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

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I always look forward to your commissions,” Yodel said. “And I thank you for the challenge.”

  Emily nodded and stepped out of the wigwam. Night had fallen completely, leaving the city shrouded in darkness; even the castle, the heart of the barony, was only illuminated by a handful of distant lights. She couldn’t help feeling a shiver as she looked at her castle, then back at the Faire around her. It was clear that they belonged in very different worlds.

  She heard the singing again and turned to walk towards it. A young girl, around thirteen, stood in front of a caravan, singing sweetly to an assembled crowd. She was young, with pale skin and dark oval eyes, a strange mixture of white and oriental features.

  Jasmine, Emily remembered. She’d met the girl last year, at the first Faire. What’s she doing here?

  She dismissed the question a moment later, silently cursing herself for forgetting Jasmine and her family. The girl had lost her parents at an early age and wound up living with her uncles and aunts. Emily had offered to pay her fees when — if — she wanted to go to Whitehall. But it had never crossed her mind that Jasmine would attend the next Faire.

  It should have, she told herself.

  “Lady Emily,” a quiet voice said. “I was wondering if I could have a word.”

  Emily groaned inwardly — what now? — and turned to see the speaker. He was a tall, powerfully-built man, with long dark hair drawn back in a ponytail. His face seemed somehow ageless, yet lined enough to make it clear he was no longer young; his dark eyes seemed to glimmer as he peered at Emily. There was something about his stare that was more than a little unnerving.

  “Yes, we can,” she said, finally. The dark robes marked the newcomer as a sorcerer, but there was nothing to identify his speciality. “What would you like to be called?”

  “I am Master Gordian,” the newcomer said. He gave her a tight bow, as if he wasn’t quite sure just how much respect she was due. “And I merely wished to see if you lived up to your legend.”

  “Very few people do,” Emily said, as she curtseyed in return. She tried and failed to keep the tiredness out of her voice. “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing, at the moment,” Master Gordian said. “I thank you for consenting to speak with me.”

  He bowed, deeper this time, and strode off. Emily stared after him, wondering just what he’d been playing at. Hastily, she checked her pockets and discovered that the battery, the devices and her money pouch were all still in place. She opened her mouth to shout after him, but thought better of it. Instead, she turned and started the long walk back up to the castle, using the night-vision spell to find her way in the dark. By the time she reached the gates, guarded by a pair of her men, she felt so tired that all she wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep.

  “My lady,” one of them said. “I welcome you to your home.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said, absently. She turned and looked back at the Faire, wrapped in a blaze of light, then back at the guards. Their armor was now marked with runes to protect them from subtle magic. “I...”

  She shook her head. She didn’t belong here, playing lady of the castle. She didn’t have the training, let alone the attitude, to govern hundreds of thousands of people. And yet, King Randor had tricked her, giving her the title and the lands without ever telling her what was involved. She should leave, she knew, and yet she was reluctant to give it up. She’d made so many changes she couldn’t leave, without risking everything falling apart.

  Or so you keep telling yourself, she thought, as she walked through the inner doors and into the castle proper. Are you just trying to convince yourself that you want to stay, even though you don’t want to stay? Or are you being greedy?

  She cursed herself under her breath. In Zangaria, land meant power...and Randor had given her enough land to make her very powerful indeed. He’d given her the resources to be a serious threat to him, if she’d wanted to make herself a threat. No one, absolutely no one, would turn down the offer of lands and a title. No wonder Alicia had been so desperate to have her title confirmed before the king married her off or organized her barony to suit himself. But Emily...Emily didn’t want the barony.

  Then give it up, her own thoughts mocked her. Or are you just going to procrastinate until the shit hits the fan?

  “My lady,” Bryon said, stepping out of a side room. “I have organized a simple dinner, without the formalities, for the guests.”

  “Very good,” Emily said. She had a feeling that most of the guests would demand room service, or go down to the Faire to eat, but some would definitely want to be fed in the Great Hall. “Have there been any problems up here?”

  “A few dirty looks from one family to the other, but no real problems,” Bryon said. “I heard there was nearly a fight down in the Faire.”

  “There was,” Emily confirmed. She had to fight down the impulse to start shaking, now that it was all over. She’d plunged right into the middle of the two groups...her wards were as strong as she could make them, but if she’d been attacked by both sides they wouldn’t have lasted long enough for her to escape. She could have died there and then. “But I think it’s over, for the moment.”

  “That is good, my lady,” Bryon said.

  Emily rubbed her forehead. She felt hungry, but there was too much else that needed to be done.

  “Please send a message to Melissa Ashworth,” she said. “Inform her that I request the honor of her company for breakfast tomorrow, in the blue room, at nine bells.”

  “I will see to it at once,” Bryon said.

  “We will also be joined by Markus,” Emily added, “so please give him the same message. Don’t mention it to either of them.”

  Bryon frowned, but nodded.

  “I will have the maids deliver breakfast for the three of you, once you are ready to eat,” Bryon said. “Will you be wanting anything in particular?”

  “We’ll order food tomorrow,” Emily said, after a moment. Melissa and Markus would both want to choose their own breakfasts, while Emily had no idea what she would want at the time. Maybe something less fatty than bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes. “Are there any other concerns right now?”

  “Lady Frieda is waiting for you in her rooms,” Bryon said. “I promised her I would inform you as soon as you arrived.”

  “I’ll see to her myself,” Emily said. God alone knew what Master Grey had said to her, before he’d sent her off to the castle. He’d probably frightened her to death. “Let me know if there are any other problems before I go to bed.”

  She sighed inwardly, and started along the corridor to the stairs. A handful of maids and servants passed her, but there was no sign of any of the guests. Emily could pretend, just for a moment, that the Faire was already over. But the illusion shattered as soon as she passed a set of guest rooms and sensed the wards the occupants had erected to protect themselves. It was clear they didn’t trust Emily’s promise of safety.

  But who could blame them? She asked herself. They all know that their rivals won’t hesitate to sneak in and out of their rooms if they have a chance.

  She walked up the stairs and tapped on Frieda’s door. The door swung open, and Frieda practically threw herself into Emily’s arms. Emily hugged her tightly, half-carried her into the room, and closed the door behind her.

  “I was so worried,” Frieda said. “You could have been killed!”

  “I know,” Emily said. “What did he tell you?”

  “That you were going to do something stupid, as always,” Frieda said, frowning. “I’m starting to think he doesn’t like you.”

  Emily laughed, despite herself. “I’m starting to feel that way, too.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “THE BLUE ROOM,” MELISSA SAID. “Rather an...imaginative name, isn’t it?”

  Emily shrugged as she rose and walked around the breakfast table. The Blue Room was blue, all blue. Even the cups and saucers were blue. And if she’d stayed with her normal color of dress,
Emily knew, she would be blue too.

  “I think the baron’s wife must have designed the room,” Emily said, finally. Personally, she found it rather creepy. “Or maybe someone who thought that a unified color scheme was the way to go.”

  “Not a magician, then,” Melissa said.

  “Probably not,” Emily agreed. She tried to imagine what it must have been like to be the baron’s wife, then gave up in disgust. “But please take a seat. Markus should be along in a few minutes.”

  Melissa gave her a sharp look, then relaxed and sat down. “Why are you doing this?”

  Emily shrugged. “Doing what?”

  “Helping us,” Melissa said. “It isn’t like we’re friends.”

  “Because...because it feels like the right thing to do,” Emily said, after a moment. She walked back around the table and sat down facing Melissa. “And because I can’t think of any other solution.”

  Melissa looked at her for a long moment. “And you’re not planning an elaborate revenge?”

  “No,” Emily said. “I think you have enough problems without me making things worse, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Melissa said, slowly. “If you hadn’t been there yesterday...”

  “There would have been a fight,” Emily said. She wondered, suddenly, just how much she was missing by being forced to keep an eye on the problem children. Fatty had practically thanked her for keeping the two families under control. “What happened?”

  “I wish I knew,” Melissa said. “The Matriarch was having me fitted for the wedding dress when we sensed the surges of magic. And then she yanked me out of the tent and ran towards the scene.”

  “You’re meant to marry in four days,” Emily said, incredulously. “And you’re only having the dress made now?”

  “There wasn’t time for a proper fitting while I was at Whitehall,” Melissa said, shrugging. “Besides, the Matriarch thought it would be better to purchase a dress here.”

  She looked down at the table. “I think she wanted to make sure I got the right dress, from the right person, at the right time,” she added. “Someone probably owed her a favor and she meant to call it in. Or something.”

  Emily frowned, unsure if she actually believed Melissa. Alassa hadn’t had much trouble having her dresses fitted, even at Whitehall, and there was no reason Melissa couldn’t do the same. Could no one at Ashworth House make or fit a dress? Or was there a political reason to have the dress made at the Faire? The Matriarch might see it as patronizing someone whose career she wished to assist.

  And how long did it actually take to make a wedding dress, anyway?

  “Tell me something,” Emily said. “What does your mother have to say about all this?”

  Melissa glanced up. “My mother? My mother is powerless and has been so for years, ever since my father died. She’s only an Ashworth by marriage.”

  Emily’s eyes narrowed. “She can’t refuse to marry you to Gaius?”

  “It’s the Matriarch who has the right to choose,” Melissa said, bitterly. “My mother left her family after she married my father. If the Matriarch wanted to throw her out of the family, there isn’t anyone who could stop her.”

  “I see,” Emily said. “Even you?”

  Melissa shook her head.

  Emily considered it. She could see how Melissa’s mother might be considered surplus to requirements, now her husband was dead, but it didn’t seem wise for Fulvia to mistreat her so openly. Melissa could not fail to take note of how her mother was treated...and she was the Heir to the Matriarch. How long would it be, Emily wondered absently, before Melissa saw fit to rebel?

  But then, she already had. Fulvia would not be pleased when she found out about Markus.

  And how much of your attraction to Markus, Emily wondered, stems from rebelling against your family?

  She rose as Markus entered the room. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept all night, but his eyes were bright. Emily had a private suspicion that his father had probably told him off quite sharply, once they returned to the castle, before ordering him to stay in his rooms until the following morning. Given the tension in the air, it had definitely been a wise move.

  “Markus,” she said. “Please, take a seat.”

  “Thank you,” Markus said. He sat next to Melissa, and smiled as Emily walked back to her chair. “And thank you for yesterday, too.”

  “I meant to ask,” Emily said. “What happened?”

  “Gaius and his mob of friends walked right into us,” Markus said. “It was quite deliberate.”

  Emily met his eyes. “But why?”

  “I don’t know,” Markus said. “He thinks he will be the next Patriarch. Maybe he feels he needs to prove himself.”

  “He’s just an idiot,” Melissa said, tartly. “If he caused a major clash with outsiders, the family would disown him rather than let him drag everyone into the war.”

  Emily eyed her, sharply. “Did you encourage him to cause trouble?”

  “No,” Melissa snapped. “Don’t you think I have enough trouble of my own?”

  “Yes,” Emily said. “I apologize.”

  Janice appeared, carrying a menu and a small notebook. Emily had to smile at the concept of having menus inside her own home, but ordered scrambled eggs for herself. Markus and Melissa took it in stride, although they probably felt as though they were in a hotel. They both ordered large breakfasts, as if they expected to need the energy. Emily couldn’t help thinking they might be right.

  “I meant to ask,” she said. “Why Gaius?”

  Melissa blinked. “Why Gaius?”

  “He’s been chosen to be your husband,” Emily said. “Why did the Matriarch choose him?”

  “Because she hates me,” Melissa said. “She has always hated me.”

  Markus scowled. “I think Gaius is biddable,” he said, slowly. “Maybe not for Melissa, but the Matriarch would find him a useful tool. He wasn’t raised to be an Ashworth, so he probably wouldn’t try to turn his position into something with real power. Merely being an Ashworth would be enough for him.”

  “Then he can marry someone from one of the cadet branches,” Melissa hissed. There was nothing but raw hatred in her voice. “I will not be marrying him.”

  “Then,” Emily asked, “what are you going to do?”

  Melissa exchanged a long glance with her lover. “I don’t know,” she said. “What can I do?”

  “Tell your family that you’re not going to marry him,” Emily said, ticking points off her fingers as she spoke. “Cut your ties to the family altogether if they persist. Run off together and live somewhere you won’t be recognized. Or...”

  “I could challenge Gaius to a duel,” Markus interrupted. “If I kill him, it would be perfectly legal.”

  Emily had to admit it was a tempting prospect. But there was one hitch. “And what if you lose?”

  “That isn’t likely to happen,” Markus scoffed. “I was dueling champion for three years running. I don’t think Gaius ever did more than put up a reluctant fight.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Emily said. “He might have learned more after leaving Mountaintop.”

  Markus snorted. “Why would he?”

  “To keep his real capabilities a secret,” Emily said. God knew she’d hidden enough of her own skills, even if most of them couldn’t be used as anything other than a last resort. “He could have had private training after leaving Mountaintop, or merely thrown every duel he fought in over the last few years.”

  “That would be stupid,” Markus said. “Everyone knows that dueling champions are popular...”

  With the girls, Emily finished. She wasn’t sure if that was true of Whitehall, but she did know that the boys in Martial Magic or on the Ken teams did tend to get more attention from the girls than the boys who weren’t. But if someone was more interested in hiding their skills than picking up girls, why would they bother to try to win?

  “Not everyone is interested in being popular,” she said, instead.
“And wouldn’t he be required to protect Melissa as part of the wedding contract?”

  “He would hire a champion,” Melissa said, disdainfully. “If, of course, he had the nerve to do even that.”

  Emily shrugged. Lady Barb had taught her, several times, that there were advantages and disadvantages to having a reputation as a skilled fighter. On one hand, people were reluctant to cross you; on the other hand, people tended to view you as a threat. Not that it would matter to her, she reflected. She already had a terrifying reputation, one that was so exaggerated she didn’t recognize herself. It wasn’t as if she actually could walk on water or make necromancers shiver at her tread.

  But you could walk on water with magic, she thought. You would just have to freeze it first — or adjust the surface tension.

  “If you did challenge him,” she said. “How could you do it in a way that would make him accept?”

  Markus gave her a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re talking about challenging him,” Emily said, “but he has the right to decline.”

  “That’s simple enough,” Markus said. “You just issue a challenge he cannot decline. Or make him challenge you.”

  Emily sighed, inwardly. “And don’t you think everyone will know it?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You could call him a...a rapist if you liked,” she said. “And he would have to accept, because otherwise people would wonder if the charge was actually true. But everyone watching would also think you insulted him in the hopes of having him issue a challenge.”

  “Or he might just run,” Melissa said, vindictively. “That would be the best possible outcome.”

  Emily sighed, again. She didn’t understand the dueling system at all. It seemed clear enough that the challenged could decline a challenge, but failing to accept a certain challenge could be just as bad as accepting it. The system was tailor-made for abuse, even with the quarrels and magical families keeping the balance and eliminating rogue duelers. Trial by combat had always been a stupid idea, if only because the guilty party could win and then silence his enemies.