The week before the palace visit passed in a blur of activity that Hania found both fascinating and deeply unsettling.
She had expected preparations to be Kofery's domain. He was the one who panicked about everything, who made lists and then made lists about his lists. But Kofery, it turned out, had never been to the royal palace. He had never attended a court function. He had spent his entire adult life in the Tower, emerging only for supply runs and the occasional magical survey.
It was Lusha who took charge. "The palace of Obelion," Lusha announced, spreading fabric samples across the floor in colors Hania didn't have names for. Deep burgundy that shifted to purple in certain light. Silver that looked like frozen moonlight. Blue so dark it was almost black, threaded with veins of gold. "I haven't been in seventy-three years. The Queen redecorated the East Wing after the Solstice Summit incident. I hear it's dreadful. All gold leaf and marble. No taste."
Seventy-three years. That's three of my old lifetimes. She's been avoiding a palace because of bad decor.
Kofery, who had been attempting to teach Hania to identify basic magical sigils using wooden blocks, looked up with alarm. "You've been to the palace?"
"Many times. Before the war, the Spider Court maintained formal relations with all five kingdoms. After the war..." Lusha's expression flickered. "After, the Empire decided that spider queens were better kept in their caves. Diplomatic relations were downgraded to 'containment protocols.'"
Before the war. Hania's ears pricked up. The dragon war. The one that ended two hundred years ago. Lusha was already ancient then.
"That's terrible," Kofery said.
"It's politics." Lusha shrugged, but her shoulders moved in a way that suggested the dismissal cost her something. "The Emperor's great-grandfather was afraid of spiders. His son was afraid of spiders. The current Emperor—" She paused. "The current Emperor killed a cave spider the size of a carriage when he was twelve and had it mounted in the throne room. So I don't visit."
Kofery sadly asked, "He has a mounted spider in the throne room?"
I met that man, Hania remembered. He called me a monster's child. Of course he has a mounted spider in his throne room. He's exactly that kind of person.
"Had," Lusha corrected. "I sent my great grandchildren to reclaim it. They brought back the mounting bracket as a souvenir. Very polite about it. Left a note explaining the historical significance of returning cultural artifacts to their rightful owners."
Hania grinned despite herself. She was sitting on the floor surrounded by wooden blocks, and she had to hide the expression by ducking her head, but she was pretty sure Lusha saw anyway. The spider queen's eyes crinkled at the corners.
Note to self: never get on Lusha's bad side.
"The point," Lusha continued, picking up a piece of fabric, "is that someone needs to attend this event who understands how the court works. Kofery doesn't. Dravin won't. And you, little moon, are one year old."
She held up the purple fabric against Hania's cheek. "Which means I'm going. The Queen can tolerate a spider in her palace for one day, or she can explain to the Emperor's court why the Archmage's daughter arrived in a conjured burlap sack because no one else knew how to dress her."
"She wouldn't be in a burlap sack," Kofery protested weakly.
Kofery, I love you, but you would absolutely dress me in a burlap sack. You'd feel terrible about it, you'd apologize profusely, and you'd probably line it with something soft, but it would still be a sack.
"Hania, what is Kofery holding?"
Hania blinked. Lusha was looking at her expectantly. This was a test. Lusha had been doing this more and mor, asking her questions, treating her responses—a glance, a grunt, a pointed finger, as answers. It was as close to acknowledging Hania's comprehension as Lusha could get without openly stating what she suspected.
She considered the wooden block in Kofery's hand. Fire sigil. Basic pattern, but there was something off about the inner circle. The containment line was too thin.
She pointed at the block. Then at the candle on the table. Then she made an exploding gesture with her hands, throwing her fingers wide.
Kofery looked down at the block. "She's saying it's a fire sigil?"
"She's saying you're using the wrong sigil for indoor teaching," Lusha translated. "That's a combat-grade fire formation. The containment line is underspecified. If she channels into it accidentally, you'll both need new eyebrows."
Kofery dropped the block. It clattered onto the floor, and he stared at Hania who had realized the baby was smarter than him and was still processing how to feel about it.
"She's one," he said faintly.
And please stop using combat magic as teaching aids.
"She's Dravin's daughter," Lusha said, as if that explained everything. She held the purple fabric against Hania's cheek again, tilting her head. "Yes. This color. Silver and purple. It'll make her eyes look enormous, which is useful. Courtiers are less likely to scheme against something they find adorable."
I am not using my baby cuteness as a political shield. I refuse.
"Oh, they'll scheme anyway," Lusha said cheerfully. "But they'll feel slightly worse about it. That's half the battle."
That's not better!
The third day brought fittings. Hania had expected a seamstress. Maybe one of those magical dressmaker situations she'd read about in manhwa, where a gown appears fully formed in a swirl of light and everyone gasps at how beautiful it is.
Instead, Lusha's granddaughter turned out to be a spider the size of Hania's fist, perched on the windowsill, its abdomen weaving silk with precision.
Of course, Hania thought, watching the spider work. What did I expect? A human granddaughter? She's the Spider Queen. Her children are spiders. Her grandchildren are spiders. Everyone is spiders.
"My granddaughter," Lusha said, gesturing to the spider with clear pride. "She's been practicing formal wear for forty years. The Obelion court has never seen work like hers."
The spider skittered down from the windowsill and began circling Hania. She forced herself to stay still as the spider's legs moved in patterns that she gradually realized were measurements. Circumference of her wrist. Length of her arm. Width of her shoulders. The spider didn't touch her, but Hania could feel the thread brushing against her skin, light as air.
Don't panic, she told herself. She's Lusha's granddaughter. She's weaving you a dress. This is completely normal. I'm a baby being measured for formal wear by a spider. This is my life now.
"She's going to weave it directly on you," Lusha explained. "No seams. No fastenings. It'll move with you. You won't even know you're wearing it."
Kofery, who had been hovering near the door, edged closer. "Is that... safe?"
"Spiders have been weaving silk for four hundred million years, Kofery. We've had time to perfect it."
"I meant for her. The baby. The one who is currently being circled by a spider."
Lusha's smile widened. "My granddaughter has woven dresses for queens. She's not going to hurt a child. Unless the child hurts her first. Hania, do not bite my granddaughter."
Hania, who had briefly considered it, the spider was very close to her ear– but abandoned the thought. She sat very still as the spider worked, watching the silk appear from nowhere, feeling it settle against her skin like water.
The dress took shape slowly. A base layer of silver so pale it was almost white, then overlays of purple that deepened from lavender at the shoulders to amethyst at the hem. The spider worked from her collarbone downward, each leg moving independently, the silk flowing from her abdomen in an unbroken strand.
Hania looked down at herself as the dress formed. It was more beautiful than anything she had ever worn in either life. The silk caught the light and held it, shimmering with every breath she took.
Lusha crouched beside her, her golden eyes reflecting the fabric's glow. "You'll need to look like you belong there, little moon. The children of noble houses will be dressed in silks and velvets, their parents' fortunes pinned to their sleeves. But you—" She touched the edge of the dress, where the silver met the purple. "You'll look like you came from somewhere they can't reach."
Hania looked up at her. She's invested in this, Hania realized. She wants me to walk into that palace and make them all look at me and see something they can't touch.
"The Queen will try to assess you," Lusha continued, her voice dropping. "She'll watch how you move, how you react to the other children, how you look at her."
Kofery's voice came from the doorway, smaller than usual. "Is that... is that a threat?"
"It's a fact. The Queen of Obelion does nothing without purpose. She invited her to her great-granddaughter's birthday party, Kofery. That's not a social nicety. That's a move."
Hania sat very still as the spider finished the last line of the dress. She looked down at herself and thought: I'm going to a political event. I'm one year old. I can't walk in a straight line, can't talk or read the language. And the Queen is already playing chess with my existence.
She looked at Lusha. Then reached into her pocket and pulled out the glowing stone Dravin had given her. She held it up, letting the purple light mingle with the silver of her dress. Then she tucked the stone back into her pocket and patted it once.
"Good," Lusha said quietly. "You'll need things that are yours. Things that remind you who you are, when everyone in that palace tries to tell you who they want you to be."
Kofery, who had been watching this exchange, finally spoke. "What do I do? At the palace. What am I supposed to—what's my role?"
Lusha stood, turning to face him. For a moment, she looked at him, smiled. "You're her attendant. You carry her when she can't walk, you feed her when she's hungry, and you look at everyone who approaches her like you're one bad word away from incinerating them."
"I can't incinerate people!"
You absolutely can. I watched you fight Lusha. You set half the nursery on fire. You can definitely incinerate people.
"You're a combat mage who held his own against me for five minutes," Lusha said, echoing Hania's thoughts. "You can certainly look like you could incinerate people. It's mostly posture and eye contact. I'll teach you."
Kofery's face became terrorized, "You're going to teach me to look threatening?"
Oh, this is going to be good, Hania thought, settling back against the pillows. I need popcorn. Does this world have popcorn?
"I'm going to teach you to look like the Archmage's representative. Which is threatening, because the Archmage is threatening, and you're his. Wear your robes. Stand up straight. When someone says something you don't understand, look at them like they've just said something stupid. Which, in a court full of nobles who've never done anything harder than sit in a chair correctly, is usually true."
"That's... that's not..."
"It's politics, Kofery. You're not there to be polite. You're there to remind them that the baby they're looking at has the Archmage's blood, the Spider Queen's protection, and a man who can level a building standing three feet away. Polite gets you ignored. Polite gets your charge treated like furniture. Do you want Hania treated like furniture?"
Kofery's jaw tightened. "No."
"Good. Then learn to glare."
The night before departure, Hania lay in her crib, unable to sleep.
The dress was laid out across a chair, glowing faintly in the dark. Her stone was in her pocket, pressed against her hip. Outside her window, the Tower's eternal stars were moving in their slow orbits.
She was thinking about the Queen's letter. Her father hadn't argued or refused. Hadn't even looked annoyed, beyond his usual baseline of mild irritation at the world's continued existence.
He had burned the letter, but he had kept the summons. He had said "We're going to the palace" like it was a fact, like there had never been any other option.
I want to meet her. What does she want? Hania stared at the ceiling, watching the stars turn. What does the Queen of Obelion want with a one-year-old baby who can't even talk yet?
The door to the nursery opened. She didn't move. She had learned, over the past year, to distinguish footsteps. Father, she thought.
Dravin stopped beside her crib.
She kept her eyes closed, breathing even, the way she had learned to pretend sleep when Kofery came to check on her at night. But she felt him there. What is he doing here? He never comes to the nursery at night. He never comes to the nursery at all unless I've done something that requires him to retrieve me from somewhere I shouldn't be.
He didn't speak or touch her. Just stood, watching her sleep, or watching her pretend to sleep, she couldn't tell which.
She wanted to open her eyes. Wanted to look at him, to see what expression he was wearing when he thought no one was watching. But something held her still.
Minutes passed. She counted her breaths, kept them slow and deep. Then, very quietly, he spoke. "Your mother wanted to name you Hania."
Her breath caught. She couldn't help it. The words came out of nowhere, like he wasn't sure he was saying them at all.
My mother. The woman who had handed her to him and walked through a portal without looking back. She wanted to name me Hania.
He was quiet for so long Hania thought he had left. But she could still feel him there, still feel the weight of his attention.
Keep talking, she begged silently. Please keep talking.