Page 81 of The Crown's Awakening
She sniffs. “You must overcome this…affliction of naivety that you once held. You are Queen Heir. You will be a mother soon, and maybe you are still a wife. It is not endearing, it is unacceptable.”
My hands tremble at the thought of Mysin, at the injustice of what was done to me. At the fact that some of what she spoke was true.
She turns back to the rack. "We begin again tomorrow. You will not be late."
She does not wait for my answer.
She does not need one.
That night I go to the library. The Archivists bring what I ask for without comment. Texts bound in worn leather, their pages thin and marked with careful script that feels older than the palace above us.
I do not search for history. I search for the wards.
Alarna's wards are not walls. They are made from the blood of the royal line, layered and reinforced over generations. They recognize what belongs and reject what does not.
All Alarnan royals can pass through them. But not easily. Crossing requires power and focus, and the wards are strongest at the border, their magic demanding the recognition of at least one bloodline. Ideally two. Ideally the person crossing would carry the same blood as the one holding the ward open.
That is where the ties come in.
Loosening ties. The term appears rarely, buried in older records as though it was never meant to be widely known. They are not openings. They are permissions, woven into the ward structure using Lightcraft and blood. Made in advance. Made with intention. Each one bound to a single crossing, a single person, unless the one creating it is strong enough to anchor more.
I turn the page.
The Avanki are bound to a separate system, a blood oath woven into their service that allows them to pass in and out when required. No one else can use it.
Further down the text shifts. Older records. Less certain. Passages beneath Alarna, created during the dark war when the royal line fractured. Sealed. Abandoned. Forgotten. Reactivating them would require more than one royal, more than one source of power, and time.
I close the book.
My hand lowers to my stomach.
Two royals. Alarnan blood, both of them. And his blood runs through them too, which means they carry the ability to recognize him. To know him.
If I create the loosening ties, I would not be anchoring one source of power.
I would be anchoring three.
It might be enough.
It has to be enough.
The next morning arrives different.
I will learn everything, I decide. Every text in that library, every ward, every political current, every piece of this country I do not yet understand. Not for Colsar alone. For myself. For the two lives inside me.
I will figure out the loosening ties. I will prepare the way. He will find me. I am certain of it. If he was brave enough to cross the undead to reach me, I could be crafty enough to make sure he gets through.
“We are not broken. We are matched,”I had told him once.
I will not spend another evening hollow and miserable. I will never again allow myself the level of hopelessness that had me standing alone in a sea of undead, wishing I were no longer alive. I will be strong in the way that lasts. A queen in more than title.
I begin to develop a routine. My days fill with lessons, libraries, and the slow accumulation of knowledge that begins to feel less like study and more like armor. Aunt Petunis corrects every misstep before I can ignore it, and I soon realize I must learn quickly or not at all. There is no room here for hesitation. Power in Alarna is not shown. It is assumed.
Evenings are quieter. Uralish and Syle often dine with me, and sometimes Korvis joins. There are games, small wagers, though Aunt Petunis has made it clear I am not to gamble or be seen in taverns in the capital. I am not sure I would go anyway. Tellys has not left me.
On the third day of each week, I take tea with Aunt Venya, Aunt Petunis, and Aunt Jularin. Nyara usually attends, though I suspect she will soon move to the capital for the theater. I could not be happier for her.
I see Parshin’s children often. They bring gossip without restraint, their language worse than it should be, though I have learned not to stop them.
