Alassa's Tale: a Schooled in Magic novella

by Christopher Nuttall

  And besides, she just didn’t like Nightingale.

  “The charges against you are serious,” she said, “and you have made no attempt to present countervailing figures. Accordingly, you are hereby stripped of Saffron’s wardship and all rights over her estates. The sale of her lands will be investigated and, if found not to be in her best interests, will be reversed. You will be responsible for compensating her if it should be impossible to recover her lands.

  “Furthermore, given her bravery in coming to court, I hereby declare Saffron to have reached the age of majority and invest her with her lands, properties and titles. Neither you nor anyone else will determine her marriage. I trust this is satisfactory?”

  Saffron’s face lit up. “Thank you, Your Highness!”

  “She’s too young,” Nightingale objected. “Your Highness …”

  “My father was leading troops when he was twelve,” Alassa pointed out, sharply. “Are you saying he was too young?”

  Nightingale opened his mouth, then stopped, suddenly aware of the dangerous waters in front of him. King Randor would not be amused if he heard Nightingale question his achievements. The courtiers snickered behind their hands, amused. Whatever the outcome, they were sure of a show.

  “I accept your judgement, Your Highness,” Nightingale said, finally. He sounded so calm that Alassa would have found it hard to believe he was angry, if she hadn’t known him so well. She’d always been good at reading people. “And I wish Saffron the very best.”

  Liar, Alassa thought. Nightingale had known he was checkmated – and he’d conceded, rather than waste time trying to undo something that couldn’t be undone. King Randor might scold his daughter for ruling against his favorite, but he wouldn’t change the ruling. That would call his judgement into question. Alassa would happily listen to a sharp lecture from her father if it meant Nightingale being spited. And who knows? Perhaps other guardians will learn from your example.

  “Lady Saffron, rooms will be arranged for you in the castle,” Alassa said. “We will talk before you return to your lands.”

  She made a mental note to ensure that someone provided Saffron with some good advice before Nightingale could find a way to take revenge. Saffron was young – that was true – and she’d spent the last five years in a gilded cage. It spoke well of her that she’d managed to escape and bring her former guardian to justice, but she still had a lot to learn. And everyone would be after her hand. Alassa had seen quite a few young women self-destruct after being emancipated too early. Men seemed to have more chances to recover from their mistakes.

  The queasy sensation in her chest grew worse as she heard the next set of petitions, passing judgement or – in one case – referring the matter to her father. King Randor might have expected her to make the judgement herself, just so he could wash his hands of the matter, but the ramifications were beyond her ability to parse. She promised herself that she’d talk the matter through with her father, perhaps over dinner. It would be a chance to spend more time with him.

  “Lord Harrogate, Your Highness,” the herald said. “And Master Hovers.”

  Alassa looked up, surprised, as the two men were ushered into the room. Lord Harrogate was old enough to be her father, but somehow managed to look younger – and every inch an aristocrat. He wore fine clothes, his hair perfectly coiffed to define his status. His hand rested on his belt, very close to where his sword should be; his eyes swept the room, somehow managing to dismiss men who outranked him. Beside him, Master Hovers was clearly a merchant, a pudgy bald man in dark clothes. He looked worried, even fearful; he clutched a leather folder of his own as if it were a life preserver. And he looked terribly out of place.

  “Master Hovers has brought the case, Your Highness,” the herald said.

  “Very good,” Alassa said. She glanced at Lord Harrogate, then looked at Master Hovers. “You may begin.”

  Master Hovers opened his folder and revealed a set of promissory notes. “Your Highness,” he said. “Three years ago, Lord Harrogate approached me for a loan – one thousand gold crowns, at ten percent interest. He signed a paper promising me his estate in the city as collateral. Two years ago, he declined to repay the loan, but offered further collateral in exchange for a second loan. The same pattern repeated itself last year. Lord Harrogate owes my family a total, including interest, of four thousand gold crowns.”

  Alassa sucked in her breath. Four thousand crowns was a lot of money. There weren’t many lower-ranking noblemen who could comfortably dispose of so much cash, not at once. She was surprised Master Hovers had managed to amass so much, although those who’d managed to find new ways to use the New Learning had made fortunes. Clearly, the taxmen hadn’t realized just how much money was being made. And she really had no idea why Master Hovers had made even the first loan.

  But an estate in the city would be worth a great deal more than a thousand crowns, even in the short term, she reminded herself. The estates were rarely available, not for love or money. Or even high rank. The merchant might have hoped to sell it on for far more, or even use the estate himself.

  She met his eyes. “Why did you make the first loan?”

  Master Hovers looked down. “I was given to understand that refusing to make the loan would result in trouble, Your Highness,” he said. “My business was fragile. I was reluctant to take risks.”

  Alassa nodded in understanding. A nobleman, even an impoverished nobleman, could make a great deal of trouble for a commoner. Lord Harrogate had probably applied both the carrot – in the form of the collateral – and the stick, threatening Master Hovers to ensure he’d get the loan. And once the habit had started, it had become harder for Master Hovers to say no.

  “He approached me for another loan, this month,” Master Hovers said. “I requested, instead, repayment or the estate. He refused to give me either.”

  “He refused to give me another loan, Your Highness,” Lord Harrogate said. He had a snooty voice that grated on Alassa’s nerves. He’d probably been one of the junior courtiers who’d had dreams of marrying her, once upon a time. And then he’d probably considered trying to give Jade a very hard time. “I need the money and …”

  Alassa scowled. She knew Lord Harrogate by reputation, if nothing else. A playboy who was incapable of doing anything but indulging in wine, women and song. He’d had plenty of chances to better himself, yet he’d taken none of them. And Master Hovers was clearly an asset to the kingdom. A man who could earn enough to loan three thousand crowns – even spread out over three years – was someone to watch.

  And he might not have been able to loan the money safely, Alassa thought. She’d learnt more than she’d ever wanted about finance after the crisis in Beneficence spread into Zangaria. Master Hovers might have gambled everything on Harrogate paying him back.

  She gritted her teeth. The queasy sensation was getting worse.

  “Lord Harrogate,” she said, firmly. “You took three loans and put your estate forward as collateral. You will either repay the loans within the week or forfeit your estate to your creditors.”

  Lord Harrogate stared at her. “Your Highness …”

  “A nobleman’s word is his bond,” Alassa reminded him, sharply. Most noblemen would probably insist that it didn’t apply when the word was given to commoners, but she found it hard to care. Emily had talked about social trust, once upon a time. If society’s leaders broke their word, they also broke their trust. Why should anyone look up to them when they weren’t worth it? “You made the agreement. Did you think you would never have to honor it?”

  Lord Harrogate glared, then muttered. “Time of the month …”

  Alassa felt her temper snap. “You will repay the loans, with an additional fine of one thousand crowns, or you will forfeit your estates,” she said, flatly. She doubted he’d dare say that to the king! Alassa’s father would probably have beheaded him on the spot. “And you are formally banished from court until my father sees fit to allow you to return.”r />
  She braced herself, shaping a spell as Lord Harrogate’s hand fumbled for a sword that wasn’t there. If he lunged at her, she’d kill him … instead, he turned and strode off. The courtiers parted to allow him to leave. Alassa was almost regretful. Blasting the man to ashes would have been very satisfactory.

  “Your Highness,” Master Hovers said. “I thank you from …”

  “Yes, yes,” Alassa said, cutting him off. Her stomach was starting to hurt. She nodded to the herald. “Clear the court. The remainder of the session is canceled.”

  The herald, thankfully, didn’t argue. The chamber cleared with surprising speed. Alassa suspected that meant the courtiers were going to gossip – and evaluate her performance – but right now she found it hard to care. She felt queasy …

  “Summon my husband to my chambers,” she ordered a messenger, as she rose. “I’ll meet him there.”

  Chapter Six

  “YOUR HIGHNESS,” LADY LYE SAID. “I didn’t expect …”

  “Get out,” Alassa snapped, as she strode into her bedroom. Thankfully, the maids had already changed the bed. “Now.”

  Lady Lye stared. “I …”

  Alassa turned, allowing magic to crackle over her bare skin. “Get out!”

  The older woman blanched – perhaps recalling stories of Alassa as a little girl – then turned and hurried away. Alassa glared after her as she sat on the bed, touching the wards to confirm she was alone. Lady Lye and her ladies might be working in other parts of the suite … no, she was alone. She closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to center herself. The queasy sensation in her stomach refused to fade.

  And I messed up, she thought, sourly. Her father wouldn’t be happy that she’d ended the session ahead of time. It would be taken as a sign that something was badly wrong elsewhere or, more significantly, that Alassa was unreliable. Either way, the gossips would be chattering more and people who thought they could take advantage of whatever had happened would be laying their plans. Father will not be pleased.

  She looked up as Jade entered the chamber, wearing a sparring outfit drenched in sweat. He hadn’t even bothered to shower, let alone change. But she found it hard to care. He’d come at once and that was all that mattered. She was surprised at herself for summoning him so quickly. That too was something that might be taken as a sign of weakness.

  “Alassa,” Jade said. His voice was low, but urgent. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure,” Alassa admitted. She rubbed her chest, gently. “I felt … I felt out of sorts.”

  Jade’s eyes narrowed. He sat down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She could smell his sweat, a sign he’d been doing more than just watching the soldiers. But then, Jade was technically the king’s champion as well as the court wizard. He might not get in the ring with aristocrats who refused to bloody their hands on him, but he’d certainly spar with the common soldiers. And they wouldn’t go easy on him just because he’d married a princess.

  “What do you mean?” Jade removed his hand and touched her chest. “Should I call a healer?”

  “I don’t know,” Alassa said. Healers were bound to keep their secrets, but someone would notice a healer had visited her. Damn the bastards. “I could barely eat this morning and I just felt sick!”

  Jade’s eyes widened. “Morning sickness?”

  “I don’t know,” Alassa said, again. She hadn’t wanted to consider the possibility. It would have made her pregnancy more real, making it worse if she lost the baby again. “Is this normal?”

  She tried to think of someone – anyone – who’d both had a baby and could be trusted. But there was no one on the list. Emily, Imaiqah and her friends at Whitehall had no children, while she doubted she could rely on any of the ladies of the court to keep their mouths shut if she asked them for advice. Even her mother couldn’t be trusted, not when her father could force her to talk at any moment. And even if whoever she picked did stay quiet, someone would notice if Alassa summoned them to her chamber …

  “I can send a letter to my mother,” Jade said, doubtfully. “She’d be happy to advise.”

  Alassa kicked herself, mentally. She’d forgotten Jade’s mother. But how long would it take for a letter to reach them? Jade’s parents had made their home in Swanhaven, but his father was a wanderer. It was quite possible they were on the other side of the continent. It might be weeks before they got the letter …

  “Please,” she said. If they were in Swanhaven, the letter would reach them in a day or two. “But …”

  She looked up at Jade. “What if I am pregnant?”

  Jade hugged her. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  Alassa wasn’t sure. On one hand, having an heir so soon would cement the monarch’s position and, more importantly from her point of view, let her get the pregnancy out of the way before she had to take the throne. But, on the other hand, there were risks involved in giving birth … and, if the child was a boy, her father might try to suggest the throne go straight to him. And even that wasn’t the worst possibility. If Alassa died in childbirth, there would be no legitimate heirs left.

  “I think so,” she said, finally. She’d been raised to know she had to have a child – more than one, ideally – as soon as possible. And she wanted a child. “But … but I don’t know.”

  She glared down at her pale hand, feeling weak. Her thoughts were spinning through a storm of emotion, emotions she barely understood. She had never felt delicate before, or helpless, even when the Duchess of Iron had been using her as a hostage. And she’d beheaded her own aunt … something too many courtiers forgot, in her opinion. But now, she felt helpless, caught up in something she barely understood. Her body was changing and she didn’t like it.

  At least I can trust Jade, she thought, as she touched her chest again. How many other women can’t trust their men?

  She sucked in her breath. “Cast the spell,” she ordered. “We need to know if I really am pregnant.”

  Jade tensed. “Wouldn’t you rather call a healer?”

  Alassa shook her head. Her monthlies had stopped, but she was so irregular that her cycles were an effectively meaningless measure. She thought it had been ten weeks since she’d bled, but she didn’t know. And while it was rare for her to get ill – the Royal Bloodline laughed at colds and the flu – she had to admit it was a possibility. Perhaps she had a nasty stomach bug, one persistent enough to overcome her protections. She wanted – she needed – to know.

  “Do it,” she said. There was no risk in the pregnancy test, thankfully. She didn’t need a healer to perform the spell. She’d have done it herself, if she trusted her magic. Right now, she wasn’t sure she could cast a spell to save her life. “Please.”

  Jade hesitated, then cast the spell. A faint golden glow shimmered into life around Alassa, magic sliding through her skin and into her womb. A second later, it turned green and faded out of existence. Alassa felt tears prickling at the corner of her eyes.

  She was pregnant.

  “We’ve having a baby,” Jade breathed.

  Alassa nodded, not daring to speak. A child. A real child. A child that was growing within her womb. A child … she swallowed, hard, as the full implications struck her. Her life was never going to be the same again. She’d be a mother, with all that implied; she’d be a ruling queen with an heir waiting in the wings …

  She swallowed, hard. “How long?”

  Jade cast another spell, then frowned. “I’m not an expert, but I’d say you were at least a month or two gone.”

  Alassa snorted, rudely. Men! They were experts at casting contraception spells, but pregnancy tests? It was rare to find a man who boasted of his prowess in casting spells that were traditionally seen as womanish. But she had faith in Jade. He might not be a healer, but he knew enough healing magic to cast something as simple as a pregnancy test.

  “Two months,” she mused. Her thoughts raced. Pregnancies lasted forty weeks, didn’t they? The Royal Bloodl
ine tended to make a mockery of all predictions. “That gives us thirty-two weeks before I give birth, unless the child comes early.”

  “You might not be so far along,” Jade said. “You’d need a healer to give you a proper check.”

  Alassa blinked away her tears. Jade was right. If she was only a month into the pregnancy … she sighed, wishing it was over already and hating herself for it. She was Crown Princess, not Queen. The kingdom would survive if she took a few months off to give birth, then pass the child to a wet nurse. Unless she died in childbirth … she groaned as the implications became real. Her father would have the child, assuming the baby survived …

  She clutched Jade’s hand. “Promise me something?”

  “Anything,” Jade said.

  “If I die, and the child survives, protect it from my father,” Alassa said. She didn’t think her father would hurt the baby, particularly if his grandchild was a baby boy, but she knew better than to expect her father not to try to shape the child. “Just … just give the child a chance to grow up.”

  “I promise,” Jade said. He held her, tightly. “Your father won’t hurt him.”

  Alassa nodded. Jade didn’t have a drop of noble blood in him – despite some sycophants drumming up a family tree that included a distant relationship to Baron Gladstone – but he had power. If worse came to worst, he could take the child and run. It pained her to think about her child growing up, away from the castle and the title that would be his – or hers – by right, but at least the child would be alive and free. And who knew? Perhaps her son would return, one day, to claim his throne.

  She sighed, leaning against Jade. Perhaps she was being silly. Perhaps she’d have the pleasure of watching her son grow into a young man, or her daughter grow into a young woman, ready to take the throne when Alassa died. She wouldn’t repeat her father’s mistakes. She’d make sure her child was ready to take the throne, simply by giving him – or her – important tasks from the start. She wondered, suddenly, if she should start thinking about names, then shook her head. It was bad luck to name a child before it was born.