The Queen's Mage

By the following morning, what had begun as a conversation between healer and patient had somehow acquired a committee.

Serali stopped in the doorway of the smaller strategy room adjoining the palace training grounds.

Lia she had expected.

Mara, naturally.

Daravan was less surprising after a moment's thought.

Marielle, however, appeared to have anticipated the meeting with alarming enthusiasm.

She already occupied half the table.

Several notebooks lay open beside a ruler, a bundle of chalk, measuring cord, a stack of blank diagrams, and a surveying tripod that Serali was reasonably certain had not belonged in a palace yesterday.

Serali blinked.

"...Should I ask?"

Marielle looked up.

"Probably."

"...Why?"

"Measurements."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"You cannot establish improvement without a baseline."

"I thought Lia was evaluating my magic."

"She is."

Marielle uncapped an ink bottle. "I am evaluating the interesting part."

Across the table, Lia hid a smile behind her teacup.

Daravan looked as though he'd already attempted this conversation.

"I explained," he said, "that this was intended as a medical assessment."

"And?"

Marielle frowned. "I agreed."

She looked genuinely confused. "Medicine benefits from data."

Daravan closed his eyes for a brief, resigned moment. "I continue to underestimate your ability to hear only the nouns in a sentence."

"I hear the adjectives."

"When convenient."

Lia spread several clean sheets of parchment across the table. "Lady Marielle is not entirely wrong."

She looked toward Serali. "I don't believe we need extensive testing."

Marielle quietly cleared her throat.

Lia amended, "I don't believe we need indefinite testing."

Marielle nodded, satisfied.

Lia continued: "But I would like to establish where your recovery currently stands. Not because I think something is wrong. Because if your affinity is changing, I would rather understand those changes before they surprise us."

Daravan folded his arms. "From a security perspective, I find that philosophy deeply reassuring."

"It usually is." Lia smiled.

"The first sessions will be simple. Reserve. Sustained casting. Precision."

She tapped the final page. "And instinct."

Marielle immediately wrote headings across four fresh pages.

Serali watched all three of them with growing suspicion.

"I feel," she said slowly, "that this has become much larger than I intended."

"It has," Marielle agreed cheerfully.

Daravan sighed. "It always does."

As the meeting broke apart, Marielle remained behind, already sketching what looked suspiciously like a map of the western training yard, impressively to scale.

Daravan lingered near the doorway while Serali and Mara stepped into the corridor.

Once they were out of earshot, he lowered his voice. "How concerned should I be?"

Lia was quiet for a moment. "Concerned? No."

"Cautious?"

"Yes."

He waited.

"The instinctive behavior itself isn't dangerous."

She glanced back through the open doorway where Serali stood watching a small ribbon of shadow lazily trace the grain of the wooden table.

"It's what it suggests."

Daravan followed her gaze. "What does it suggest?"

Lia folded her hands. "Most mages build a spell in stages. Thought. Choice. Technique. Casting."

She looked back toward him. "An affinity mage with instinctive recall begins collapsing those stages together."

He frowned slightly. "I don't follow."

"They stop relying on the things mages teach apprentices. Spell words, deliberate gestures, formal shaping. The magic responds directly to intent."

Daravan was silent for several seconds. "...They simply will it into existence?"

Lia nodded. "Eventually, and mages capable of that are exceedingly rare."

She looked once more toward Serali. "Which is precisely why I'd like to understand how far along that road she already is."

The western training yard was considerably quieter than the demonstration hall.

No observers.

Just the four of them, Mara sitting comfortably in the shade with Lia's spare notebook while the late morning sun warmed the flagstones.

Marielle surveyed the yard with obvious approval. "Excellent."

Daravan glanced around. "What is?"

"Consistency. The surface is level. The sightlines are unobstructed."

She looked toward the practice walls. "If anything explodes, we'll know approximately why."

Daravan gave her a long look. "I appreciate that your definition of reassurance has remained unchanged for the last thirty years."

"I've refined it."

"I've noticed."

Serali looked between them. "You've had this conversation before."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Many times," Daravan said. "Usually with more measuring rods."

"I only brought one today," Marielle replied. "As a courtesy."

The first morning's assessment began with an argument over ammunition.

"I still believe stones would be more representative," Marielle said, arranging her notebooks on a nearby bench.

"They would also hurt more," Serali replied.

"Correct."

"...That was not an endorsement."

Daravan opened the wooden case Lia had insisted remain in the training yard.

Inside lay a fresh set of the same practice darts used during the demonstration.

Wood. Thread-bound fletching. Blunted tips.

He held one up for inspection before offering it to Serali.

She turned it over in her fingers. "...You've acquired more."

"The originals splintered."

"I noticed."

"You seemed occupied."

"I was being attacked."

"You were participating in a controlled assessment."

"I was being attacked politely."

Lia looked up from her notes. "I believe we've already resolved this disagreement."

"We have," Daravan agreed.

"It remains incorrect."

Once the powder ring had been carefully marked onto the flagstones, Marielle stepped back, comparing the dimensions against the sketch she'd brought from the demonstration.

"...Two inches farther north."

Mara blinked. "You remember where it was?"

"I measured it."

"...During the demonstration?"

"I assumed we'd want to repeat the conditions."

Daravan didn't even look surprised. "Of course you did."

Lia nodded toward Serali. "As closely as you can remember. No need to exceed what you demonstrated. We're looking for comparison."

Serali took her place within the ring.

The memory came back surprisingly easily.

The little sunburst of shadow gathered above her palm, each narrow point unfolding with practiced precision until it hovered in the air like a flower carved from night.

During the demonstration she'd been conscious of every edge. Every adjustment. Now...

She simply held it.

Lia waited.

One minute.

Two.

The shape never wavered.

Marielle quietly turned another page in her notebook. "Duration already exceeds the demonstration."

Serali frowned. "...Has it?"

"You dismissed the construct after approximately forty seconds."

"I remember."

"You've just passed two minutes."

Serali looked at the tiny sun.

She hadn't realized.

The defensive exercise followed.

Daravan walked to the throwing line.

Serali sighed. "I continue to dislike how comfortable you look standing there."

"I've had practice."

"So have I."

He inclined his head. "Ready?"

"No."

"...Good."

The dart left his hand anyway.

Serali almost smiled.

She'd expected that.

The shadow answered before the conscious thought had fully formed.

The shield curved into existence between herself and the incoming dart, catching it with a familiar, satisfying thud.

The dart dropped harmlessly onto the stone.

Marielle was already writing. "Again."

Very softly, Serali muttered, "I knew you were going to say that."

This time Daravan changed the angle. The dart came lower.

The shield shifted with it.

Not after.

During.

As though the spell had anticipated the trajectory before Serali consciously considered it.

Daravan lowered his hand. "...You didn't shape that."

"I..." Serali frowned. "I don't think I did."

Lia looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"I remember deciding to cast."

She watched the fading traces of shadow. "I don't remember deciding where."

Silence settled over the yard.

Marielle's pencil stopped moving. "...Interesting."

She looked from the shield's fading outline to her notes from the demonstration.

"During the demonstration, you consciously repositioned the shield after Captain Daravan released the dart."

She looked back at Serali.

"This time..."

Serali nodded slowly. "It was simply..."

There.

Two days later, the western training yard looked considerably less like a palace courtyard and considerably more like one of Marielle's workshops.

White chalk circles now marked distances across the flagstones.

Small wooden posts stood at measured intervals.

A row of brass bells, borrowed from somewhere Serali suspected had not approved the loan, hung from a wooden frame.

Daravan stopped just inside the gate. "...Lady Marielle."

Marielle looked up from adjusting one of the bells. "Captain."

"Who authorized this?"

"You did."

"I most certainly did not."

"You said the yard was available."

"I said the yard was available."

"Exactly."

He looked around. "I don't recall agreeing to whatever this is."

Marielle followed his gaze thoughtfully. "...Organization?"

Lia hid another smile. "We're testing sustained precision today."

Serali eyed the bells. "...Should I ask?"

"They ring."

"I gathered that."

"I would like to know if you can move the clappers without disturbing the frames."

Serali blinked. "...That sounds difficult."

Marielle nodded approvingly. "It should."

The first attempt rang every bell.

Marielle made a note.

The second rang five.

The third...

Only one.

Marielle's eyebrows rose.

"Again."

Serali sighed.

"I feel that word is becoming threatening."

The fourth attempt produced silence.

Every clapper moved.

Not one touched the brass.

Marielle stared. "...Again."

Daravan folded his arms. "I don't believe congratulations are physically possible for you."

"They are." She continued writing.

"They simply come after replication."

The next exercise was less delicate.

Six wooden spheres, each about the size of an apple, were arranged around the training yard.

"I'd like all of them moving simultaneously."

Serali looked around the circle. "...In the same direction?"

Marielle frowned. "No. Different patterns."

"Why?"

"Because otherwise they might accidentally become easy."

Serali laughed despite herself. "That's an astonishing sentence."

She reached for her magic. Six ribbons of shadow slipped quietly across the stone.

One lifted the nearest sphere. Another rolled one in a slow circle. A third began tracing a figure-eight.

For several moments everything worked.

Then—

One ribbon abandoned its sphere entirely.

Instead, it darted after a drifting autumn leaf that had blown into the yard.

The leaf made an elegant loop through the air.

The shadow chased it.

Serali stared. "...Come back."

The ribbon obediently released the leaf and returned to the sphere.

Silence.

Then Mara laughed first.

Daravan looked toward Lia. "...Did that just become distracted?"

Lia was trying very hard not to smile. "I believe..."

"...yes."

Marielle immediately wrote: Affinity demonstrates independent prioritization of moving targets.

Serali groaned.

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"It is accurate."

"It makes me sound haunted."

As everyone packed away the equipment, Daravan picked up the escaped leaf.

"So."

He held it toward Serali. "Your magic is easily entertained."

"My magic has poor judgment."

"The resemblance is unfortunate."

She looked at him. "...Was that a joke?"

"I've been informed I should attempt one occasionally."

"It needs work."

"I'll note that."

By the third session, Serali had developed the distinct suspicion that Marielle had begun inventing experiments simply to see whether Lia would stop her.

Lia had.

Twice.

Marielle had compromised once.

It was progress.

Today’s setup looked deceptively simple.

No bells. No spheres.

Just a dozen practice darts laid neatly on a table.

Serali looked suspiciously toward Daravan. “Why are there so many?”

“I was told not to throw them all at once.”

Marielle looked up. “That was a compromise.”

Lia stepped between them before Serali could formulate a response. “I do not actually care whether you block every dart.”

Both Serali and Daravan looked at her.

“I care when you realize you are being attacked.” She turned to Serali. “I want you talking.”

“Talking?”

“Normally.”

“While he throws things at me.”

“Yes.”

“That is not normal.”

“It is becoming normal here,” Daravan said.

Serali looked at him. “That is not reassuring.”

“Good,” Lia said. “You are already distracted.”

She stepped back. “Begin whenever you like. Do not announce it.”

Serali’s attention snapped toward Daravan.

He selected a dart and rolled it once between his fingers, making no move to throw.

“So,” he said conversationally, “how are the romance novels?”

Serali stared at him. “Who told you about those?”

He threw.

The shield flashed into place, clean and immediate. The dart struck it and dropped onto the floor.

Serali looked down at the dart.

Then at Daravan.

“That was underhanded.”

“It was thrown overhand.”

Marielle made a note.

Lia did not smile, but came dangerously close.

Daravan selected another dart. “Which one are you reading now?”

Serali narrowed her eyes. “None of your business.”

He threw.

The shield snapped into place, and the dart struck its center.

Daravan reached for a third.

Before he could speak, Mara said, with entirely false innocence, “I rather enjoyed the ending.”

Serali turned toward her. “You read it?”

“I borrowed it.”

“You borrowed—”

Daravan threw.

The shield flared beside Serali without hesitation.

The dart struck, dropped, and rolled across the floor.

Serali never looked away from Mara.

Silence.

Daravan’s hand remained suspended above the table. Lia went still. Even Marielle’s pencil stopped moving.

Serali looked down at the dart.

Then back at Daravan.

“You missed.”

He slowly shook his head. “No.”

“I wasn’t looking.”

“I know.”

Serali opened her mouth.

Stopped.

She had not seen him lift the dart. Had not seen him throw it. She had been looking entirely in the wrong direction, indignation fixed on Mara—and the shield had still known where to go.

Marielle was no longer taking notes.

She was simply watching.

“Again,” she said.

Lia nodded once. “Again.”

For the next several minutes, they talked. Not about magic.

About lunch. About Everly's latest attempt to convince the kitchen staff that dessert counted as breakfast. About Mara's increasingly theatrical sighs whenever Serali misplaced books.

Daravan threw darts from changing angles.

Higher. Lower. Behind.

Every shield appeared exactly where it needed to.

Serali wasn't directing them anymore. She wasn't even consciously noticing each throw.

The shadows simply... Answered.

When Lia finally called a halt, nobody spoke for several seconds.

Marielle slowly closed her notebook. "I no longer believe we're measuring reaction time."

Daravan looked toward the practice field. "What are we measuring?"

Lia's eyes remained on Serali. "I think..."

She chose her words carefully. "...we're beginning to measure trust."

Serali frowned. "In what?"

Lia smiled gently. "In yourself."

She nodded toward the place where the last shield had appeared. "You stopped trying to control every strand."

"You simply believed your magic would protect you."

Serali looked back at the fading shadows.

She hadn't noticed she'd done that.

And somehow...

That realization was more frightening than any dart Daravan had thrown.