Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series)

by Christopher Nuttall

  The prisoner looked up at them as Lady Barb fixed the light ball over his head. Emily had barely had a chance to look at him when she’d been attacked; now, she realized that he was a young man, almost certainly younger than Jade. His armor had been stripped from him, leaving him dressed in nothing more than a long undershirt that revealed scars covering his body. Emily looked away, feeling a flicker of shame, as she realized that some of the wounds were new. The Royal Guard would not have treated him with kid gloves.

  “We checked him for signs of mind control,” Lady Barb said, to Emily. “We found none.”

  She leaned down to look at the prisoner. “Good evening,” she said. Her voice was so cold that the prisoner flinched. “Let me start by explaining just how much trouble you’re in.”

  She leaned closer to the prisoner, her eyes boring into his skull. “You and your friends attacked a personal friend–two personal friends - of the crown princess,” she continued. “And you clearly knew who you were attacking, because you had enchanted armor to cope with their magic. And, given the weapons you were carrying, you intended to cause serious harm–or death. Your actions were effectively treason. Do you know what happens to traitors?

  “You couldn’t have afforded that armor on your own. Someone provided it, along with the intelligence that allowed you to plot your attack. Cooperate with us and I will petition the king to have mercy on you. Refuse to cooperate and I will be forced to extract the information from your mind. That may well break you, destroying your mind and leaving your body a helpless mess. Whatever is left of you will be ritually tortured to death, the fate reserved for traitors. What do you choose?”

  There was a long pause. The man looked almost…hopeless. Emily couldn’t imagine how he was feeling, although she knew what it felt like to be trapped. She’d been held prisoner before, by Shadye and Malefic. But she couldn’t feel any sympathy for the prisoner. He’d tried to kill her and her friend.

  “You don’t get to change your mind once I begin,” Lady Barb said, gently. “This is your last chance to cooperate.”

  The man sighed. “I will not talk,” he said. His accent marked him out as coming from Zangaria. “I cannot talk.”

  Lady Barb shrugged. “If someone has charmed you into keeping your mouth shut, I will break it,” she said. “And if I break you…well, I will have learned enough to ensure that I don’t break your friends when I interrogate them. Your mental integrity is not one of my concerns.”

  Emily frowned. If she’d been a hired footpad facing ritual torture or permanent transfiguration as punishment for treason, she would have tried to make a deal. The man should have been trying to bargain–it was his only hope–and yet he was refusing to even consider the possibility. What did that mean? Someone fanatical enough to believe that he couldn’t be forced to talk–or someone who believed that his masters would punish him for confessing, even though he was safely in the royal dungeons.

  She considered it, working through the various options in her mind. The first attack might have been aimed at her or Alassa; the second attack might have been the same. This attack had been specifically aimed at Emily herself, which implied that she’d been the target of all three assassination attempts. If the cockatrice had actually been an assassination attempt…

  The barons, she thought, and shivered. She’d upset the Kingdom’s apple cart, unleashing forces that would eventually destroy the aristocracy if they didn’t learn how to cope in the brave new world she’d created. They would want a little revenge, perhaps believing that killing Emily would allow them to get the changes under control. Didn’t they realize that life didn’t work like Atlas Shrugged? Eliminating Emily wouldn’t eliminate the changes she’d already introduced, let alone the craftsmen who had taken her ideas and run with them.

  But they might not have realized the truth. How could they?

  It made sense. A baron might have the clout to get someone out of the dungeons–or to have him killed, if he opened his mouth. And if he knew it, he would be caught between two fires, unable to appease the king without risking the ire of the baron who’d hired him.

  “This is your final warning,” Lady Barb said. Her voice had, if anything, grown colder. “I will break into your mind and…”

  Emily touched her arm. Lady Barb turned and looked at her, sharply.

  “Let me talk to him,” Emily muttered, after casting a privacy ward in the air. The spell reacted oddly with the wards securing the prison, but it seemed to work. “I think I can try to convince him to talk.”

  Lady Barb gave her a sarcastic look. “And you have extensive experience in interrogating prisoners?”

  “No,” Emily admitted, “but I do have an idea.”

  She outlined her thoughts. If the prisoner could be convinced that he would be protected, he would talk. And then they could decide what to do without having to break into his mind, which would avoid the risk of killing him.

  “Interesting,” Lady Barb said, finally. She sounded unconvinced. Good cop, bad cop wasn’t something that existed in her world. “And are you sure that it will work?”

  Emily felt a flash of irritation that she fought down. “If it fails, you can dig into his mind anyway,” she pointed out, crossly. Did Lady Barb have to question everything Emily did? “We lose nothing by trying and gain much if we succeed.”

  “Very well,” Lady Barb said. She stepped backwards. “Good luck.”

  Emily cancelled the privacy ward and leaned forward, allowing the prisoner to get a good look at her face. He cringed back the moment he recognized her.

  “You’re in trouble,” she said, bluntly. It was very much an understatement. “Your master is powerful enough–or so you think–to reach into the prison and kill you if you breathe a word of his existence to anyone. But we can hide you, and protect you, if you talk to us now. If not, we have to break into your mind and that might kill you. Talk–or risk death.”

  There was a long pause. “How…” The man said. He coughed and started again. “How can you hide me?”

  Emily grinned. “I’ll turn you into something and hide you in my room,” she offered. “I can rig the spell to make it impossible for anyone else to find you–and you won’t even be aware of time passing.”

  Lady Barb gave her an unreadable look. The students at Whitehall had been told, quite specifically, that they were not to perform any spells that risked permanent transformation, or spells that could only be undone by the caster. If Emily had cast one within the school’s wards, it would have meant instant expulsion from Whitehall, if not worse. Permanent transformation was not a joke.

  But if the man was unable to sense time passing–if he simply couldn’t think at all–he would never be able to work the spells that would allow him to break free. If he could work the spells. He didn’t seem to have any magic at all.

  “The king will not treat with me,” the man said. He looked up at her, then at Lady Barb. “Are you going to defy him?”

  Lady Barb stepped forward. “If someone paid you to attack Lady Emily,” she said, “the king will be more interested in knowing who ordered the attack, rather than simply punishing you. I believe that I could convince him to give you a lesser punishment. Besides, a few years of slaving in the mines would be better than spending the rest of your life as a hunted animal.”

  “My name is Trajas,” the man said, slowly. “I am a Guardsman in the Iron Guard.”

  It meant nothing to Emily, but she saw Lady Barb’s eyes open wide with shock.

  “I don’t believe you,” Lady Barb said. There was a harsh note in her voice. “If you are trying to trick us…”

  “The duke himself issued the orders to kill Lady Emily,” Trajas insisted. “I saw him personally!”

  Lady Barb lifted her hand and cast a privacy ward of her own into the air. “The Iron Guard is the personal guard of the Duke of Iron, King Randor’s brother,” she said, by way of explanation. “If he issued the orders…”

  Emily shivered. King Rando
r’s brother, Alassa’s uncle…and a man without children of his own. If he was attempting to make himself King, it wouldn’t last past his death, unless he thought his wife could still have a child. Even if not…the power would be tempting. He might just take power, rule for the rest of his life, then let the kingdom fall into chaos. Or maybe he thought he could become King, then allow Alassa to succeed him.

  Or maybe he just wanted to be rid of Emily, the girl who had turned his world upside down.

  “But he cannot lie to his brother,” Lady Barb said. “I do not understand how he could lie–he’s part of the Royal Bloodline. He cannot lie to the King!”

  Emily looked down at the stone floor as she realized that Lady Barb was right. Alassa had told her that she couldn’t lie to her father, even through omission. She was compelled to tell the truth. Maybe someone with more experience could dissemble…but if it worked anything like a standard truth spell, it would be very difficult to dissemble while under the influence. But then, a powerful sorcerer could push a truth spell aside. Perhaps the duke was an unregistered sorcerer.

  Lady Barb cancelled the privacy ward and glared down at Trajas. “I want to verify your words,” she said, as she touched his forehead. He flinched back from her touch, but the manacles kept him from moving too far away from her. “Do not try to resist me.”

  Magic flickered around Lady Barb as she probed into his mind. Emily shivered; she’d been warned never to try any form of mental spell until she was older, with the discipline to keep her thoughts under control. A single mistake could be disastrous. Or, for that matter, someone could have buried a nasty surprise in the target’s mind, just waiting for someone to come along and stick their head into the trap. If the duke was a sorcerer…

  But how could he be, without training?

  Lady Barb stumbled backwards, deeply shocked. “It was the duke,” she said, in disbelief. “He saw him personally!”

  Emily swallowed. How did one arrest the most powerful nobleman in Zangaria?

  “I will have you transferred to my own personal custody,” Lady Barb said to Trajas. “Lady Emily shouldn’t have to take care of you. For what it’s worth, I won’t surrender you to anyone until after the whole matter is sorted out.”

  She looked over at Emily. “You do realize that this is disastrous?”

  Emily nodded, mutely.

  “All of the barons are in Alexis, ready for the Confirmation,” Lady Barb added. “If they realize that the Duke of Iron has turned into a traitor…they could jump either way.”

  They might be involved, Emily thought, sourly. The barons had strong reasons to oppose the changes Emily had brought to the kingdom. What would happen if they decided that the duke was in the right? If it truly was the duke…but Lady Barb had confirmed it. And yet…how had the duke managed to get around the Royal Bloodline’s effects?

  “Go to your rooms and wait there,” Lady Barb ordered. “I will speak to the king, then he can decide what to do. And watch your back. If the duke ordered your death, he could influence the servants in the castle as easily as his own guardsmen. He’s keyed into the spells binding them.”

  Emily stared at her. “Why…?”

  “Because he would have been regent, if the king died before Alassa reached her majority,” Lady Barb said, tiredly. “Go now. I will send for you when we know what we’re doing.”

  Emily nodded once and left the dungeons. Behind her, she sensed a faint surge of magic and hoped that Lady Barb would ensure that Trajas was safe. He had tried to kill her, but he’d been obeying the orders of his superior. And that was a workable defense in a medieval society. The duke’s men were sworn to obey his orders, even if they were unpleasant or outright crimes against humanity. Hell, they didn’t even have a concept of crimes against humanity.

  Alassa is going to hate me, she thought numbly, as she walked up the stairs. A handful of maids caught her eye and curtseyed, then looked surprised as Emily ignored them. I keep turning her country upside down.

  Chapter Thirty

  LADY BARB CAME FOR HER TWO hours later.

  “The king has summoned his brother to the grand hall,” Lady Barb said, as soon as she stepped inside. “You will be there when the duke is challenged.”

  Emily nodded. She’d spent the time working on personal protective spells, wrapping them into the wards that surrounded her. They were more complex than the standard wards she’d been taught to ward off practical joke hexes and jinxes, and they drew on her power, but there was no real choice. The next attack might be lethal. And if the attackers used enchanted blades, it might still be lethal.

  Lady Barb looked her up and down, then nodded. “In the event of anything unexpected happening,” she added, “follow my lead. If it really is the duke, he’ll have a contingency plan to deal with early discovery.”

  “Understood,” Emily said, although she had no idea what they would do then. The duke was the only nobleman allowed more than two hundred personal armsmen. And he was the commander of the Royal Army. If he’d decided to rebel, it could get very nasty. “Is he coming?”

  “Apparently,” Lady Barb said. She walked over to the door and stopped, her hand on the handle. “And don’t talk to anyone about this, apart from the royal family and myself. They need to show a united front to the barons.”

  Emily rolled her eyes at that as she followed Lady Barb down the stairs and into the Great Hall. Someone had been making frantic preparations in a hurry, for there were several dozen guardsmen outside and a handful of magicians. Zed stood at their head, looking annoyed at being dragged away from his work; there was no sign of Brain anywhere. The Court Wizard gave Emily a nasty look as he caught her eye, then ignored her as Lady Barb led her into the throne room. Alassa was standing beside her father’s throne, looking worried.

  “Stand over there,” Lady Barb ordered, pointing to the corner nearest the throne. “And keep your mouth shut, unless you are spoken to.”

  King Randor looked badly worried. His expression as he saw Emily was unreadable, but she couldn’t help wondering if he blamed her for the upheaval too. If his brother was plotting against him, the plot might be on the very verge of success; armed guards, loyal to the duke rather than the King, might be on their way to secure the castle. Emily was the bearer of bad news rather than the bad news herself, but would that really matter? It was only human to blame the messenger.

  She pulled herself upright and waited, concentrating on the pose the sergeants had hammered into their heads. Remain calm, they’d ordered; don’t waste a single motion. She clasped her hands behind her back and steadied her breathing, quietly readying magic just in case it was necessary. This time she was not going to freeze up, or be taken by surprise.

  “Your Majesty,” the herald boomed. “His Grace the Duke of Iron!”

  The Duke of Iron looked formidable, Emily realized, even though he also looked thoroughly unhappy. His scabbard hung loosely from his belt, demonstrating that he was unarmed; Emily wondered, absently, just how carefully the guards had searched him. Sergeant Harkin had carried nearly thirty different weapons on his body, she’d been told, and most of them had consisted of devices that were not immediately recognizable as dangerous. His tunic could conceal anything from a knife to a length of steel wire, ready to use as a makeshift garrotte. And if he was a sorcerer…

  He didn’t feel like a sorcerer, Emily decided. There was no sense of barely restrained power, or the hints of instability she’d sensed on other powerful magicians. But magic was woven into the Royal Bloodline; Alassa could become a sorceress, if she had the time to concentrate on studying magic. Could her uncle have studied magic in secrecy?

  His wife accompanied him, her eyes glancing from side to side nervously. She looked as if she couldn’t decide if she should be holding her head up high or throwing herself on the ground in front of the king, begging for mercy. Emily felt a flicker of pity for the young woman; she simply seemed too young to really understand what was going on. Her husband was in de
ep trouble and she didn’t understand why.

  “Your Majesty,” the duke said, in a surprisingly deep voice. “You have summoned me and I have come.”

  Emily frowned. It didn’t sound as though the duke knew he was in trouble, but anyone who had spent years in a royal court would be a skilled dissembler. He could make his voice suggest whatever he wanted it to suggest. And yet there was a hint that suggested innocence, and puzzlement, and…

  If the duke is innocent, she asked herself, what does it mean?

  “We have called you here to address a difficult situation,” King Randor said. “Word has reached Us that several of your guardsmen were implicated in an attack on the Lady Emily. When interrogated, the guardsmen claimed to have been given instructions by you personally, even though you are aware that the Lady Emily is Our guest and therefore protected by Our will.”

  His voice darkened. “We must ask you now,” he continued, “if you issued such orders. Did you order your men to kill the Lady Emily?”

  The duke threw Emily a sharp glance, then looked back at his brother. “I issued no orders to kill the Lady Emily,” he said. “I issued no orders to injure her, or to scare her.”

  King Randor studied his brother for a long moment. “The Lady Emily was with her friend Imaiqah, Daughter of Lin,” he said. “Did you issue orders to bring any harm to her or her family?”

  “No,” the Duke of Iron said. There was a cold note to his voice. “I do not sneak around like a common footpad. My opinion of the changes the Lady Emily has brought to your kingdom is well known, but I would not order anyone assassinated to forestall change.”

  “Which leads to the next question,” King Randor said. He never took his eyes off his brother. “What do you think of the Lady Emily?”

  Emily flushed, despite herself.

  “I think that she has meddled in matters that are none of her concern,” the Duke of Iron said, coldly. “I think that she is a most unsuitable companion for the crown princess. I think that she is dangerous; she defeated a necromancer and refused to tell the Allied Lands how she did it. I think that she should be sent back to Whitehall where she belongs.”