One of the carriages was painted gold, shimmering as the rays of sunlight struck it. The vehicle seemed like something out of a fantasy movie, perhaps one with a genie or fairy godmother who had turned a scullery maid into a princess for the night. Lady Barb nodded to Alassa and pointed them towards a different carriage, one that seemed far simpler than the golden coach. Emily had to smile; Sergeant Harkin had lectured them on the value of concealment and deception in war–and anyone who was targeting the princess would expect her to be in the golden carriage.
“Just for us,” Alassa said, as Nightingale started to climb into the carriage. The Master of the Princess’s Bedchamber–whatever that meant–looked rather discomforted, but stepped away from the vehicle. “Emily, make sure you have a book with you.”
Emily nodded and held up one of the tomes she’d borrowed from the library. Alassa grinned at her and scrambled up into the carriage, without waiting for anyone to set up a proper set of steps. Emily followed her; after the endless obstacle courses the sergeants had put her though, climbing into the carriage was easy. Inside, it was light and airy, charmed to keep them both relatively cool. The glass windows - a sign of great wealth, as glass was hugely expensive–were also charmed, allowing them to see out without letting anyone else see in.
“I thought you would prefer not to ride with anyone else,” Alassa said. Her face twisted into a grimace. “If you were a man, we would have had a chaperone just to make sure we didn’t do anything stupid.”
She glanced over at the wooden walls as the vehicle shook, before the horses started to pull it out of the courtyard. “Can you check the privacy wards? I don’t trust them to have made the wards airtight.”
Emily nodded and started to work. Most magicians had a specific affinity for one area of magic and hers, it seemed, was charms. Alassa had finally learned enough to qualify for second-year–mainly because Emily had been tutoring her–but Emily was still much better than her at charms. She studied the charms for a long moment, then scowled and added a further charm of her own. Why did Nightingale–or perhaps Lady Barb–think that they could spy on their princess?
“They’d say that it was their job,” Alassa explained. She sounded irked, unsurprisingly. “And Nightingale takes his job very seriously.”
Emily listened to the explanation, shaking her head in disbelief. She would never have imagined that anyone would appoint a man to supervise their daughter’s bedchamber, but apparently it ran in the family. The Master of the Princess’s Bedchamber held control over appointments within the bedchamber, which provided all sorts of opportunities for patronage, if not outright corruption. Emily could only hope that his duties didn’t include watching as the princess prepared for bed.
“Each of these people need money,” she said, remembering one of the reasons the French Revolution had destroyed the French Monarchy. “They must be an immense drain on your father’s money.”
“He grumbles about it every year,” Alassa said. “They all claim a salary, even the Keeper of the Royal Privies, who never comes closer to Alexis than his castle on the edge of the mountains…”
Emily stared at her. “You really have a Keeper of the Royal Privies?”
Alassa giggled. “There’s a position for everything,” she admitted. Her face sobered, suddenly. “Blame it on Bryon the Weak. If it hadn’t been for him, we wouldn’t be in this mess. But he never could say no to anyone with a title.”
Chapter Seven
EMILY HAD RATHER MIXED FEELINGS ABOUT Dragon’s Den. On one hand, it was the closest settlement to Whitehall and a place she could go to visit every month with her classmates. And it was where she and Alassa had first become true friends. On the other hand, the first time she’d visited she’d been kidnapped by a dark magician and the next few times–after Shadye had been defeated–the city fathers had insisted on fawning over her. She’d had to go under a glamor to be sure of not being recognized.
The city was independent, at least in theory; no monarch ruled in Dragon’s Den. It allowed a greater degree of social mobility than any of the kingdoms, even the most progressive ones. But there were monarchical kingdoms nearby and they could have threatened Dragon’s Den, if necessary. Dragon’s Den would be difficult to take outright–there were a number of sorcerers living within the city, who would certainly lend their weight to the defense–but raiding parties could easily destroy most of the farms surrounding the city. It existed in a rather precarious relationship with its neighbors, which might have been why part of the city turned out to cheer as Alassa’s convoy poured through the streets. Or they might just have been glad of the break from their labors.
Emily shook her head as the carriage finally pulled clear of the city and headed northwards, up a solid stone road that had been created in the days of the Empire. From what she’d read, part of the infrastructure the Empire had gifted its successor states was rotting away, despite everything the White Council could do to convince the kingdoms to maintain them. Emily couldn’t help wondering if the kingdoms were merely trying to save a few gold coins, or if they were worried that the White Council might try to rebuild the Empire. Having the roads to move troops around without needing portals would be very helpful.
And besides, she thought grimly, the necromancer armies don’t really need roads.
She turned her attention back to her book, silently cursing the writer for his reluctance to say certain things bluntly. A history book should include at least the bare outline of events, but this one–written by someone who lived in Zangaria–either fawned on the Royal Family, or barely touched on questions that Emily wanted answered. The books written by the History Monks were much more dispassionate, but they couldn’t be taken out of the library. And besides, they were banned in most of the kingdoms. Possession of them was an instant jail sentence.
“This book is stupid,” she exploded, finally. “What was the Glorious Laying of the Stone?”
“House Alexis had a gem–they called it the Soul Stone–that had been passed down from the time of legends,” Alassa said. “When they became the rulers of Zangaria, they laid the Soul Stone in the foundations of the castle–my birthplace. It’s been there ever since.”
She shrugged as she saw the book’s title. “That writer fawns even more than Nightingale,” she added, rather sarcastically. “You’ll notice that he skims over Bryon.”
Emily flicked through a few pages and nodded. Bryon, who had apparently ruled for forty-five years, didn’t seem to have done anything of interest. The three pages covering his period as king barely listed anything, beyond a handful of facts and figures. Emily shook her head in disbelief, unsure of just what to read into it. Few kings on Earth had ruled for so long without doing at least something of historical interest, even if it was just surviving on the throne.
“You called him Bryon the Weak,” she remembered. “What did he actually do?”
Alassa grinned and assumed a pose that reminded Emily of Professor Locke, their history tutor. “My father insisted that I memorize it all,” she admitted. “Bryon lost control over the noble families. They started raising their own armies of guardsmen, hiring combat sorcerers and other magicians, then they started pushing Byron to allow them to tighten their grip. My father said that he would have made a good scholar, but he was a poor King. He just didn’t have the nerve to confront his nobles before it was too late.”
Emily listened with interest. The medieval kings on Earth had faced similar problems. At worst, the king became first-among-equals, unable to impose his will on his noblemen. It hadn’t been until the invention of gunpowder and heavy cannons that a monarch had been able to cow his aristocrats, even though many had maintained a limited form of independence for years. Bryon, it seemed, had disliked confrontation. His aristocrats had taken ruthless advantage of it.
She looked down at the book. All of a sudden, the silence covering forty-five years of history made much more sense.
“So,” she said. “What happened?”
Alassa’s smile widened. “He had a son, Prince Alexis,” she said. “The prince loved playing with his toy soldiers, so much so that his father gave him a whole regiment of real soldiers to lead out on pretend manoeuvres. No one seemed to realize that the prince had watched his father’s humiliation and sworn to avenge it, or that he would have the patience to build up an army bit by bit. When he took the throne, the nobles discovered that King Alexis III had a much larger force than any of them–and intended to use it. The three most troublesome noble families were completely exterminated by the King’s forces.”
Emily checked the next few pages in the book. They told the same story, although they also included editorials that claimed that the three exterminated families had deserved to be wiped out to the last man, woman and child. The writer didn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that he’d hinted, earlier, that nothing much had happened during Bryon’s reign, leaving the sudden civil war and slaughter a surprising change. Someone who read it without any other knowledge might conclude that the whole problem had appeared in the early months of King Alexis III’s reign.
“I see,” she said, finally. Reading between the lines, it looked as though there was much more to the story than the writer decided to tell his readers. “And since then…?”
Alassa looked down at her hands. “My father has been trying to keep the barons in check,” she admitted. “I… I may not have been very helpful.”
That, Emily knew, was one hell of an understatement. Even before Void had passed on his warning, she’d deduced that someone had been working to cripple Alassa’s future. If she’d taken the throne before she’d met Emily, she might not have noticed that her power was being eroded away until it was far too late. The nobles might determine who she married, who became king…
…But it would be harder than that, wouldn’t it? Whoever married Alassa would share her power, in custom if not in law. And if one of the nobles got into that position, he would leave his former allies behind. No, they’d be much more likely to choose a non-entity for the position, someone who posed no threat to them. They wouldn’t want someone from another kingdom, who might bring allies–and armies–to assist his wife.
You don’t know enough, Emily reminded herself, as she put the book to one side. Figure out the rest first and then make your judgements.
“Nightingale is a bit of a crawler,” she said, out loud. “Why do you tolerate him?”
“I didn’t select him,” Alassa reminded her. “The post he holds is passed down through his family. It would be difficult to get rid of him unless he was caught committing treason.”
Emily rolled her eyes. Who would have thought that absolute monarchy would be so difficult?
But there was no such thing as an absolute monarchy. Even the worst dictators on Earth had been at the top of a pyramid of allies and people who benefited from their rule. Those who failed to manage their inner circle properly tended to run into trouble. And Kings and queens throughout history had faced the same problem. Charles I of England had tried to rule his country personally. Even with–in theory–absolute power the result had been a slow slide to disaster. Louis of France hadn’t been able to reduce the vast expenditure on the French Court before it had been too late. Those who had won rights–like Nightingale–were jealous of them, protecting them with all the force at their command.
“Maybe you need to give him the task of keeping the privies,” Emily said. “Can you swap his position for the other one?”
“The Keeper of the Royal Privies has been passed down from person to person ever since King Alexis I took the throne,” Alassa pointed out. “It couldn’t be simply given to someone else.”
“Particularly as the person holding the title doesn’t have to actually do anything,” Emily guessed. At least Nightingale seemed to do something useful, even if it was just assigning the maids and other servants to Alassa’s bedchamber. The Keeper of the Royal Privies presumably didn’t actually clean them himself. He might have been more willing to surrender the title if he actually had to do the work. “I think you need a cull.”
“My father thinks the same,” Alassa admitted. “It’s making it happen that is the difficult part.”
Emily leaned over and peered out of the window, watching as the farmland slowly turned into forest. She had memorized a couple of maps, but mapmaking wasn’t very detailed in her new world, apart from a handful she’d seen in Martial Magic. One of the books Sergeant Miles had ordered the class to read had detailed problems with basic maps, including the mapmakers leaving off little details like contour lines and hidden sinkholes. According to the book, at least one military operation had gone badly wrong because the pass shown on the map simply didn’t exist.
“We’ll go hunting in the royal woods,” Alassa promised. “You’ve never hunted before?”
Emily shook her head. Hunting wasn’t common where she lived–and besides, she saw little point in chasing harmless creatures with a gun. Jade had talked about his father hunting monsters that had come over the mountains from the Blighted Lands, but those creatures posed a clear and present danger to the civilian population. Rabbits and foxes and whatever else Alassa’s family might hunt weren’t that dangerous.
“You’ll love it,” Alassa assured her. “Besides, you learned how to ride really quickly.”
Emily nodded, ruefully. Alassa had insisted on teaching her–and Imaiqah–how to ride, at least partly to get others who could ride out with her, now that her cronies had all been scared away. Emily hadn’t enjoyed the first few rides, but once she’d mastered the trick of controlling the horse she’d found herself enjoying it. And she’d watched in amazement as Alassa had taken care of her own horse. Clearly, Alassa had managed to learn more than Emily had ever realized, even when she’d been a spoilt brat.
“Just you wait until you meet Lady Cecelia,” Alassa added. “She is completely horse-mad. Lives on her own, refuses to marry…spends all of her time in the saddle or in the stable. Even my father doesn’t get as much respect from her as she gives to her horses. She was the one who gave me my first pony.”
She looked down for a long moment. “I wasn’t properly grateful,” she admitted. “She swore never to allow me to buy one of her horses until I admitted to her what I’d done wrong.”
Emily lifted an eyebrow, then realized that Alassa didn’t want to talk about it. But Emily could guess; Alassa might not have realized, at first, that the most important part of owning a pony–or a horse–was taking care of the beast. It was easy to imagine the brat Alassa had been refusing to sweep out the stable, or brush the pony’s coat, or whatever else one had to do to take care of a large animal. If Lady Cecelia was as horse-mad as Alassa suggested, she would have been outraged at such mistreatment. And she clearly wouldn’t have hesitated to give the young princess a piece of her mind.
Alassa might envy Emily, if she knew the truth about her origins. No matter what she did in the future, there were people who would already remember the little brat she’d been as a child. She could never escape the shadow of her past. But Emily had left her past behind when Shadye had brought her into this world. Everything she’d done on Earth seemed almost dreamlike to her–and no one else would truly understand it, no matter how she tried to explain.
She shifted position and watched as the forest grew thicker. The trees were growing closer to the road, she realized, providing no shortage of concealment for bandits who might want to sneak up on the small procession. Sergeant Harkin, in one of his many lectures, had admitted that the borderlands between countries were often lawless, if only because neither country could patrol it without making the other suspect that they intended to launch an invasion. Besides, the poor bastards who actually lived there, he’d added, found themselves visited by tax collectors from both countries. Was it any wonder, Emily had asked herself, that they might turn to raiding?
The forest vanished suddenly, to be replaced by a wooden fort that seemed to have come out of the Wild West. Emily s
tared at it, unable to understand why they’d even bothered to build it when a single fire-spell would turn it into an inferno. Some of the fortress designs they’d studied in Martial Magic had been designed to force attacking magicians to waste power, but they’d been composed of stone and warded to make it harder to break them down. This fort was stupid and senseless.
“Border forts are rarely well-designed, unless they’re at a chokepoint,” Alassa said, when Emily asked her what the fort was designed to do. “They are always the first targets when someone comes storming over the borders, so no one invests much in them. And wood is cheap out here.”
“That actually makes sense,” Emily said, shaking her head. “How did you know that?”
Alassa stuck out her tongue. “My father is the King, my Uncle is a duke and one of my protectors is a Man at Arms,” she said. “I often heard them talking about our borders when I was younger.”
There was a rap on the door, followed rapidly by the sound of someone trying to open it. The lock clicked and the door opened, allowing Lady Barb to stick her head into the carriage. “We’re staying here long enough to change the horses,” she said. “If either of you want to answer the call of nature, now is the time.”
Emily made a face. One thing she did miss from Earth were proper toilets. Whitehall did have plumbing, but hardly anywhere else did, particularly out in the wild. She’d lost a great deal of modesty in Martial Magic, yet she didn’t particularly want to do her business in front of a horde of strangers.
Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) Page 7