“I don’t think it was the necromancers,” Emily said, dragging her thoughts back to the topic at hand. “And I don’t see how King Jorlem benefits from arranging your death. Can you?”
Alassa shook her head.
“So,” Emily said. “Who does that leave?”
She scowled, thoughtfully. “Who was next in line to the throne before you were born?”
“The Duke of Iron–my uncle,” Alassa said. “But he’s not much younger than my father. If he took the throne, he wouldn’t be on it for very long before death took him. He did marry a younger woman, but they never managed to have children.”
Emily could envisage a royal uncle killing the princess, then the King, just so he could take the throne, but surely someone else would have considered the possibility. And besides, presumably the duke couldn’t lie to his brother. Any plot would have been sniffed out before it was too late.
“He’s a good man,” Alassa added. “And he spends most of his time near the border anyway. He dislikes coming in to Court.”
“I like him already,” Emily said. They shared a smile. “Who else is there?”
Alassa considered. “There are the Nine Barons,” she said, after a moment. “They have some claim to the throne, but it is very thin. The strongest would be Baron Silver, at least by marriage; he’s my mother’s brother. But she was the youngest child in his family, so she wouldn’t have been very important if she hadn’t married my father.”
“I’m confused,” Emily admitted. She rubbed her forehead. “Baron Silver is your uncle, right? Your mother’s brother.” Alassa nodded. “Doesn’t that give him a claim to the throne?”
“No, although he could try to claim a regency,” Alassa explained. “The other barons would unite against him if he tried a blatant power grab.”
“So your father married the baron’s daughter,” Emily mused. “Couldn’t you marry one of their sons?”
“It would put one of their children on the throne,” Alassa reminded her. “Even as consort, he’d have a disturbing amount of influence. The other barons wouldn’t stand for it.”
Emily rolled her eyes. Clearly, King Randor hadn’t hesitated to marry a baron’s daughter, but princesses had to put up with different rules. Although it was possible that they had a point; a king could seek his pleasure elsewhere, while a queen had to remain faithful to her husband. It all seemed absurd to her. Why couldn’t Alassa simply find someone to impregnate her and then have no further contact with him?
“Because they wouldn’t have been sealed and brought into the Royal Bloodline,” Alassa explained, when Emily asked. “And besides, they would want to know who had fathered my child. Who knows what could happen in the future?”
“You could marry a commoner,” Emily suggested. “Someone who…”
“You really are from somewhere different,” Alassa said, in tones of absolute disbelief. “What do you think that would do to the bloodlines?”
Emily wondered just how long that would last. If commoners had been getting wealthier since Bryon and Alexis III–even before Emily had started introducing her innovations–they would eventually start demanding a greater say in how the money was spent. Or, for that matter, offering to meet noble debts in exchange for marrying into quality. Emily had no idea how stable such a marriage would be, if one had been born noble and the other a commoner, but she suspected that it would happen. And then…
Introducing new blood might be just what the nobility needed. Inbreeding had severely damaged aristocracies in the past. But they’d have to get over their prejudices first.
“So you really have to choose between marrying an outsider and praying that it doesn’t lead you into trouble, or remaining unmarried,” Emily said. She shook her head a moment later. “No, you can’t remain unmarried.”
“No,” Alassa agreed. She lowered her eyes for a long moment. “Did you see that it was Hedrick who learned magic?”
Emily nodded.
“The crown prince is rarely trained in formal magic,” Alassa said. “I was only allowed to go to Whitehall because I have no siblings. Ideally, I would have taken the throne and my sister would have been my magical support. People…worry about the effect of sorcery on their ruler’s mind.”
She smiled, ruefully. “My father isn’t that powerful,” she added, “or perhaps he would have taught me himself. As it is, people worry more about sorceresses. They think that women with power are dangerous.”
Emily snorted. That had been true in her world’s history, too. The Romans and Greeks had feared powerful women, while in medieval Europe the mere accusation of witchcraft had often been enough to condemn even the most aristocratic of women. But here, they might have a point. Not all of the full-fledged sorcerers she had met had been stable–and necromancers were completely insane. And she’d heard of sorcerer-kings who had allowed their lust for power to overwhelm their common sense.
“They expect a strong man to take you in hand,” she said, quietly. How could anyone think like that? But if they’d known Alassa while she was a brat, they might have had a point about that too. A year ago, the barons had probably feared what would happen if Alassa had been allowed to take the throne. “And to rule in your stead, if necessary.”
“Yes,” Alassa said. Her face twisted into a snarl. “Bastards!”
Emily nodded in sympathy. Zangaria–and the rest of the Allied Lands–seemed to be governed by sexist principles. Emily found them outrageous and stupid, not least because she knew that there were plenty of queens who had governed successfully in Earth’s history. But Zangaria had never had a female queen–and it did have a tradition that women were supposed to follow their husbands. Whoever married Alassa would inherit a ready-made power base he could use to make himself very prominent indeed.
And if they’d known her before she went to Whitehall–and they would have known her–they might have been right to worry.
She turned and looked out of the window, watching as farmland gave way to tiny hamlets before returning to farmland. Most farms were small, worked by hand and animal power, despite the prevalence of magic in the world. Emily had sketched out plans for steam engines that would transform Zangaria–and then the rest of the planet–along with several other ideas that craftsmen might be able to turn into something workable. But it wouldn’t always be beneficial, she knew. The cotton gin had been invented just in time to make slavery economically profitable again.
A handful of peasants were working in the field, not bothering to look up as the procession flashed by. Emily wondered at their dull clothes and permanently tired expressions, wondering why magic wasn’t used to help them. But she knew the answer to that; even the simplest of healing spells consumed a surprising amount of energy. If every magician in Whitehall tried to offer healing without fee, they’d drain themselves overnight and accomplish very little. And the peasants, having a very hard life, would age rapidly. Living in filth didn’t help.
She shuddered as they raced past a farmhouse that was really more like a shack. Little children were running around, almost all naked. Even the ones that wore some clothes were wearing nothing more than loincloths. She caught sight of a woman working at a spinning wheel and shuddered as she realized that the woman couldn’t be much older than Emily herself. Her belly was swelling with yet another pregnancy.
Jade had asked Emily to marry him at seventeen, just below legal age on Earth. It had never really sunk into Emily’s mind that legal age in the Allied Lands was defined as after a girl started her first period. But then, none of her school friends had been married…the girl she’d seen, for a brief moment, hadn’t won the genetic lottery. Without magic, without money, she’d simply been married off as early as possible. Emily doubted that she would live more than another ten years.
Maybe you’re wrong, she told herself. But she doubted it.
She must have dozed off, for the next thing she knew was that the carriage had stopped and someone was banging on the door. Emily opened the
door and jumped down to the ground, then turned to help Alassa step down. They were in the midst of a city, with mountains rising up all around them. Oddly, there were only a handful of people staring at the royal party, but Emily found it something of a relief. Alassa didn’t seem to care.
“Welcome to the Republic of Tarn,” Lady Barb said. “We planned to stop here for lunch, but we don’t have much time so eat quickly.”
She meant it too, Emily realized, as she followed Lady Barb into a small inn. There were no city fathers waiting for them, no ceremonies they had to endure; all they had to do was eat and drink. Emily checked the food automatically, then started to eat as much as she could. The meal was simple–Nightingale could be heard grumbling that it wasn’t suitable for a princess–but surprisingly tasty. Besides, the inn was much cleaner than the accommodation in the last castle. Even the toilets were clean.
“The city fathers have laws enforcing hygiene,” Lady Barb explained, when Emily asked. Being away from the last castle seemed to have improved her mood, although magic crackled around her protectively. “Anyone who throws their slops into the streets gets publicly beaten. Innkeepers are expected to keep their dwellings clean. Those who are caught flouting the law are sold into slavery and made to clean the city.”
Emily shuddered. It sounded awful. On the other hand, the city fathers did have a point. Poor hygiene accounted for most of the epidemics that had ravaged the medieval world, before medical science had advanced to the point where germs were understood–although it had taken longer for everyone to accept that something as simple as washing one’s hands after going to the toilet could help prevent the spread of disease. Some doctors had been surprisingly reluctant to accept it, even though they’d been doctors. Didn’t they know that their first duty was to their patients?
And Tarn seemed to smell much better than Dragon’s Den.
“The Republic sits between Alluvia and Red Rose,” Lady Barb added, clearly taking advantage of the opportunity to educate Alassa about the city. “Simply put, the city can support itself through careful farming, but it cannot hope to expand into either kingdom–both are happy to leave it independent as a buffer between them. It also allows for a great deal of trade that might not be officially acknowledged.”
Smuggling, Emily silently translated. And if it was a republic, was it democratic?
“The city fathers are the heads of the most powerful families in the city,” Lady Barb said, when Emily asked how the city was governed. “The rest of the population doesn’t have any say in decisions, unless the council is deadlocked and they have to put the matter to the free population. But the city fathers are themselves bound by the law.”
Emily suspected that it was actually a great deal more complicated than that, but she got the general idea. Not a democracy in the sense she understood it, then, but perhaps a more lawful state than an absolute monarchy. And besides, the city fathers would know that they didn’t dare push people too far. The results might be disastrous.
“Rather like Dragon’s Den,” Alassa said, clearly remembering their brief meeting with the city fathers after they’d been kidnapped. “The council has absolute power as long as it doesn’t push too far.”
“True,” Lady Barb agreed. “And isn’t that true of every government?”
She waved to the innkeeper and paid out a small pile of gold coins. The innkeeper carried them over to a set of scales, weighed them carefully, then totted up what they owed. Emily watched in some amusement, remembering her first experience with gold coins; none of them, even the ones issued by a single kingdom, were standardized. Naturally, their value tended to fluctuate too. It didn’t help that various alchemists had actually succeeded in turning lead into gold, although it didn’t last long and was easily detectable with the right spells. Professor Thande had claimed that turning gold into lead lasted longer, but apparently it wasn’t a skill that was in great demand.
I’m going to have to set up a proper mint, Emily thought, as Lady Barb motioned for them to stand up and head out to the carriages. And then standardize all of the currency.
There was no fort blocking the road into Red Rose, somewhat to Emily’s surprise, before she realized that any large raiding party would have to come through Tarn before it reached the next kingdom. The mountains would make it harder for bandits to operate, although Emily suspected that they would never be eradicated completely. But if both kingdoms were quietly leaving the mountains as a barrier between them, it was likely that they rarely patrolled the area. The mountain folk wouldn’t have to turn to banditry to survive.
The countryside seemed marshy, almost completely abandoned. Emily looked out of the carriage as the sun started to set in the sky, wondering if she’d been wrong about the mountains being the only natural barrier. The marshes would provide another problem for an invading army, as well as being almost completely devoid of supplies. A small party might be able to survive–the sergeants had taught Emily what plants could be safely eaten and how to obtain water–but an army would find itself in serious trouble. No doubt the inhabitants of Tarn were quietly delighted that Red Rose couldn’t really expand towards them either.
Emily sighed as the stars started to appear in the sky. There was no such thing as being able to read the future in the stars–or so she had been told–but she had learned how to use some of them to navigate. Several of the route marches the sergeants had taken them on had been in pitch darkness. This world didn’t have streetlights pushing back the night. And the countryside was often infested with creatures that only came out when the sun had vanished below the horizon.
“Traveling at night isn’t safe,” Alassa said. “But we can’t stop until we reach the Red Castle.”
“As long as we can stay on the road,” Emily muttered. Outside, it was so dark that she could see almost nothing outside the carriage. Even the use of one of the night vision spells didn’t help much. “What happens if we drive into the bog?”
“We die,” Alassa said. “Hardly anyone lives here and they’re never friendly to outsiders. They normally just ignore everyone, even tax collectors. But then, they have very little to collect.”
Emily scowled and closed her eyes. God alone knew how long it would be before they reached the Red Castle, but she might as well try to get some sleep. There would be dancing when they arrived and she would be expected to join in. Or would she? She hadn’t had to dance at Alluvia.
Wait and see, she told herself, and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
WAKE UP,” ALASSA HISSED. “YOU’LL WANT to see this.”
Emily opened her eyes and stared out of the window. The Red Castle was rising up in front of them, a towering fairy-tale structure that seemed too fragile to be real. It couldn’t possibly be intended for war, she decided. She wasn’t even sure how it managed to remain stable. It shouldn’t be able to exist.
Magic, she thought, remembering Whitehall’s interior. A wizard did it.
The castle seemed to be glowing with an eerie red light, casting an odd sheen over the surrounding buildings. There didn’t seem to be a full-sized city, merely a handful of buildings and guardposts. Emily guessed that the castle had actually been designed as a place for the royal family to visit when they wanted a break and would therefore be some distance from the capital city. But they couldn’t rely on it in wartime. A single mana-eating spell would cripple the spells holding the castle together and it would simply collapse under its own weight.
She felt the waves of magic as the carriage clattered over the drawbridge and into a large courtyard. There was more magic running through the air than anywhere Emily had ever been, apart from Whitehall. And it felt oddly familiar, reminding her of the nexus that existed under the school, where she’d fought and beaten Shadye. Had the Red Castle been built on another nexus? The advantages of such a position were obvious–and they might explain why the castle itself was so fragile. There would be no way to take down its wards without inside help.
/> Which was precisely what Shadye had at Whitehall, Emily thought. The memory still horrified her. He had me.
The carriage stopped and she clambered out, followed by Alassa. Neither of them looked their best, Emily realized, wondering if they would be expected to change into something more comfortable before they met the King. She glanced at her watch and realized it was almost midnight. Unless the time zone was different in Red Rose…she scowled as she realized there was no way to know. The timekeeping system here didn’t seem to be as well-organized as the one on Earth.
“It has been decided,” Nightingale said self-importantly, “that you will have time to change before you meet the King.” He waved to a handful of maids. “Take them to their rooms and help them to change.”
Lady Barb followed them as they were escorted down long crystal corridors and into a single oversized room. Like Whitehall, the interior of the Red Castle was far larger on the inside than on the outside. Someone had probably spent years mapping out the basic structure, creating a building that was effectively an Object of Power in its own right. Like Whitehall, it might even have a form of intelligence, perhaps enough to manipulate its own structure. It was a true wonder of her new world.
Emily sighed when she saw that the room had a proper bathtub, large enough for four girls to sit comfortably. Baths were rare at Whitehall; the only time she’d been able to have a proper soak had been when they’d gone swimming as part of Martial Magic. But there was no time to enjoy it; she pulled off her traveling clothes, stood briefly under the shower to wash away the dirt and grime, and then donned the next dress. Alassa pushed the maids away, used a spell to do her hair and then pulled on her own dress.
Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) Page 12
