Daughter of the Disgraced King

by Meredith Mansfield

  Jathan winked at her as he knocked on the door. “This is my stepfather’s private office. Much less formal than the audience chamber.” He swung the door open and stepped in, pulling Ailsa behind him. She held her breath and prepared to curtsy, but Jathan’s hand under her elbow kept her standing.

  “Here she is, Father.”

  Ailsa made one more desperate attempt to curtsy, but Jathan was relentless, holding her up so all she could do was bow her head.

  “None of that.” The voice was rich and deep. “This is a private meeting, not a formal audience. There’s only me and my family here. No need for my old friend’s child to bow and scrape in front of me.”

  Cautiously, Ailsa looked up into the smiling face of an older version of the princes. The emperor winked at her in exactly the same way Jathan so often did. Startled, she choked back a chuckle at the unexpected gesture.

  “That’s better.” The emperor beamed at her. “Now, come over here and sit down so we can talk more comfortably.”

  One side of the room was dominated by a huge mahogany desk, which must have been grand at one time, but now looked at least as well-used as the one in her father’s study at home. On the other side, there was a large armchair. The overstuffed leather upholstery destroyed any resemblance to a throne. Two leather couches, big enough to seat three or four people each, were arranged diagonally in front of the armchair, so that they faced the chair, but occupants could also see and talk to each other. Jathan led her to the nearest couch and then sat down on the one opposite.

  The emperor sat in the armchair. “I’ve asked you here for a couple of reasons. First . . .” He raised his right hand in a beckoning gesture.

  From the back wall of the room, three young men approached. Jathan’s stepbrothers. Ailsa had been so bemused by the emperor she hadn’t noticed they were there.

  Prince Artair stepped forward. “I apologize for our behavior at the ball, Princess Ailsa. We truly never meant to embarrass you or spoil your evening. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “Sorry,” Princes Rishiart and Arrigo echoed.

  Ailsa blinked, dumbfounded. Royalty apologizing to her? “I . . . That’s all right.”

  All three smiled at her as if they were actually glad to have her forgiveness.

  “It’s anything but all right,” the emperor said. “However, it’s very gracious of you to accept their apologies.” He waved his hand again. “You three may go now.”

  The three princes nodded and filed out through the inner door to the office.

  “Second, and most important,” the emperor went on, “I wanted to get your opinion on the state of affairs in Far Terra. I’ve heard things that disturb me from three different sources. I’d like an independent assessment of the situation and you seem to be uniquely situated to provide some insight.”

  Ailsa suppressed a desire to shrug. “I am at your command.” It wasn’t as if she’d ever had a choice about understanding politics. She’d been forced to, just to survive. She probably understood politics better than even Sav ever had. Not, she suspected, better than the emperor though.

  The emperor shook his head, giving her a reassuring smile. “Only a request. Not a command. Jathan has told me that your mail is being read, possibly by King Ewart himself. Mage Malina and the Master of the Institute also inform me that it’s possible mail between your mother and the institute is being . . . diverted. The idea that anyone, even a king, feels free to interfere with the imperial mail is disturbing.”

  Ailsa bit her lip. “Yes. I know Mama writes to the Institute at least once a month. She would have been telling the Master about which of the barons treat their mages well and which . . . don’t. And Grandmama is certain he would have acted on that information—if he’d gotten it.”

  “Just so,” the emperor said. “This also gives me reason to wonder if I’ve been getting complete news from Far Terra or if reports to me have been . . . filtered.”

  Ailsa paused to think about that. “That would be . . . very risky.” Her eyes narrowed. “As far as I know, King Ewart’s only been to Terranion when he was a student at the Academy. He was only a minor baron’s son then. He might not consider it too dangerous to intercept letters to the master. But mail addressed to you, sire . . . He’d have to have a very good reason to do that.”

  The emperor drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Hmm. So . . . unlikely, but not impossible in your judgment. What do you think would be a sufficient reason for King Ewart to risk interfering with reports to me?”

  Ailsa hesitated. There were some things it just wasn’t safe to say. She’d had that drummed into her from a very young age. She glanced at Jathan for help, but all she got was an encouraging nod. He didn’t understand. How could he?

  “Speak freely,” the emperor said. “I cannot make good judgments without good information. Consequently, I am not in the habit of shooting the messenger.”

  Ailsa swallowed hard. “All right. King Ewart has always been . . . well, paranoid. He distrusts anything that might tend to increase Papa’s influence. King Ewart knows that he wasn’t raised to rule. He’ll never have the kind of . . . confidence Papa would have. And . . . I don’t think he can believe that anyone would willingly give up that kind of power. In his mind, Papa must be plotting some way to take the throne back.”

  The emperor snorted. “Then he doesn’t know your father very well. Sandor never yet went back on a decision—or a promise—once made.”

  Ailsa smiled. The emperor really had known her father, then.

  “What provocation would he have to intercept mail between your mother and the master, then?”

  Ailsa sighed. This was where Far Terra’s relationship with its mages became really, really complicated. “When many of the mages terminated their contracts and left Far Terra after my father’s abdication, it caused a crisis. Right at the beginning of King Ewart’s reign, before he’d really had a chance to get his feet under him, as my father would say.”

  The emperor nodded. “Yes, I know.”

  Ailsa went on. “That . . . made a very lasting and bad impression on King Ewart, I think. I don’t know what his position towards the mages would have been without that. But it was just the opening that the most radical anti-mage barons needed to pull him to their side. It . . . played into his paranoia. To King Ewart, the mages aren’t just a threat because Far Terra so desperately needs their magic for its very survival. In his mind, they’re all in league with Papa, which makes them—us—his enemies. And the worst of the barons are his staunchest allies in making sure that the mages don’t make use of their very real economic power. He might take what would seem to him like a small risk to give those friends an advantage.”

  The emperor nodded and tapped his chin with a forefinger. “I see.” After a moment, he changed the subject. “I’ve also heard from the master of the Institute of Magical Arts about the attack on you on your way here. I had a very angry letter from Crown Prince Savyon about the same issue.”

  Had she gotten Sav into trouble by writing to him? She’d asked him not to tell her father, but hadn’t thought to warn him against going to anyone else. She’d certainly never expected him to write to the emperor. “Sav only—”

  The emperor held up his hand. “A very appropriately angry letter. The safety of travelers on the imperial roads is very much my business. If there’s a hole in that security, I need to know about it. Now that I do, steps have been taken to ensure that no such incident is allowed to occur again. What troubles me about that is not the prince’s anger, but the lack of any complaint from his father, the king, who should share my concern for the safety of all travelers. I don’t like this dereliction of duty.”

  Ailsa swallowed hard. “I . . . I’m not sure . . . I think the king’s response might have been different if it had happened to anyone but me.”

  The emperor’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? And why should he have such a strong dislike for you?”

  Ailsa shrugged uncomfortabl
y. “I don’t think King Ewart would actually want to see me hurt.” She bit her lip. “I never thought about it much before, but now I think, maybe, King Ewart has been worried about some marriage alliance that would challenge his position. He’s certainly done all he could to encourage the barons—and their sons and daughters—to keep a distance from my family. Anything that would make such a marriage less likely wouldn’t seem so bad to him.”

  Jathan laughed. “He’s going to bust a gut when he finds out you’re at least a seventh-level green mage, then.”

  Ailsa shook her head. King Ewart would probably be relieved by that news. It made her less of a threat in his eyes. Far Terra would never accept a mage as queen.

  The emperor frowned at his stepson before turning back to Ailsa. “King Ewart is that insecure about his position?” His eyes narrowed. “Would the king go so far as to have arranged the attack on you, do you think?”

  Ailsa sucked in a breath. She paused to roll the implication around in her mind. “I don’t know. Ordinarily, I’d have said no, but . . .”

  “Yes?” the emperor prompted.

  Ailsa repressed a shudder at the sudden chill that went down her spine. “That last ball before I left. Usually, I’m next to invisible at the balls back home. The barons and their sons and daughters wouldn’t want to be seen talking to me. But that night, several of the barons’ sons asked me to dance. It’s possible that made King Ewart nervous. He might have . . . taken steps . . .”

  Jathan jumped up from the opposite couch, face turning red. “That’s . . . that’s . . . vile!”

  The emperor waved him back down, his mouth set in a grim line. “Yes, it is, if it’s true. We don’t know that yet, but there’s one way to find out. I’ll send to learn if the man is still in custody. See what he has to tell us.” He turned back to Ailsa. “Your grandmother thinks there may be another reason.”

  Ailsa nodded. “If King Ewart has been . . . manipulating things so that certain information doesn’t reach the master, then he might try to silence me, too.” She swallowed. “I’ve thought about that.”

  “And?”

  “It’s . . . possible. I was too frightened at the time to think much about it, but . . .” She drew a deep breath. “The first time that man . . . bothered me was at the first station stop. I was having a conversation with the wife of a mage who was under contract to Baron Mikel—one of the worst and also one of King Ewart’s closest cronies. And then . . . when he came to my room up at the lake, he said something about mixing in things that weren’t my business.”

  The emperor sat back in his chair. “Ah. I think I must agree with your grandmother on this.” He glanced over at Jathan. “I’m glad you’ve had my son’s protection so far, but I may have to assign you your own body guard, as well.”

  Ailsa suppressed a grimace. Nothing at all had happened in long enough that she’d been just about to ask her grandmother to let her go out alone again. Not that she didn’t like Jathan’s company—at least when he wasn’t making himself and her the center of attention—but she was beginning to feel just a little restless, cooped up between her grandmother’s home and the Institute. She’d hardly seen any of the rest of Terranion yet.

  The emperor turned back to Ailsa. “Why does your father stay? He must know he’d be welcome here.”

  Ailsa wished she could tug on her braid. “He stays because he loves Far Terra and still wants to do what he can to help.”

  The emperor stroked his chin. “But if your father moved here, none of you would have to concern yourselves with Ewart’s insecurities.”

  Ailsa shook her head. “No. If we moved here, King Ewart would only think that Papa was lobbying you to engineer his return to the throne. Then Aunt Izbel and her family would be at risk. The king’s suspicion doesn’t touch them much, now. Aunt Izbel is both a woman and a mage, so not much of a threat to King Ewart’s position. And even though the king keeps an eye on him, my cousin Perion really isn’t a contender for the throne because he’s descended only through the female line. But if they left, too, Far Terra would lose a much-needed water mage. Papa doesn’t want that. Far Terra desperately needs mages. If those of us born there won’t do the work, who will?”

  The emperor turned to glance out the window at the gardens. “Hmm. A sticky situation all around. What about this Prince Savyon? Will he be a different kind of king than his father do you think?”

  Ailsa paused to think. What kind of king would Sav make? “Yes. He certainly will not feel as insecure as King Ewart. I think things will improve that way.”

  The emperor’s eyes held hers like a vise. “I hear a ‘but’ in your voice. What is it?”

  Ailsa sighed. She’d been trying not to think too deeply about this aspect, but the emperor deserved the full truth. “I’m not sure how different Sav’s position will be relative to the mages. Not personally, but politically. I don’t know if he’ll be able to overcome the barons’ desire to . . . to keep the mages in their place, as they see it. To prevent the mages from exercising any kind of power in Far Terra.”

  “Hmm. Yes. It puts him in a difficult position. To completely reverse that position—or even try to—would be the same as saying that his father should never have been king, and so weaken his own position.”

  Ailsa bit her lip. She hadn’t thought of it that way. How much could Sav really do, even if he wanted to? Grandmama’s sunny ideas about affecting change in Far Terra had some gaping holes in them that Ailsa hadn’t spotted at first. Maybe she’d just wanted to believe it was possible.

  The emperor sat back a little in his chair. “You’re friends with this prince. Can you tell me more about him?”

  Ailsa blinked. “What do you want to know?”

  The emperor waved a hand. “Well, they say he’s somewhat shy.”

  Ailsa cocked her head to the side. “No. Not really shy. More . . . reserved. Sav doesn’t much like or feel comfortable at big public functions or in crowds.”

  The emperor’s eyes narrowed. “That could be a problem. Kings and emperors don’t have much choice about that.”

  Ailsa sat forward, eager to make the emperor understand Sav’s good points. “But he does care about Far Terra. A lot. He doesn’t have his father’s distrust of mages. He’s . . . he’s very serious about doing things well.” Serious was a very good word to describe Sav.

  The emperor rubbed his chin again. “Hmm. I think I may have to arrange to bring Prince Savyon, Prince Cergio, and probably Prince Perion to Terranion. I don’t like having a King of Far Terra that I’ve never met and having to get my information second-hand—even from you. The treaty requires that all potential heirs come here for at least part of their education for a reason. Yes, before I make a decision, I need to know who I’m dealing with.”

  Sav coming here? Ailsa swallowed. To see him again so soon. But . . . but she wasn’t ready to give him an answer yet. Not nearly ready. She was supposed to have more time. She looked out the window. On the far side of the rose garden, fruit was just beginning to ripen on a row of fruit trees. She breathed out. Oh, yes. It’s almost summer. Even the emperor can’t bring Sav here any sooner than the autumn. No one but the imperial couriers cross the desert in the summer. She turned back to face the emperor in case he had more questions.

  Jathan had a deep furrow between his eyes and a more serious look than she’d ever seen on his face. “Why do the barons fear mages?”

  “The king and the barons have all—or nearly all—the political power in Far Terra. A lot of the economic power, too. But it would all evaporate without magic to keep Far Terra from fading back into the desert. They need the mages too much. If the mages were just half as organized as the barons, they’d be the ones in power. And the barons know it. That’s what they’re afraid of.”

  The emperor nodded. “Thank you very much for your insights. I hope you know that you can come here to me at any time. You deserve it in your own right, but I could do no less for Sandor’s daughter.”

  �
��Don’t forget the ball, Father,” Jathan said.

  “Ah, yes. The traditional Solstice ball is in a few days. We’d be glad to have you come.”

  “You can be my dance partner again,” Jathan said. “I’ll make sure my stepbrothers keep their distance this time.” He winked at her. “And you can meet my younger sister, too.”

  Ailsa hesitated. In her experience, it was dangerous to refuse a royal—let alone an imperial—invitation, but . . .

  “I guarantee my brothers will leave you alone,” Jathan said. “With Father and Mother there, and my brothers, you’ll be just another guest. You can have the kind of uninterrupted evening you should have had at the student ball.”

  Ailsa smiled. It really had been fun to dance with Jathan, before his brothers turned up. “All right, then. I’d enjoy that.”

  As she rode back to Grandmama’s in the carriage, Ailsa reflected on the difference between King Ewart and the emperor. That must be the difference between a man who didn’t have to question his power and one who couldn’t stop questioning his. The first was definitely better. Papa would have been a king like that. Would Sav?

  Chapter 12: Solstice Ball

  Ailsa stepped out of the carriage and smoothed down her new gown. Grandmama had insisted that the Solstice ball required something brand new. This was a column of sea green lace over a lighter green silk that made Ailsa feel taller. The lace made a pattern like rose leaves and a row of perfectly formed silk roses bloomed along the neckline. She’d never worn a gown that felt more completely right. She twirled once in place, watching the hidden gores of the lace skirt and silk underskirt flare out so she could dance freely.

  As she came back around to face the broad marble stairs, Jathan stood there smiling at her. He was all in green, too. A dark green satin-trimmed velvet tunic and lighter green trousers that nearly matched the color of the silk underneath her lace. Ailsa put her hands down, blushing furiously.

  Jathan bowed and held out his arm to escort Ailsa inside. “You look fantastic. Let’s go put that amazing gown to its intended purpose and make all the other ladies jealous that they don’t have your dressmaker—or your figure.”