She sat on the bed and rubbed her forehead. Lord Hardin’s ward was too young for a betrothal, let alone a marriage. And yet, Hardin thought he could bind her to him - and ensure permanent control over her lands - before she grew too old to object. Alassa allowed herself a flash of cold anger. She knew how she would have felt, if her father had announced her betrothal before she reached her majority. It might have been years before the marriage was solemnized, but everyone would have treated it as a done deal from day one. If she’d had a brother...
“I might need you to go look at her lands, to see how he’s ruling them,” she said. She hated the idea of sending Jade away for a few days, but there were few people she trusted completely. And besides, Hardin wouldn’t be fool enough to give Jade a hard time. If he did... Jade would smash him flat well before word reached Alexis. “Perhaps even to provoke a fight.”
Jade nodded as he sat next to her. “How much do you want me to provoke a fight?”
“Only a little,” Alassa said. She wanted an excuse to take a swing at Hardin - or, at the very least, to park a garrison in his lands - but it had to look legitimate. “I don’t want to push him so blatantly everyone takes his side.”
She leaned into Jade’s arms, allowing him to hold her tightly. It was a display of weakness she could never allow herself in front of the court, not when half of them already believed Jade gave her orders in private and the other half thought he should. Bastards. It hadn’t been that long since they’d been slated for execution, if they fell into Randor’s hands. A little gratitude was not too much to expect, was it? It probably was. Courtiers had short memories. And now there was an infant princess, she’d bet her crown that some of them were considering the advantages of having a monarch who couldn’t talk.
And if I die early, she thought, Jade will take Baby Emily and run.
Jade kissed her, lightly. Alassa lifted her lips to his, enjoying the sensation. His hands started to roam her body, fiddling with the clasp behind her back. The dress was designed to be difficult to take off in a hurry, something that Alassa had once found a little amusing. It wasn’t so funny now. The unmarried ladies of the court might have reason to wear a chastity belt, or something that served the same purpose, but she was a married woman. And she was the queen...
The wards jangled. Alassa jumped, swallowing a curse. Whoever had disturbed her was going to regret it. Whoever... she reminded herself, sharply, that she needed to hear the messenger out before she did something unspeakable. No one would dare enter her chambers unless it was urgent. She stood, straightened her dress and gave Jade a meaningful look. He headed for the secret passage that ran beside the reception room. King Randor had used it to conceal guards, when holding meetings with untrustworthy aristocrats. Alassa preferred to use it to allow her husband to listen to the meetings, without making his presence obvious. It was yet another compromise she’d had to make between what the court expected of her and what she had to do to maintain her sanity.
She raised an eyebrow as she stepped through the door and saw Mouse waiting for her. The young woman - she was practically a commoner, although her father had been knighted long ago - was loyal. She had to be. Alassa had rewarded her for her services by elevating her over the countless noblewomen - and men - who thought they should be Mistress of the Queen’s Bedchamber. It had made her enemies, but... Alassa tried not to grimace. Mouse was loyal to her personally and that was all that mattered. And besides, she wasn’t anything like as hidebound as the rest of the court. She didn’t waste time trying to turn her queen into something she wasn’t.
“Your Majesty.” Mouse curtsied. Her face was pale, fearful. “Prince Hedrick has arrived.”
Alassa blinked. “Prince Hedrick of Alluvia?”
Mouse nodded. Alassa’s mind raced. Prince Hedrick had wanted to marry her, years ago. He’d attended her wedding, but then... she didn’t recall hearing much of anything about him. Hedrick was a second son. He wouldn’t be promoted over his brother... hell, there was a very real chance he would be sent into de facto exile. If he had... why had he come to Zangaria? Alassa couldn’t think of a good reason. It wasn’t as if she was obliged to give him more than the time of day.
“He just galloped into the courtyard,” Mouse added. “He requests an immediate meeting.”
“I see.” Alassa was tempted to tell Hedrick to wait. And yet, he wouldn’t have broken protocol so blatantly unless the situation was dire. What was it? “Please have him shown to the blue room. I’ll speak with him there.”
She glanced at the walls as Mouse turned and hurried out of the room. Jade would make his way down to the next cubbyhole, while Alassa moved through the monarch’s private corridors. She thought fast, trying to determine why Hedrick had galloped all the way to Zangaria... even using the portals, it was a hell of a long way. If he’d come to pledge his love... she snorted at the thought. It would be preferable, she supposed, to a bid for his kingdom’s throne. That would be a major diplomatic headache.
I suppose I could tell him to get lost and swear blind I didn’t see him, she thought, as she stepped into the blue room. But too many people will have noticed his arrival.
She took a seat and waited, folding her hands on her lap as the door opened. Prince Hedrick stepped into the room - he’d lost the swagger, part of her mind noted - and bowed deeply to her. There was no hint of reluctance, no suggestion he thought he should be bowing to a king instead. And yet, as he straightened, he looked nervous. His eyes flickered from side to side, as if he expected assassins to teleport into the chamber and jump him. His magic felt barely leashed. Alassa hadn’t intended to offer refreshments, let alone alcohol, but she was tempted to do just that. Hedrick looked like someone who needed a drink.
He was handsome enough, she supposed. The unfinished cast to his features she recalled from his unsuccessful courtship was gone. His face suggested a strong character, his short blond hair suggesting a martial mindset. Or, perhaps, martial ambitions. Hedrick was old enough to have fought in the last battles of the war, but Emily hadn’t mentioned him in her letters. His father might not have let him go. Losing one prince would be bad. Losing both would be a disaster.
“Your Majesty.” Hedrick didn’t stumble over the words. “On behalf of my father and brother, I must plead for your help.”
Alassa’s eyes narrowed. She would have understood the younger generation rebelling against the elder. She would have understood Hedrick waging war on his father and older brother. But... asking for help on behalf of both of them? What had happened? And why was he so fearful?
“Your Majesty, I...” Hedrick swallowed and started again. “There has been an uprising in the streets. We have lost control of Jorlem City and many smaller cities. The rebels have my father and stepmother prisoner, along with my half-sisters and many others. I... I barely escaped with my life. The Crown Prince is assembling his troops to retake the cities, but... we need help.”
Alassa kept her face carefully blank. Zangaria was quite some distance from Alluvia. It would be tricky to assemble troops and dispatch them to the other kingdom, even if it wasn’t politically impossible. She knew there were factions within her government that would flatly refuse to send help, and others that would use it as an excuse to demand crackdowns at home... hell, just sending troops would cause problems with other kingdoms. The Necromantic War was over. Alassa was uncomfortably aware that the Allied Lands were starting to fracture, as old grudges came back to life. She didn’t regret the end of the war, but... she had to cope with the problems of victory.
“Zangaria is a long way from Alluvia,” she said, carefully. “Why do you require my help?”
Hedrick looked down. “The rebels claim to have been inspired by one of your noblewomen,” he said. “The rebellion is in her name.”
Alassa raised her eyebrows. “Emily.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Hedrick said. “They claim to have risen in her name.”
“Emily would not have set out to trigger a rebe
llion,” Alassa said, flatly. “She’s been... busy.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Hedrick repeated. “And yet the rebels claim to have risen in her name.”
Alassa wasn’t sure how seriously to take that. Hedrick was describing literally world-shaking events. Alassa should have heard something, beyond vague rumors, well before the younger prince arrived at her door. Alluvia was a long way away, but still... she sighed, inwardly. The tale had probably grown in the telling. Emily wouldn’t have set out to overthrow a kingdom, but...
“I will discuss the matter with my trusted advisors and then get back to you,” Alassa said, slowly. “I do not believe, however, that she is behind your rebellion.”
“They claim she inspired them,” Hedrick said. “Our councilors advised us to request that you bring her to heel.”
Alassa hid her amusement. Emily was, technically, a liegewoman. She was supposed to support her queen in all things. But Emily didn’t really accept the responsibilities - or half of the rights - of a liegewoman. She didn’t even understand them. Alassa knew Emily couldn’t be pressured into doing anything. King Randor had tried and the result had been an utter disaster. She could see how Hedrick, and his advisors, might think Alassa could control her...
Which means I might get the blame, if Emily is credited with starting the uprising, Alassa thought. Shit.
She stood, signaling that the interview was over. She’d have to discuss the matter with Jade - and then Emily herself. Emily’s last letter had said she was going to Laughter Academy... quite some distance from Alluvia. That was meaningless, of course. Emily could teleport. And she’d figured out how to craft an enchanted device that allowed anyone to teleport, too...
“Your Majesty!” Hedrick looked stunned. “I appeal to you...”
Alassa bit off a sharp response. Hedrick didn’t appeal to her, not really. Instead, she summoned Mouse and directed her to show Hedrick to the guestroom. The servants would take care of him - and, also, keep an eye on him. It would be useful to know just what sort of person he was, although... Alassa shook her head as he followed Mouse out the door. He’d just dropped a massive hot potato in her lap...
... And, for the first time in far too long, she was unsure how to handle it.
Chapter One
“LADY EMILY,” MASTER LUCKNOW SAID. His voice was very cold. He never took his eyes off Emily. “In the name of the White Council, and the Allied Lands, I am placing you under arrest.”
Emily stared at him, caught completely off-guard. She could sense powerful wards shimmering into existence, surrounding the inn. Wards designed to stop her from teleporting, wards designed to confuse her and conceal the enemy positions... her mind raced as she looked at Master Lucknow. There were four combat sorcerers facing her... four potential enemies and Jan. Her boyfriend hadn’t moved. He was caught between her and his master, unable to take sides without alienating one or both of them.
She held herself at the ready, unsure of what to do. There had to be more sorcerers outside, casting the wards. She hoped they’d had the sense to evacuate the surrounding area, although she feared they hadn’t bothered. And yet, they’d managed to taint the food. Had they hoped she’d sedate herself? Or poison herself? It was a common trick, when faced with newborn necromancers and dark wizards. If she’d eaten the food, would she have woken up in a cell? Would she have woken at all?
“Master?” Jan’s voice broke through the silence. “What are you doing?”
Master Lucknow directed a sharp look at him. “Shut up.”
Jan audibly swallowed. “Master...”
“I said, shut up,” Master Lucknow snapped. “Lady Emily, you are under arrest.”
Emily found her voice. “On what charge?”
“The charges will be discussed at your hearing,” Master Lucknow informed her. He removed a vial from his belt and held it out. “Drink this, then prepare for teleport.”
“I need to send a message to my master,” Emily said. She tried to remember what little she’d been taught about prisoner rights. There weren’t many. The Mediators had powers of arrest, if a warrant was issued by the White Council... her mind raced. They couldn’t demand a warrant without word reaching Alassa, or Melissa, or Void himself. Emily couldn’t believe her friends wouldn’t warn her. And that boded ill. “I also want to see the warrant.”
“You can do both, once you drink the potion,” Master Lucknow said, flatly. “Once you are in custody, you can send messages to whoever you like.”
Emily gritted her teeth. The Mediators were obligated to carry the warrant and show it upon demand. She didn’t recall much from Master Tor’s classes on law, but she recalled that. There were just too many kingdoms, estates and city-states that disliked the idea of international police forces throwing their weight around. In fact... she wondered, suddenly, if Duchene had been so quick to get rid of her because she knew the Mediators were on their way. The Headmistress of Laughter was Pendle’s ruler, to all intents and purposes. The Mediators should have informed her before the arrest began.
Her heart sank. If the Mediators were unwilling to produce the warrant, it suggested they didn’t have one. They couldn’t have one, not without summoning the whole council. And that meant... she looked at the vial, wondering what it really contained. Did they intend to arrest her first and invent the charges later? Or did they intend to kill her before the rest of the council, and her friends, could object?
She took a step back. “I need to send a message first,” she said. She disliked the thought of running to Void, or anyone, to beg for help, but she doubted she had a choice. “And then I will...”
“Drink the potion,” Master Lucknow ordered. He produced a pair of shackles from his belt and held them at the ready. “Now.”
A memory burst into her mind... Emily is kneeling on a stone floor, her hands and feet chained with cold iron. The spectators are booing loudly as her judges close in, joining hands in a fearsome ritual that will destroy her magic...
The flash of memory, of the demonic vision, was so strong Emily almost fainted. The world around her seemed to fade, just for a moment. She shivered, suddenly very aware she was on the cusp of disaster. If they took her... would they seek to destroy her power, to strip the magic from her, or simply kill her? She looked from face to face, reading grim determination in their eyes. They were ready to fight, ready to take her by force. And if they didn’t have a warrant... she swallowed, hard. She couldn’t let herself go with them.
“No.” Emily faced them, readying herself. “I want to see the warrant.”
One of the combat sorcerers made a gesture. Emily sensed a shimmer of magic, a webbing that - if it took shape and form - would trap her until she drained herself dry. Master Lucknow took a step forward, raising his hand. The netting centered on him, growing stronger and stronger with every passing second. She couldn’t let herself be trapped. It would be the end of everything. She was grossly outnumbered, but she didn’t have to beat them all to win. She just had to get clear of the wards and teleport out.
She summoned a wave of raw magic and directed it into the netting. The spellwork shattered, bits of magic splintering in all directions. She didn’t hesitate, generating a blinding flash of light that should have been enough to disorient them. Master Lucknow had enough presence of mind to counter the spell, but it bought her a few seconds. She cast a bigger spell of her own, yanking up every chair and table in the inn and hurling them at the sorcerers. It wouldn’t kill them, if they reacted quickly, but it would buy her a little more time. She saw Jan throwing himself towards the rear door as she darted backwards, without looking back. She didn’t blame him. He’d wind up in real trouble if he turned against his master.
One of the sorcerers grunted, tumbling to the ground as a chair struck him in the chest. He’d be fine, Emily was sure, but the impact should put him out of the fight. The others had raised their wards, smashing the tables and spraying sawdust in all directions. Emily summoned a wind, blowing the sawdus
t towards them. It might just get in their eyes. She turned and blasted the wall behind her, feeling a twinge of guilt. The innkeeper and his family were long gone, but they were going to come home to a pile of rubble. She made a promise to herself that she’d pay for repairs, if she survived. The surge of magic behind her suggested the combat sorcerers were angry.
She ran through the gash in the walls, into an alleyway. It was disturbingly empty. The wards buzzed against her mind as she glanced up and down, then drew on her magic and flew down the alleyway. Going too high would be a good way to get killed, but as long as she stayed low she should be able to put enough distance between herself and the wardcrafters to teleport out. She glanced up at Laughter as she flew past a taller building, wondering if she should try to get to the school. It might provide refuge... she shook her head. Duchene had plenty of reason to want Emily out of the way for a while. Going there might just get her arrested.
A force snapped around her legs, cancelling the spell. Emily fell, drawing on more of her magic to cushion the landing. The ground seemed to explode around her, turning rapidly to animated mud... she rolled over and over, catching sight of a magician roaring and chanting as he directed his spell. Ingenious, part of her mind noted. He’d turned the ground into a bog, charming the water to wear down her magic. It would have worked, too, if Void hadn’t taught her how to drain the magic from liquid. The sensation was thoroughly unpleasant, but... she sucked the magic out and directed it back at the caster, channeled into an overpowered stunning spell. His eyes went wide, an instant before he tumbled to the ground. He was still twitching, still trying to throw off the spell, as she ran past.
That might have been a mistake, she thought, numbly. She didn’t have time to kick him in the head. Hopefully, he’d be distracted long enough to keep him out of the fight even if the spell didn’t put him to sleep. Overpowering spells is a necromancer trick.
The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22) Page 2