Love's Labor's Won (Schooled in Magic Book 6)

by Christopher Nuttall

  You would think that, Emily thought acidly. She couldn’t blame the king for wanting to protect his position, but she’d never liked the idea of an aristocracy. Why, indeed, should some people have the right to rule others, merely through having been born to the right families?

  “I have issued orders to ban these documents and discover the producers,” Randor continued. “I expect each and every one of you” — his gaze rested on Emily for a long moment — “to concentrate on finding the writer of these...these pieces of toilet paper and arresting him.”

  That wouldn’t be enough, Emily knew. The printing press ensured that thousands of copies could be produced very quickly, while English letters made sure just about anyone could read the subversive papers. It would be impossible to suppress them completely, not without completely destroying the printing presses and killing anyone who knew how to read English letters. And that would cripple the newborn economy beyond repair.

  And she wasn’t sure she wanted to catch the person or persons responsible. She’d seen too much of the nobility, mundane or magical, to have any faith in aristocracy as a basis for long-term government. Alassa had been a brat when they’d first met, a brat armed with magic, while half of her would-be suitors had been lecherous fools. And Melissa was a member of the magical aristocracy...

  “Change is coming to Our Kingdom,” Randor said, softly. “We cannot avoid it. But we can, we will, manage it so that all that is noble and good about our lands is not destroyed.”

  “Of course, your majesty,” Baron Gaunt said.

  “But there are other issues to be discussed,” Baron Silver said. “The broadsheets, for example. They should be controlled.”

  King Randor looked at Emily. “Can they be controlled? Should they be controlled?”

  Emily swallowed. It was hard, in all honesty, to actually answer the question. On one hand, she knew from Earth that freedom of the press was the cornerstone of a healthy democracy. But, on the other hand, Zangaria wasn’t exactly a democracy. King Randor was practically all-powerful, with an army powerful enough to threaten both the Noble Estates and the Assembly. And even if it had been a democracy, too much press freedom had proved as corrosive as too little...

  “They shouldn’t,” she said, finally.

  “I see,” King Randor said. “And would you like to explain that statement?”

  Emily forced herself to think. “Most of the broadsheets will not survive,” she said, after a moment. “There were hundreds established just after the printing press became freely available, but the economy simply cannot support them all. However, those that do survive will often point to very real problems that need to be fixed, if you allow them the freedom to do so. And, because you have allowed them freedom, you will be believed when you use them to spread your own words and statements.”

  “But they will also make people question their betters,” Baron Silver observed, darkly.

  “People always question their betters,” Emily said. She rather doubted anyone in Zangaria believed a word of the official statements, even the ones read out by heralds in the center of town. “But this way, you start making connections with the people...”

  She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to say anything else, then plunged on. “The events of two years ago upset the kingdom,” she said. “You cannot afford to proceed as if nothing has changed.”

  “Well said,” King Randor said. He sounded amused, although Emily wasn’t sure if he was laughing at her or the discomforted barons. “We will continue to review the situation.”

  “That is not enough,” Baron Silver said. “Indeed, only two weeks ago it was stated, in a broadsheet smuggled into my lands, that my son and daughter were engaged in an incestuous relationship.”

  “But it will serve, for the moment,” King Randor said.

  He rose. “You will all, of course, be required to sign copies of the will,” he added. “If you have any comments on the proposed bequests, you can make them up until the day my daughter returns to school. The documents will be signed on that day. Until then...return to your lands and consider, carefully, just how you wish to proceed.”

  Proceed with what? Emily thought, as they were dismissed. And why is he raising these issues now?

  She mulled it over as she walked back up the stairs and out into the corridor, marveling at the sheer precision of the magic used to hide the hidden chamber. Some of the maids would have seen her appear from nowhere, yet their minds wouldn’t acknowledge the fact, not even to themselves. They would think she had always been standing there...

  Shaking her head, she walked up to Alassa’s suite and allowed the herald to open the door and announce her. It was high time she sat down and talked through the politics with her friend.

  Chapter Seven

  “MY FATHER IS A VERY CUNNING MAN,” Alassa said, when Emily had finished. “He played them like...like pieces on a Kingmaker board.”

  Emily shrugged and looked around the giant room. It was staggeringly luxurious by the standards of the Nameless World — a single piece of silk alone cost more than Frieda’s family could hope to make in a decade — but oddly uncomfortable by Earth’s. Without magic to heat the room, it was cold and windy, while the windows weren’t even covered by glass. Outside, she knew from the last time she’d been in the castle, one could look down on the courtyard and the city beyond.

  “I don’t understand,” she confessed. “What has he done?”

  Alassa had been sitting on the carpeted floor when Emily had entered, reading a document written in Old Script. Now, she stood up and led the way into her office, a smaller room lined with bookcases and maps of the surrounding countryside. Emily stiffened as she felt the privacy wards surrounding them, then relaxed slightly as Alassa closed the door and cast a pair of her own.

  “We should have been in here from the start,” she muttered. She waved a hand towards a comfortable chair, then sat down in another armchair. “Please, sit. You really need to understand all this.”

  She waited for Emily to sit, then went on. “You understand, of course, that a person isn’t really confirmed until they have been Confirmed?”

  Emily nodded.

  “I was my father’s heir from the moment I was born,” Alassa continued, “but I wasn’t actually going to inherit the throne, in my own right, until after I was Confirmed. Before then, my uncle would have become my guardian, if my father had died, and ruled in my name until I was old enough to take the throne for myself.”

  “Which would have given him and his wife plenty of time to organize matters to suit themselves,” Emily said. “Perhaps even to deny you the throne altogether.”

  “Perhaps,” Alassa agreed. “Point is, I couldn’t have done anything on my own. I would not have been considered an adult. My uncle would have assumed all my father’s powers over me and I would not have been able to complain about it.”

  “That would have been bad,” Emily said.

  “Yes,” Alassa said. “But the same thing has happened with the minor children who were left without parents, following the attempted coup. They need guardians or nothing can be done on their lands. And, by claiming their guardianships for himself, my father has secured control of their estates at a stroke. He can keep them here, in the heart of his power, as hostages, ensuring their former subordinates don’t dare to try anything stupid.”

  “But Alicia is old enough to rule,” Emily said, slowly.

  “My father is the one who will determine when she’s old enough to be granted her title and power,” Alassa said. “He will also determine who gets her hand in marriage, among other things. She can be treated as a minor child until she’s old enough to be a grandmother and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

  Emily felt a stab of sympathy. “Is there nothing you can do?”

  “My father wants to break the power of the barons, once and for all,” Alassa said. “And if he gave her the power without, as you say, arranging things to suit himself, she could turn ag
ainst him. This way...her ability to do harm is minimized.”

  She shrugged. “And besides, I agree my father is probably right,” she added. “The barons cannot be allowed a chance to launch another coup.”

  Emily shook her head, tiredly. Every so often, when talking to her friends, she ran into a cultural gulf far wider than anything she had seen on Earth. To Alassa, there was nothing particularly wrong with her father taking Alicia’s guardianship, still less organizing her life and marriage to ensure she remained harmless. Alicia had been on the wrong side, her position determined by an accident of birth; she was a danger, simply by being born. The same fates that had made her a baron’s heir had also ensured that her life would never be her own.

  But Emily couldn’t agree. There was something wrong with organizing another person’s life, with controlling their every move from birth till death. Alicia might get lucky and receive a decent husband, but it was far more likely that she’d be given away to one of Randor’s loyal supporters, the ones who depended on the king for everything from power to place. And, until then, she would be trapped in the castle, a bird in a gilded cage.

  Poor girl, she thought.

  Was there anything she could do? She thought, but nothing came to mind. Randor wouldn’t listen to her, she suspected, and even if she talked Alassa into trying it was unlikely the king would listen to his daughter. He would probably argue that he was neutralizing Alicia as a boon to Alassa, who would have to deal with the younger girl when she assumed the throne.

  I could help her leave the castle, Emily thought, but where could she go then?

  “I know that look,” Alassa said. “You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” Emily admitted.

  Alassa’s blue eyes met Emily’s. “I can speak with my father, if you wish,” she said. “But I don’t think he will change his mind easily.”

  “Yeah,” Emily said. She sighed. “How’s your mother?”

  “Feeling down, apparently,” Alassa said. “She’s been in her bed for the last week, just reading and feeling sorry for herself. I don’t understand it. Maybe she thinks I should be married by now.”

  “The barons discussed your wedding,” Emily said. Alassa’s blue eyes opened, wide. “They wanted to know when it would be.”

  Alassa looked down at the floor. “When I have a suitable man,” she muttered. “But my father is still looking for someone who can actually bolster the position of the throne.”

  “Good thing Alicia isn’t a boy,” Emily said.

  “Don’t even joke about it,” Alassa said. She shuddered, dramatically. “I can’t decide if it’s worse to be courted by a man old enough to be my father or pushed towards a boy young enough to be my son.”

  Emily shuddered, too. The Allied Lands had a long tradition of betrothals between children, betrothals between children too young to understand what they were doing, let alone that they might have to get married one day. Few of them lasted more than a year or two, but as long as they did they were...convenient, underpinning agreements between various aristocratic factions. But the whole concept still seemed disgusting to her.

  “That won’t last, surely?” She asked. “You’re old enough to actually marry.”

  “I know,” Alassa said. “So my father is being very, very careful.”

  She shrugged. “I can’t say I like the thought of people using the written word to spread propaganda either,” she added. “My father may have to do something unpleasant.”

  “I don’t think he can do much,” Emily warned. “The printing press is out of control now.”

  “And that will be blamed on you,” Alassa said. “As will everything else.”

  Emily shook her head. She hadn’t introduced the rudiments of communism or socialism into the Allied Lands, let alone democracy. But it only took one person to look at the world and start asking why for the ideas to spread. Why shouldn’t people elect their leaders? Why should the aristocrats have the power when some of them had tried to overthrow their king and make his daughter a mindless slave? They would look at the history of Zangaria and demand answers. Alexis and Alexis II had been strong monarchs, but Bryon had been a weak fool and his son a ruthless, but charismatic bastard. And he’d screwed the middle classes, such as they were, in favor of his own power.

  “I think more and more people hear the news now,” she said, instead. “And then they start wondering why things are the way they are. And then you and yours cannot give them any good answers.”

  “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,” Alassa muttered.

  “Quite,” Emily said.

  There was a knock at the door. Alassa waved a hand, unlocking the spell that held the door closed. Imaiqah entered, followed by a tired-looking Frieda. The younger girl was wearing a dress of white silk, which seemed to shimmer around her as she walked. Emily had never thought of Frieda as conventionally pretty, but she had to admit her charge looked striking, particularly with her hair hanging down in a single long ponytail. Queen Marlena hadn’t lost any of her gifts for dressing people, she decided. And at least it had kept Frieda out of mischief.

  “I feel strange,” Frieda said, as the door closed behind her. She looked at Alassa. “Why does your mother keep dressing people up?”

  “She likes it,” Alassa said. “I think she was dressing me in royal clothes from the moment I was born. There are paintings of me in the gallery that show me as a young girl, wearing a hundred different outfits. Mother must have spent hours making half of them...”

  Or maybe, Emily thought in a flash of insight, she wanted some control over something in her life.

  “But I can’t keep this,” Frieda said. “It’s...it’s expensive.”

  “It’s a gift from someone who will never notice the expense,” Alassa reminded her, firmly. “And you do look good in it.”

  Frieda turned a pleading gaze on Emily, who shrugged. She understood Frieda’s concerns — there was no way she could repay the queen for the dresses — but she also knew that there was no formal price tag attached. Queen Marlena was just trying to ensure that her guests looked as though they belonged in a castle. She had showered Emily in dresses until Imaiqah’s father had been ennobled and welcomed into the court.

  “We’re leaving tomorrow morning,” she said, instead. “You can endure the dresses until then.”

  She looked at Alassa, then Imaiqah. “You’re not going to come with us?”

  “Not at once,” Alassa said. She waved a hand towards her desk, which was covered with paperwork. “The downside of being Confirmed is that I now have to actually do my duties as a crown princess. Each and every one of those papers has to be read, stamped with my seal and then sent down to my father’s chambers. And I have to hear court cases tomorrow too.”

  “At least you take it seriously,” Emily said. The old Alassa, the one she’d first met, wouldn’t have bothered to do her duty at all. Being judged by her would have been a nightmare. “Just remember you’re going to rule one day.”

  “Yes,” Alassa said. “And then my son or daughter will have the powers of justice in my place.”

  “I have to stay with my father,” Imaiqah said, after a moment. “But I think we’ll be up in a few days, though. He’s sending a hundred devices to the Faire for people to see...I think he wants to show off the cutting edge of technology.”

  Emily had to smile. Technology was a word she’d introduced to the Nameless World, along with the concepts for everything from steam engines to typewriters. The first steam engines might be slow and prone to breaking down, but she knew they would be improved rapidly, now the basic idea was loose. Typewriters, too, would be along soon, once someone managed to put together a purely mechanical device. Magical typewriters required too much power to work for more than a few hours.

  “I look forward to it,” she said.

  She rose to her feet. “I have to find Lady Barb,” she said. “Can I leave Frieda here with you?”

 
“Of course,” Alassa said. She tossed the younger girl a droll look. “She might be very bored though.”

  “I can read,” Frieda protested.

  Emily smiled, and walked out of the chamber. Jade was standing outside, talking to one of the guards in a low voice. Emily blinked in surprise, then waved for him to join her. Jade nodded to the guard, then strode over and stood next to her. He was still wearing the black sorcerer outfit, carrying a staff in one hand. Emily wasn’t sure if he expected trouble or he was showing off, just a little.

  “I didn’t know you were planning to apply for a position here,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Jade looked down at the stone floor. “King Randor would accept me, if you told him to,” he said. “I wanted to succeed or fail on my own.”

  “I don’t think King Randor would let me push him into anything,” Emily said. “Unless he actually wanted it for himself and was prepared to let me think I’d pushed him into it.”

  But she understood. Jade wanted to prove himself — and yet, at the same time, he was in a world where connections could mean much more than competence. It had to be galling to know that someone could — and someone would — put a word in on his behalf. Or, worse, put a word in on someone else’s behalf.

  “Take care of Alassa, if you do get the job,” she said. “Do you know where Lady Barb is?”

  “She was in the barracks, last I heard,” Jade said. “Something about an old grudge with an officer.”

  Emily frowned, then hurried down the corridor towards the stairs, hitching up her dress so she could move faster. One thing the designers never seemed to take into consideration was that women might have to run...unless, of course, they didn’t actually want women running away from an unpleasant fate. She moved down the stairs as fast as she could, stepped past a couple of guards and into the barracks. Lady Barb was crossing swords with an older man, the blades flashing in the light, while some of the soldiers placed bets. She looked, from the smile on her face, to be having the time of her life.