“And less implicit acceptance of obligation,” Emily said.
“Exactly,” Caleb said. “In the magical community, any sort of relationship creates obligations. You are expected to support your friends and allies; you’re certainly not supposed to undermine them. It’s considered rude to give someone a gift they cannot hope to repay, for example, because it undermines their position by placing them under an unwanted obligation.”
“But the gift might be returned in other ways,” Emily mused. “I could give you...oh, a thousand crowns, and you could give me a whole new magical concept. I’d value them at the same level, even if others would disagree.”
“Quite,” Caleb said. “And that would be between you and me. King Randor, however, needs more formal ties between you and the crown. He’s trying to remind you that you accepted obligations when you accepted the barony.”
“And I never wanted either of them,” Emily said, tiredly. “What will you say when the king asks you about your intentions?”
“The truth,” Caleb said. “That we have entered a courtship. And I’m glad we did.”
Emily smiled in relief. “There’s an hour before dinner is due to start,” she said. The king might well want her to be seen with Caleb. It made a certain kind of sense; if they were seen together, it would be with the king’s consent. And, being magicians, they wouldn’t need formal chaperones. “Do you want to explore the castle?”
Caleb hesitated. “If you want to show me around, I wouldn’t mind. But I also need a shower and a change of clothes before dinner.”
“There aren’t any showers here,” Emily said. She smiled at his horrified expression. “You’ll have to ask the servants to bring you cold water, then use magic to heat it. I assume the king gave you a room?”
“Father and I are sharing a suite one floor down,” Caleb said. “No hot or cold running water here?”
“There isn’t enough magic to make it practical,” Emily said. “They’d have to rebuild the castle completely to install a non-magical system.”
Caleb wrinkled his nose. “No wonder so many of the inhabitants just...stink,” he said, as he rose. “Don’t they know they need to wash?”
“I imagine they do,” Emily said. In Whitehall, it was almost as easy to have a shower as it had been on Earth. Everywhere else...it was hit or miss. “They just need to work the servants hard to take a bath.”
She winced, inwardly, as she led him down to his rooms. On her first foray away from Whitehall, she’d asked for a hot bath, in all innocence, only to discover that the servants had to carry heavy pails of water up four flights of stairs just to meet her request. After that, she’d been more careful about what she’d ordered; she could use magic to warm the water, after all, and even clean it for reuse. But it still didn’t beat a good shower.
“I’ll be in my rooms,” she said, as they stopped outside the door. “Come back when you’re washed and changed, all right?”
Caleb nodded and stepped through the door. Emily sighed and returned to her suite, shaking her head in disbelief at Randor’s nerve. She’d known Caleb would be coming, but Randor had invited him early, just so the king could get a look at the young man. And, just incidentally, create a situation where it looked as though Emily and Caleb had his approval for the match. It wasn’t as if Caleb was a bad choice, after all...she walked into her apartment, locked the door with a powerful ward and opened the box Lady Barb had left on the floor. The sword lay on the top, surrounded by a protective spell. She carefully cast a lifting charm, navigated the blade out of the box and placed it gently on the floor. She’d need to make sure it was concealed before she gave it to Alassa.
Shame there aren’t two of them, she thought. It isn’t as if they can share a blade.
She examined it for a long moment, admiring the runes carved into the metal, before she wrapped a concealment hex around it and rose to her feet. Master Grey’s books were calling to her; she opened her trunk, dumped the various spy reports into a secure compartment and then picked up the first of the books. It discussed the application of various military spells - including a number she’d never heard of - in battle. Indeed, she had to admit the author was good at making the material both comprehensive and exciting. She was midway through an outline of how magic had been used in a war between two kingdoms when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” she called, as she removed the ward. “It’s open.”
Caleb stepped into the room, wearing long red dress robes. Emily felt a stab of envy as she realized he didn’t have to dress up; no one would make fun of him, either to his face or behind his back, for wearing his robes. She wondered, as she looked him up and down, how many noblemen would be horrified at the thought of another magician marrying his way into the aristocracy, then pushed the thought aside. Her relationship with Caleb was her business, and her business alone. She found it hard to care what they thought.
“You look good,” she said, truthfully. He wasn’t showing off his muscles or wearing a sword at his belt. Not that he’d need one; Sergeant Miles had often noted that a magician who could be killed by a swordsman was a pretty poor magician. “Better than anyone else around here.”
“Thank you,” Caleb said. He paused. “Are you going to change?”
Emily looked at the book, then down at her shirt and swore. “I got a little occupied,” she admitted, ruefully. They both tended to lose themselves in good books. “Can you give me ten minutes?”
She stepped into the bedroom, closing the door behind her, and hastily undressed. Queen Marlena had supplied more dresses than she’d need; she took one of them from the rack, pulled it over her head and buttoned it up with a spell. She made a mental note to introduce the zipper as soon as possible as she wiped her face, tied back her hair and checked her appearance in the mirror. At least the maids wouldn’t be braiding her hair this time.
It felt disloyal to Alassa to even think it, she admitted to herself as she walked out of the bedroom, but she’d be glad when the wedding was over. Alassa and Jade could go off on their honeymoon, leaving her free of obligations for the rest of the summer. She could take Frieda on a tour, spend time with her other friends, or even start preparing for Fifth Year...
“You look gorgeous,” Caleb said.
Emily flushed. It was hard to believe him. Alassa was beautiful, Imaiqah and Frieda were pretty...even the Gorgon, in her inhuman manner, was graced with an eerie green-skinned beauty. But her? She had never been considered pretty on Earth, let alone gorgeous. Her stepfather had been quite happy to tell her, over and over again, that she was ugly as sin, that no one would ever want her. The idea that someone would consider her beautiful was almost beyond her comprehension.
“Thank you,” she said, quietly.
She allowed him to take her arm and lead her down to the dining hall. The servants seemed to ignore them, of course, but the aristocracy stared. Emily could practically hear cogs churning in their heads as they tried to work out what the relationship meant for the balance of power. Caleb hesitated, noticeably, before they walked up to the High Table and sat down next to Alassa and Frieda. He disliked being the center of attention as much as Emily herself.
Imaiqah hurried over to them from where she was sitting on the other side of the king, next to Jade and a nobleman Emily didn’t know. “You’ll be joining us at the briefing tomorrow,” she said, addressing Caleb. “There’s a role for you in the wedding.”
Caleb stared. “Do I have a choice?”
“No,” Imaiqah said, quickly. “I’ll explain tomorrow.”
“The king is using the wedding for political purposes,” Emily muttered, as Imaiqah hastened back to her own seat. “Having you play a role, even a small one, is a sign of royal favor.”
“Those little brats think otherwise,” Alassa said, darkly. “They spent half of the last rehearsal running around screaming their heads off. The poor dancing master had to call their parents to restore order.”
She snorted
, rudely. “And look who else has turned up. Everyone who wants to meet a bride or a groom has arrived.”
Emily looked down at the lower tables. They were crammed with people, ranging from junior aristocracy to guests from neighboring kingdoms. She thought she recognized a couple of princes who’d courted Alassa three years ago; she had a feeling that it could get embarrassing, if one of them took offense at Alassa picking Jade over him. But Jade was a combat sorcerer. He could handle himself.
They’ll probably only mutter resentfully in the background, she told herself. They wouldn’t try to challenge him to a duel.
She shook her head as the food arrived, the servants carving up the roasts and ladling out potatoes and overcooked vegetables. There was enough food in the dining hall to feed a small town for weeks, if not months; she sighed in dismay as she saw the aristocrats bossing the servants around, snapping and snarling at any who didn’t move fast enough to suit them. A couple of serving maids were even groped...Emily felt her head start to pound as she saw the looks on their faces. There was nothing they could do but smile and keep their composure at all costs.
And if I was in that position, she thought, as she ate slowly, I’d be thinking about rebelling too.
“Emily,” Frieda said. “Lord Hans asked me to dance again.”
Emily sighed. “And what happened last time?”
“We danced around the room, then he kissed my hand and moved to the next partner,” Frieda said. “He didn’t do anything to hurt me.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Emily said. “Just...just stay with the same rules, all right? Don’t go anywhere alone with him.”
“I won’t,” Frieda promised.
Caleb leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Is Lord Hans that bad?”
“He’s an insane brute of a man,” Emily whispered back, “and his cousin is a manipulative little shrew.”
Somewhat to her surprise, King Randor didn’t make any speeches after the final courses were cleared away. Instead, the tables were pushed to one side, the musicians struck up a steady tune and the dancers started to whirl around the dance floor. Emily frowned as Lord Hans took Frieda’s hand and started to dance with her, behaving impeccably. It didn’t look as though he intended to hurt her...
But that proves nothing, she thought, tightly. What happens when he tries to go too far and she says no?
She forced herself to relax as she danced with Caleb, choosing to turn down all other offers of a dance. King Randor, Alassa and Jade had already left the room; she frowned, inwardly, as she realized that both General Pollack and Hawker had also left. Jade’s mother was chatting with Queen Marlena, both women watching the dancers with amusement. And then she stiffened as the dance ended and Nightingale came up to her.
“Lady Emily, Lord Caleb,” he said. “The king would be pleased to see you now.”
“Understood,” Emily said. “We’re on our way.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“WELCOME TO THE WAR ROOM,” KING Randor said, as Nightingale showed them into the chamber. “In this room, my father plotted the war against the barons and crushed them like bugs.”
Emily nodded, looking around with interest. It was a larger room than she’d expected; a massive wooden table was pushed to one side, while a large map of the country was carved out on the floor and smaller parchment maps hung from the walls. A giant bookcase, crammed with reports from all over the country, lurked in one corner; beside it, a dozen swords and nearly twice as many daggers waited for the call. Judging from the size of some of the wall-mounted maps, the chamber had at least three hidden entrances as well as the one they’d come through.
“Lady Emily,” General Pollack said. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
“Thank you,” Emily said. She couldn’t help wondering what he really thought. His son was a child of two worlds, not one. Was he pleased that a king had singled him out or offended that the normal rules of courtship had fallen by the wayside? “I trust that all is well in Beneficence?”
“As well as can be expected,” General Pollack said. If he was displeased, she saw no sign of it. “My eldest has returned to his master; my youngest is preparing for school.”
“We are here to discuss a weightier matter,” King Randor said, before Emily could formulate a response. “Please, be seated.”
Emily nodded, taking one of the chairs at the table. Alassa sat at one end; Paren, Imaiqah’s father, sat beside her, with Jade and Hawker next to him. Emily’s eyes went wide as she realized that Paren had brought a musket into the room; she wondered, absently, if the guards had recognized it as a weapon or assumed it was something harmless. Without the gunpowder, of course, it was harmless...unless someone wanted to use it as a club. She’d mentioned bayonets to the older man, but the musket in front of him had none.
King Randor walked to the head of the table as Caleb sat next to Emily. “This discussion is to be completely informal,” he said, sitting down. “The issue is too important for an argument over social precedence.”
Says the king, Emily thought, sardonically. The one person who could dismiss the idea of formality was the unquestioned master of the castle. But then, he was with his daughter, his future son-in-law and his father, a Knight of the Allied Lands and Emily herself. Paren was the only person who fitted into the local power structure and he was too dependent on the king to pose a creditable threat. But at least we can talk freely.
Randor smiled, rather coldly. “There have been a great many changes over the past four years,” he continued, in tones that suggested he was making a speech. “None, however, have proved as interesting as the development of gunpowder” - he pronounced the word as if it were something unfamiliar - “and guns. The device you see on the table is one of them.”
General Pollack looked doubtful. “That thing?”
“Yes,” Randor said, flatly. “It promises to revolutionize the world.”
Caleb elbowed Emily. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Emily muttered back.
Randor nodded. “Paren?”
“Your Majesty,” Paren said. He tapped the weapon in front of him. “The musket fires a lead ball towards its target with stunning force. What it hits, it harms or kills. Short of immediate medical attention, the target may well bleed to death.”
General Pollack frowned. “Battlefield magic?”
“No,” Paren said. “Science. And chemistry.”
Randor looked at Emily. “Perhaps you would care to explain?”
Emily hesitated. Randor hadn’t told her that he intended to showcase the weapons; hell, she hadn’t had a moment to prepare an explanation. She was surprised that Paren had even consented to bring one to the castle, although Randor probably hadn’t given him a choice...
“The bullet - the lead ball - is propelled forward by a small gunpowder explosion,” she said, shortly. It had been hard enough explaining the concept of cartridges to Paren and his skilled craftsmen in the first place. Gunpowder might be beyond the general’s immediate comprehension. “There is no magic in the formula at all, allowing anyone to carry a musket and fire it at will. Once fired, the ball blasts forward until it hits something, or it runs out of energy and falls to the ground.”
“There are wards against moving objects,” General Pollack said, stiffly.
“Not everyone can use them,” Jade pointed out. He was eying the musket as a man might eye a poisonous snake. “And most propulsion spells can be easily dispelled by a trained magician. This” - he frowned down at the musket - “would require a stronger kind of ward.”
General Pollack looked at Emily. “This...this...is one of your innovations?”
“Yes,” Emily said. “It is.”
“I see,” he said. “And what good is it?”
Emily took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Right now, training footsoldiers is a time-consuming business,” she said. “It takes years for men to become truly practiced with sword, spear and arrow. However, the muskets cut the training tim
e down sharply. You would be able to deploy a regiment of musketeers far quicker than you could deploy a regiment of swordsmen.”
“It fires tiny balls,” General Pollack said. “What good is it?”
“It fires a ball, as you put it, at tremendous speed,” Emily said. “The impact will be much harder than being struck by a rock. Hit a man in the head, and that man will be dead. You could also hit a man at a distance, once the technology gets a little further along; you’d have no problems striking a magician before he realized he was under attack.”
She paused. “Imagine yourself facing a charging line of orcs,” she said. General Pollack had faced such a charge. “You line up your musketeers in three rows and prepare for the onslaught. The first row fires, then kneels down to reload while the second row fires; the third row fires while the second row reloads, then the first row fires for the second time while the third row reloads. Your bullets slam into the charge and tear it apart. The orcs will be falling over themselves by the time they reach you, if they ever do.”
“Orcs are tough,” General Pollack pointed out.
“Are they tough enough to stand up to wave after wave of bullets?” Emily asked. “They’d be breaking apart in shock after their first row goes down.”
General Pollack frowned. “And these weapons can be used by anyone?”
“Yes,” Emily said.
“Accuracy is a joke,” Paren commented. “A skilled archer would be a better shot.”
“Ha,” General Pollack said.
“However, there would be a colossal weight of fire in the air,” Paren added. “It wouldn’t matter which Orc was the precise target, as long as you hit something.”
“It would be like the Battle of Bladed Hill,” Caleb said. “Only far - far - worse for the losers.”
General Pollack gave him a sharp look. “Why?”
“The archers in the battle were the cream of the crop,” Caleb said. “It took years for the winners to train them. Now--” he glanced at the musket “--any fool can learn how to shoot.”
Wedding Hells (Schooled in Magic Book 8) Page 21
