The queen waited until they were alone, then lifted the dead owl to the light, and studied it as if it were a precious jewel.
“Few people in this world would appreciate how elegant this magic is,” she said. “Fewer still could create it.” She held Vares out, but when Tes reached out her shackled hands, the queen pulled back. “Tell me, what is your name?”
When Tes hesitated, the queen laughed. “Is it so hard to give?”
“It is,” said Tes, “when you don’t have many things to call your own.”
The queen considered. She offered the owl again, and this time let her take it. “There. Now you have more.”
She returned Vares to her coat. Then said, “It’s Tes, Your Majesty.”
The soldier reappeared, carrying a tray. The queen pointed to a metal table, one of the few with space, and the soldier deposited his burden. This time, there was no protest. He melted away, leaving them alone again.
The queen gestured to a stool. “Sit,” she said. And then, softening the command, “Please.”
Tes did, sinking gratefully onto the perch. She watched as the queen lifted a frosted glass cover to reveal an array of sliced meat, a fine cheese, and wafer-thin pieces of toast, along with two cups and a steaming pot of tea. Tes’s mouth began to water, but when the queen said, “Help yourself,” Tes shook her head and laced her fingers to keep from reaching for the food. The manacles clinked in her lap.
“Apologies, Your Majesty,” she said. “I am running short on trust today.”
The queen surprised her with a smile. “I hardly blame you.” She considered the spread, and began assembling a small sandwich.
“Ever since the Hand,” she said, cutting it in two, “I have worried about poison.” She took a bite of one half, and chewed thoughtfully. “Perhaps it’s just their name, but I swear I dream of fingers reaching for me in the dark.” She set the food down. “Half the spells I devise these days are to keep my family safe.”
As she said this, she touched a pendant at her neck, but when her hand dropped, Tes saw it was actually a gold ring, and a spelled one at that, though the spellwork was so small and delicate, she would have had to hold it to her eye to see the pattern.
The queen poured the tea—it was black, and blissfully strong, Tes could tell by the scent when she brought it to her nose. Still, she waited for the queen to take a drink first.
“Rest assured, I have no desire to poison or drug you, or do anything to dull your senses.” She took a sip from her own cup, then offered it to Tes. “I want them sharp.”
Tes took it and drank, her head filling with spice and heady warmth. She sighed, feeling more herself than she had in days. She reached for the other half of the sandwich, cuffs dragging on the metal table. The first bite was relief. The second, pleasure. The third, and she felt tears threaten to spill down her cheeks.
As she ate, her attention drifted again, dancing over the many workshop surfaces, the room bright with so much magic. Tes couldn’t help but marvel at it all, her fingers itching to reach the magic in the threads.
On one, a mirror faced a scrying board. On another, a spell was drawn in what looked like iron filings. Against one wall a column of water ran in a constant cycle, though no magician held it up. There were other things too, their purpose hidden from her. She longed to take them up, take them apart.
She had heard stories about the queen of Arnes. No one could decide if she was a prisoner or a recluse, a brilliant mind or raving mad. Truth be told, Tes had never taken much interest in royal gossip. What she did know was that before the queen became a Maresh, she was a Loreni. And the Loreni were known for their inventions.
“I suppose we are both tinkerers,” observed the queen, following her gaze. “Though I do not have your gift.”
Tes flinched at the mention, wishing she had never told Delilah Bard about her power, and wondering how word had spread so fast. The queen seemed to read the question in her face.
“Places this large tend to echo.” As she spoke, she crossed to a nearby counter. “To lay hands on the very fabric of the world.” She lifted a closed black box, returning with it. “What I would do,” she said, opening the box, “with a gift like yours…”
She trailed off as she looked down. So did Tes. The box was empty. A shadow crossed the queen’s face, and Tes swore she heard a name cross the queen’s lips, little more than a whispered oath—Alucard—before she snapped it shut.
“Tell me, Tes. Do you create, as well as repair?”
“Sometimes,” she said. Then, “I like to improve things. Make good magic better.”
The queen nodded in understanding. “And tell me,” she went on. “How did you come to serve the Hand?”
The food went tasteless in her mouth. She fought to swallow. “I swear, I didn’t know. I would never have taken on the job.”
“They did not recruit you, then?”
“No,” she said emphatically. “A man came to my shop. He was sick, I think. Or wounded. He brought me something broken, and wanted it fixed. I didn’t know what it was. And now it’s gone. They can’t use it against you.”
“A fact for which I’m very grateful,” said the queen. “You have protected my family, Tes. For that, I owe you a debt. Still,” she added, sipped her tea, “it is a shame, that it was lost.”
“Your Majesty?” she said, confused.
“We are creators. It is always a pity, is it not? To destroy a piece of work.”
Tes nodded, though in truth, she was glad to see it gone. The persalis had cost her the shop she loved, and the life she’d built in London. She’d been threatened, taken hostage, stabbed—twice—and thrown in prison. All because she’d done her job.
“Would you show me, how you do it?”
Tes blinked. She hadn’t noticed the queen rising, but she had stepped away and returned, carrying a small box. She cleared a space, and set it on the metal table.
“Perhaps there is a place for you here. A place for your gifts.” She gestured at the massive workshop. “I could use an apprentice. Particularly one as skilled as you.”
Tes looked down. It was a music box, its cover gone, revealing the pattern of its insides. Tes’s fingers twitched automatically; she saw at once what was wrong with the magic, the place where a few of the threads had unraveled. The repair was so simple, she knew it was a test.
“Oh, wait.”
The queen touched something to the shackles, and the lock inside them turned. The weight of iron fell away, the cuffs landing open on the table. Tes rubbed at her wrists.
“There,” said the queen. “Now show me.”
Tes stared at the box, but didn’t move. Until Bex and Calin, no one had ever seen her work. She had been so careful, for so long, disguising every gesture, every movement. It was exhausting, to keep it secret. But there was a reason for it.
“Show me,” said the queen again, but her voice was different now, the careful softness peeled back, revealing something cold and hungry. She stared at Tes, studying her, and the eyes were another color, a different shape, but the look in them was too familiar. It belonged to Serival. Serival, who looked at everything of worth like it was something to be used, or sold, or taken apart. It belonged to her father, who watched, arms crossed, inside his shop, for Tes to show him what she was worth.
The vast workshop suddenly felt smaller than the cell.
Run. The word raced through her blood, the way it had three years before, when she looked up and saw her oldest sister watching from the doorway, eyes trained on Tesali’s hands where they hovered over threads she could not see.
Her gaze scraped over the metal table, the music box open on its surface, the unfastened cuffs halfway between Tes and the queen.
“Show me,” pressed the queen, leaning forward, and so Tes did.