[Fault Line] Ch. 1: Ten Bells and Ch. 2 Remorseful Dagger

Chapter 1: Ten Bells

Serali woke because something hurt.

This was not particularly useful information.

She remained still beneath the blankets and conducted a more thorough assessment.

Shoulder.

Ribs.

Back.

One knee, for reasons she could not immediately explain.

Her left forearm where the silver-grey cord had tightened around it.

Serali opened her eyes.

Morning had advanced considerably without her permission.

Sunlight filled the gap between the curtains, bright enough to turn the familiar edges of her bedroom gold. Somewhere beyond the windows, the palace was awake.

Quietly.

Not the ordinary morning machinery of trays, doors, bells, servants, guards, councilors, petitioners, and whatever crisis had decided it deserved priority before breakfast.

This morning sounded subdued.

As though the entire palace had gone to bed after dawn and collectively agreed not to mention it.

Serali understood.

She shifted.

Pain objected.

She stopped.

“Bad?” The voice came from beside her.

Serali turned her head.

Allandra was awake.

Barely.

Her hair had escaped almost entirely from whatever arrangement it had occupied yesterday. One side was flattened against the pillow. The other had become an argument with gravity.

Serali stared.

Allandra narrowed sleepy green eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was not nothing.”

“I have simply never seen the Queen of Avalusia lose a battle with a pillow.”

Allandra lifted one hand toward her hair.

Stopped halfway.

Her face tightened.

Serali immediately lost the smile. “Your shoulder?”

“Arm.”

“Which one?”

“Both, apparently.”

“That seems excessive.”

“So does being attacked during First Sun.”

“Fair.”

Allandra let her hand fall.

For several seconds neither of them moved.

That was unusual enough to feel luxurious.

No council.

No screaming.

No Lyehiran voice saying Princess Serali Xuiven as though the months between Lyehira and now had never existed.

No dagger reaching for her wrist.

Just sunlight.

Blankets.

Allandra beside her.

Serali became aware, slowly, that one of Allandra’s hands still rested loosely against her waist beneath the blankets.

Not holding.

Simply there.

Serali looked down at it.

Before they slept, she had asked Allandra to stay.

Not because of the bond.

Not because either of them had been half-mad with wanting.

Because she had wanted her close.

The memory should have embarrassed her.

It did.

Slightly.

Not enough to move.

Allandra’s thumb brushed once against her side. “You’re thinking.”

“A dangerous accusation before breakfast.”

“I don’t think it is before breakfast anymore.”

Serali glanced toward the windows. “That sounds like a problem we should discuss over breakfast.”

Allandra smiled.

Then the palace clock began striking.

Serali counted automatically.

One.

Two.

Three.

By eight she had become concerned.

By nine offended.

By ten, Allandra had started laughing.

Serali looked at her. “That cannot be correct.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“We slept until ten bells?”

“We went to sleep after sunrise.”

“I know, but ten.”

Allandra’s laughter softened.

Serali settled back against the pillow. “This kingdom is badly governed.”

“Clearly.”

“The Queen is still in bed.”

“The Royal Mage is also still in bed.”

“The Royal Mage was nearly abducted twice.”

“So was the Queen.”

Serali frowned. “You were not.”

“They attacked my family, my guards, my festival, and my Royal Mage. I feel I can claim some portion of the inconvenience.”

Something in Serali’s chest warmed.

She ignored it.

Naturally.

“How is Everly?”

“Asleep when I came here.”

“That was several hours ago.”

“Yes.”

Serali stared toward the ceiling.

Allandra did the same.

After a moment, Serali said, “Do you think she stayed asleep?”

“No.”

A muffled sound came from the sitting room.

Both of them froze.

Another sound.

Higher.

Familiar.

Serali closed her eyes.

Allandra whispered, “That is my daughter.”

“I know.”

A second voice joined the first.

Lower.

Male.

Distinctly amused.

Allandra’s eyes opened wider.

Serali looked at her. “That,” she said, “is your brother.”

“I know.”

They stared at one another.

Outside the bedroom, Everly said something too muffled to understand.

Hagen answered.

Closer than Serali would have preferred.

The sitting-room door had apparently opened while they slept.

Serali pushed herself upright.

Her entire body protested.

She ignored it.

Allandra did the same and nearly caught her elbow in the blankets.

For one profoundly satisfying moment, the Queen of Avalusia looked panicked.

Not battlefield panic.

Not political panic.

Something much more immediate.

“My robe.”

Serali looked toward the chair.

Empty.

Then toward the floor.

Allandra followed her gaze.

Her robe lay half beneath the bed.

Silence.

“How did that get there?” Allandra asked.

“You took it off.”

“I remember taking it off.”

“Then I believe the mystery is solved.”

A knock sounded at the bedroom door.

Not the outer door.

The bedroom.

Serali and Allandra both stopped.

“Mara?” Serali called.

The door opened exactly far enough for Mara to slip through.

She closed it behind herself.

Looked at Serali.

Looked at Allandra.

Looked at the robe beneath the bed.

Her expression did not change. This was worse than laughter. “Good morning,” Mara said.

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Serali narrowed her eyes. “Is it?”

“Princess Everly and Prince Hagen are in the sitting room.”

“We noticed.”

“Princess Everly has brought paper.”

Serali stared at her. “Paper.”

Mara remained solemn. “And paint.”

Allandra covered her face with one hand.

Mara continued, “Also glue.”

“Horrifying,” Serali said.

“And ribbons.”

Serali looked at Allandra. “We may not survive.”

Allandra was already reaching for the robe.

Another voice carried through the door. “Serali?” Everly. Nearer now.

Allandra seized the robe.

Mara crossed immediately to the concealed panel beside the wardrobe.

Serali stared. “You have become very efficient at this.”

“I have developed relevant experience.”

“That is not reassuring.”

The panel opened.

A narrow strip of darkness appeared beyond it.

Allandra tied her robe.

Her hair remained disastrous.

Serali looked at it.

Then at her.

Allandra caught the look. “Do not.”

“I said nothing.”

“You were going to.”

“I was going to wish you luck.”

“That was not what your face said.”

“My face is private.”

“Apparently not.”

Everly called again. “Serali?”

“One moment!”

A pause.

Then, suspiciously, “Why?”

Serali looked at Allandra.

Allandra looked at Mara.

Mara looked toward the ceiling as if requesting divine assistance.

Serali called, “I am dressing.”

“Oh.”

Another pause.

“Do you need help?”

“No.”

“Is Mara helping?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

This seemed satisfactory.

Small footsteps retreated.

Allandra exhaled.

Serali looked at her. “You have faced cavalry with greater composure.”

“Cavalry does not ask follow-up questions.”

“That is true.”

Allandra stepped toward the passage.

Stopped.

Turned back.

For the briefest moment, humor disappeared.

She looked at Serali.

Not Royal Mage.

Not survivor.

Just Serali.

Her expression softened. “Are you all right?”

Serali could have lied.

Yesterday, she probably would have.

Instead she considered the question.

Her body hurt.

Four Lyehiran agents were still somewhere in Myrae.

Five others sat in cells beneath the palace.

Marielle was wounded.

And somewhere beyond these walls, people were already telling the story of what had happened beneath the lanterns.

“No,” Serali said.

Allandra’s face tightened.

Serali reached out. Caught two of her fingers. “But I am here.”

Allandra looked down at their hands. Then back at her. “Yes.”

Serali released her. “Go before your brother discovers state secrets.”

Allandra’s mouth curved. “Which state secret?”

Serali glanced meaningfully at the bed.

Allandra actually flushed.

Victory.

“Go.”

Allandra leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Serali’s forehead.

Then disappeared into the servants’ passage.

Mara closed the panel behind her.

Silence.

Serali looked at Mara. “You saw nothing.”

Mara looked at Serali.

“I saw Her Majesty leave through a wall.”

“Mara.”

“I will revise my testimony.”

Serali pointed at her. “You are becoming dangerous.”

“I’ve always been dangerous.”

“Dress,” Serali said.

“Already prepared.”

“Traitor.”

“Frequently.”

Ten minutes later, Serali entered the sitting room wearing a soft dark-blue day dress, her hair only partially restrained and her dignity patched together sufficiently for domestic use.

Everly had taken over the low table.

Of course she had.

Paper covered nearly every available surface.

Thick cream card stock.

Paint.

Charcoal.

Three ribbons.

Dried flowers.

Glue.

Several brushes.

A small pair of scissors that Hagen had wisely placed beyond immediate reach.

One packet of candied orange peel sat beside his elbow.

Serali pointed at it. “Festival theft?”

Everly looked up. “No.”

Hagen looked up.

Serali looked at him.

Hagen said, “The prosecution lacks evidence.”

“Your co-conspirator is four.”

“Almost five later,” Everly corrected.

“Yes,” Hagen said. “My very sophisticated co-conspirator.”

Everly nodded.

She looked tired.

That was the first thing Serali truly noticed.

Not dramatically.

Her hair had been brushed. She wore a clean yellow dress. Someone—probably Lessa—had managed to remove the last traces of gold paint from her cheeks.

But there were faint shadows beneath her eyes.

She held herself slightly closer to Hagen than usual.

And on the chair beside her sat her stuffed fox.

Everly looked at Serali for another second.

Checking.

Serali knew the look now.

Still here.

Serali crossed to the table.

Then stopped.

Looked at Everly.

Looked at the paper.

Then at Hagen. “Why are you in my rooms?”

Hagen placed one hand over his heart. “Good morning to you too.”

“I am serious.”

“I noticed.”

Everly answered before he could. “Because he draws good.”

Hagen inclined his head. “At last. Appropriate recognition.”

Serali looked at him.

He sighed. “Everly woke me an hour ago.”

Serali glanced at the clock. Then at Everly.

Everly appeared entirely unrepentant.

“She woke you at nine.”

“She knocked.”

Everly frowned. “A lot.”

“She knocked a lot.”

“I needed him.”

“For drawing,” Hagen explained.

“I gathered.”

Everly pointed toward the blank card. “He draws swords good.”

“Well,” Hagen corrected automatically.

Everly gave him a look remarkably reminiscent of her mother.

Hagen reconsidered. “Good is acceptable.”

Serali almost smiled. Almost. “And you have been doing this for an hour?”

“No.” Hagen reached for his tea. “I persuaded Her Highness that you did not need to be awakened immediately.”

Everly scowled at him. “You said sleeping people need sleeping.”

“I stand by this controversial position.”

“I was awake.”

“That was precisely the problem.”

Serali looked at Hagen. Something softer moved beneath the joke. “Thank you.”

He shrugged one shoulder. Almost careless. Almost. “I negotiated an hour.”

Everly held up one finger. “One whole hour.”

“An unprecedented diplomatic success.”

“I wanted half.”

“Yes.”

“But Uncle Hagen said one.”

“Because Serali went to bed after dawn.”

Everly looked at Serali. “I know.”

Again—

that checking look.

The square.

The screaming.

Serali standing beneath the shadow canopy while Everly clapped first.

Serali sat. “An hour was sensible.”

Everly looked vindicated.

Then she began arranging the brushes by size. “We went looking for Mama first.”

Serali’s hand stopped halfway toward the charcoal.

Hagen took a very deliberate sip of tea.

Everly continued, entirely unaware. “But she is missing.”

Serali looked at Hagen.

One eyebrow rose.

Only slightly.

It was remarkable how much a single eyebrow could communicate.

Everly dipped a brush into water. “Uncle Hagen says she is probably doing queen things.”

“I said queens occasionally have duties before breakfast.”

“You said queen things.”

“I was simplifying.”

Everly nodded. “Queen things.”

Serali kept her expression carefully neutral.

Hagen’s eyebrow remained where it was.

He had gone to Allandra’s rooms.

Allandra had not been there.

And now, less than an hour later, he was sitting in Serali’s rooms while Serali emerged suspiciously late from her bedroom.

Wonderful.

Serali narrowed her eyes at him.

Hagen smiled pleasantly.

No words.

That was somehow worse.

Everly picked up the folded card stock. “I’ll find Mama after we make Marielle’s card.”

“Excellent plan,” Serali said.

Hagen’s mouth twitched.

Serali pointed at him. “One word.”

“I have said nothing.”

“You are saying nothing very loudly.”

Everly looked between them. “Are you fighting?”

“No,” Hagen said.

“Not yet,” Serali said.

Everly frowned. Then pushed the card toward the center of the table. “We need to make it cheerful.”

Serali looked at the blank paper.

Then at Everly.

There it was.

Not quite fear.

Not anymore.

Work.

A task with edges.

Marielle had been hurt.

Cards helped sick people.

Therefore they would make a card.

The logic was simple enough to hold.

Serali knew something about building structures around things too large to touch directly.

Across the table, Hagen had gone quiet.

He looked at Everly.

Then at Serali.

The humor in his face shifted.

Only slightly.

Enough.

He knew too.

Chapter 2: Remorseful Dagger

Everly reached for the red paint. “We need a dagger.”

Hagen inhaled.

Serali kept her face straight. “A dagger.”

“The one that stabbed Lady Marielle.”

“That is not especially cheerful,” Hagen observed.

“It has to say sorry.”

Hagen looked at Serali.

A beat passed.

He extended one hand across the table. “Truce?”

Serali stared at it.

Their relationship had involved several provisional truces, most of them violated within minutes.

This one felt different.

Everly was dipping her brush into paint with immense concentration.

Serali put her hand in Hagen’s. “Truce.”

They shook once.

Everly looked up. “Why?”

“Nothing,” Hagen said.

“Adult diplomacy,” Serali added.

Everly nodded.

Apparently the phrase covered an alarming range of behavior.

She pushed the charcoal toward Hagen. “You draw.”

Hagen accepted it with the solemnity of a royal commission. “Remorseful dagger?”

“Yes.”

Serali looked at him. “Make it look properly ashamed.”

“The dagger did not make an independent moral choice.”

Everly frowned.

Serali pointed at him. “Truce.”

Hagen sighed. “Properly ashamed.”

Everly smiled.

He began to draw.

Unfortunately, he was good at it.

The dagger developed a small face.

Everly demanded a bandage around its middle.

Serali objected that this was anatomically nonsensical.

Everly informed her that daggers did not have anatomy.

Hagen sided with Everly.

Serali invoked the truce.

Hagen claimed the truce did not require artistic cowardice.

Everly added two tears to the dagger.

The matter was settled.

Then she slid another piece of paper toward Serali. “Bird.”

Serali stopped.

Everly pointed at the page. “Feather. The one who sat on your wrist.”

Serali remembered the small shadow settling there beneath the lanterns. After the screaming. After Marielle’s blood had marked the stone.

Everly had watched Feather tilt her head and had been entirely delighted.

“She can sit beside the dagger,” Everly said. “So it isn’t lonely.”

Serali looked at the apologetic face Hagen had drawn.

Apparently, moral rehabilitation required company.

Serali looked down at the charcoal.

Hagen said nothing.

That helped.

Serali picked it up. “I do not know whether I can draw it.”

“You made it.”

“That is not the same skill.”

“You can try.”

Serali glanced at her.

Sound advice.

Unfortunately.

She began.

The first attempt resembled a glove that had experienced tragedy.

Hagen leaned over. “It has presence.”

“It has structural collapse.”

Everly examined it. “It needs eyes.”

“They were not that large.”

“It needs them on a card.”

Serali added eyes.

Now it looked accusatory.

Everly smiled. “Better.”

Serali suspected her Royal Mage duties had taken an unexpected turn.

For several minutes the room filled with small sounds.

Brush against paper.

Charcoal scratching.

Hagen stealing candied orange peel and pretending he had not.

Everly asking whether poison was green.

Serali saying not necessarily.

Everly deciding it should be green anyway because poison ought to warn people.

Hagen saying this was a sensible design improvement.

Serali saying most poisons had not consulted engineers.

That led to Marielle.

Which led to Everly declaring that Marielle would improve poison if permitted.

Serali could not entirely disagree.

Eventually, Everly bent over the inside of the card and began writing.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Her tongue appeared at the corner of her mouth.

Serali watched each letter form.

SORRY YOUR ARM GOT POISON STABBED.

Hagen inhaled through his nose.

Serali covered her mouth.

Everly looked up. “What?”

“It is clear,” Serali said.

Hagen looked at her.

Serali looked back.

Truce.

He nodded gravely. “Extremely clear.”

“Lia says clear is good.”

“Lia does say that.”

“Usually when everyone else is being difficult,” Serali added.

Everly nodded as though this proved the point.

Then she looked at the empty space below. “What else?”

Serali considered.

Took the charcoal.

And wrote:

HEAL FIRST. ENGINEER LATER.

Everly read it aloud.

Her face lit. “Yes.”

Hagen laughed.

A real laugh.

Brief.

Tired.

But real.

“That,” he said, “is going to offend her.”

“Then she will know it was written with affection.”

Everly looked between them. “Why?”

“Lady Marielle finds accuracy provocative,” Serali said.

Hagen nodded. “Particularly when it concerns her.”

Everly seemed to understand this perfectly.

She turned the card over. “We need all the birds.”

Serali immediately said, “No.”

“There were six more.”

“We do not need all seven.”

“We do.”

“Why?”

“Because there are seven.”

Hagen leaned back. “Compelling.”

Serali looked at him. “Truce.”

“I am supporting the director.”

“She is not director anymore.”

Everly gasped.

Serali immediately regretted speaking. “Temporary director of get-well cards,” she corrected.

Everly considered.

Accepted.

Six more birds appeared around the border.

Round.

Dark.

Enormous eyes.

Almost entirely unlike Serali’s actual shadow manifestations.

Everly named each as she drew. “Danger.”

Of course.

“Biscuit.”

Reasonable by established standards.

Everly continued. “Button Two.”

Hagen looked up. “There is a Button One?”

“The spider.”

“Ah.”

He accepted this without further inquiry.

Wise.

Then Everly drew a particularly stern bird in the upper corner.

Narrow eyes.

Straight little wings.

A beak that somehow communicated disapproval.

Serali watched it emerge.

A sense of danger entirely unrelated to Lyehira developed.

Everly sat back. “This one is Verya.”

Hagen looked up. Then his mouth began to curve. “Ah. Yes.”

Serali closed her eyes.

Apparently, the events of last night had only postponed this.

“I had forgotten,” Hagen said.

“Continue forgetting.”

Everly pointed proudly at the bird. “She is the serious one.”

“Of course she is.” Hagen studied the severe little face. “Lady Verya really must be informed of the honor.”

“No,” Serali said.

Hagen’s shoulders had begun to shake.

Serali stared at him. “Truce.”

“I am observing it.”

“You are not.”

“I have taken no hostile action.”

“You are planning one.”

“That is not prohibited.”

“You are going to tell her.”

Hagen looked genuinely wounded. “Serali.”

“No.”

“History deserves preservation.”

“History deserves discretion.”

“Lady Verya has a right to know she has entered the artistic canon.”

“She has no such right.”

Everly looked between them. “Will she like it?”

Serali and Hagen answered together. “No.”

Everly frowned. “But it is a good bird.”

Hagen straightened. His expression became solemn. “That is exactly why she must know.”

Serali pointed the charcoal at him. “I will break the truce.”

He lifted both hands. “Peace.”

“That means nothing from you.”

“It means slightly more than usual.”

Everly added another line to Verya’s eyebrows.

The bird became even more severe.

Serali considered the possibility that this was, in fact, accurate portraiture.

She chose not to say so.

At last, Everly folded the card.

Then immediately opened it again because the paint had not dried.

Hagen caught it before red smeared across the apologetic dagger. “Careful.”

“I know.”

He laid it flat on the table.

Everly watched it.

The room went quiet.

Not awkwardly.

Just enough for exhaustion to become visible again.

Everly rested her chin against one hand. “Lady Marielle is going to be all right?”

There it was.

Not card-making.

Not poison color.

Not whether daggers had feelings.

The thing underneath.

Serali looked at Hagen.

He did not answer first.

Truce.

Serali appreciated that more than she intended to admit.

“Lia says she is stable,” Serali said.

Everly’s face tightened.

She had heard adults use that word enough last night.

Serali continued. “The poison has been treated. Her arm still needs healing, and Lia wants her to rest.”

“Is she resting?”

Serali thought of Marielle. “No.”

Hagen snorted.

Serali amended, “Lia is attempting to make her rest.”

“That sounds more likely,” Hagen said.

Everly considered this. “Can we give her the card?”

“Yes,” Serali said.

The answer came easily.

Too easily for her body, which immediately submitted objections regarding standing, walking, dressing, existing, and several other unreasonable expectations.

She ignored them.

Everly sat upright. “Now?”

Hagen looked toward the clock, then toward Serali. “We have council.”

Serali’s stomach sank.

Of course they did.

Somewhere beneath them, five Lyehiran prisoners sat in separate cells refusing to speak.

Four more were still somewhere beyond the palace walls.

Daravan and Harrek had probably been awake for hours.

Verya had undoubtedly produced paperwork.

Civilization had survived sufficiently to become administrative again.

Everly looked between them. “Can we go before?”

Serali glanced at the card.

The remorseful dagger.

The accusing shadow bird.

Verya, glaring from the corner.

Then at Everly. “For a little while,” she said.

Hagen checked the clock again. “Provided Lia allows it. Then Serali and I have to go to council.”

Everly nodded.

Satisfied. “And then I find Mama.”

Hagen looked at Serali.

Again.

That eyebrow.

Serali slowly turned her head toward him. “Do not.”

“I said nothing.”

“You continue to say nothing very loudly.”

Everly looked between them. “Is this adult diplomacy again?”

Hagen smiled.

Serali said, “Unfortunately.”

Everly accepted that.

Hagen reached for another piece of candied orange peel.

Serali slapped his hand away.

He stared at her. “The truce.”

“Expired.”

“When?”

“The moment the card was completed.”

“That was not negotiated.”

“You should have read the terms.”

“There were no terms.”

“Poor statesmanship.”

Everly giggled.

The sound was small.

Nothing like the scream Serali remembered from the square.

Good.

Let it be small.

Let this morning be paper and glue and an insultingly well-drawn apologetic dagger.

Let Everly make seven terrible birds because there had been seven birds after there had been blood.

Let Hagen pretend they were arguing because that was easier than saying they both understood exactly why the card mattered.

Serali looked down at Everly’s hands.

A faint smear of red paint marked one finger.

For half a heartbeat, memory tried to turn it into something else.

Blood on stone.

Blood on Marielle’s sleeve.

Serali blinked.

Paint.

Only paint.

Everly held her hand up. “I got red on me.”

Serali took the cloth Mara offered. “So you did.”

She wiped the paint gently away.

Everly watched.

When the finger was clean, she smiled. “There.”

“There,” Serali agreed.

Outside, somewhere beyond the windows, Myrae was waking after First Sun.

Inside, the card dried.

For the moment, that was enough.