. “I can still throw a teacup.”

“At me?”

“At the nearest available problem.”

Hagen glanced around the table. “Democratic.”

“Enough,” Allandra said.

The room obeyed.

She turned to Harrek. “How far has it spread?”

“No pamphlets yet. No broadsides. But people know there is a new office suite in the residence wing. They know a Night Fae woman sits in council and walks the palace under guard.” Harrek folded his arms. “Servants know more than we think. Clerks know more than servants. Dockworkers know what the clerks know because clerks drink.”

Yvander frowned. “A troubling information chain.”

“An accurate one.”

Verya opened her folder. “Then delay has lost its purpose.”

Merrow sat straighter. “Delay has prevented panic.”

“No,” Verya said. “Delay has prevented a formal answer.”

Serali almost smiled.

Verya did not like her. Not exactly.

Verya liked correct arguments, and Serali had recently become attached to several.

It was almost comforting.

Almost.

Allandra looked down the table. “The appointment was always intended to be proclaimed.”

“When the city was prepared,” Merrow said.

“The city is preparing itself without us,” Daravan replied.

That earned silence.

Marielle leaned forward. “If we wait much longer, we lose the useful part.”

Merrow blinked. “The useful part of panic?”

“The useful part of directing attention. If people are going to stare at a new load-bearing element, better to show them where it sits before they decide it is secretly holding up the wrong wall.”

Serali looked at her.

Marielle looked back.

“What?” Serali asked.

“You understood that,” Marielle said.

“I wish I had not.”

Marielle brightened.

Verya said, “The metaphor is inelegant but correct.”

“I accept partial praise,” Marielle said.

Allandra’s mouth almost moved.

Then she turned to Serali. “You have been quiet.”

Everyone looked at her.

Awful.

“I assumed that was considered growth.”

Hagen looked treasonously pleased.

Allandra’s eyes softened before she hid it. “Your opinion is relevant.”

“It will not be my opinion shouted in the market.”

“No,” Allandra said. “But it is your name.”

Serali looked down at the blank sheet before her.

Her name had become inconvenient.

In Lyehira, it had been used to summon, accuse, command, and remind.

Here, it appeared on office papers, laundry lists, Everly’s cards, and a plaque outside rooms containing too many doors.

Names could be rooms too.

Some had locks.

Some had windows.

Some were full of councilors deciding how to explain you to strangers.

“The city will not like it,” Serali said.

“No,” Harrek agreed.

Merrow looked relieved. “Then surely—”

“They will like it less if they hear it first from someone hoping to frighten them,” Serali said. “If you do not tell them what I am, they will decide. Or someone else will decide for them.”

Verya’s gaze sharpened.

Warmth moved through the bond from Allandra.

Recognition.

Annoying.

“Do not say I am harmless,” Serali added.

“No one suggested it,” Daravan said.

“Good. It would be stupid.”

Marielle nodded. “Also inaccurate.”

Serali turned slowly toward her.

“Your shadowwork affected stone density,” Marielle said. “Privately, it was remarkable.”

“Marielle.”

“I am containing enthusiasm.”

“Poorly.”

“Yes.”

Hagen leaned back. “I admire the Royal Mage’s refusal to be marketed as harmless.”

“Again, teacup.” Serali said, holding it up so he could see she was still armed.

“Again, democratic.”

Allandra lifted one hand.

“Verya. The legal frame.”

Verya opened a prepared page.

Of course she had one.

“The proclamation should identify her as Serali, then by sworn office. No surname.”

Merrow frowned. “Will the absence not draw attention?”

“It will,” Verya said. “Inventing one would draw more.”

“Nor should she be described as Xuiven,” Verya continued.

Marielle glanced up. “But she has Xuiven eyes.”

“That is a magical classification,” Verya said. “Not proof of membership in House Xuiven.”

Harrek nodded. “Will the public understand the difference?”

“Some will. Enough will not.”

Serali looked at the table.

Xuiven eyes.

The phrase had followed her nearly as long as the color itself.

In Lyehira, violet eyes were assessed, recorded, and compared against family lines. A promise of shadow talent if one was noble. An opportunity for the Crown if one was not.

Opportunity was another word that contained traps.