Her eyes scanned his body. He was clearly used to working with his hands. His arms and legs were muscular, yet not absurdly so. She guessed he’d been a craftsman before he’d become a rebel, although it was hard to be sure. Farmers tended to be more conservative than craftsmen. The latter wanted to push the limits of the possible, while the former was disinclined to experiment. She reminded herself, sharply, that she could be wrong. The man was a stranger.
“I am Althorn, Son of Tyler,” the man said. “I greet you, Emily, but I cannot welcome your comrade. He needs to face the People’s Justice.”
Emily could hear the capital letters thudding into place. The crowd murmured in agreement, inching closer and closer until they were pressing against the coach. She forced herself to think. Handing Prince Hedrick over wasn’t an option, not when she’d agreed to protect him. But not handing him over would make it impossible to negotiate with the rebels... as if it wasn’t already impossible. She gritted her teeth. Events seemed to be piling up so rapidly that outright civil war was becoming inevitable. There was no way the two sides could come to a compromise without one side backing down completely.
“Prince Hedrick is under...”
“Hedrick,” Althorn corrected. “We no longer recognize the aristocracy. The People’s Assembly has declared all titles of nobility forbidden.”
Emily was inclined to agree - the concept of aristocracy was fundamentally unfair - but that was an argument for another time. “Hedrick, then,” she conceded. “Hedrick is under my protection, in line with the safe conduct you sent. I cannot hand him over to you.”
The crowd surged with anger. Althorn held up a hand, quietening them. Emily studied him thoughtfully. He had charisma and yet... he seemed to have too much control. Was he a magician? She couldn’t sense any magic around him, yet... that proved nothing. She reached out gingerly with her senses, picking up traces of magic blanketing the city. The rebels had some magicians working for them, she guessed. Their wards were enough to keep the royalist forces from spying on them.
“The People’s Assembly has proclaimed him guilty of numerous offenses,” Althorn informed her. “He has to face the court.”
And get his head chopped off, Emily thought, sourly. She didn’t like Hedrick, and yet she couldn’t let him be taken and killed out of hand. The trial wouldn’t be remotely fair. What on Earth do I do now?
“I cannot let you take him,” Emily said. In hindsight, perhaps it had been a mistake to let Hedrick accompany them. “If you object to his presence, I’ll teleport him elsewhere, but it will make it harder for you to talk to the royalists.”
Althorn smiled. “I suppose there are few other people the one who styles himself the Crown Prince will heed,” he said. “Very well. We’ll leave him in your custody. But you are responsible for his behavior. Feel free to hand him over when you tire of him.”
The crowd laughed. Emily felt a flicker of irritation. The one who styled himself the Crown Prince... it was going to be hard to get anything done if both parties refused to recognize the other’s mere existence. She looked at the king’s head and shuddered, inwardly. Perhaps it would be better to grab Hedrick, teleport everyone out and leave the royalists and rebels to fight it out. But she knew just how many people would be caught in the middle. The slaughter would be beyond imagination.
“If you’ll allow me, I’ll lead you to your accommodation,” Althorn said. He scrambled into the coach without waiting for permission. “Drive down towards the embankment, then turn right towards the castle.”
Silent cracked the whip. The crowd parted to allow them to drive into the city. Emily glanced back and saw the guards resuming their positions, as if nothing had happened. It bothered her... had it all been a set up? Some of the guards looked professional, despite their mismatched uniforms; some looked as if they didn’t know how to fire their guns. She hoped they knew which end to point at the enemy. She’d heard horror stories about men who peered down the barrels while pulling the triggers...
Up close, Althorn looked... striking. She felt a stirring that she hastily suppressed. He was attractive, but... there was more to it than just physical attraction. She wasn’t sure how to put it into words. She’d met kings and powerful sorcerers and she’d never felt such a stirring... not even with Cat. She gritted her teeth. Such feelings were dangerous. They were not to be trusted.
She leaned down and unfroze Hedrick. The prince’s sword clattered to the deck. “Behave yourself,” she said, firmly. “Or I’ll freeze you again.”
Hedrick gave her a look that promised bloody revenge. It would have scared her if she hadn’t faced angry necromancers. She knew he’d been humiliated - if she was any judge, the tale would rapidly spread all over the city - but she’d saved his life. The crowd hadn’t wanted to give him a fair trial. They’d wanted to cut off his head and stick it on a pike. She understood the impulse, but... she sighed, inwardly, as Hedrick took his seat. He’d probably be convicted in a fair trial, too.
She turned away, studying the city. The streets and buildings reminded her of Alexis, steadily growing larger and fancier as they moved deeper and deeper into the city. A number of buildings had been burnt to the ground, the rubble still smoldering as rebels and citizens poked through the debris for anything they could salvage. Others looked untouched. She wasn’t too surprised to note that all the pubs had been left strictly alone. Men - and not a few women - were drinking heavily, although it was the middle of the day. Her lips thinned in disapproval. Drunken crowds were dangerous.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied the people. There were rebel soldiers everywhere, all wearing the little cloth caps, but the civilians seemed surprisingly happy. Emily found it difficult to believe. People from all walks of life were on the streets, from children playing happily to young woman walking without male guardians. Jorlem City - Freedom City, Althorn had called it - was more open and tolerant than the countryside, but it was odd to see so many unaccompanied women. And with so many soldiers on the streets... she shook her head. It looked as though society was changing, perhaps for the better. Perhaps the rebels had already given women full civil rights.
Their parents won’t like that, she thought. And it may not work out so well for the girls themselves, if they insist on rights without responsibilities.
“That was a bank,” Prince Hedrick muttered, pointing to a burnt-out shell. It had clearly been solidly built, to the point the fire hadn’t destroyed the framework, but it was beyond hope of repair. “If the records were destroyed...”
“The records of who owes what have been destroyed,” Althorn said. There was a hint of glee in his voice. “We will all start with a clean slate.”
“And then act all surprised when no one loans you any money,” Prince Hedrick snapped. “Or do you think you can just take what you want?”
“Why not?” Althorn smirked. “You did.”
Prince Hedrick clenched his fists. Emily shot him a sharp look. There was no time for debate, not now. The destruction of the records would tear holes in the kingdom’s finances... she wondered, absently, if it would matter. There’d be no way to sort out who owed what... but there would also be no way to clarify who owned what. She looked at the houses along the embankment and scowled. Half of them appeared to have been torn open, looted and then handed over to whoever wanted them. And who knew what would happen when the original owners demanded them back?
She listened, quietly, as Prince Hedrick kept up a running commentary of destroyed or damaged buildings. Some had belonged to countryside families, who normally lived outside the city; some belonged to cityfolk, who’d either fled the city or been caught by the mob. She had very little sympathy for aristocrats who abused their people, but the aristocrats had had children... she doubted, somehow, that the younger aristocrats had been spared. There were enough stories about lost heirs to thrones and lands being hidden away until they grew to manhood to encourage the mob to kill them all. She shuddered. She’d seen it before, in Zangaria and
Pendle Town, but it was worse here.
A stench of rotting fish touched her nostrils as the wind changed. She looked into the river and scowled. She’d been told the river was threatening to run dry, but she hadn’t realized just how bad it had become. The river had once been big enough to allow sailors to navigate their way up to the city and beyond. Now, the water was so low she doubted anything bigger than a rowboat could make its way along the river without hitting the rocks. She could see the shore past the embankment, mud and rocks that were normally covered by water. The docks along the riverside looked like sick jokes. There was no sign of any boats.
“The king refused to do anything about the river,” Althorn said, quietly. “Just as he refused to tackle all of the other problems.”
“And what was he meant to do about it?” Prince Hedrick laughed. “Piss in the river until it burst its banks?”
Althorn grinned, but said nothing. Emily wondered what he was thinking. She didn’t know what, if anything, the king could have done about the drought. He could have tried to meddle with the weather, she supposed, but such magics were dangerously unpredictable. The rain might not come or it might fall in torrents, as it had near Laughter. It was quite possible the rain would do as much damage, perhaps more, as the drought.
The fields are drying out, she reminded herself. If the authorities had dug for wells, which was possible, their efforts had clearly failed. The king might not have had a choice but to try.
“Turn up the street here,” Althorn said. “We’ve reserved a house for you.”
Prince Hedrick made an angry sound. “These houses belong to the royal advisors!”
“And now they belong to the People,” Althorn said, mildly. He looked at Emily, pointedly ignoring Hedrick. “You should see some of the stuff we pulled out of them, before their new owners took possession. The servants were very helpful. Some of them even knifed their masters before they could run.”
Emily wasn’t surprised. Servants were frequently abused. Beaten, raped, fired on the slightest pretense... she wasn’t remotely surprised so many servants had turned on their masters. The resentment would have been building for years. It was easy to start wondering why one had to be a servant, working from dawn ‘til dusk, when someone else lived a life of luxury. The servants were caught in a trap, unable to leave without risking their chances of future employment elsewhere... unable even to talk back. She understood perfectly. If she’d been a servant, practically a slave, she would have yearned for the chance to fight back, too.
“They were treated well,” Prince Hedrick insisted. “They were...”
“No,” Althorn said. “They were treated like dirt.”
He leaned forward. “This house here, please,” he said. “It used to belong to Councilor Triune. The slippery bastard managed to get away, somehow.”
“He’ll want it back,” Hedrick snapped. “And he’ll get it back, too.”
Emily looked up and down the street. It was almost deserted. Wards hung in the air, a stifling cobweb that pressed against her magic. She could tear through them, she was sure, but not without being detected. Someone really wanted to keep prying eyes out of their homes. And yet... she wondered, suddenly, why there were so few people on the streets here. It wasn’t as if there were any barricades. They hadn’t passed any checkpoints since they’d entered the city themselves.
“There are no servants,” Althorn said. “Councilor Triune had a small army of maids under his roof. None of them wanted to stay.”
“Traitors,” Hedrick said.
Emily ignored them as she turned to look at the house. It was grander than she’d expected, easily twice the size of her home in Dragon’s Den. The walls were made of solid stone, marred by a nasty-looking scar above the main entrance. She guessed a coat of arms had hung there, before the revolution. Rebels generally tore down all signs of their former oppressors, even though they often had more practical concerns. She hadn’t seen any statues, as they’d made their way through the city. They’d probably been torn down as well.
“I trust this will be suitable?” Althorn sounded amused, as if he didn’t care about the answer. “I’m afraid we cannot offer servants.”
“It will be suitable,” Emily said, firmly. She didn’t intend to live in the house for any longer than strictly necessary. “It will, of course, be considered an embassy. Hedrick will be permitted to live there without interference.”
“As long as he remains within the walls,” Althorn said with a wry smile, “we will be happy to pretend he doesn’t exist.”
Emily smiled at Hedrick’s expression, then sobered. It wasn’t going to be easy to secure the house. The original wards appeared to be gone. Lady Barb and she could cast dozens of wards, but the house was too large to protect without a wardstone and weeks of work. They simply didn’t have the time. And that meant... she sighed. She had the feeling the house had been chosen with malice aforethought.
And there’s nothing you can do about it, she thought. You’ll just have to go with the flow.
Chapter Twelve
Emily HAD EXPECTED TO FEEL SOMETHING upon stepping into Councilor Triune’s house.
She’d heard of him. He’d been mentioned extensively in the briefing notes, although none one had been precisely clear on what Councilor Triune did for the king. Emily rather suspected he was an older, wiser and possibly more cunning version of Viscount Sejanus Nightingale, who’d handled the dirty work for King Randor. Nightingale had vanished shortly after the civil war had begun and never resurfaced. Alassa had blamed him for a great many things and put a price on his head. So far, no one had claimed it.
She stood in the hallway and reached out with her senses. The house was surprisingly devoid of magic. There was no sense anyone had ever erected wards to protect the owner. Even the background magic was oddly reduced. She closed her eyes and reached further, sensing the anti-spying wards that blanketed the city. Councilor Triune’s wards were gone. She couldn’t believe he’d lived without them. Someone would have poked a spying spell into his defenses a long time ago.
“Interesting,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “Was Councilor Triune a magician?”
“No,” Prince Hedrick said, curtly.
Emily frowned as she opened her eyes and led the way down the corridor. The magic levels were just too low. And yet, what did it mean? Had someone carefully demagicked the house? That would have taken weeks. She’d never seen anything quite like it, not in a private home. Councilor Triune had either cared little for his privacy or he’d had a defense that wasn’t reliant on magic. It made no sense at all.
Althorn caught her eye. “My comrades and I invite you, Emily, to a dinner this evening in your honor,” he said. “We have a lot to discuss.”
“I should attend,” Prince Hedrick said. “We, too, have a lot to discuss...”
“You’re not invited,” Althorn said, sweetly. “Emily is invited.”
Emily nodded, slowly. “I shall attend,” she said. “Will you send an escort?”
“I shall.” Althorn nodded to her. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll leave you to settle in.”
He turned and strode out the door. Emily watched him go, then glanced at Lady Barb. “You’re being very quiet.”
“I feel like we’ve stuck our heads in a noose,” Lady Barb said, curtly. “And I think we should check out the rest of the house before we get settled in.”
Emily nodded. “Silent, wait here,” she ordered. “The rest of us will inspect the house.”
Silent dropped a curtsey and stepped back. Emily nodded to Prince Hedrick, who looked irked, and led the way down the corridor. She didn’t think Hedrick would be very helpful - it was starting to look as though he was going to be a problem - but she didn’t want to leave him alone with Silent. He was the type of person who would try to take advantage of a helpless servant and, worse, would be only encouraged by warnings and threats. She knew the type all too well. Hedrick couldn’t be trusted. She made
a mental note to ask Lady Barb to keep an eye on him. They could teleport him back to Dragon’s Den if he became a real problem.
She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as they made their way through the house. It was surprisingly clean, but it was clear the building had been searched and looted. Paintings had been torn from the walls, leaving pale spots behind; drawers and cupboards had been opened, their contents stolen or dumped on the floors. There were a dozen bookshelves in one room, without a single book. She hoped they’d been stolen, rather than burned. It was impossible to be sure. The rebels might not be able to read them if they’d been written in Old Script.
Although they could probably sell them on, she thought. There’d be people in the city who could make use of them.
The bedrooms looked bare and barren, although the beds and mattresses themselves hadn’t been looted. The files had stated the councilor hadn’t been married and there’d been no hint of a mistress... why did he have so many bedrooms? Perhaps he’d wanted a family or... Emily smiled as she realized the truth. The councilor had probably provided accommodation for visitors to the city, letting them stay in his home for free. It would give him a chance to ingratiate himself with them before they met the king. It wasn’t something she would do, but she understood the logic. She knew aristocrats who’d kill for the chance to learn something before it became common knowledge.
She grimaced as she glanced into the bathrooms - the toilets looked primitive and there was no running water - then checked the remaining rooms. The kitchen was large enough to feed an entire household. The cabinets beyond had been stripped bare of everything, save for a handful of moldy crusts of bread. Emily suspected that was a taunt, although she was unsure who was being taunted. The former servants might have assumed their master would be expecting them to keep his house in readiness, awaiting his return. Or whoever had stripped the kitchen might simply have left the bread behind. The thought of eating it was enough to make her sick.
The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22) Page 12