She took the mug, muttered a spell to neutralize the alcohol, then took a sip. It tasted foul, but it was warming. A cold air was blowing down from the distant mountains, driving away the warmth of night. The clouds overhead promised rain sometime in the middle of the day. Emily hoped they’d be well on their way to Swanhaven City before the skies opened and the downpour began. Travel wasn’t easy on Zangaria’s poor excuse for a road network.
We should just teleport, she thought, as she took another sip. But we have to conserve our magic.
She wanted to lean into Cat’s arms, but she knew better than to show any hint they were in a relationship in front of the men. They’d think less of her, no matter what she’d done. It wasn’t fair, but it had been drummed into her head right from the start. Men respected women who acted like men, who shared the burdens and didn’t complain. They didn’t respect women who showed any traces of femininity. It was all too easy for grumblings about female weaknesses to take root if men felt the women were getting special treatment.
Sergeant Rotherham approached and stopped at a respectful distance, carrying a sheaf of paper. Emily nodded to him, motioning for the sergeant to approach. The formality practiced by Alassa and Jade – and even Cat – was alien to her, despite four years of Martial Magic. She’d wanted to be a combat sorceress and a mediator, once upon a time, but military discipline – and the lines drawn between the ranks – had never sat well with her. She would sooner treat the sergeant as a living person than a servant.
“My Lady, My Lord,” Sergeant Rotherham said. “These are all the papers we were able to recover.”
Emily took the sheaf and glanced through them, quickly. Alassa had made it clear that they were to recover all the intelligence they could, although Emily hadn’t expected to find copies of King Randor’s top secret war plans. Randor hadn’t remained king for so long by being trusting, or by telling his subordinates more than they actually needed to know at any given point. The papers were a handful of readiness reports from further south, a promise of reinforcements at some unspecified future date and a broadsheet containing an outline of the battle outside Alexis. Emily read it carefully, noting all the exaggerations and unanswered questions. It was unlikely in the extreme that the Noblest had lost over a million soldiers in the brief engagement. She didn’t think they had a million soldiers. There was no way their baronies could support such a huge army.
“I see the broadsheets retain their reputation for dishonesty,” Cat said, reading over her shoulder. “I doubt the king really charged the enemy on a golden steed.”
Emily nodded in agreement. King Randor was no coward, but he’d hardly be fool enough to expose himself when there was no adult heir in waiting. His bastard son was barely two years old; his legitimate grandchild hadn’t even been born. Alassa might wind up with the throne by default, assuming she hadn’t been stricken from the rolls like her uncle. Emily rather suspected it was only a matter of time until Randor disinherited his daughter, if he could get the politics to work. It would be hard to strike Alassa from the line of succession without disinheriting her child too.
“We know there was a battle,” Emily said. She scanned the broadsheet for any hints of truth among the lies, but found nothing. The broadsheet singers rarely bothered with truth when lies were much more dramatic. By the time their readers found out, the broadsheets had moved to something new. “And it’s evident that Randor won.”
She reread the papers, but found little of interest. The reinforcements were a potential concern, but judging by the date on the letter it would be several weeks before they materialized. King Randor had been pulling troops out of Winter Flower to support the push south, into the rebel baronies; he hadn’t realized that another threat would materialize in the west. Now, he was caught between two fires. If Alassa managed to build up her army before the king crushed the Noblest, Randor might be on the verge of losing the war. But if he had the chance to deal with one threat before the other threat became serious...
Cat looked at Rotherham. “You’ll remain here and secure the castle,” he said. “Search everyone who wants to cross the bridge, or sail down the river, but otherwise do not attempt to impede transit. If enemy forces arrive, beat them off. It is vitally important that we keep the castle under our control.”
Sergeant Rotherham saluted. “And the prisoners, My Lord?”
“Keep them under guard.” Cat looked pensive, just for a moment. “Did we capture anyone important?”
“No, My Lord,” Sergeant Rotherham said. “The senior officer was a relatively low-ranked knight.”
“Which doesn’t mean he’s ignorant,” Emily said, quickly. “Randor was promoting a great many junior noblemen so they’d stay loyal to him.”
“Yes, My Lady,” Sergeant Rotherham said. “Do you wish to have him put to the question?”
Interrogated and tortured, you mean, Emily thought. The casual brutality of life on the Nameless World never ceased to horrify her. And we don’t even know if he knows anything.
“No,” she said, finally. It was unlikely the king had shared anything with a junior nobleman, whatever his position. “Keep them under guard in the nearby town.”
Sergeant Rotherham looked concerned. “They have given their parole.”
“Keep them under guard anyway,” Cat said, sharply. “The sorcerers have to have a look at them. We don’t know if they can be trusted to keep their parole.”
Emily couldn’t disagree. Technically, a captured nobleman could give his parole – his word not to fight – in exchange for release, but practically she had no idea if their prisoners would keep their word. Promises made to rebels had no validity, as far as the kings and princes of the Allied Lands were concerned. Alassa would execute any paroled nobleman who was captured bearing arms against her – that was her legal right – but Randor would probably execute any paroled nobleman who refused to fight. Perversely, keeping them prisoner was actually doing them a favor.
Sergeant Rotherham bowed his head, then hurried off to attend to the prisoners. Emily finished her mug, put it to one side for the troopers to pick up, then turned her gaze towards the castle. It looked more intimidating in sunlight, a blocky mass squatting on the bridge like a troll waiting for an unwary traveler to walk into its mouth. Emily studied the fast-flowing river for a moment, then caught herself stifling a yawn. She’d been up far too long.
“We’d better move,” Cat said, softly. “The weather won’t stay good.”
He turned and strode towards the town. It had been deserted months ago, apparently; the locals, fearing what the castle’s guards might do to them, had decamped en masse into the undergrowth or headed to the mountains. Emily didn’t blame them. Everyone knew war was coming. The peasants and townspeople would have their houses looted, their meager supplies stolen, their women raped and their menfolk conscripted into the army. Alassa had already executed two men for rape – and a third for stealing – but it would be a long time before the peasants trusted any soldier. They regarded the army with the same kind of loathing people felt for cockroaches. Only mercenaries were lower on the social scale.
Emily followed Cat, her body starting to ache. She needed rest, but she didn’t dare show weakness. People would talk. Alassa might be happy being a princess and a queen, set on a pedestal with her strong right arm by her side, but Emily knew it wouldn’t suit her. Alassa would be very isolated as she began her reign. Emily wasn’t the most sociable of people – she knew her weaknesses all too well – but she didn’t want to be that isolated.
I should have become a librarian, she thought, wryly. But destiny had another idea.
A troop of mounted guards stood next to a carriage, waiting by the deserted inn. Cat spoke briefly to their leader, issuing orders, then motioned for Emily to climb into the carriage. Emily gritted her teeth as she pulled open the door. Whoever had designed the carriage hadn’t heard of suspension, let alone spells to smooth the ride. She was going to be black and blue by the time they r
eached Swanhaven. Cat scrambled up next to her and sat on the wooden seat. Emily suspected he would have preferred to ride a horse, but he’d chosen to keep her company instead. She appreciated that more than she cared to admit.
The carriage rattled into life, the guards shouting cheerfully as they led the way onto the muddy road. Randor and his ancestors had inherited a road network from the old Empire, but they hadn’t bothered to maintain it. The network had been falling apart for years, even though it was vitally important for moving the king’s troops around as well as trade. Emily had a sneaking suspicion the barons had deliberately allowed the roads to rot. They’d do anything to reduce the king’s ability to bring them to heel.
That will have to change, she thought. It was only a matter of time before new roads – and railroads – started to bind the kingdom closer. Alassa will have to change it when she takes the throne.
Cat muttered a handful of spells to make the journey a little easier as the carriage picked up speed. Emily nodded in gratitude, then added a couple of privacy spells of her own. The guards might be watching the carriage, looking for glimpses of their important passengers in a private moment. Alassa might regard her servants as little more than tools – although she’d been getting better about that – but Emily had never made that mistake. Servants had eyes, ears and – sometimes – a motive to betray their more abusive masters. And their masters rarely suspected them even when it was clear they’d been betrayed...
Emily dismissed the thought as she leaned back against the hard wooden box, closing her eyes and trying to sleep. Cat took her hand and held it, gently; Emily leaned against him, silently relieved that he’d joined her. He was strongly muscular, far stronger than any of the teenage boys she’d avoided on Earth, but he was softer than the carriage walls. His arm wrapped around her as she slowly went to sleep.
She jerked awake what felt like bare minutes later. Her body was aching uncomfortably, all pins and needles. Cat shifted against her, but didn’t stir. Emily smiled wanly – his snores were loud enough to wake the hounds of hell – and then checked her watch. It was early afternoon. They’d been asleep for hours. She shrugged, massaged some feeling back into her legs, then pushed the curtain aside and peered out. The carriage was passing through a mid-sized town, townspeople turning to stare as the carriage went by. Emily was surprised the town hadn’t been evacuated too, but they probably thought they were far enough from the border to remain safe. Besides, the road followed the river up to Swanhaven – and Beneficence. Abandoning the town would only drive the river trade into the hands of their rivals.
Emily leaned forward, forcing herself to look more closely. There were a handful of children on the street, all boys. There were no girls or young women at all. The only women she saw looked to be in their sixties, although she knew looks could be deceiving. There was a very good chance that the women were in their forties, perhaps even younger. Childbirth and poor nutrition ensured they aged rapidly. Emily had met women who were grandmothers at thirty. Things would change, she thought, when Alassa took the throne. The New Learning had already started to change the world.
The carriage passed out of the town and into the countryside, driving past endless fields of corn and cattle. Emily noted a handful of downtrodden peasants working the fields and felt a pang of sympathy, knowing – all too well – that the peasants might have lost their lands to legal trickery and found themselves forced to become serfs, working the land they’d formerly owned. It was just another reason for the peasants to hate the nobility, just another reason for them to take advantage of the war to help themselves. She’d heard reports of manors being burnt and tax records being destroyed. It would take years to put the system back together, if anyone felt it was worth trying. The nobility couldn’t keep the peasants enslaved forever.
Cat shifted against her as the carriage finally passed through the gates and entered Swanhaven City. Emily wrinkled her nose as the wind shifted, blowing the stench of too many humans too close together across her nostrils. Jade had instituted strict sanitation laws when his father-in-law had given him the barony, but they clearly hadn’t been a great success. It would take time for people to stop crapping out the windows, even though there was a bounty paid for chamberpots of night soil. The nitrates in human shit could be used to make gunpowder.
Perhaps we should increase the bounty, she thought, as the smell grew worse. It clearly isn’t enough.
She nudged Cat, gently. He started awake, one hand coming up in a casting pose before realizing he was perfectly safe. Emily had to smile as he brushed his hair back from his face, although she knew it wasn’t funny. Pillion, one of the boys who’d shared Martial Magic with her when she’d been in First Year, had been punched in the face when he’d tried to wake Jade from a sound sleep. Sergeant Miles had not been amused. He’d bawled Pillion out for being stupid enough to stand too close to a sleeping – and armed – man in a place they’d been told to consider a combat zone. Emily had always been careful to keep her distance ever since.
“We’re here,” Cat said. He peered out of the window. “Where are we?”
Emily rolled her eyes. Clearly, Cat was still half-asleep.
“We’re coming up the Baronial Mile now,” she said. Swanhaven was practically a miniature version of Alexis, right down to the road leading up to the castle. The streets were lined with expensive houses, mainly occupied by merchants and tradesmen who made a living through dominating the river trade. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
“Good,” Cat said. He rubbed his legs, thoroughly. “We can bask in the praise for a job well done.”
Emily snorted as the carriage crossed the drawbridge, passed through the gatehouse and rattled to a halt in the courtyard. Her hair threatened to stand on end as Jade’s wards swept over them, making sure they were who they claimed to be. She sensed powerful magics waiting, ready to snap at any unauthorized intruders. Jade’s paranoia had grown to new heights after the first assassination attempt.
Cat opened the door and jumped down to the cobblestones. Emily followed, a little more gingerly. Her body felt stiff and sore. She needed a long bath and a sleep in a proper bed, although she doubted she’d have time to have either before they were summoned to Alassa’s presence. Hopefully, she’d at least have a chance to splash water on her face. Alassa would be understanding, if they turned up dirty and smelly, but her war council might not be quite so generous. It wasn’t enough to be good, Emily had heard. It was important to look good too. Spells just weren’t good enough.
A messenger appeared and went down on one knee. “My Lord... ah, My Lady, My Lord... the Princess Regnant summons you to her august presence.”
Emily hid her amusement. The boy – he looked to be no older than twelve – had messed up the precedence. Technically, he should have hailed Emily first, then Cat. He’d realized his mistake too late to do anything, but try to pretend it hadn’t happened. She felt a stab of wry sympathy for the poor youth. He’d be beaten savagely if his superiors heard what had happened. Precedence was serious business.
“We thank you,” she said, grandly. Cat wouldn’t make an issue of it, she thought, and no one else had heard. “We just need to use the washroom, then we will attend upon the princess.”
The messenger bowed his head. “Of course, Your Ladyship,” he said. “I will lead you to the washroom at once.”
Emily exchanged a smile with Cat, then allowed the messenger to bring them into the castle. The wards grew stronger, shifting around her as if they weren’t certain she was allowed into the building. Jade was definitely feeling paranoid.
But who can blame him? Emily thought, as the messenger showed them the washroom. If Alassa dies, his life will be over.
Chapter Three
“EMILY,” ALASSA CALLED, AS EMILY AND Cat stepped into the meeting room. “It’s good to see you again.”
Emily nodded, studying her friend carefully. Alassa looked to have aged ten years overnight since the escape, her heart-shap
ed face worn down by trials and tribulations. Her blonde hair flowed down her back, standing out against the long green dress she wore. Whoever had designed it had done a good job, Emily noted as she approached Alassa’s chair. It was feminine – no one could be in any doubt of that – but it wasn’t blatantly sexual. Her figure was barely visible, almost completely left to the imagination. The only place the dress was tight was around her growing baby bump. Alassa wanted to make it clear that she was carrying a legitimate child.
“It’s good to see you too,” Emily said, going down on one knee. Behind her, she knew Cat was kneeling too. It felt weird to be paying so much respect to her friend, but she knew it was important. Alassa could not afford to be familiar in front of so many watching eyes. She had to keep a public distance from her friends or her relationships might be used against her. “It’s been too long.”
Alassa smiled, rather wanly. “You may rise.” She indicated a pair of seats, midway down the table. “Please, be seated. We look forward to hearing your story.”
Emily sat, tensing slightly as a trio of servants entered carrying glasses of wine. The servants would have been vetted, of course, but could they really be trusted? They’d probably worked for Lord Hans and Lady Regina before the previous rulers of the barony had died in Alexis; indeed, it was quite possible they were spying for the king. Randor might not be quite as blind to the danger posed by listening servants as they’d assumed. He’d already promoted one woman, a combat sorceress, to a very high-ranking post. Emily took her glass, muttered a spell to check it was safe to drink, then took a single sip and put it on the table. She had never liked drinking, even when the alcohol was removed. It reminded her too much of her mother.
She leaned back and surveyed the table as the servants closed the doors behind them. Jade sat at Alassa’s right hand, a sword sitting prominently on his belt. He was the only man allowed to wear a sword in the presence of the Princess Regnant, although Emily rather suspected it was meaningless. She, Cat and Imaiqah – sitting on Alassa’s left side – were powerful magicians. A lone swordsman wouldn’t stand a chance. But then, Jade was a sorcerer too. Emily didn’t fancy her chances if she had to fight Jade in a no-holds-barred duel.
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