Reincarnated As An Archmage’s Daughter

The golden sphere bobbed gently behind Hania's shoulder like an obedient balloon, wrapped in a net of spider silk she'd hastily woven during the walk. It was the size of a melon, glowed faintly, and absolutely refused to be left behind. She'd tried twice. Both times it had rolled off the nightstand and followed her across the floor like a lost puppy made of sunlight. So now it floated, tethered to her by a thin thread of Lusha's silk, bumping occasionally against doorframes.

Dravin walked ahead of her through the Emberlyn estate's main corridor. His pace was brisk, jaw tight. He had not spoken in four minutes, which was normal, but the quality of his silence had shifted from mildly annoyed to strategically retreating, and Hania had learned to read those distinctions like any other child learned to read the weather.

"Daddy," she said, pitching her voice to its most reasonable register.

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"You were going to say we should stay longer."

"I was going to say it's rude to leave without greeting the host," she corrected. "Duke Leonarth is your friend. He visited us. He brought gifts. He let his leg get turned into jelly three times and he still came back. The least we can do is say hello."

Dravin stopped walking and turned. "Leonarth is not at the estate," he said. "He went to the palace to report the destruction of several miles of southern coastline."

"Oh." Hania blinked. "So he's not even here. Then we should definitely wait for him to come back. It would be rude to leave without—"

"Hania."

"—thanking him for the room, at minimum. The bed was very comfortable. The sheets smelled like flowers. Did you notice the sheets? I think someone embroidered the pillowcases by hand. That kind of hospitality deserves acknowledgment. And Lusha is still here somewhere. I can feel her threads. I should at least check on her before we go. She's been here since yesterday, hasn't she?"

Something flickered across Dravin's face. Not surprisingly, he already knew Lusha was here.

"She's been here since yesterday," he confirmed.

"Doing what?"

"I didn't ask."

"Dad."

"I prefer to maintain plausible deniability regarding Lusha's activities in foreign territories."

Hania processed this. Her nanny, a four-hundred-year-old spider queen with a grudge against the Emberlyn family and a talent for creative violence, had been loose in the Southern Dukedom for over twenty-four hours. And Dravin had simply chosen not to investigate.

"You're worried about her too," Hania realized. "You want to leave before she does something that causes an international incident."

"Lusha doesn't cause international incidents. She creates opportunities for other people to demonstrate their diplomatic skills."

"That's the same thing."

"It's a distinction that matters to the Mage Council."

Before Hania could pursue this further, a sound echoed across the estate. It was not a subtle sound. It was the sound of something very large colliding with something else very large, followed by the distinctive crackle of defensive wards being tested to their limits, followed by laughter.

Not one person laughing. Several people. Different kinds of laughter.

Hania's head turned toward the noise. "Is that coming from the training grounds?"

"Yes."

"Dad, I want to see."

"No."

"You already agreed to stay longer. If I'm going to draw formation circles with my left hand for two weeks, I should at least get to see what Lusha is doing to the Emberlyns. For educational purposes."

Dravin closed his eyes for a moment. "Twelve minutes," he said. "Then we leave regardless of what you see."

"Fifteen."

"Ten."

"Twelve is fine," Hania agreed quickly, before he could lower it further. "Let's go."

★★★

The training grounds of the Southern Dukedom were not what Hania had expected.

She'd pictured something like the Tower's training room—circular, stone, covered in protective formations and scorch marks from practice. What she found instead was a sprawling outdoor arena that looked like it had been designed by someone who'd heard the concept of safety regulations and decided they were suggestions rather than rules.

The main field was the size of three tournament grounds pressed together, surrounded by tiered stone seating that had clearly been repaired multiple times. Some of the repair work was fresh. Some of it was still smoking. At the center of the field, a complex network of floating platforms hovered at varying heights, connected by rope bridges that swung even when no one was touching them. Rows of training dummies lined the perimeter, most of them singed, several of them missing limbs, one of them inexplicably wearing a small hat.

And in the middle of it all, chaos.

Hania stopped at the edge of the field. Her bandaged hands tightened on the silk thread tethering her golden sphere. Her mouth opened slightly.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, wow."

Seven Emberlyns were in motion at once.

The first thing she registered was the fire. Emberlyn fire came in colors, and every member of the family seemed to have a different shade. Crimson. Gold. Deep amber. One was burning a peculiar shade of violet that made Hania's eyes water just looking at it. One burned so pale it was nearly white, the heat from it warping the air like a mirage. The flames twisted into shapes as they moved: serpents, birds, a horse that galloped across the training field and dissolved into sparks, a lion that opened its mouth in a silent roar before dispersing into smoke.

The second thing she registered was Lusha.

Her nanny was in her true form, or something close to it. Eight spider legs extended from her back, each one moving independently, deflecting attacks from three different directions while her human hands wove silk so fast they blurred. Her golden eyes were bright with joy. She was laughing. But unfortunately, it was not a polite laugh. It was a delighted laugh of a predator who had found worthy prey and was enjoying herself immensely.

"Seven against one," Lusha called out, dodging a stream of gold fire by flipping sideways onto a floating platform. Her spider legs clicked against the stone in a musical rhythm. "You've gotten slower, Emberlyns. Is this what passes for combat training in the South these days? Your great-grandfather would be embarrassed."

"You've gotten older, Spider Queen," a woman's voice shot back. She was tall, red-haired, her amber eyes burning with the same intensity as Leonarth's. Fire coiled around her arms like living sleeves—bright gold, the color of midday sun. "Still fighting with silk and shadows. Still afraid of a fair fight."

"I'm not afraid of fair fights. I just find them boring." Lusha launched herself off the platform, spinning midair with the grace of a dancer. Silk shot out in eight directions at once, each strand targeted at a different Emberlyn. "And you're hardly children anymore, Rena. You're what… forty-three now? Forty-four? I remember changing your father's diapers. He bit me six times."

"That never happened."

"Ask Leonarth. He still has the marks on his ankle."

Rena snarled something and launched a concentrated beam of flame directly at Lusha's center mass. Lusha didn't dodge. She extended one hand and caught the fire, letting it pool in her palm like water, her spider legs bracing against the platform.

"Pretty," she said, examining the captured flame. "Good temperature control. The compression ratio is better than last time. You've been practicing."

"Let go of my fire."

"Or what?"

Behind Rena, a young man with dark crimson flames was circling to Lusha's left. He couldn't have been older than twenty, with Leonarth's sharp features and a manic grin that reminded Hania uncomfortably of Raylas. His fire didn't just burn, it was hungry.

"Collin," Lusha said without turning around. "If you try to flank me while I'm talking to your aunt, I'll web your ankles together and hang you from the observation tower. Again."

Collin's grin widened. "You remember my name."

"I remember everything. Including the fact that you still drop your right guard when casting. Rena, your niece is trying to coordinate a pincer attack. Myra, your footwork has improved significantly, but you're telegraphing your finishing moves, you tense your left shoulder before you release. Fix that."

The violet-fire woman, Myra, stumbled mid-step. "How did you—"

"I've been fighting Emberlyns for two hundred years. I know your family's tells better than you do." Lusha released Rena's captured flame, letting it dissipate into harmless sparks. "The twins need more practice working in tandem. They keep anticipating each other's movements and overcorrecting. It leaves them vulnerable to anyone who doesn't fight like an Emberlyn."

Two young women, the twins, exchanged a look of mutual irritation. Their amber and gold fires tangled together in identical patterns.

"She's right," one of them muttered.

"Unfortunately," the other agreed.

Hania watched all of this with her mouth still slightly open. She'd seen Lusha fight before—the nursery skirmish with Leonarth, the training sessions where Lusha pushed Kofery until he fainted. But this was different. This was Lusha fighting at maybe seventy percent capacity, not against one opponent but against seven, and she was winning.

The Emberlyns weren't losing, exactly. They were too coordinated for that, their attacks flowing together in patterns that suggested years of training as a unit. But they were exerting effort. Sweat gleamed on every Emberlyn face. Their movements were precise but urgent, as if they knew they were outmatched and were fighting anyway.

Lusha was playing.

"I appreciate the warm-up," she called, weaving between two fire blasts so casually she might have been walking through a garden. "Your great-grandfather usually lasts longer."

They're not trying to hurt her, Hania realized. They're sparring. This is what passes for a training session in this family. Seven-on-one against a spider queen, and they're taking notes.

"They're insane," she whispered.

"No," Dravin said from behind her. "They're Emberlyns. There's a difference. Though the overlap is significant."

"But Lusha came here thinking they kidnapped me. She was interrogating them. How did it turn into this?"

"Emberlyns respond to conflict by escalating it. Lusha responds to being attacked by enjoying herself. The combination is..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Predictable."

That was when Hania noticed Raylas.

He was sitting on a thick tree branch overlooking the training grounds, one leg dangling, the other tucked beneath him. In one hand he held a delicate porcelain teacup, which might belong in a parlor rather than a battlefield. Steam rose from it in lazy curls. His amber eyes tracked the chaos below with the calm, slightly amused expression of someone watching a mildly interesting stage play.

He was not participating or hiding. He was simply observing. Sipping tea while his family engaged in a seven-on-one battle with a spider queen.

Below him, his aunt Rena was launching gold fireballs. His cousin Collin was literally taking notes. His cousin Myra was adjusting her stance based on real-time feedback while simultaneously trying to incinerate her instructor. The twins had apparently given up on the group battle entirely and were now dueling each other on a floating platform, their flames tangling like wrestling serpents.

Raylas sipped his tea.

Hania stared at him.

He noticed her staring. His teacup lifted in a small salute.

"Princess," he called down, voice carrying easily over the noise of combat. "You came. Grandmother is hoping to meet you."

"Who's your grandmother?"

"Phenopa. She's the one who arranged your guest room. She's also the only person in this family who can do logistics, which means she's the only person who actually runs the estate." Raylas's smile tilted slightly.

Behind Hania, Dravin looked straight at him.

Raylas's smile widened, completely unbothered. "Archmage. Still here, I see. I thought you'd have teleported out by now. You usually don't stay anywhere longer than absolutely necessary."

"I was delayed."

"By a seven-year-old requesting a field trip to watch her nanny commit assault on seven members of a ducal house?"

"By diplomatic obligation."

Raylas laughed. "Is that what we're calling it? Because from up here, it looks like you let your daughter negotiate extra time and are now pretending you had a choice." He sipped his tea. "She's good at that, isn't she? The negotiation thing. My great-grandfather says it's the Noctis blood. Apparently your sister was the same way. He still talks about the time she talked him out of a duel by convincing him the other party was too boring to fight."

Dravin went very still.

Hania felt the temperature drop. Raylas's teacup pausing halfway to his lips. His amber eyes flickered with interest.

"Interesting," Raylas murmured. "That's a sensitive topic, then. I'll file that away."