“I’ll tell you when I think of it,” Lady Barb said. “You should know, by now, not to make open-ended bargains with anyone.” Her voice lightened. “You might find yourself doing something embarrassing or humiliating to pay off the debt.”
Emily blushed, embarrassed.
She shrugged, turning to lead Emily towards the door. “I would start by modifying your wards,” she added, darkly. “I crept up on you and you never even had a hint I was there.”
“You were keyed into the wards,” Emily countered.
“You should still have known I was there,” Lady Barb reminded her. “Emily...”
She took a breath. “Emily, you are treating this” — she waved a hand at the chamber — “as something you can pick up and put down again, whenever it suits you. But you can’t; you can either be their baroness, which comes with its own obligations, or you can pass the lands to someone else. Alassa and Imaiqah, even Alicia, are not considered powerful in their own right, not yet. You, on the other hand, are a full baroness.”
“I know,” Emily said.
“Then I suggest you live up to it,” Lady Barb said. “Or walk away, now, before you change too much to allow anyone to consider themselves on solid ground.”
She opened the door, then paused. “I sent the letter to Beneficence today,” she added. “I suspect Caleb will be here within the week. You will need to find time to work with him, too.”
Emily swallowed, nervously.
“And I advise you to spend the evening with Frieda,” Lady Barb said. “I will be sending notes and calling in favors. You’ll need some additional Mediators at the Faire and they won’t be pleased at being summoned so quickly.”
“I could ask Void,” Emily said.
Lady Barb snorted. “Not unless you really hate your guests,” she said. “And what have they done to deserve your hatred? You invited them here.”
And that, Emily knew, was all too true.
Chapter Eleven
“I CONTACTED A NUMBER OF OLD friends,” Lady Barb said to Emily, as she joined them for breakfast the following morning. “A number have agreed to assist with the Faire, in exchange for money or future considerations.”
Emily stared at her. “Did you use my name?”
“I used mine,” Lady Barb said. “Like I said, you owe me.”
“I know,” Emily said. Magicians hoarded favors like dragons and kings hoarded gold. Lady Barb had done a great deal to help her. “And I’m very grateful.”
“We will be meeting them after breakfast,” Lady Barb said. “You and I will walk down to the Faire, together.”
“Thank you,” Emily said. “I...I didn’t handle this very well, did I?”
Lady Barb shrugged, then waited impatiently for Emily and Frieda to eat their breakfasts. Emily wolfed down her food, donned a long cloak that should protect her from being recognized at a distance, and then waited for Frieda.
“I would advise you to leave Frieda here,” Lady Barb said. “There’s a great deal you have to see.”
“I promised I’d show her the Faire,” Emily said. “She won’t get in our way.”
Lady Barb seemed unconvinced, as they made their way down to the gate, but showed no inclination to continue the discussion. Frieda looked from Emily to Lady Barb and then back again, then quietened, like a child suddenly caught up in adult conversations. Emily smiled at the back of her head, making a mental note to ensure that she spent more time with Frieda after the Faire. There wasn’t so much for her to do at the castle.
“We will work on expanding your protections later,” Lady Barb said, as they passed through the outer edge of the wards. “Consider it an additional lesson in protecting your property.”
Emily looked back at the castle and sighed. Whitehall had a nexus point to power its wards — and she knew, all too well, just how far Mountaintop had gone to protect itself. She lacked both options...and the castle was too big for her to protect with more specialized wards. It would be simple enough to add an alert to inform her if anyone used magic within the walls — she’d already done that, to some extent — but actually stopping someone from using magic would be a great deal harder. She really needed more magicians to help her maintain the wards or a smaller castle. And she doubted she would get either of them.
“I don’t know how to make the protections any stronger,” she confessed. “This building wasn’t designed by magicians.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Lady Barb agreed. “You might consider building a new castle.”
“I thought I wasn’t allowed to build any new fortifications,” Emily said. King Randor had made that clear to her, after he’d granted her the title. No one was allowed to build any fortified structures without the king’s specific permission. “Or do you think the king would let me build something if I asked?”
“You don’t lose anything by asking,” Lady Barb said. “I dare say he trusts you more than any of his other barons.”
Maybe about as far as he can throw me, Emily thought, dryly. Which would be quite some distance, if he used magic.
She sighed, inwardly. She’d never had the impression that Randor was a trusting person...and he was a monarch, a monarch who couldn’t afford to trust anyone. Even Alassa was locked out of some secrets, and she was his heir. Emily knew Randor had needed to reward her, after the thwarted coup, but she also knew he intended to use her to benefit himself as much as possible. And the only real question was just how long she intended to put up with it?
A cold wind blew across the field as they reached the edge of the Faire. Emily couldn’t help thinking it looked rather depressing, with the stalls battened down and the wagons drawn up in tight circles. Some of the wagons carried families who spent most of their lives going from faire to faire, either mundane or magical, showing off for a few measly copper coins; others belonged to magicians who wanted to show off while bringing their own accommodations with them. Beyond them, she saw a handful of cages, each one holding a rare animal from elsewhere in the Allied Lands. She fought down a smile as she saw the lion in one cage, watching the nearby humans with beady eyes.
Frieda gasped. “What is that?”
“A lion,” Emily said. She wasn’t particularly impressed. Compared to a dragon, or a Mimic, a lion was surprisingly commonplace. But Frieda would never have seen anything like it before. “They eat people, sometimes.”
The lion growled deep in its throat. Emily did her best to ignore it as they walked past the cages, then down towards a set of empty stalls. The stallkeepers were arguing, in quiet voices, over just which of them should have the stall closest to the walkways. Lady Barb snorted, rudely, then led Emily past without stopping. She didn’t seem inclined to intervene.
“That’s the problem with not organizing everything properly,” she warned, as soon as they were out of earshot. “There’s no one here to say where someone can and cannot go.”
She led them towards a large tent before Emily could muster a response and pushed the flap aside. A gust of warm air struck Emily in the face as she entered. She looked around, seeing a handful of tables and plain wooden chairs. A dozen workers sat there, drinking beer and chatting happily amongst themselves. Behind the tables, there were a handful of mugs, and barrels, ready to be tapped. And, Emily noticed, a grim-faced man wearing a long black robe and hood.
You could have warned me, she thought at Lady Barb, as Master Grey stood to greet them. You could have told me he was here.
“Master Grey,” Lady Barb said. “Thank you for coming.”
Master Grey bowed to her, then nodded politely to Emily. Jade’s former master hadn’t changed from the last time they’d met, just after she’d escaped Mountaintop. He was a tall muscular man, his head shaved bald, carrying a staff in one hand. Emily was sure he disliked her, although she wasn’t sure why. The sense of abiding disapproval had followed her ever since they’d first met, a year ago. He’d even objected to Jade keeping in touch with her.
“I was planning to visit
anyway,” Master Grey said. His voice was deep, but tinged with cold amusement. “Being asked to assist you is always a pleasure.”
And he will make Lady Barb pay for asking him, Emily thought, sourly. But what will he want?
“Glad to hear it,” Lady Barb said, as they sat down and cast privacy wards in the air. “What do you think, so far?”
Master Grey gave Emily a long, cold smile. “You do realize you’ve done something very brave or very stupid?”
Emily fought down the urge to bow her head. She’d met many strong men, both muscular and magical, since she’d entered the Nameless World, but Master Grey intimidated her in ways she hated. It would have been easier to bear, she thought, if she’d known why he’d hated her, yet none of her theories seemed to make sense. Maybe he, like Master Tor, disliked her for something that was out of her control. Or maybe Master Grey just hated the thought of anyone distracting his former apprentice from his duties.
“Yes,” she said, curtly. She was damned if she was calling this man master. “I understand my mistake.”
“Do you?” Master Grey said. “I would be surprised if you did. Your father does not seem to have prepared you for magical life.”
Emily shrugged, although she couldn’t help feeling a flicker of concern. Now what?
“No one would trust Void to raise a child properly,” Lady Barb said. “If you have a point to make, make it.”
“You’ve invited everyone,” Master Grey said, as if that in and of itself should be enough.
Emily waited, but didn’t understand.
After a long moment, his bushy eyebrows twitched, sardonically. “Everyone who happens to think or believe they’re important. And among those who have accepted your invitation, whose names are blazing across the guest list, are the Ashworth and Ashfall Families.”
Emily blinked. “As in Melissa and Markus?”
“As in the magical families who have been fighting and feuding for the last hundred years,” Master Grey said. His voice darkened. “They’ve been trying to kill each other, young lady, and when they haven’t been trying to kill each other they’ve been trying to tear each other down. I don’t think they’re going to agree to get along just because you’ve invited them both to the Faire. Most people try very hard to avoid inviting both of them to the same event.”
He smiled, coldly. “There was a reason Melissa was sent to Whitehall,” he added. “Or don’t you know that?”
Emily frowned. Melissa had never been a friend. She’d taken a dislike to Alassa from the start, before the princess had grown up a little, and extended it to Emily and Imaiqah when they’d both befriended Alassa. In their first two years at Whitehall, Melissa had done everything she could to make them miserable...and, Emily had to admit, they’d not been on their best behavior either. The only reason they hadn’t continued their private war in Third Year was that they’d all been kept desperately busy, trying to keep up with the course load.
And Melissa had only attended Whitehall, Emily had been told, because Markus Ashfall, her family’s rival, had been at Mountaintop.
“I know,” she said.
The timing didn’t quite make sense, she thought. Markus had been Head Boy...hell, given the politics, it was possible that everyone had known he would be Head Boy, even three years before he’d entered his final year. The temptation to use that power against Melissa would have been overpowering...but Emily had always had the sense he was a decent person. He’d even offered Emily some good advice.
But perhaps it would have been different, her thoughts whispered, if you’d belonged to his family’s rivals.
“Then you really shouldn’t have invited them both,” Master Grey said. “Putting them together is like adding Basilisk Blood to powdered Dragon Scales.”
Emily swore, inwardly. Professor Thande had warned them, more than once, that certain materials could never be allowed to blend. Adding Basilisk Blood to powdered Dragon Scales would always result in an explosion.
Lady Barb must have known, she thought, darkly. Why didn’t she tell me?
She took a breath. “But...if someone invites one family and not the other,” she said, “how do they keep the other family from being insulted?”
“They roll dice, normally,” Master Grey said. He smirked at her discomfort. “Everyone would have understood, young lady, if you had only asked one family to attend.”
“But there are people who would be offended if they weren’t asked,” Emily said. Alassa had once had to manage a ball in Zangaria, in what King Randor had called a lesson in practical politics. Everyone had to be invited, but seating had to be sorted out based on who was fighting with whom, or who wasn’t speaking to whom. And not inviting someone could be seen as an insult...or a threat. “And...”
And you didn’t even think to supervise the invitations, a voice at the back of her head pointed out. You just assumed Bryon, a mundane, could handle it.
“This isn’t the mundane world,” Master Grey said. “Everyone would have understood you inviting one of the families, but not both.”
“Master Grey,” Frieda asked, suddenly, “why are they fighting?”
Master Grey smirked, again. “It depends who you ask,” he said. “I was told that the head of the Ashworth Family had a brother...and they both fell madly in love with the same girl. A few years of increasingly bitter fighting later, the younger brother was expelled from the family and, in his rage, swore to bring down the Ashworths. They’ve been fighting and feuding ever since.”
“No one knows who actually got the girl,” Lady Barb said. “I was told that the woman in question was sent to break the family up and succeeded, magnificently. The brother who left swore to liberate his family from her cursed spawn.”
“Or that the younger brother leveled the charge against an innocent women,” Master Grey added. “Thus ensuring, after such insults had been exchanged, that it was war to the knife.”
Emily held up a hand. “Does anyone actually know?”
“It’s been over a hundred and fifty years,” Lady Barb said. “There are so many conflicting versions of the story that it is impossible to know which one is the truth. They might all have some grains of the truth in them...or they might all be lies, tall tales spread to hide the real issue. We may never know why the younger Ashworth split from his family and declared war. Or, for that matter, why so many saw fit to follow him.”
She sighed. “But Master Grey is right,” she admitted. “Inviting them both is asking for trouble.”
“Quite,” Master Grey agreed.
“I see only one option,” Lady Barb continued, ignoring him. “Cancel the Faire. Tell them all to go home.”
“That would be an insult,” Master Grey warned.
“Better an insult than a war,” Lady Barb said. “The last time there was a fight at the Faire, between two small groups of magicians, it took years to sort out the mess. This time, two entire families will be involved.”
“It wouldn’t just be the two families,” Master Grey said. He looked at Emily, his grey eyes boring into her face. “Hundreds of carnies have already made their way here — and more are on the way. Countless sellers have paid the nominal fee to establish a stall where they can sell their wares to the visitors. Thousands of magicians have planned trips here. Many of those trips will have been planned months in advance.”
His eyes never left Emily’s face. “If you cancel the Faire now, young lady, you will put a great many noses out of joint. At the very least, you will have to pay out a great deal of gold in compensation. It will certainly damage your reputation for a very long time to come. At worst...”
“You don’t need to scare her,” Lady Barb snapped.
“I’m just pointing out the problems she would face if she wanted to cancel the Faire,” Master Grey said. There was a hint of mocking amusement in his tone. “And it will cause her a great many problems.”
Emily cursed him under her breath, then thought hard. She trusted Lady Barb —
and if Lady Barb said she should cancel the Faire, it was certainly something to consider. But Master Grey was right. Hundreds of thousands of people, many of them powerful magicians, had already hired their stalls, booked their tickets and planned their trips to Cockatrice. None of them would be pleased at having to cancel at short notice, particularly the ones who had turned down opportunities to go elsewhere. And people like Jasmine’s family — she remembered the young singer with a touch of fondness — would be put out of pocket by the sudden change.
“This is my territory,” she said. “Wouldn’t they respect it and not start fights?”
“I imagine the grown-ups would understand the dangers of picking a fight with someone who has killed two necromancers,” Lady Barb said, her lips so thin they were practically invisible. “But the hot-headed younger generation might be so dunderheaded as to start picking fights anyway, regardless of the wisdom or lack thereof.”
Emily groaned inwardly. She had two ways to kill necromancers, neither of which could be used in Cockatrice. One required a nexus and the closest one she knew about was several days journey, the other would cause far too much damage to the surrounding countryside, if she unleashed it. And it would start magicians wondering precisely what she’d done...it had been sheer luck, in hindsight, that most people believed Mother Holly had lost control of her magic and died when it broke free. The prospect of hundreds of magicians experimenting with ways to split atoms was horrific.
“Damn it,” she said, softly. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Right?”
“I’m afraid so,” Master Grey said. He didn’t seem too upset at her dilemma. “I can have a few words with the senior leadership, if you like, but...”
“You’re tied to Ashworth, aren’t you?” Lady Barb said.
“A cadet branch of the family,” Master Grey said. He shrugged, expressively. “I would be surprised if they consider me one of them, these days. But I can have a word with both families.”
Love's Labor's Won (Schooled in Magic Book 6) Page 11