The Princess in the Tower (Schooled in Magic Book 15)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Clever,” Jade admitted, finally. “You do realize the king doesn’t give a damn about you?”

  “I’m loyal,” Witt said. “Not like you, you filthy traitor! Or the bitch over there.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Cat snapped.

  “Or what?” Witt laughed. “You’re not going to let me go now, are you?”

  “The king gave you a set of protective spells that will kill you if you get seriously hurt,” Jade said. “You might get nicked in the arm during a duel...and die anyway.”

  “My loyalty will be rewarded,” Witt said. “The king is good at recognizing loyalty.”

  “No, he isn’t,” Emily said, flatly.

  Witt glowered at her. “Running a bit short of money, are we? Plying your trade on the streets just to scrape up...”

  Jade slapped him, again. Witt snickered.

  “Better watch yourself,” he mocked. “You don’t want to kill me by accident.”

  Cat looked at Emily. “I think it’s time.”

  Emily swallowed, hard. Witt was wrong, very wrong. There was a way to get information out of him. But...she gritted her teeth, telling herself that she had no choice. They needed to know what Witt knew. And it was going to cost her...

  She walked towards him, motioning for Jade to stand back. Witt watched her approach without apparent emotion, although she thought she felt him cringe when she placed her fingertips on his head. She’d met too many noblemen who were scared of sorceresses, even though they had fewer problems with powerful noblewomen. His hair felt oddly greasy, as if he’d been using something to make it lie still. Perhaps he had. Witt was nowhere near powerful enough to ignore the dictates of fashion.

  “Hold still,” she said, as she stood behind him. “This...this should work...”

  She hesitated, despite herself, then reached out with her magic. She was suddenly very aware of him at a very primal level, his thoughts pulsing through his skull. She could taste his fear, no matter how desperately he tried to hide it; she could see just how terrified he was of dying so ingloriously. Witt didn’t fear death so much as he feared public humiliation, of having his ennoblement ripped away from him and his family publicly shamed...

  It was hard, so hard, to reach into his mind. The sense she was crossing a line was almost overpowering. She knew there was no other option, she knew it needed to be done, but...she was doing something wrong. No, worse than wrong. She couldn’t escape the feeling that she would have to pay a steep price for her choice, no matter how desperately she tried to rationalize it to herself. And yet...she thought of Alassa and Imaiqah, locked away in prison, and steeled her heart. If there was a price to pay, she’d pay it.

  She sank into his mind, flickers of memory assaulting her. Moments of pride and joy, moments of fear and terror...she saw the king, standing over him/her with a drawn sword...moments of desire and lust and brief satisfaction. Witt was a hungry man, hungry as only an ennobled commoner could be. He’d never be truly satisfied because he knew everything he had could be taken away in a moment. It struck her, as she started to look for the hex in his mind, that Witt and Nightingale had a great deal in common.

  Neither of them would admit it, of course, she thought. Images of Nightingale flashed through her mind, the crawler lording it over her...no, over Witt. They kiss up to everyone above them and kick down everyone below.

  More images flashed through her mind. She couldn’t tell if Witt was deliberately trying to distract her or if it was a reflection of how her thoughts were running out of control, but it hardly mattered. She saw a naked girl sitting on a bed, her face vaguely familiar, and another kneeling in front of her. Witt’s thoughts turned lustful–and cruel. He’d abused them, she realized dully. In his rage and hatred and jealously, he’d taken his problems out on them without a second thought. He’d seen it almost as striking back against a system he loved and hated...

  She clamped down on her emotions as she saw the hex come into view. It was a tight knot in his mind, attached to strands of thought and feeling. The hex wasn’t really a knot–it was just how her mind perceived it–but it looked immoveable. Witt had granted permission for it to be placed there, she thought. If it had been forced on him, it would have been a great deal looser. Unless it had really been hammered into place.

  Impressive, she thought.

  Gritting her teeth, she mustered her thoughts and attacked the knot. Her presence split into a dozen separate strands, half of them wearing away at the knot while the other half waited for the death command. The knot resisted, fighting back as though it were a living thing; she concentrated her mind, keeping the knot from taking on a nastier–and more effective–form. It wavered, but her power was enough to keep it from changing. The death command flashed into existence and she jumped on it, snapping the command out of existence before it could reach its destination. And then the knot came undone.

  A torrent of thoughts and memories poured into her mind. She stumbled back, caught in the tidal wave and shoved out of Witt’s mind. Emily staggered, her legs buckling beneath her as she crashed back into her own body. Cat caught her a moment before she could collapse, then held her as she threw up violently. Her entire body seemed utterly disgusted by what she’d done. And yet...

  Witt screamed. “What have you done?”

  “The hex is gone,” Emily managed. Her mouth tasted utterly foul. She coughed and spat, grateful beyond words for the glass of water Cat offered her. “You can interrogate him now.”

  Jade let out a heavy sigh. “Thank you.”

  Emily barely heard him. It was hard, so hard, to focus. She was on her hands and knees, the world around her so grey that she was practically alone...Cat was holding her, she could feel him holding her, but...she shook her head. It would take time for everything to return to normal.

  “I’ll take her back to...back to the place we left,” Cat said. His arm tightened. “She’s not in any state for anything right now.”

  “Understood,” Jade said. His voice was very cold. “I’ll get some answers out of Witt.”

  Emily barely heard him. The world was spinning around her, the walls seemingly closing in on her even though she knew they weren’t moving. She wanted to tell Jade that she had Witt’s memories–or some of them–and...and she wanted to tell him not to let the bastard go. Witt had done terrible things, purely out of spite. She wanted him dead. And yet, she knew part of that was him. She needed time to sit down and clear her mind of Witt.

  I might not have the time, she thought, numbly. She felt...tainted. What have I done?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THE WATER FELT...UNCLEAN.

  No, Emily told herself firmly, as she scrubbed herself down. She felt unclean. She’d forced herself into someone’s mind and...and she would have felt cleaner, she thought, if she’d let him have his way with her in exchange for betraying his king. Her skin itched, even though she knew it was her imagination. She felt as if she would never be clean again.

  She reached for the bucket of water, dipped the scrubbing brush in the cooling liquid and washed herself thoroughly. Her skin was turning red where she’d scrubbed it raw, flecks of blood appearing on her skin where she’d scratched herself, but she couldn’t stop! She wanted to keep scrubbing until she had washed away all the pain and the guilt, yet...yet she knew it was impossible. Witt had not been a nice person–she’d seen his memories and the emotions that went with them–but...she’d done worse. He’d forced girls to surrender to him. She’d literally raped his mind.

  There was no choice, she told herself. She could have done worse, far worse. All she’d really done was undo the spell that kept him from talking. I didn’t have a choice.

  There was a knock at the door. She raised her head. “Go away.”

  Someone–Cat, she hoped–knocked again. She didn’t want him to see her like this–she didn’t want anyone to see her in such a terrible state–but he would be preferable to Jade. Or Mouse. God, she hoped Cat hadn’t sent Mouse to see if sh
e was okay. The little servant might be used to seeing her mistresses in the raw–Witt’s memories suggested that she might be used to seeing quite a bit more–but Emily had never been comfortable with servants. The idea of using a person as a living tool was horrific. She glared at the door, trying to muster the power to lock it closed. But her magic refused to work properly.

  The door opened. Cat stepped in, his eyes going wide as he saw her kneeling in the middle of the room. Emily looked away, feeling truly naked for the first time in what felt like an eternity. She wasn’t just physically naked, she was mentally naked. Lady Barb had told her, in graphic detail, that anyone who took her captive would probably strip her naked. Emily understood, now, precisely what the older woman had meant. She felt utterly defenseless even though she could still feel her magic. She just couldn’t use it.

  Cat knelt down beside her. “It will get better.”

  Emily turned to glare at him. “I told you to go away.”

  “You don’t have to cope with...with the aftermath alone,” Cat said. “We’ve all been there.”

  “If you had the skill to hack into his mind and remove the spell, you would have done so,” Emily said, tartly. It wasn’t entirely fair to blame Cat–it had been Jade’s idea–but he was a convenient target. She was being bitchy and she knew it and she just didn’t care. “What have you done that’s worse?”

  “I was sick to my stomach, the first time I killed a man,” Cat said. “Master Storm was surprisingly gentle, under the circumstances. He told me that he’d had much the same reaction.”

  “You killed him,” Emily said. She’d killed too, directly and indirectly. She didn’t want to admit it, but it was true. “I ripped someone’s mind open and mined it for information.”

  “I’m sure Witt appreciates the difference,” Cat said. “He’s still alive.”

  Emily eyed him, dourly. Jade hadn’t said much about Witt’s eventual fate, but Emily doubted they could take the risk of keeping him prisoner or wiping his mind. It would be far better to slit the bastard’s throat and dump the body in an alleyway, making it look like a robbery gone wrong. Witt’s memories rose up inside her, reminding her that killing him might not be a bad thing. Witt wasn’t the worst monster she’d encountered over the last six years, but he didn’t have the excuse of being insane.

  “Fuck it,” she said. Her stomach clenched, reminding her that she’d thrown up everything she’d eaten over the last two days. “I...fuck it.”

  She forced herself to stand, shrugging off his helping hand. He was looking at her...how could he bear to look at her? She’d torn a man’s mind open...Cat stood next to her, eying her with concern. Didn’t he know what she’d done?

  “I need something to eat,” she said, forcing her unsteady legs to move. “Pass me...pass me something to wear.”

  She felt a little better once she’d wrapped a dressing gown around herself, although it was clear that it had been designed for someone a little bigger than her. Cat strode beside her as she inched into the living room, then went to fetch her a sandwich as soon as she’d tottered over to the nearest chair and sat down. Emily’s lips twitched with a moment of dark amusement. She really must look ghastly if Cat was fetching her something to eat. Most men she’d met on the Nameless World thought cooking for their wives was somehow unnatural.

  But it’s completely different from cooking for paying customers, she thought, with the wry reflection that she might never truly understand her adopted culture. It wasn’t the first time she’d had that thought. They’re two completely different things that just happen to be the same.

  “Thank you,” she said, when Cat passed her the sandwich. It was bland–salt beef, something that might have passed for butter–but it was what she needed. “Did you manage to take a look at his amulet?”

  “It’s keyed to him specifically,” Cat said. “I suspect one of the wards is designed to monitor the guards as they pass in and out of the gates. If he appears to be in two places at once...”

  Emily nodded as she took another bite. King Randor’s wards didn’t seem to be very smart, not compared to the wards protecting Whitehall or Mountaintop, but–perversely–that was almost a strength. Breaking them down would require more brute force than they could muster, at least from the outside. She wondered, sourly, if Jade would put Witt under permanent compulsion. He could carry the charmed parchment through the wards.

  Unless the wards are designed to test for compulsion, she thought. That would put a real crimp in our plans.

  Memories rose up in front of her eyes. The amulets themselves were designed to watch for traces of magical tampering. Witt hadn’t known the details–he’d been discouraged from knowing the details–but it was true. Unless he’d been lied to, of course. Witt wouldn’t have any way to test the theory without getting himself accused of treason and thrown in prison himself. No, he’d be executed on the spot. Randor would have no reason to keep him alive and a great many reasons to do away with him at once.

  Cat cleared his throat. “Emily?”

  Emily shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. “Bad memories.”

  “I understand,” Cat said. “Do you want to go to bed?”

  Emily felt a sudden surge of weepiness that surprised her. She hadn’t wanted to cry so badly since Grandmaster Hasdrubal’s funeral. He still wanted to go to bed with her? Didn’t he know what she’d done? But...she didn’t feel like going to bed with anyone, not now. She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.

  “I didn’t mean together,” Cat said, gently. “I meant...”

  “I know what you meant,” Emily said. Her emotions were a confused blur. She wanted to go to bed with him and she didn’t want to go to bed with him. She wanted to feel wanted and she wanted...she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Witt’s mind was having an impact on hers, even if she hadn’t drained him of every last scrap of knowledge. “I understand.”

  She looked up at his open face, then down at the table. How could he possibly respect her after she’d practically collapsed in front of him? How could he...she told herself, firmly, that Cat was mature enough to understand, but...but she wasn’t sure. She’d worked hard to earn respect from the boys. She hated the idea of losing it because of a brief weakness...

  “You don’t think we can duplicate the amulet,” she said. She wanted–she needed–to change the subject. “Can we hack it?”

  “I doubt it,” Cat said. “An Enchanter might be able to duplicate it, but we’d need to know the precise spellwork for gaining access to the Tower...”

  “Yeah,” Emily said. A nasty thought ran though her head. “We can’t do it. And if we could do it, it would be pointless anyway.”

  “Not unless we managed to get some information out of the Tower’s Warden,” Cat said. “And if we could do that, we wouldn’t need to bother in the first place.”

  Emily opened her mouth to respond, then stopped as she heard the outside door open. Cat glanced at her, then stood. If Jade had been captured–if they’d been followed home–they might be on the verge of getting caught. Emily hoped Jade was alone. She was in no state for a fight.

  “Jade,” Cat said, as Jade entered the townhouse. “What happened?”

  “He was very informative,” Jade said, curtly. He looked satisfied. “Emily?”

  Emily swallowed the impulse to tell him to go to hell. “I’ll recover,” she said, instead. “And Witt?”

  “Dead.”

  “Good,” Cat said. “He might remember a little too much for our safety.”

  “A little,” Emily muttered. She hugged herself, even though it was a sign of weakness. The memories she had were all that remained of a man who’d had great talents, but chosen to waste them in a bad cause. “Clever of him to recognize us.”

  Jade sat down and removed his notebook from his bag. “Apparently, there are two separate guard forces assigned to the Tower. Our late friend”–he made a toasting sign with his hand–“was assigned to the outer guard force. He had access to
some parts of the complex, including the guardposts and guardhouse, but the upper levels were flatly forbidden to him. Nor did he know who was ultimately in charge, under the king. His immediate superior appears to be the only one of the outer guards who knows.”

  “So we grab him,” Cat said.

  “That might be difficult,” Jade said. His eye ran down the notebook. “Apparently, there are six levels to the Tower of Alexis and only two entrances, the second–as we surmised–opening onto a small dock. The lower two levels are for the staff, who are apparently kept separate from the outer guard force completely; the upper four levels are for prisoners. Witt didn’t have the wit to try to find out who else is being held in the complex, or where they may be held. He was discouraged from asking.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Cat said.

  “In the event of the Tower being attacked, the outer guards have orders to keep the attackers at bay as long as possible while the inner guards deal with the prisoners,” Jade continued, grimly. “Witt believes the inner guards have orders to kill some or all of the prisoners if there’s a chance of them being rescued, but he doesn’t know for sure. It’s also possible that they have orders to get the prisoners shackled, then marched down to a boat and sent away before the defenses fall completely. He simply didn’t know.”

  His lips twitched. “On the plus side, he was allowed to go inside the wards. So we can find someone like him and trick him into carrying the parchment. Witt was kind enough to give us a list of his fellows.”

  “If it works,” Emily said.

  “It will,” Jade said. There was a hint of desperation in his voice. “Witt didn’t know who they were guarding, but he did know that their time may be running out. There’s an execution square behind the Tower, apparently, and the executioner has been practicing.”