Emily shivered. The true target of the first kidnap had been Emily herself, with Alassa as the innocent bystander–although she couldn’t blame King Randor for thinking otherwise. Apart from the grandmaster, Void and Emily herself, no one knew the truth. And then Lady Barb had raised the question of just who had been targeted by the charmed maid. And there was no way to know if the cockatrice had deliberately targeted the royal procession or if it had just been hunting for lunch.
King Randor pulled her close, close enough for her to feel his beard pricking against his skin, and whispered in her ear. “We’ll talk later,” he said, too softly for anyone else to hear. “And you are welcome.”
He sat back and motioned for Emily to stand on the other side of the throne from the princes. Alassa’s face remained expressionless, but Emily read her relief as she relaxed slightly. Emily’s first meeting with her father could have been disastrous and they both knew it. The king looked up, his gaze sweeping the hall, and then smiled at his nobles. It was a smile that suggested a certain amusement at their expense.
“It is Our wish that We shall hold a proper dance to welcome the princess home,” King Randor said. “And all of you are welcome to stay.”
And he will carefully note the names of whoever doesn’t stay, Emily thought, as the minstrels came from a side door. The throne room was easily large enough for a dance, although it struck her as odd to combine the two functions. But then, perhaps the castle simply didn’t have too many large rooms. She looked up at the curtains propped against the wall and realized that someone could hide the throne without too much effort. Maybe the mere act of hiding it turned the throne room into a simple hall.
A maid caught her hand and pressed a piece of parchment into it. Emily stared at it blankly, seeing a list of dance names and nothing else. There were twenty-three dances listed in all; she realized, as King Randor clapped his hands and dispelled the formal atmosphere, that Alassa was meant to share one with each of the princes, and then perhaps use the final dance to imply favor. Or perhaps share it with her father or uncle instead.
“Ah… Lady Emily,” a voice said. Emily looked up to see a young man, barely a year older than her, looking at her nervously. He was handsome, in a bland kind of way, wearing a simple black tunic. “I am Brain, apprentice to Court Wizard Zed. Can I ask for the honor of marking your dance card?”
Understanding clicked. In order to avoid the embarrassment of choosing a new partner between dances, the men would come up to the women and mark their cards for each dance, reducing confusion during the actual dancing. Alassa was already surrounded by princes, each one trying to put their name in as quickly as possible. It didn’t seem as if Alassa was allowed to decline, but then she did have to share a dance with each of them. And they were all begging for the second dance too.
“You may,” Emily said. Brain didn’t look like a nobleman who thought he was god’s gift to womankind. Besides, she had no idea of who she could and couldn’t dance with, at least according to standard protocol. Some of the barons couldn’t dance with the daughters of the newly-created Earls, although the logic escaped her. “Would you like the first dance?”
He marked his name on the card, then waited beside her as several other young men came up to add their own names. Emily felt oddly flattered and yet flustered by the whole experience; how many of them wanted to dance because they liked her and how many of them were just eager to tell their friends they had danced with the Necromancer’s Bane? She caught sight of the Court Wizard standing beside the throne and shivered inwardly as Zed stared back at her with a hint of abiding dislike. Had he been the one who had bungled Alassa’s early magical education?
And, if so, had he done it deliberately?
“You’ll have to point people out to me,” she said, as the music started to play. “Who is the stone-faced man beside that young girl?”
“That’s the Duke of Iron,” Brain said, as they took their places. “He’s the King’s younger brother and chief defender of the realm. The woman is his wife.”
Emily nodded. The Duke of Iron didn’t seem as handsome as King Randor–he had a nasty scar on his face that he seemed to have decided to keep, despite the existence of spells that could have removed it–but there was something about him that Emily couldn’t help liking. His wife was clearly younger than him, yet she was obviously devoted to the duke. Her bright red hair spilled down over a gown that was clearly held in place by magic, or the stares of every young man in the hall.
The other princes had had no trouble in finding other partners, mainly the daughters of rich and powerful noblemen. Brain identified a handful of them for her, including Baron Silver–the queen’s brother–and Baron Holyoake, who was apparently famous for great voyages in his younger days. Zangaria had not been able to set up any colonies away from the main continent–the natives had been too tough–but apparently it had turned a fading baronetcy into a powerful family once again.
“Zed wishes to talk to you later,” Brain added. “He wants to know how you beat a necromancer.”
Emily scowled as the dance–a formal waltz–started. Everyone seemed to want to know the answer to that question, but all of her reasons for keeping it to herself continued to apply. Given someone with enough magic to experiment–and the basic concept–the results could be disastrous. Emily knew that magic could be used to split atoms. Who knew what else could be done when a magician started to poke around with the whole idea?
“I’d be more interested in talking to him about other subjects,” she muttered, using a privacy ward to ensure that no one could overhear them. “What sort of magician is he?”
“An Alchemist,” Brain explained. “His whole career has been spent studying and improving the Royal Bloodline.”
He leaned closer. “But I can’t tell you anymore,” he stage-whispered. “Big secret that, very big secret. Unless you have something to bargain with.”
“We’ll see,” Emily said. She did want to know just what went into the Royal Bloodline, but she might not have to bargain to find out. “And thank you for the dance.”
“You’re welcome,” Brain said. “Feel free to come visit us at any time.”
Emily had to smile. “I will,” she said. She allowed her smile to get wider as he flushed. “And thank you for the dance.”
The dancing lasted until very late, unsurprisingly, but eventually it was all over and Emily was escorted up to her bedroom. This time, she wouldn’t be sharing with Alassa; Emily had been given guest quarters suitable for a royal princess. She kept her private thoughts–that any hotel on Earth that showed such lack of concern for hygiene would be closed down–to herself and stumbled into bed. At least the punishing journey was over. And tomorrow she could begin to explore in earnest.
And with that thought, she went to sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
EMILY’S ENTIRE BODY ACHED WHEN SHE crawled out of bed the following morning. One thing that was rarely mentioned in the historical novels she’d read was that carriages had almost no suspension–and, despite the spells that made the ride smoother, it always took a toll on the passengers. She stood up, glanced at her watch and then headed for the washroom. It might have had cold running water–the kingdom didn’t seem to have hot water on tap–but she could heat it up using magic. She just needed a soak.
Thirty minutes later, she pulled herself out of the bath, used another spell to dry herself and reached for the chest before stopping, appalled. There was a cockatrice inside! It should have been sealed in its own private compartment, held firmly in stasis, but she’d weakened the charms holding the pocket dimension together when she’d altered the entrance to snatch up the creature. She would probably have to open it very carefully in a zoo and then try to snatch the chest away before the outraged monster could destroy it–and her.
Opening one of the wardrobes, she found a handful of courtly dresses and a couple that she suspected were for daily use. The material felt odd to her fingers–it took her a
moment to realize that they were made from something completely unfamiliar–but she had no difficulty pulling one of the dresses on. Glancing in the mirror, she smiled at her own reflection and then jumped as the door opened. She’d been too tired to ward it before collapsing into bed. Emily spun around to see two maids, both looking young and alarmingly cheerful. And, she realized grimly, bound with loyalty and obedience spells.
“We’re here to do your hair, Milady,” the lead maid said. “The queen insisted on it.”
Emily swallowed the objection that came to mind. The maids had their orders and they would carry them out, or die trying. It was easy to fix her hair using magic–and she’d certainly never been interested in spending hours in the salon back when that had been an option–but having servants was a sign of wealth and power. Besides, magic did have its limitations.
“You look lovely, Milady,” the maid said, twenty minutes later. She’d braided Emily’s hair so it fell down her back in a single long plait, then rubbed something on her skin that had made it paler. “The young men will be fawning over you.”
“I doubt it,” Emily said. All of the princes would be fawning over Alassa. But then, she had been warned that she would be getting marriage proposals from people who just wanted her for her genes, literally. And Jade had proposed to her. “But thank you.”
She’d barely had time to notice the interior of the castle when she’d been escorted to her chambers. Now, with the maids leading her down to the breakfast hall, she had a chance to see chambers filled with strange artefacts and endless rows of suits of armor, positioned neatly against the wall. She’d seen something similar in Whitehall, but they’d been charmed to act as part of the school’s defenses. Were these suits of armor also charmed, or were they just part of a historical display? Although she could imagine someone stopping to take the swords or the maces and using them as real weapons.
The breakfast hall was almost identical to the others she’d seen along the journey, apart from the massive coat of arms hanging from the wall. Zangaria’s official crest consisted of a pair of swords crossed over a magic wand and a crown, implying that force of arms had won the kingdom and force of arms would keep it. Alexis III would probably have agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment. Alassa was sitting in front of her parents, talking to them too softly for Emily to hear. Her father stood up and beckoned Emily to a seat.
“Please, eat,” he said, as he sat down again. “We do not need to stand on ceremony here.”
“Thank you,” Emily said. It was a great concession, even if she was Alassa’s friend. But then, royal protocol had never really been designed for someone like her, someone who could fit into so many different categories. “And thank you for the dresses in the room.”
Queen Marlena smiled. “I was told that you had few dresses,” she said. “You are welcome to borrow or take any of them.”
King Randor smiled affectionately at his wife, then looked at Emily. “Lady Barb informs me that you have a cockatrice in your chest,” he said, bluntly. “Is it safe there?”
“I think it probably needs to be decanted, sooner rather than later,” Emily said. The enchanter who had created the chest had told her that it would last indefinitely, but that had been before Emily had started fiddling with the spells to trap the monster. And if it did somehow burst out…what would happen? At best, it would be trapped in Emily’s chambers. “Would you like it?”
“Zed wants it for his experiments,” King Randor said. “You are aware, of course, that blood from such creatures is among the most powerful magical substances in the world?”
Emily nodded, then scowled. “It’s a living creature,” she said. “Do you really want to kill it? Can you kill it?”
“Drowning works,” King Randor said. “And there are some spells that befuddle the creature long enough for it to be killed by other means. You may have invented a new one.”
He shook his head. “Still, the creature is yours,” he added. “Sell it to Zed, if you want, or keep it as a nasty surprise for anyone who breaks into your chest. You wouldn’t be the first sorceress to do something like that.”
Queen Marlena spoke into the silence. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Lady Emily,” she said, nodding to Alassa. “Tell me about yourself.”
Emily hesitated, then gave her the bare bones of the story the grandmaster had cooked up to explain her existence. It was understandable, he’d told her, that she’d want to skirt around the subject of her father, particularly if her mother had been unfaithful. Bastardry was a touchy subject among the nobility, and among the wealthy merchants. The queen didn’t sound if she believed Emily completely, but she said nothing. Besides, she would think she knew what Emily was lying about.
“My daughter and my wife will be looking at clothes for the Confirmation,” King Randor said, after they finished breakfast. “Perhaps, Lady Emily, you would give me the honor of your company?”
It wasn’t a request, Emily knew. She said goodbye to Alassa, who didn’t seem too pleased at the prospect of spending hours with the tailors, and followed the king through a set of passageways that seemed barely wide enough to accommodate his form. A set of wards barred their way, only to be banished by a word from the king himself. Others protected his privacy, Emily realized, as she felt the familiar muffling presence. She hadn’t really been aware of Whitehall’s wards after the first few weeks; in time, she assumed, she would get used to these too.
“This is my private study,” the king said, as he led her through a stone door. “It’s location is unknown to everyone but myself and my daughter. Even my wife doesn’t come in here.”
Emily wasn’t sure if she should believe him or not. He’d certainly been casual about showing her to the study, but then–the wards would make it harder for her to retrace her steps later. And there were plenty of rooms in Whitehall that could only be accessed by people with the right level of permission–the female dormitories, for one.
The study itself was a comfortable shambles, illuminated by a single magical light. Two chairs were positioned beside a heavy desk, covered with parchments and a handful of quills. A large sofa was positioned against one wall, underneath a bookcase that held a handful of elderly tomes. Emily couldn’t help taking a look at them, only to scowl in disappointment as she realized that most of them were written in the same ancient script as the book Void had given her. The ones that were written in the standard speech seemed to be nothing more elaborate than family trees.
“Alexis II started a project to calculate those among the nobility who might be able to join the Royal Bloodline,” King Randor explained. He picked a set of parchments off the nearest chair as he spoke. “His idea was that eventually the nobility would be cleansed of all imperfections and be as close to the Faerie as mortal flesh and blood could be. We are still working on it today.”
He stepped back and motioned for Emily to take the seat, then sat down facing her. “Do you know just how much trouble you have caused?”
“Yes,” Emily said, her mouth suddenly dry. The wards pressed down on her mind, interfering with her ability to think clearly, or work magic. “I know.”
“You almost killed my daughter,” King Randor added. “Do you know what the penalty is for causing the death of the heir apparent?”
He went on before Emily could shape an answer. “Death by slow torture, then hanging,” he informed her. “Accident it might have been, but there’s nothing in the law about it being an accident.”
She had gotten off lightly, Emily knew. By almost any reasonable standard, she should have been expelled, or handed over to Zangaria for trial. The thrashing she’d received from the Warden had left her sore for several days, but it had been pitiful compared to what she should have been given as a punishment.
“And then you saved her life. And you helped her become a better person,” the king added. “And yet you have also caused upheaval in my kingdom. Where is it going to end?”
Emily winced. King Rupert had a
sked the same question.
“In a better world,” she said. She hoped desperately that the king would believe her. “Everything I have introduced has been for the best.”
“Not everyone would agree,” King Randor said, mildly. “You may be amused to discover that the recent…disagreement between Baron Holyoake and the city of Watertown was made worse by broadsheets written and published by people using the ideas you invented. Or, for that matter, that slander about the baron’s wife was turned into a paper attacking her and freely distributed around the city. And all of them were written in your new letters. Which are spreading like wildfire, by the way.”
Emily didn’t trust herself to say anything. English letters were so much simpler than anything the locals had invented for themselves that they would definitely spread like a fire, transforming everything they touched. It took years for a reasonably intelligent person to learn the basics of the Empire’s written script; English letters could be learned in a few months. There was no reason why farmers, even serfs on the land, couldn’t learn. And it lent itself to transliteration easily, even if there were several different ways of spelling the same word in standard use. Sooner or later, someone like Dr. Johnston would try to codify them all, but for the moment everything was in flux.
“The Scribes have done better than the Accountants,” King Randor added. “They, at least, were quick to embrace the printing press. There’s more work for them now than there was a year ago and they’re pleased about that. But tell me…how long will that last?”
“There will always be people too lazy to work for themselves,” Emily said, finally. “And there will be plenty of other jobs for them as the new letters spread.”
Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) Page 18
