Ch. 9: Where She Could See Them and Ch. 10: Lying to Itself

Chapter 9: Where She Could See Them

They spent another hour making the letter less satisfying and therefore more diplomatic.

Every mention of Serali’s status was answered without accepting Vulmar’s preferred title.

Every reference to the attack returned to the same facts.

Twelve agents.

Five prisoners.

Three dead.

Four missing.

A public demand.

A public refusal.

No ambiguity.

No surrender.

Verya drafted.

Hagen attacked the draft as though he were a hostile foreign minister. “If I were Vulmar, I would say this sentence admits we recognize his paternal authority.”

Verya reread it. Crossed out three words. “Again.”

Hagen took the page. “If I were Cyrathene, I would ask whether Lady Serali’s oath was witnessed.”

“It was.”

“Put it in.”

Verya did.

“If I were Rothmark, I would ask whether she remains here under guard.”

Silence.

Serali looked at him.

Hagen continued. “Because Vulmar will say protection is confinement.”

Allandra hated how easily he found the weak point.

Which was precisely why he was useful.

Verya wrote another note. “We state that the Royal Mage’s assigned escort is protective and does not restrict her legal freedom of movement.”

Serali muttered, “Daravan may need to be informed.”

Hagen smiled. “He will take it badly.”

“Good.”

“If I were Kaishara,” Hagen continued, “I would want her statement separately attested.”

Verya nodded. “That can be done.”

Serali looked increasingly offended by the amount of paperwork required to prove she owned herself.

Allandra could not blame her.

Finally, Verya placed the pen down. “That will suffice for the first response.”

Hagen handed back the page. “For the first.”

Allandra heard the warning beneath it.

So did everyone else.

This was not ending.

It was becoming organized.

Everly had moved into Hagen’s sitting room.

Not officially.

Officially, Everly still possessed an entire nursery suite.

In practice, she had spent the previous two afternoons arranging wooden animals across his carpet while he attempted to work around them.

Today, she was under his desk.

Allandra found her there.

Hagen sat above her with one boot braced on the chair rung and a trade report held at eye level.

He looked tired.

Everly looked comfortable.

“Why is my daughter under your furniture?”

Hagen lowered the report. “She says the desk is defensible.”

Allandra’s chest tightened.

Everly peered out. “Mama.”

“Hello, sunbeam.”

“Serali said desks are not good forts because people can see your feet.”

Hagen nodded solemnly. “She has been advising improvements.”

Of course she had.

Allandra crouched. “May I come in?”

Everly considered the available space. “It is small.”

“I noticed.”

“You can sit outside.”

“Generous.”

Everly crawled forward until her head and shoulders emerged.

Then stopped. “Are the bad Night Fae still here?”

There it was.

Allandra sat on the floor.

Hagen lowered his report completely.

“We have not found all of them yet, little Sun.”

Everly’s fingers curled into the rug. “But Daravan is looking?”

“Yes.”

“And Harrek?”

“Yes.”

“And Serali knows?”

Allandra swallowed. “Yes.”

Everly nodded.

As though three adults knowing about danger made danger structurally weaker.

Perhaps at four it did.

“Where is Serali?”

“Working.”

“With Lady Verya?”

“She was earlier.”

“Where is she now?”

Allandra understood then.

Not curiosity.

Location.

Everly wanted to know where everyone was.

Hagen.

Serali.

Allandra.

Lessa.

She had been doing it since First Sun.

Allandra had answered every time. “Her rooms, I think. Reviewing the letter.”

Everly frowned. “Can she come to dinner?”

“If she wants to.”

Everly thought about that. “She will want to.”

Hagen looked down at the trade report.

Allandra ignored him. “Perhaps.”

Everly crawled the rest of the way out and leaned against Allandra’s side.

Allandra wrapped an arm around her.

Immediately.

No restraint required here.

That difference hurt more today than usual.

Everly rested her cheek against Allandra’s shoulder. “Serali is staying, right?”

Allandra closed her eyes.

There were easier answers.

Yes.

Of course.

Always.

Everly wanted certainty.

Allandra wanted to give it to her.

She wanted it too.

But Serali had spent the morning insisting that her life belonged to no crown.

Allandra would not take it from her with love instead.

“She intends to stay,” Allandra said.

Everly lifted her head. “That is not yes.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because Serali chooses where Serali lives.”

Everly frowned. “But she likes us.”

Allandra’s throat tightened. “Yes.”

“She said she would practice drawing shadow birds for me.”

“Yes.”

“She has a room.”

“Yes.”

“She is Royal Mage.”

“Yes.”

Everly looked deeply dissatisfied with the legal insufficiency of all these facts. “So she is staying.”

Hagen’s mouth twitched.

Allandra pressed a kiss to Everly’s hair. “I hope so, sunbeam.”

Everly leaned back into her.

After a moment, she asked, “Can Uncle Hagen come to dinner too?”

Hagen lowered the report. “I appear to have been annexed.”

Everly looked at him. “You live here.”

“A devastating legal argument.”

Allandra smiled. “Dinner.”

He sighed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Everly relaxed.

Not completely.

Enough.

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Serali did come to dinner.

Hagen arrived late.

Everly made both of them sit beside her.

This required rearranging three place settings and caused a servant to look briefly toward Allandra for guidance.

Allandra nodded.

Let it happen.

Everly ate very little.

She talked considerably more.

Button.

The card.

Verya Junior.

Whether shadow birds slept upside down.

Whether Daravan knew how to draw.

Hagen claimed he did not.

Serali said this should be tested.

Everly agreed.

“All of you are conspiring against him,” Allandra said.

Serali looked toward her. “I have done nothing.”

“You proposed the test.”

“That is science.”

Hagen nodded gravely. “Important distinction.”

Allandra looked at him. “You are not helping.”

“I rarely do.”

That was untrue.

Painfully so, today.

Everly pushed a piece of carrot around her plate. “Can shadow birds eat carrots?”

Serali considered. “I do not know.”

“You made them.”

“That does not mean I know what they eat.”

“What if they are hungry?”

“They were magic.”

Everly frowned. “That does not answer it.”

Hagen pointed his fork toward her. “She has you there.”

Serali looked betrayed. “You are supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on the side of rigorous inquiry.”

“Coward.”

Everly giggled.

The sound changed the room.

Only slightly.

Allandra felt it anyway.

For the last several days, Everly had laughed.

But often too quickly.

Too loudly.

As though proving something.

This one sounded like herself.

Allandra looked down at her plate before anyone could notice what that did to her.

“Mama?”

Allandra looked back up.

Everly was watching her.

“Yes, little Sun?”

“You did not eat your potatoes.”

Hagen immediately looked at Allandra’s plate.

Traitor.

“I am aware.”

“You tell me to eat potatoes.”

“I do.”

“So you should.”

Serali lowered her eyes.

Her mouth was moving.

Allandra stared at her. “Royal Mage.”

Serali looked up with exquisite innocence. “Your Majesty.”

“You are enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

The bond warmed.

Allandra wanted to reach across the table.

Not beneath it.

Not behind a closed door.

Not hidden in Serali’s rooms with Mara guarding the corridor and half the kingdom imagining something else entirely.

Just take her hand.

A completely ordinary gesture.

The sort lovers made without thinking.

Except queens did not get to stop thinking.

Not when the woman they loved was also their Royal Mage.

Not when half the continent might soon debate whether Serali’s choices were truly her own.

Not when one careless look could become evidence for Vulmar.

So Allandra ate the potato.

Everly nodded approvingly. “Good.”

Hagen looked delighted.

Allandra pointed her fork at him. “Not one word.”

“I would never.”

“You absolutely would.”

“Cruel.”

Serali said, “I believe this is the part where you revise your assessment based on evidence.”

Hagen stared at her. “You spend too much time with Harrek.”

Serali looked genuinely offended. “I barely spend any time with Harrek.”

“Then his influence is alarmingly efficient.”

Everly looked between them. “Can Uncle Harrek come to dinner?”

Allandra closed her eyes.

Hagen laughed.

Serali covered her mouth.

Everly frowned. “What?”

“Nothing, sunbeam.”

“Can he?”

Allandra imagined Harrek at this table, still concussed, attempting to read reports between bites while Lia stood behind him with murder in her eyes.

“Not tonight.”

“Tomorrow?”

“We will see.”

Everly accepted this with suspicious ease.

Which meant the question would return.

Probably at breakfast.

Possibly with a card.

The meal continued.

Everly eventually ate half her potatoes because Allandra had eaten hers.

Hagen gave up a piece of bread after one look from his niece and another from his sister.

Serali told Everly that Danger would probably eat carrots if instructed firmly enough.

Everly began drafting instructions aloud.

Allandra listened.

Watched.

Hagen on one side of Everly.

Serali on the other.

Her daughter safe between two people she trusted enough to seek after waking frightened.

For one quiet hour, everyone was where Everly could see them.

Allandra understood the impulse.

She wanted the same thing.

Outside the palace, four Lyehiran agents were still somewhere in Myrae.

Across the border, Vulmar was preparing to turn Serali’s life into an argument between crowns.

Soon, perhaps, Vardheim or Cyrathene or Rothmark or Kaishara might be asked to sit in judgment over a question Serali had already answered herself.

Aurenne might be excluded because Vulmar would treat its alliance with Avalusia as grounds to reject Celestine.

But here, at least, Serali could choose whether to come to dinner.

Hagen could choose to stay.

Everly could choose whom she wanted beside her.

Small choices.

Ordinary choices.

Allandra was beginning to understand how fiercely ordinary things could matter.

She looked toward Serali.

Serali caught her eye.

Only for a moment.

The bond warmed between them.

Then Everly asked whether Verya Junior needed an official title, and the moment vanished into argument.

Allandra smiled into her wine.

Love did not make choices hers to make.

It did, however, make her want very badly to keep the world from taking them away.

Chapter 10: Lying to Itself

On the seventh morning after First Sun, Marielle had been discharged from the infirmary.

Lia disagreed.

This was, Marielle felt, primarily a problem of terminology.

Lia said, “You are not discharged.”

“I am leaving,” Marielle said.

“Those are different statements.”

“Yes.”

Marielle finished fastening the cuff of her right sleeve.

The left remained open because getting it over the bandage had proved structurally unreasonable.

She had solved this by choosing a different jacket.

Lia stood in the doorway with both arms folded. “You cannot simply decide you are recovered.”

“I have not.”

“You are dressed.”

“Recovery is not required for clothing.”

“You have boots on.”

“Also not a medical declaration.”

Lia stared at her.

Marielle waited.

She had learned during several years of professional acquaintance that Lia frequently used silence in place of arguments she considered too obvious to require speech.

Marielle disliked this practice.

It placed an unreasonable burden on interpretation.

“I slept,” she offered.

“For six hours.”

“Yes.”

“You nearly fainted yesterday.”

“I did not.”

“You sat down very quickly against a wall.”

“That prevented fainting.”

Lia closed her eyes.

The door opened behind her.

Daravan stepped in, took one look at Marielle, then at Lia, then back at Marielle. “No.”

Marielle frowned. “This is becoming repetitive.”

“You are not returning to work,” Daravan said.

“I am.”

“No.”

“I have already informed Lia.”

“You have informed Lia of your intention to ignore her.”

“That is still information.”

Daravan walked farther into the room.

Marielle returned to fastening the jacket.

“My arm is not worse,” Marielle said.

Lia said, “That is an extremely low standard.”

“It is also not better,” Marielle said.

“Yes,” Lia said.

“That is precisely the problem.”

Lia’s expression changed.

Only slightly.

Marielle continued before either of them could interrupt. “You have four Lyehiran agents somewhere in the city.”

Daravan’s face went still. “Yes.”

“I have a wall that is lying to itself.”

Silence.

Lia looked at Daravan.

Daravan looked at Marielle.

Finally he said, “Explain.”

Good.

A useful question.

“The north wall reports that its primary systems are stable.”

“Yes.”

“The physical samples do not agree.”

“We do not have the samples yet.”

“They arrived this morning.”

Daravan frowned.

Marielle pointed toward the table. A sealed wooden case sat beneath the window.

He stared at it.

Then at her.

“When?”

“Ninth bell.”

“You were asleep.”

“I woke.”

“For how long?”

“Long enough.”

Lia pinched the bridge of her nose.

Marielle continued. “The twelve primary convergence points we agreed to inspect in winter have now been sampled. Stone dust, binding mortar, channel metal, and ward-contact fragments where removal was safe.”

Daravan’s attention had shifted.

Patient to problem.

Better.

“The wall says it is healthy,” Marielle said. “The materials disagree.”

“How?”

“I do not know yet.”

“Then why are you certain?”

“Because twelve things that should produce comparable readings do not.”

Daravan looked at the case.

Then at her bandaged arm.

There.

The argument returning.

Marielle spoke before he could construct it. “Harrek has the Watch searching for your escaped agents. You are securing the palace.”

Daravan’s eyes returned to hers.

“The wall also requires attention. Mine.”

Lia said, “Your problem also requires a functioning circulatory system.”

“It is functioning.”

“Badly.”

“Still functioning.”

Daravan inhaled.

Marielle raised one hand. “I will not go to the wall.”

He paused.

Good.

That had not been the sentence he expected.

“I will work in the engineering rooms. The samples are already here. Serali can examine the magical components without either of us leaving the palace.”

Daravan considered that. “No ladders.”

“I did not mention ladders.”

“You were thinking about them.”

“I think many things.”

“Not with that face.”

Lia pointed between them. “I dislike both of you.”

“That seems medically irrelevant,” Marielle said.

“It is not.”

Daravan continued. “No lifting.”

“I have apprentices.”

“No wall visits.”

“I already agreed.”

“No leaving the palace without escort.”

Marielle frowned. “That is not medical.”

“No.”

“Then Lia does not control it.”

“I do.”

“That seems administratively untidy.”

“Corren or Mael stays with you.”

“Inside the engineering rooms?”

“Outside if you prefer.”

“They will ask whether everything is explosive.”

Daravan looked at her. “Is everything explosive?”

“No.”

A beat.

“Some things are.”

Daravan continued staring.

“Not today.”

“Good.”

Lia stepped in before he could add anything else. “My conditions.”

Marielle sighed.

Lia ignored this. “You return here before you begin work.”

“I am already here.”

“Tomorrow.”

Marielle frowned.

“Then again at midday.”

“Again?”

“And again before supper.”

“That is excessive.”

“Your wound should have shown measurable healing by now. It has not.”

Marielle looked toward the bandage.

Lia’s voice remained firm. “I am not checking it once every twenty-four hours while it continues behaving in a way I cannot explain.”

“That will interrupt the work.”

“Yes.”

“Three times.”

“Yes.”

“Every day?”

“Yes.”

Marielle looked at Daravan.

“No,” he said.

Traitor.

Lia continued. “And if you have increased pain, renewed bleeding, fever, dizziness, numbness, pulling, burning, or anything else that changes unexpectedly, you return immediately. You do not wait for the next check.”

Marielle considered. “That is too many variables to remember.”

“I will write them down.”

“That seems patronizing.”

“It is.”

Daravan made a faint sound.

Marielle looked at him. “Do not encourage her.”

“I did nothing.”

“You moved air.”

“I breathe occasionally.”

Suspicious.

Lia continued. “You sit whenever possible. You do not carry anything heavier than a book. You eat lunch.”

“I always eat lunch.”

Lia stared.

Marielle amended, “Often.”

“Today.”

“Fine.”

“And you stop at evening.”

Marielle frowned. “We have not reached evening.”

“I am planning ahead.”

Daravan said, “Useful practice.”

Marielle looked between them.

This was becoming organized opposition.

Unfair.

“Fine.”

Lia narrowed her eyes. “Say it properly.”

“I will return at midday and before supper. I will not lift anything. I will sit. I will eat lunch. I will report changes.”

“And stop at evening.”

Marielle hesitated.

Lia waited.

“Fine.”

Daravan said, “Good.”

Marielle looked at him. “You were not part of that negotiation.”

“I was present.”

“That does not make you a party.”

“It frequently does.”

The twelve samples occupied most of the central worktable by third bell.

Marielle arranged them geographically.

Northwest to northeast.

Not by collection order.

Collection order was meaningless.

Geography was not.

Each sample box contained four smaller trays.

Stone.

Mortar.

Metal.

Ward-contact material.

Forty-eight pieces of wall.

Forty-eight ways for a defensive structure to be wrong.

Serali arrived twelve minutes late.

Marielle noticed because she had expected her exactly at the hour.

Serali entered carrying three books, two notebooks, and the expression of someone who had been stopped repeatedly by palace guards. “We took the inner corridor. The eastern passage is closed while the guards check the doors.”

Marielle looked up. “Pell knows the shorter route through the south gallery.”

“He does. Orran was checking whether that was open.”

“That would account for four minutes.”

“Then someone asked whether we would need access to the courtyard.”

“Would we?”

“No.”

Marielle considered this an avoidable delay.

Serali set everything down.

Corren stood outside the engineering-room door.

He had already asked twice whether the testing apparatus was meant to hum.

It was.

Marielle had told him this.

He remained unconvinced.

Serali looked over the trays. “All twelve?”

“Yes.”

Something changed in her expression.

Interest.

Good.

Marielle preferred interest.

It produced better questions than concern.

She pointed toward the first three samples. “Western sections.”

Serali leaned over them.

Pell stepped closer.

Serali noticed.

Marielle noticed Serali noticing.

Neither commented.

“This one was repaired after the war,” Serali said.

“Yes,” Marielle confirmed. “The repair records are in the blue folder.”

“And this?”

“Original.”

Serali reached toward the metal fragment, then stopped. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Shadow gathered faintly at her fingertips.

Not enough to touch.

Only sense.

Marielle watched.

Serali became very still when she worked.

It made everyone else in the room seem unnecessarily mobile.

After several seconds, she frowned.

“What?” Marielle asked.

“The ward residue is clean.”

“That is what the wall reports.”

“No.”

Serali leaned closer. “It is too clean.”

Marielle sat.

Not because Lia had ordered it.

Because sitting improved the angle. “Explain.”

“Magic leaves irregularities.”

“Always?”

“Almost.”

“Useful.”

Serali examined the next sample. “This reads like a teaching array.”

Marielle frowned. “Meaning?”

“The structure is correct.”

“That sounds good.”

“Very correct.”

“That still sounds good.”

“It should.”

Serali picked up another sample. “That is why I dislike it.”

Marielle considered. “Like a copied measurement.”

Serali looked at her. “Yes.”

“A value written down because someone knows what the value is supposed to be.”

“Yes.”

“Instead of what was actually measured.”

Serali’s eyes sharpened. “Yes.”

Marielle felt a small, satisfying click somewhere in her thinking. “The wall is lying to itself.”

Serali glanced at her. “That is not technically—”

“It is giving itself false information.”

“That may not be intentional.”

“Neither is structural failure.”

Serali considered. “Fair.”

They worked.

For almost two hours.

The twelve sections did not fail consistently.

That was worse.

Three western samples showed unusual ward uniformity.

Two central samples showed tiny discrepancies between physical wear and magical output.

One eastern sample held more charge than its surrounding material should have supported.

Four looked normal.

Two produced results Marielle considered insulting.

Serali called them inconclusive.

Marielle considered that a polite synonym.

At one point Serali reached for Marielle’s ruler without asking.

Marielle moved it.

Serali stopped. “That one?”

“Mine.”

“There are six rulers.”

“Yes.”

Serali took another.

Good.

Progress.

By late morning, they had filled three pages with comparison notes.

Marielle drew a separate column for the collection notes.

Each sample had been labeled with its position, depth, and the time it had been removed. She checked these against the diagrams before accepting the discrepancies as findings. A mistaken label could make an ordinary piece of wall look impossible.

None of the labels was mistaken.

Serali watched her turn the last diagram. “Could removing the pieces have changed what we are measuring?”

“Yes,” Marielle said. “Which is why they used the same collection method wherever they could, and recorded every exception.”

“That does not eliminate it.”

“No. It lets us test it.”

She underlined the two samples that had required different tools. Neither was the sixth convergence point.

“The mortar and metal were taken separately,” she added. “If one reading is unreliable, the other should help us identify why.”

Serali pulled the repair record closer. “Then we repeat the physical measurements before I repeat the magical ones.”

“Separately.”

“So we do not influence each other’s conclusions.”

Marielle looked at her with approval. “Exactly.”

Marielle circled a result from the sixth convergence point.

Serali leaned over. “If that reading is right—”

“It is.”

“You tested it once.”

“Twice.”

“When?”

“While you were finding the repair records.”

Serali glanced toward the folders. “They were filed under the original construction date.”

“That is where they belong.”

“I know that now.”

Marielle moved the blue folder within her reach. “There is an index.”

“Thank you.”

Marielle pointed at the sample. “This section has more physical degradation than sections three or four.”

“But the magical output is nearly identical.”

“Exactly.”

Serali frowned. “That should not happen.”

“No.”

They looked at it together.

Marielle liked this part.

The point where a problem stopped being vague.

Not solved.

Better.

Defined.