Alassa's Tale: a Schooled in Magic novella

by Christopher Nuttall

  Jade kissed her head, gently. “We need to tell your father. And everyone else …”

  “Not yet,” Alassa said. Her father would probably suspect – his spies would have told him everything he needed to know – but he wouldn’t say anything. Not yet. “We should keep it to ourselves for the moment.”

  “Emily and Imaiqah, at least,” Jade said. “And my parents.”

  Alassa hesitated. She was reluctant to tell anyone, at least until the pregnancy was well underway. Hopes would be raised, hopes that would come crashing down if she lost the baby. She wasn’t sure she could bear the sympathy if she miscarried, either the genuine sympathy from her friends or the fake brand from people who stood to gain if the royal line ended with her. And yet, Jade had a point. It wouldn’t be that long before her father confronted her with the truth.

  We’re not doing anything wrong, damn it, she thought. We just don’t want any premature celebrations.

  “We’ll tell them after the healer’s checked me out,” she said, finally. She’d have to give that some thought. Maybe if she arranged a meeting with a healer during her next visit to one of the barons. Or maybe at Cockatrice. Imaiqah could summon the healer and no one would think twice about it. “And then we’ll have a due date we can tell them.”

  Jade nodded. “As you wish …”

  Alassa stood, gingerly. Her legs felt unsteady. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to walk around the chamber, determined that she wouldn’t allow her body’s weaknesses to bring her down. It was bad enough being a woman in a country where women were seen as weak – and in desperate need of male guidance – without being pregnant too. The men would treat her as if she were made of fine porcelain and do everything for her … a kind of condescension that was, in its own way, as annoying as a casual dismissal for being born female.

  Although anyone who met the twittering idiots thronging the halls in search of a husband could hardly be blamed for having a low view of women, Alassa thought nastily, or for thinking that they can’t do anything for themselves. Those idiots don’t have a brain cell between them.

  The thought made her smile, unpleasantly. It was easy to look down on the brainless beauties, girls whose only hope of a good life lay in finding a good husband. Even the ones who stood to inherit wealth and power needed a male protector if they wanted to be taken seriously, a protector who could easily become a master. And the older women – and men – held them in absolute contempt. She was glad, so glad, that she’d gone to Whitehall. The women there were encouraged to use their minds.

  And the men are taught to regard women as more than pretty faces, she told herself. Jade is a far better catch than any baron.

  She stopped, steadying herself. She was pregnant. And her world was about to change …

  No, it had changed. And the sooner she came to terms with it, the better.

  “Father isn’t going to be pleased with me,” she said, turning to face Jade. “I poked Nightingale in the eye.”

  Jade lifted his eyebrows. “Literally?”

  Alassa shrugged. “I took his ward away from him,” she said. She shrugged as she explained about Saffron and her need for a protector. “Are there any good men amongst the lesser nobility?”

  “Sir Robin, perhaps,” Jade said. “But I thought he was spoken for.”

  “Father hasn’t made up his mind,” Alassa said. Sir Robin’s service in the war – and his command of the musketmen – merited an heiress, but King Randor had seriously considered marrying him to Imaiqah. Alassa wasn’t so sure that would be a good idea. Sir Robin wasn’t the kind of man to treat his wife as a minor child, but he hadn’t been to Whitehall either. He was very much the product of his society. “And it might be better to go for someone married.”

  Jade considered it. “Sir William is married,” he said. “And Sir Topsham is … uninterested in women.”

  “I’ll put their names forward,” Alassa said. She’d have to consider the long-term implications carefully. Sir William had little to gain from marrying Saffron, but it would take him away from Alassa’s guardsmen; Sir Topsham might be uninterested in women, yet the rewards that would come with marrying Saffron might make it worth putting his inclinations aside. “She’ll get to make the final choice, at least.”

  “Just don’t pressure her,” Jade advised. “You’re still the Crown Princess. A suggestion from you might easily be taken as an order.”

  Alassa smiled. “Why don’t you take my suggestions as orders?”

  Jade stuck out his tongue. “You never take my suggestions as orders.”

  “Then I suggest you kiss me,” Alassa said, sweetly. She walked back to the bed and leaned forward. “And then …”

  Jade kissed her lightly, his hands reaching out to hold her. Alassa blinked in surprise. It was a light kiss, a gentle kiss … much like the kisses they’d shared when they’d first started courting. She’d enjoyed them at the time, she’d learned to love the way his lips made hers feel as though they were on fire, but now … they’d gone a long way beyond kissing. And yet, he was holding her as though she was fragile. She tensed, despite herself. She was not going to let him treat her like … like porcelain.

  “I’ve been pregnant for a month, at least,” she said, crossly. She knew he meant well, but … she wasn’t fragile, damn it. “And if what we were doing last night didn’t hurt the baby, kissing won’t hurt it now.”

  Jade looked reluctant. Alassa felt a hot flash of anger, mingled with grim understanding. They’d had so many moments when they’d thought she might be pregnant that neither of them wanted to do something – anything – that might harm the unborn child. And yet, she couldn’t afford to let him treat her so gently. She needed him to be her rock, not her guardian. And she wanted him.

  She placed her hands against his chest and pushed hard. Jade fell backwards, landing on the bed; she climbed on top of him, her hands running up to his head. It was easy to kiss him passionately, easy to start undoing his buttons and remove his shirt. He kissed her back, even though she could still sense a hint of reluctance. He was a good man …

  The wards twitched. Alassa froze, then rolled off Jade and sat up as the door opened and Mouse stepped in. The poor girl looked terrified, frightened out of her mind. No doubt Lady Lye had told Mouse that Alassa was in a very bad mood. If she’d realized what she’d interrupted, she might expect Alassa to blast her to ashes on the spot.

  “Your Highness,” Mouse said. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the floor. “His Majesty sends his compliments and requests that you and your husband join him for afternoon tea in the blue room.”

  Alassa sighed. “Understood,” she said. That wasn’t a request, of course. Her father’s suggestions were orders too. She supposed it was a good sign that Jade had been summoned as well. Her father wouldn’t scold her in front of witnesses. “Please inform my father that we will attend on him promptly.”

  She glanced at the clock. Two bells in the afternoon. Her father always had afternoon tea at three bells. And she had to wash and change – they both had to wash and change – before they joined him … she groaned, inwardly. They’d have to finish what they’d begun later.

  “Go,” she said, gently. There was nothing to be gained by terrifying the servants. And it wasn’t as if they needed Mouse to help them wash and dress. “We can handle ourselves.”

  Mouse curtseyed and withdrew.

  Chapter Seven

  ALASSA HAD ALWAYS BEEN PRIVATELY SURPRISED that her father – and her grandfather – had kept the blue room, at least without some extensive redecorating. Bryon the Weak had created the chamber as a refuge from an increasingly hostile kingdom, a place where – if rumors were to be believed – he had indulged in effeminate pursuits while the barons stole his kingdom. The walls were blue, the furniture was blue … everything in the room was blue. It was supposed to be relaxing, Alassa had been told, but she couldn’t help finding it unnatural. She fully intended to redecorate once she took the throne.

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nbsp; She stepped into the room and stopped, dead. Her father was sitting at the table, but he wasn’t alone. Baroness Winter Flower - Alicia! – and Lord Burrows were seated next to him, waiting for Alassa and Jade. Alassa felt her magic flare, demanding release; she forced herself to concentrate, damping it down before it lashed out of its own accord. The room’s wards might be enough to save the wretched pair, but it wouldn’t do anyone any good. She walked forward and almost stopped again, in horror, as she saw the high chair. A small baby – a toddler, really – sat beside Alicia, gurgling.

  “Alassa,” King Randor said. “And Jade.”

  Alassa found herself unable to speak. She’d known that Alicia had given birth to a boy, but … it was one thing to know, but quite another to come face to face with a child who might be a threat to the throne. To her throne. Everyone knew that Lord Burrows wasn’t interested in women, damn it. And she had no doubt that quite a few people had guessed Lord Burrows hadn’t fathered Alicia’s child. A bride could produce a child quicker than a married woman – everyone knew that – but what about a bride who was never touched by her husband?

  And they even named the boy Alexis, Alassa thought. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for common-born children to be named after the monarch or his immediate family – there were quite a few girls called Alassa in Zangaria – but it was rare amongst the aristocracy, where the search for a unique name took priority. They nailed their colors to the mast, didn’t they?

  “Please, be seated,” King Randor said. His tone was polite, but Alassa had no trouble hearing the edge in his voice that told her she had to obey. “We have much to discuss.”

  Alassa sat down, silently grateful for Jade’s reassuring presence. Her father had promised her – promised her – that Alicia and her faux husband and her bastard son would never be allowed to return to court. There was no shortage of work for them to do in Alicia’s Barony. Winter Flower had come far too close to losing the Barony of Gold title, simply through mismanagement. But King Randor had summoned them to the castle …

  She eyed the child, feeling a surge of naked hatred. A healthy baby boy … the child was a threat, no matter what her father said. Illegitimacy wasn’t always a problem, not if there was a shortage of legitimate heirs. And her father had always wanted a little boy. Her stomach churned as she considered the implications. A spare was one thing – she understood the need for an heir and a spare – but a potential competitor? Her father had always played the long game. No one would ever believe that Lord Burrows had fathered the brat, leaving the gate open for the king to recognize his illegitimate son.

  That child is a civil war waiting to happen, she thought, numbly. She took a sandwich, silently grateful that they hadn’t been summoned to a proper meal. Her stomach was churning savagely. She doubted she could even nibble a piece of bread, let alone roast meat and potatoes. And father brought him to the castle.

  Alicia didn’t look happy, Alassa noted. The blonde girl – only a few years older than Alassa herself – looked worried, as if she knew she was a pawn in the king’s games. But then, she’d always been a pawn in the king’s games. Alassa had no idea why her father had chosen to seduce his ward – she hadn’t even known about the affair until it had exploded into the light – but Alicia had been powerless to resist. Even now, with a barony under her control, Alicia still had her limits. Her husband, a known royalist, would see to keeping her under his thumb.

  She studied the older man for a long moment. Like most of his ilk – the men who preferred men to women – he wore an exaggerated masculinity like a shroud. His clothes were cut to show off his muscles, his hair was designed to draw attention to an iron face and strong jaw … he was handsome enough, she supposed, but there was something oddly unreal about it, as if he was trying too hard. She understood, all too well. A man could like men instead of women and no one would care – much – but a man couldn’t afford to look or act like a woman. Being effeminate was the kiss of death.

  “You handled the judgements well,” King Randor said, once he’d eaten a couple of sandwiches himself. “I have not seen fit to overturn any of your judgements.”

  Alassa nodded, although she wasn’t impressed. The king couldn’t overturn the judgements, not without calling his own authority into question. But she was surprised he hadn’t quibbled over Nightingale and Saffron. Surely, he could have done something to keep her from hearing the case, let alone passing judgement. Perhaps he’d wanted to clip Nightingale’s wings, without making it too obvious that he’d wanted it to happen. The prospect of Nightingale attaining lands and powers of his own was unbearable. Or …

  She shrugged. It wasn’t as if Nightingale had anywhere to go. He had too many enemies to survive without the king’s favor and he knew it.

  “You did penalize Harrogate a little too much,” the king added. “A more reasonable repayment schedule might have saved some of his face.”

  Alassa met his eyes. “If he doesn’t repay his loans, and we let him get away with refusing to repay his loans, what will it do to us in the long run?”

  She pressed on before her father could answer. “And what if someone else had bought the debt?”

  It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it had to be faced. Harrogate might have been able to get away with it, in the short term. But his creditor might have sold the debt to someone else, someone with the power to force Harrogate to pay or surrender his estate … it could have gotten very messy. In hindsight, perhaps she should have purchased the debt herself. An estate in the city might have come in handy, either as a private place for herself or as a home she could gift to one of her friends. But she hadn’t thought of it in time.

  “Yes,” King Randor agreed. “But Harrogate is already complaining to his fellows.”

  Alassa shrugged. “Is anyone likely to fight for him?”

  “No,” King Randor told her. “But we don’t need more discontent.”

  He poured himself a glass of wine and took a sip. “I have a specific task for you,” he said, flatly. “I want you to go on a state visit to Harkness. Baroness Harkness.”

  “She’s a baroness now?” Alassa scowled at the table. “I thought she’d been stripped of rank and title?”

  “She’s also the only one with a fair claim to the title,” King Randor pointed out. “And she has yet to have a child.”

  Alassa made a face. Baroness Lillian Harkness had been involved in the attempted coup, but King Randor had been reluctant to kill a woman of noble blood. Instead, he’d stripped Baroness Harkness of her lands and title – of everything – and vested them in her nonentity of a husband instead. The proud and domineering woman, one of the most independent noblewomen in the kingdom, had been reduced to a charity case, utterly dependent on her husband. It was crueller, perhaps, than executing her outright. Alassa found it difficult to believe that Baroness Harkness wouldn’t bear a grudge.

  “She doesn’t have any reason to like us,” Alassa pointed out, dryly. “And most of her clients are still loyal to her personally. What can I offer her?”

  Her father frowned. “The slow restoration of her lands, if she agrees to behave herself,” he said. “And a place at court, come the next season.”

  And if there wasn’t a prospect of another revolution amongst her clients, you’d have kept her at court since the coup, Alassa thought. If she has a child …

  “We may need to offer her more,” she said, out loud. “Perhaps if we were to recognize her as the dowager baroness …”

  “She’s too cunning a woman to accept an empty title,” King Randor said. “And yet, she needs careful supervision.”

  “Which her husband cannot provide,” Alassa said. “She really should be kept here.”

  She smiled, rather coldly. Baron Harkness wasn’t exactly of low birth, but he was quite a few steps down the social ladder from his wife. Alassa had no idea why Lillian’s parents had agreed to the match, although she could see a few advantages. It would be hard for the husband to control his wife, a
t least while the lands and titles were vested in her rather than him. And he was such a milksop that formal control of the estates probably wasn’t enough to allow him to control his wife.

  “We don’t want to push the remainder of the barons into outright defiance,” King Randor reminded her. “It might be hard to control.”

  He took a breath. “You’ll stay there long enough to hold a formal court and assess the situation,” he told her. “If you feel we can safely allow the woman to regain some of her powers, we can do so. If not … either way, I want her to attend court next season. I need to discuss her successor with her before it’s too late.”

  Alassa nodded, curtly. Lillian Harkness didn’t have children. The nasty part of Alassa’s mind insisted that her husband was too weak to give her children, although the royal family wasn’t the only noble bloodline with low fertility. And if Lillian Harkness died before a successor had been nominated … there would be problems. Real problems. Alassa knew, all too well, that a dispute over who should claim the barony could easily turn violent.

  “She does have a handful of distant relatives,” Alassa pointed out, after a moment. “And I don’t think any of them were attainted.”

  “No,” King Randor agreed. “But none of them live within the barony either.”

  That wasn’t a concern when you gave Emily Cockatrice, Alassa thought, darkly. You liked the idea of someone being unable to handle their new estates.

  “If one of them meets with my approval, they’ll be declared the formal successor and trained in estate management,” her father said. “Naturally, this could cause problems of its own.”

  “Yeah,” Alassa said. “Lillian might have a child of her body.”

  King Randor’s eyes narrowed, although she wasn’t sure if he was irked at her pointing out a valid concern or her informality. A child would change everything, not least because a child’s claim to the land and titles couldn’t be superseded. And if someone had already been trained as the heir – in the full expectation they would succeed Lillian Harkness when she died – it could get ugly. It had certainly managed to get ugly in the past.