“We’re going to have real problems if this goes on,” she muttered. “It’s already midnight.”
“Yeah,” Emily agreed. “How long do we have to dance for?”
They were late at the Red Castle, which meant that they would probably leave late the following morning, which meant that they would be late at the next destination…if it had been up to her, they would either have gone directly to Zangaria through the portal or stayed a couple of days at each kingdom, just to catch their breath. The punishing schedule was going to drive her mad. Or they might wind up so tired that the next assassination attempt would succeed.
“At least an hour,” Alassa said. She straightened up, glared at herself in the mirror and then marched over to the door. “My father told me that being a princess brought responsibilities as well as rights.”
A pity he didn’t make you understand that earlier, Emily thought, as they walked through the fairy-tale corridors, surrounded by their guards. Lady Barb walked beside Emily, glancing around suspiciously as they passed servants and other guards. She didn’t seem very happy to be in the Red Castle, but Emily could understand it. A castle with a mutable interior could easily be turned against them by the person in charge.
They stepped through an arch and into the main hall. The king–King Rupert, if Emily recalled correctly–stood up and waved as they entered, rather than following any form of protocol. Emily found herself liking him on sight. He was a short fat man with a jovial smile, wearing a golden tunic that glittered as it caught the light. Behind him, there were three young men and a single woman. The woman seemed almost in awe of Alassa.
“Never mind protocol,” King Rupert said, as he stepped off the dais and swept Alassa up in a hug. “It has been years since I have had the pleasure of your company.” He looked over at Emily and winked at her. “And the famed Necromancer’s Bane. I have long hoped to make your acquaintance.”
Alassa smiled as King Rupert let go of her. “Thank you for your welcome, Uncle Rupert,” she said. “I’m sorry about the delay.”
“I’m just sorry someone tried to kill you,” King Rupert said. His gaze moved to Prince Hedrick. “And Hedrick! Why you’re here I will never know.”
“I greet you in the name of my father,” Hedrick said, sullenly. He didn’t seem to cope well with the absence of protocol. “And my father sent me.”
“Got sick of looking at you, did he?” King Rupert asked. “Can’t say I blame him. Use some of that magic to give yourself a better face, boy.”
He looked back at Alassa. “But I am forgetting my manners,” he added. “You will remember Jayman, of course; I think he was ten when you last saw him. My heir now–and married to a delightful young woman. I had to bribe him to convince him to attend this reception.” He held up a hand and stage-whispered. “He doesn’t like these parties.”
Emily looked over at Prince Jayman. It was hard to see how he was related to King Rupert, because Jayman was tall, inhumanly thin and had a rather sour face, as if he were constantly biting on a lemon. And he didn’t seem to be good at hiding the fact he didn’t like being the butt of the King’s jokes. He gave Emily a brief look of disdain, as if he’d discovered her hiding under his shoe, and then returned his attention to his father. Emily felt a flash of pity for his wife, wherever she was. She didn’t seem to have attended.
“And then there’s Slark, who is your age, and Athol, who is actually a year younger,” King Rupert continued. “Both of them are in the prime of life; Athol is going to Whitehall later this year, when term resumes. It might be good for you to be engaged without actually marrying for some time.”
Emily had to fight to keep a straight face as she studied the two younger princes. Slark should have been handsome, but he had a slimy appearance that gave Emily the creeps; Hedrick, whatever else could be said about him, struck her as a far better person. Athol looked reassuringly normal, but he also seemed unformed. He wouldn’t be able to marry until after leaving Whitehall, at least if he intended to marry a crown princess. And he was a year younger than Alassa. Would that actually matter?
“And, finally, my daughter Mariah,” King Rupert concluded. “You’ll discover that you have something in common. You were both terrible brats when you were young!”
Alassa stiffened as the king laughed, although the movement would have been impossible for anyone to see without knowing Alassa very well. Princess Mariah looked to be about twelve years old, although it was impossible to be sure. She was tall, but she didn’t appear to have started puberty yet. Emily couldn’t help wondering if there was a reason she hadn’t started to grow breasts, unless she was just a late developer.
And Mariah didn’t seem to find her father very funny either.
“But I do understand that you’re tired, so we are going to have only a small formal dance,” King Rupert said, after a long moment. He waved a hand towards the minstrels, who began to play a waltzing tune. “Slack will give you the first dance. And Hedrick can partner Mariah around the dance floor.”
Emily stepped backwards as the throne room became a dance hall. King Rupert laughed out loud as dance couples formed up, waving cheerfully to his subjects while watching Alassa with a semi-parental eye. He seemed to be almost insane–or maybe he just enjoyed life. Emily couldn’t help wondering what would happen to Red Rose when the crown prince took the throne. He didn’t seem inclined to turn into a cheerful King.
“Take a seat if you don’t want to dance,” Lady Barb said. “If you’re standing up, it implies that you’re looking for a partner.”
“Oh,” Emily said. She’d never been to a courtly ball before leaving Earth. But then, no one knew that–and those who thought they knew the truth behind her birth considered her little better than a commoner. “You’re not looking for a dance partner, are you?”
“I have to keep an eye on the princess,” Lady Barb reminded her, as they sat down on the seats along the edge of the hall. “Although I’m not sure that she’s the one in danger.”
Emily frowned. Slark seemed to be holding Alassa more tightly than necessary, his hands inching down towards her rear. He had nerve, Emily decided; even before she’d actually mastered Basic Charms Alassa had still been able to do considerable damage. Or maybe he was just too arrogant to believe she would actually harm him. There was a considerable difference between picking on a girl without aristocratic ties and a prince.
“That prince is in danger,” Emily agreed, finally. “I’m not going to waste my time feeling sorry for him.”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Lady Barb said. There was a hint of exasperation in her voice, as if she thought Emily was deliberately evading her. “She might not have been the target of the maid’s assassination attempt.”
It took Emily a moment to work out what she was saying. “You mean…me? I was the target?”
Lady Barb ticked off points on her fingers as she spoke. “The maid had some very strong spells on her that should have prevented her from doing harm to the royal family,” she said. “Killing Alassa should have been unthinkable, as murdering the crown princess of a much larger kingdom is an act of war–and suicide. And I don’t think that Hedrick aroused that kind of passion in anyone.”
Emily couldn’t disagree. Some girls liked bad boys–there was a whole fandom built up around Draco from Harry Potter, even through Draco had never shown any redeeming features–but Hedrick didn’t seem to be the type to attract them. He wasn’t good or bad, merely…boring. Emily could imagine a maid slipping into his bed in exchange for money or a promotion, but love? Or even a crush? It seemed unlikely.
“Maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye,” she said, finally. “How well did he do at Whitehall?”
“He graduated as a generalist sorcerer,” Lady Barb said. “I’ve sent a message to the grandmaster asking for specifics, but we won’t get them until tomorrow–if then.”
She shook her head. “Besides, killing Alassa would not benefit anyone, certainly not in the long
run,” she added. “Killing you, on the other hand…”
The grandmaster had shielded her from the worst of it, but Emily did know that powerful voices had called for her to be killed while she was unconscious after defeating Shadye. They’d feared that she could turn into an even greater threat, either because she was a necromancer herself–and would therefore go insane with power–or because she had somehow managed to master necromancy without the insanity. Either one would tip the balance of power drastically.
But they didn’t know the truth. Emily had beaten Shadye through use of concepts from her world, concepts that she’d powered with magic. If they had known…
They would have greater reason to want me dead, she thought. I know too much.
It would be relatively simple, she suspected, to create an atomic-scale blast with magic. So far, no one seemed to have thought of the possibilities inherent in cracking atoms–materials science was in its infancy, at best–but Emily knew that if she allowed the concept to leak out, someone would try to make it work. And that was one of the minor concepts. What about antimatter? Or kinetic-energy weapons? Or wormholes? Or…there were just too many concepts, all of which would leak out if she used them too openly. Anyone could run a standard analysis spell. They’d learn how to use it without truly understanding what it actually did.
And if they knew the dangers, they’d have a collective heart attack.
“I had never considered it,” she admitted, dragging her mind back to the here and now. “If I was the target…why did the girl hesitate? And why me?”
“Her mind broke under interrogation,” Lady Barb reminded her. “That tends to suggest that someone else had already tampered with her mind, to the point that further intrusion destroyed it. But the controlling spell would have clashed with the loyalty spell. It’s possible that she hesitated because the two different imperatives were battling for control of her mind.”
Emily silently damned her with her gaze. How could she be so clinical? A young girl was dead–no, worse than dead. No magic could repair a broken mind. If even relatively small mental problems were seen as barring inheritance, a body without a mind would be useless to society. The maid’s body might simply be destroyed, or worse. Professor Thande had noted, in passing, that there were plenty of magical uses for human flesh. Most of them verged on dark magic, if not necromancy, and were thoroughly illegal, but they were practiced anyway.
“You have enemies,” Lady Barb added. “And there are people who feel that you might have snubbed them when they asked for your hand…”
Emily put her head in her hands, feeling despair welling up over her. “I can’t marry them all,” she pointed out. “Any more than Alassa can marry all three princes…”
“You can send them a polite note explaining that you don’t intend to marry yet,” Lady Barb suggested, wryly. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Emily. “But your enemies could easily have programmed the maid to kill you.”
The thought made Emily shudder–she’d been controlled herself and she knew it was horrific–but she considered it, as coldly as she could. No one knew how she’d beaten Shadye, not even the grandmaster or Void. And the necromancers wanted to live, even as their skin decayed and their bodies began a long transformation into eldritch abominations. Even the most insane necromancer would hesitate before challenging Emily herself. Sending in a remote-controlled assassin made perfect sense.
And it might explain why the necromancers hadn’t attacked the castle directly.
“They gave her the knives,” Emily said, thoughtfully. “Why advertize their involvement so blatantly?”
“Maybe they thought you’d go after them,” Lady Barb suggested. “Or maybe they wanted to taunt you.”
It made sense, Emily decided. If she’d been killed, the plan would have worked; if she went after them, she might stumble into an ambush manned by two or three necromancers. Could they work together that long? Not that it really mattered; without careful preparation, one necromancer would be too much for her. And if Emily just went on her way, the legend of the Necromancer’s Bane would be dented. It was just the sort of over-complex plan a necromancer would devise.
She wanted to ask Lady Barb questions, to demand to know why she disliked Emily merely because she disliked Void. Or to ask if she really was Sergeant Harkin’s sister…but if that had been the case, surely she would have said something by now. And, for that matter, just what had happened between her and Void. What had they done to each other?
The dance came to an end, with Prince Slark staggering off towards the dais while his younger brother took Alassa’s hand. Emily looked at the retreating prince and recognized the signs of a very minor hex, one that caused confusion and disorientation in its target. No doubt Slark’s wandering hands had reached too low and Alassa had hexed him, carefully enough that no one seemed to notice.
“Clever girl,” Lady Barb whispered. “She has definitely improved a great deal since you met her. Your work?”
“Yes,” Emily said.
Lady Barb shrugged. “Make sure that you ward your door tonight after you finish undressing,” she ordered. “And we’ll try and use the portal to get to our next destination, if the king can be convinced to give us permission. It should help us make up for lost time.”
“Or maybe we should just sleep in the carriages,” Emily said. “Don’t we have sleeping potions?”
“You can’t push horses too far,” Lady Barb snapped. “Or people. Just tell your mentor to remember that.”
She turned and stalked out of the door. Emily watched her go, puzzled.
Just what had happened between her and Void?
Chapter Fourteen
WHEN EMILY OPENED HER EYES, BRIGHT sunlight was streaming in through the clear glass window. For a long moment, she just lay there, wondering how much longer they would be allowed to lie in bed. It was clearly well after dawn. And then she remembered that she’d warded the door as best as she could, ensuring that no one could get into the room. For all she knew, Lady Barb, Nightingale and King Rupert were on the other side, wondering just what Emily and Alassa were doing.
She smiled at the thought as she pushed the covers aside, climbed out of bed and walked over to the window. Proper glass was hugely expensive–so far, she hadn’t been able to recall how to mass produce it, although she knew it must be possible–and using so much of it in a single room suggested great wealth. If it was real glass, if course…Emily knew enough about the power of a magical nexus to know that someone could program the Red Castle to produce its own glass, given enough time and knowledge. She smiled again as she stared out over the countryside, catching sight of a model village in the distance. There was no sign of any other habitation.
“Good morning,” Alassa’s voice said, from behind the curtains. “What time is it?”
Emily looked at the sun’s position in the sky. “Somewhere around eleven bells,” she said. It wasn’t too surprising. They’d danced until three in the morning, then stumbled into bed. Emily had barely been able to muster the energy to set up the wards before falling asleep. “I think it’s time we got up.”
The curtains rustled, then Alassa poked her head out. “King Rupert promised that we could use his portal,” she said. “We can leave fairly late, if necessary. The trip through a portal is instantaneous.”
“White Rose,” Emily said, shaking her head. There had to be a story in there, probably one related to the chaos following the collapse of the Empire. “Why don’t we just stay with the portals?”
“Because I am meant to be showing myself to the people,” Alassa pointed out. “Besides, it is Tradition.”
They shared a droll look. No one saw Alassa on her journey home, unless the golden coach also included an image generator that allowed them to think they’d seen her. The tradition seemed thoroughly pointless as far as Emily could tell, although there might have been a reason for it at one time. Perhaps it had been intended to allow the bards to write ballads claiming that Alass
a had fallen in love with her husband’s kingdom when she’d visited. But it wasn’t as if the Queen of Zangaria would ever be able to stay…
“Go wash,” Alassa said. She started to tug at her hair, then gave up. “And then we can call in the maids.”
Emily rolled her eyes, but nodded. She would have liked to spend an hour soaking in the bath, just to work out some of the kinks from two days in a carriage, but there was no time. Instead, she washed herself quickly, dried herself with a towel and donned one of the simpler dresses. At least she didn’t risk causing a diplomatic incident if she didn’t wear the most expensive dress in the world. From what Alassa had said, wars had started over less.
There was a sharp knock at the door. Emily walked over, carefully dismantled most of the wards, then allowed the door to open. Lady Barb stood there, her hands on her hips. She didn’t look happy, but it took Emily a moment to realize why. Emily had opened the door without thinking to check who was on the other side.
“I could have been anyone,” Lady Barb pointed out, as she poked the remaining wards with her finger. There was a flash of light and they shattered. “And to think that you got good marks from Sergeant Miles.”
Emily flushed. Unlike the other classes at Whitehall, it was difficult to tell just how well she was doing in Martial Magic. The class was designed to push the pupils to the limit, but it also often presented them with no-win scenarios to see how they would cope with them, as well as exercises that could have painful results for those who failed. If she’d been that careless in class…she remembered the experience of being tied up while she was asleep and shuddered. The sergeants would have been very sarcastic as they humiliated her in front of the entire class afterwards.
“Learn from someone else’s mistakes,” Sergeant Harkin had told them. She would never have thought that she could miss such an aggressive teacher, but she did. “It’s cheaper than learning from your own.”
“My master–the one who took me as an apprentice–would have smacked me for such carelessness,” Lady Barb added. “Don’t do it again.”
Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) Page 13