Emily blinked. “They asked Void to investigate?”
“They’re quite happy to use him to do their dirty work,” Lady Barb confirmed. “So they went to the sorcerer’s tower and discovered that they couldn’t get in–the sorcerer had devised wards so powerful that they couldn’t sneak in without setting off the alarms. Luckily, Void had a plan. The sorcerer loved slave girls and owned almost a hundred of them. Void caught one of the girls at the nearby market and replaced her with that new sorceress. And he transferred the slave-spell from one to the other.”
“He did…he did what?”
“He effectively turned me into a helpless slave and sent me right into the enemy camp,” Lady Barb said. The rage and hatred in her voice was no longer hidden. “Oh, he had this grand plan; no one ever looks twice at an ensorcelled slave, because the slaves can do naught, but obey. I’m sure it sounded good inside his head. But he never even asked if I would consider doing it for the White Council. He just went ahead and did it.
“I spent two weeks there, watching the sorcerer while my body did as it was told,” she added. “In the end, we concluded that one of the sorcerer’s rivals had tried to get him into trouble, because we found no trace of necromancy. When it was my turn to go to the market, Void met me, removed the spell and sent the old maid back again. And that was the end…”
Emily stared in horror. She’d known that Void used servants who were under loyalty spells, but she’d never even imagined that he would push someone into servitude. But that was silly…she couldn’t imagine why anyone would volunteer to be turned into an obedient puppet, even though servants were meant to obey orders. Maybe it was a condition of their employment, she’d told herself; loyalty spells worked at their best when they were accepted voluntarily. And someone like Void would be able to offer the best wages.
But what he’d done to Lady Barb was cruel.
“If something had gone wrong, I would have been trapped there,” Lady Barb said, quietly. “Or he might just have left the charm on me, out of fear of what I might do afterwards. He never even gave me the chance to decide if I wanted to take the risk or not.”
She turned and marched towards the door. “Go see the princess,” she ordered. “And then think about what I said.”
“I will,” Emily promised, too stunned to say anything else. How could Void have done that to anyone? “I’ll go see her now.”
She closed both chests, checked the security spells holding them closed and then followed Lady Barb out of the room. The outside corridors had been badly scorched by the flames, forcing a small army of maids to work for several days to scrub away the scorch marks and start replacing the destroyed portraits and tapestries. Emily couldn’t help wondering how willingly the maids had accepted their own loyalty spells. Had they been pushed into it by whoever had hired them? There was no way to know.
Alassa’s rooms were heavily guarded, even though King Randor knew that it was a case of locking the barn door after the horse had been stolen. The guardsmen relaxed slightly as they recognized Emily and stepped aside, allowing her to enter. There was no sign of Alassa until Emily glanced into the bedroom and saw her friend lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She should have been surrounded by maids, but she was alone.
“Alassa?” Emily called, stepping into the room. “Are you all right?”
“I killed the duchess,” Alassa said, without looking at her. “Why do I keep having nightmares about it?”
Emily remembered some of the nightmares she’d had and nodded in understanding. “It happens,” she said, finally. The dream where they had been chased by orcs and goblins had haunted her for months after the incident itself. “There are potions for it, if you want to take them…”
“I don’t think I do,” Alassa said. She turned her head slightly, allowing her to look at Emily. “I didn’t tell father about the Blood Magic.”
Emily let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Blood Magic was bad enough, but when it involved the heir to the throne…the bird-magician had wanted to use Alassa’s blood to control her. King Randor would be furious with anyone who messed around with his daughter’s blood, even her best friend.
“Thank you,” she said, finally.
“But tell me,” Alassa added. “What happened to the rest of the blood?”
“Here,” Emily said, producing the handkerchief. “I thought you could dispose of it safely.”
“I will,” Alassa said, taking it. She smiled, rather faintly. “Half of your memories don’t make sense.”
“My life doesn’t make sense,” Emily grumbled. But she knew it wouldn’t distract her friend for more than a moment or two. They’d been bound to talk about what Alassa had seen in Emily’s mind, sooner or later. “What did you see?”
“I’m honestly not sure,” Alassa said. “What were those dragon-creatures?”
“I don’t know,” Emily admitted. There were no dragons on Earth. Could she have seen a car? Or a massive truck? Or even a jet plane? “I don’t know what you actually saw.”
“Neither do I,” Alassa said. They shared a smile. “I spoke to my father. He has pledged never to ask me about your past.”
Emily felt her eyes narrow. King Randor would keep his word, but he’d know that there was something important about Emily’s origins. Who knew what would happen in the future if he started to investigate her more thoroughly? And yet…if Emily told Alassa the truth ahead of time, it might convince them not to bother looking any further. As far as she knew, even the most powerful sorcerer in the world couldn’t open a portal into another universe.
But if they can build pocket dimensions, she asked herself, why not?
“So you can tell me,” Alassa said. “Where do you come from?”
Emily hesitated. She wanted to tell one of her friends, someone closer to her than Void or the grandmaster, but at the same time…Alassa would be queen. Who knew what her duty would compel her to do after she was crowned? But Emily had promised her that she would tell her the truth. Eventually.
“Another world,” she said.
She had to smile at Alassa’s expression. Her friend might have imagined that Emily came from another continent, one more advanced than her own, even though no such continent had been discovered. How could she have imagined an alternate world? But in hindsight, Emily suspected that it would appear obvious. Alassa, more than almost anyone else in the world, had deduced that Emily wasn’t a genius who could invent a whole branch of science in an afternoon. It wasn’t a big jump from there to realize that Emily had learned her knowledge somewhere else.
The whole story came tumbling out, from Shadye’s decision to kidnap her to Void’s rescue and her enrolment at Whitehall. Alassa listened, staring at her, as Emily calmly described parts of her world. Emily had wondered what she would make of Earth, if she ever had the chance to visit; in many ways, Earth was a paradise.
“I never even considered,” Alassa said, finally. “Would you go back, if you could?”
Emily shook her head. Back home, she’d been a nobody with no prospects of a better life. Here, she had friends, magic…and money. Whoever had said that money was overrated had clearly never had to worry about being poor. Whitehall didn’t have internet, or television, but it did have magic. Why would she ever want to go home?
“This is my home now,” she said, seriously.
She shook her head. “I think those dragons you saw are actually cars,” she added. “Given enough time, steam engines will eventually lead to internal combustion engines, allowing you to have thousands of cars on the road.”
And there would be other changes too. By Zangaria’s standards, even a relatively small country such as Britain or Ireland was grossly overpopulated. As medical care advanced, lives would be longer; as farming techniques improved, the population would grow rapidly…as knowledge spread, smart people would build on what they read to produce new ideas of their own. And to think that the barons had thought that change was al
ready moving too quickly. They’d be horrified when they realized that it would only grow faster.
“You weren’t happy there,” Alassa said. “Is it something we actually want to emulate?”
Emily gave the question serious consideration. “I think that you need to find other ways to counter the necromancers,” she said. “The next time Whitehall is attacked, we might not be so lucky.”
“You might not be able to save us,” Alassa said. She looked down at her hands for a long moment. “All of your memories of Shadye are strange. I cannot follow them.”
“Probably for the best,” Emily said. It was frustrating, sometimes, to have to keep so many ideas under wraps, but the consequences of losing control of some of them could be disastrous. “I still have nightmares.”
Alassa snorted. “So would any citizen of the Allied Lands,” she said, rather dryly. She looked up at Emily. “Will you be coming to the ceremony?”
“If you’ll have me, I’ll come,” Emily said, as reassuringly as she could. “Where are you going to hold it?”
“In the Great Hall,” Alassa said. “The Assembly won’t be rebuilt–my father wants them to build a bigger and better building; the Assembly remained loyal when so many of the aristocrats hedged their bets. And there’s gratitude for what Imaiqah’s father did for us…”
Emily smiled. “You never had time to swear,” she said. “Are you going to keep your word anyway?”
“No, I didn’t,” Alassa said. She shook her head. “I’ll keep my word, even though…is your world really what we want to be?”
Emily tried to see Earth through Alassa’s eyes. A dizzying blur of impressions, light and noise. Monstrous vehicles clogging up the streets, pollution in the air, litter everywhere…promiscuity and STDs running rampant all over the world, weapons that could destroy an entire city in a moment…terrorists, dictators with far more power than any monarch in the Allied Lands. Earth was far from perfect.
“I think you can try to do a better job,” she said, finally. Who knew? Combining magic and science might produce all sorts of interesting results. “But the genie is out of the bottle now. You won’t be able to stuff him back inside.”
“The barons wanted to try,” Alassa reminded her. She shook her head. “We’ll just have to see how things go. My father always told me that patience was the best option when one wasn’t sure what one should do. I never listened until now.”
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, her expression hardening. “One other thing,” she said. “Don’t use my blood for anything, ever again.”
Emily understood. She’d been manipulated–and, in some ways, her mental contact with Alassa had been even worse than using her body as a puppet. Some of Alassa’s deepest thoughts and feelings were part of her now; Emily suspected that some others would emerge slowly, flashes of insight and knowledge that came from what she had absorbed. Who knew where it would end?
“And don’t tell anyone else what you did, either,” Alassa added. “It would only give them ideas.”
“I won’t,” Emily promised. The duchess had believed that she could control Alassa, at least long enough to be declared her successor. It might well have worked…Emily still got the cold sweats when she realized how close they had come to disaster. “And you’d better make sure you destroy all that remains of your blood.”
“Zed handed in his resignation after we liberated him,” Alassa admitted. “Brain isn’t really up to taking his place yet, so Father is going to hire a small number of alchemists to work on the Royal Bloodline. And pay Brain’s tuition fees if he wants to go to Whitehall…his apprenticeship with an Alchemist has left him deficient in other matters, apparently.”
She shrugged. “We should have time to make sure we destroy all the samples,” she added. “We should be safe.”
But they’d never be certain, Emily knew. There could be one final sample of Alassa’s blood out there, ready and waiting for someone to find it and realize what it was. And, no matter what precautions they took, someone might manage to use it to influence the queen. Alassa would not have an easy reign, no matter what else happened; there would always be whispers that she wasn’t entirely her own mistress.
She’s going to have to marry, Emily reminded herself. That was always true.
She looked up. “Did you settle on a prince?”
Alassa giggled. “My father has decided that the whole selection process needs to start again,” she said. “After all…they all fought for me, when the time came. How do we choose the bravest of them?”
“So we’re going to have to do it all again next year?” Emily asked. “Do I have to come?”
“Yep,” Alassa said. Her face sobered slightly. “Where would I be without you?”
Chapter Forty-Two
THE GREAT HALL HAD BEEN CLEANED after the duchess’s body had been removed, then decked out to match the destroyed Assembly Hall. Emily had watched the maids prepare the hall, transporting the thrones from the Assembly Hall into the castle while hiding the King’s original throne behind one of the white curtains. The symbolism–a king and his heir–would be maintained, even if the ceremony was being held in the wrong place. Now, she watched from behind one of the curtains as the hall slowly filled with people, chattering happily amongst themselves.
King Randor had thrown open the castle to potential witnesses. Aside from the surviving nobles and princes, there were assemblymen and councilors–including Imaiqah’s father–from the city below. Emily had heard that the guards had been worried about an assassin sneaking in with the crowds, but King Randor had dismissed their concerns. A show of bravado, he had said, would help convince people that the monarchy wasn’t scared.
Emily looked over at Alassa, who was clearly nervous. It had been decided that she didn’t need to remain awake for the vigil a second night before the ceremony, as she had already sat it in good faith, but not everyone had been happy with that decision. Too much of the original ceremony had been shortened for the second ceremony. Emily had heard two of the aristocrats complaining that the traditions were being mocked. She’d been unable to help wondering if they really cared about the future of the kingdom.
“Ready,” Alassa said, as the trumpets began to blare. “Here we go.”
Emily couldn’t escape the sensation that she was escorting Alassa to her wedding as they walked up the middle of the Great Hall. She could feel eyes staring at them - some friendly, some hostile, some merely indifferent–and winced, inwardly. Whatever had happened in her life, she still didn’t like being the center of attention–or even close to the center of attention. Alassa stopped in front of her father and went down on one knee, followed by the remainder of the hall. Emily stepped back until she was at the edge of the crowd and then joined them.
“There were those who believed that they could destroy the Line of Alexis,” King Randor said, into the silence. “They believed that We could be kept prisoner, along with Our wife, and the kingdom would just fall into their lap. But they reckoned without Our daughter. Few sons have ever served their fathers so well.”
Emily concealed her private amusement. The official version of the story credited Alassa with almost everything, including killing the duchess. She couldn’t blame King Randor for wanting his daughter to receive most of the credit; after all, the barons would remember what Alassa had done and perhaps think better of challenging her. Besides, three of the barons were dead, two more were under arrest and the remaining four knew that they were on probation. They’d want to claw back as much power as they could before they tried anything overt.
“There were those who said that Our daughter had the body of a weak and feeble woman,” King Randor added. He probably wouldn’t credit Emily–or Queen Elizabeth I - for the lines either. “But she has the heart of a king and a King of Zangaria too. Within her runs the blood of King Alexis I, who created our kingdom, and King Alexis III, who restored our control over rebellious factions. They thought they could remove h
er as easily as one might sweep out a cobweb. But she defeated them and executed the ringleader herself. She has more than proved herself in front of Us.”
Emily wondered, rather sourly, what the discovery that the duchess had been behind the plot would mean for Zangaria. It would be nice to believe that they’d start taking women more seriously, but it wasn’t too likely. No doubt they’d conclude that the duchess had been the puppet of her family and the other barons. It would certainly be more comforting than facing the truth.
King Randor stepped forward and helped his daughter to her feet. “It is Our wish that Alassa, crown princess of Our kingdom, be confirmed as heir,” he said. “What do you say?”
The cheer was so deafening that Emily’s ears rang for moments afterwards.
“We therefore confirm you, Our daughter, as Our Primary Heir,” King Randor said. A young page came up to him, carrying a thin silver crown on a cushion. The king took it from him, held it up over Alassa’s head and gently placed it on her golden hair. “You may take your seat.”
Alassa sat down on the second throne and folded her hands in her lap. Emily was perhaps the only person in the room who could see her relief. From what Alassa had told her, many of the rehearsals for the ceremony Alassa had undergone before leaving for Whitehall had been disasters. Emily had never considered that there might be rehearsals, but she had to admit that they might well be useful.
She looked back at the audience, decked out in their finery, and smiled to herself. After everything that had happened over the last week, very few people would dare to cross the King. The remaining barons had loudly protested their loyalty, while the heirs of the dead or arrested barons had promptly disowned their fathers. It wouldn’t be enough to save some of them. The arrested barons had been interrogated and confessed that their families had been deeply involved with the entire plot.
Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) Page 39