Evan found the queen in her private viewing balcony, overlooking the ballroom. She stood alone, watching the festivities below like a general surveying a battlefield. Her expression was calm, but her eyes missed nothing.
"Lord Carter," she said without turning.
"Your Majesty." Evan bowed.
"You've made quite an impression." She gestured to the ballroom below. "The floor. The fountain. The... everything. You're the talk of the evening."
"I didn't mean to."
"Do we ever?" She finally looked at him. In the shadowed balcony, her face was all planes and angles, her eyes dark pools. "Your control is slipping."
"It was never there to begin with."
"Then we have a problem." She gestured to the ballroom. "They see power. Uncontrolled power. Some want to use it. Some want to suppress it. All of them are... concerned."
"What do you want?" Evan asked bluntly.
"Stability. Always stability." She turned fully to face him. "Your magic is a stone thrown into a still pond. The ripples are spreading. And I need to decide: Do I try to calm the water? Or ride the waves?"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning you need training. REAL training. Not Ross's enthusiastic experiments. Not the military's pragmatic tests. Proper training. With someone who understands what you ARE."
"Who?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she said, "There's a reason your family's magic is both powerful and unpredictable. A reason you improve things rather than destroy them. A reason the Heart of Night is waking."
Evan stilled. "You know about that?"
"I know some things. Enough to be concerned." She moved to a small table, pouring two glasses of wine from a crystal decanter. "The first Carter mage didn't just have power. He had a... relationship with reality. He didn't force it to change. He persuaded it. He showed it better versions of itself."
She handed Evan a glass. The wine was deep red, almost black. "Your magic isn't about control. It's about communication. You're not breaking rules. You're suggesting improvements."
Evan thought about it. The way objects seemed to want to please him. The way his improvements felt less like commands and more like... collaborations.
"It doesn't feel like communication," he said. "It feels like chaos."
"All communication feels like chaos until you learn the language." She sipped her wine. "There's someone who might be able to teach you that language. But she doesn't come to court. You would have to go to her."
"Who?"
"A woman called the Weaver. She lives in the Silent Wood, north of here. She understands magic that... converses with the world."
"And you want me to go to her?"
"I want you to learn control. Before your lack of control becomes a crisis." Her expression was grave. "What happened tonight? The floor. The fountain. That's just the beginning. As your power grows, so will its effects. You could improve a person until they're no longer human. You could improve a building until it's no longer safe. You could improve reality itself until it's... unrecognizable."
The weight of her words settled over Evan. He'd been thinking of his magic as a personal problem. An inconvenience. But she was right. If it kept growing, kept spreading...
"What about the court?" he asked. "The requests? The demands?"
"I'll handle them. For a time." She set her glass down. "But you must go SOON. Winter closes the passes to the Silent Wood. You have a month, perhaps less."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then stay. Be a pawn in other people's games. Watch as your magic accidentally transforms the world around you. Until one day, you transform something that can't be undone."
She wasn't threatening him. She was presenting a choice. Two paths. Both difficult. Both dangerous.
Below them, the ball continued. Music played. People danced. The champagne fountain sang its new song.
Evan's improved world. Beautiful. Perfect. And utterly beyond his control.
"I'll go," he said quietly.
The queen nodded. "I'll make the arrangements. Tell no one. Not even your... friends."
"Emma—"
"Especially not Emma." The queen's expression softened slightly. "She has her own loyalties. Her own secrets. And right now, you can't trust anyone's secrets but your own."
She turned back to the balcony, dismissing him. "Enjoy the rest of the ball, Lord Carter. It may be your last taste of civilization for some time."
Evan left the balcony, the queen's words echoing in his mind. The Weaver. The Silent Wood. A month.
And: You can't trust anyone's secrets but your own.
As he re-entered the ballroom, he saw Emma talking with Julian. They were standing close, their heads together, their expressions serious. As Evan watched, Julian said something that made Emma laugh, but it was a strained sound, tight with tension.
Secrets. Everyone had them.
Even his friends.
***