The Princess in the Tower

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Don’t hesitate to teleport out if you’re in trouble,” Cat said. “Have you got everything?”

  Emily nodded. “I think so,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  The walls seemed larger, somehow, as they walked around the edge of the estate. There were a handful of guard towers scattered along the walls, but they were empty...as far as she could tell. They also seemed to be purely decorative, designed more to look impressive than actually be impressive. Emily was surprised Randor hadn’t ordered them knocked down after Baron Gold had been beheaded for high treason. He must have thought it was better to let whoever held the mansion develop a false sense of security than impose his will on the city.

  He probably didn’t think Alicia would realize that the guardposts are worthless, Emily thought, as she touched the wards as gingerly as she could. I wouldn’t have known without the sergeant hammering lessons into my head.

  She glanced back at the boys, just to make sure they were there, then cast a handful of obscurification charms on herself. She wouldn’t be entirely invisible, but someone would have to be looking for her–or someone–specifically if they wanted to see through the glamour. The wards thrummed around her as she started to climb the walls, trying to convince her to leave. Her stomach churned before she got a grip on her growing unease, reminding herself–sharply–that it was nothing more than an aversion ward. She was surprised that whoever had designed them had been so nice. But then, the people who lived near the estate were actually important. Randor wouldn’t be pleased if a half-drunk nobleman was killed by Alicia’s wards.

  Her magic grew stronger as she slowly picked her way through the wardlines. The inner wards, as she had expected, were sharper, snapping and snarling at anyone foolish enough to ignore the outer wards. Emily worked her way through them gingerly, bending them around her rather than trying to break them...hoping, desperately, that Alicia didn’t have someone monitoring the wards directly. They didn’t feel as if they were connected to a living mind, but that meant nothing. Someone with enough skill could easily hide their presence.

  The last of the wards bent around her, allowing her to slip into the garden. It looked almost inhumanly perfect, from a grassy lawn to a pond and a handful of trees reaching towards the skyline. Emily felt a moment of envy for Alicia and everyone else who’d grown up in the mansion, even though she knew it came with a price. Alicia had been destined for a political marriage long before she’d unexpectedly become the heir to the barony. She glanced from side to side to make sure that none of the guards were in view, then hurried towards the mansion, careful to stay within the shadows. The darkness seemed to grow deeper, somehow. She kept a wary eye open for traps as she reached the rear wall. Someone would have made sure that footpads couldn’t get into the house itself.

  Although the wards would keep out common thieves, she thought, as she inched along the walls. And anyone with the ability to get through would have more tempting targets elsewhere.

  She found an open window and peered into the semi-darkness. A maid was kneeling over a large tub of water, her back to Emily as she scrubbed her mistress’s clothes. Emily felt a stab of sympathy for the young woman–she looked too young to go to Whitehall, even if she had the talent–and then froze her with a spell. It was more complex than the standard freeze spell, but it was necessary. The poor girl wouldn’t be aware of anything, even time passing, until the spell broke. She might not even realize that something had happened.

  Poor girl, Emily thought, as she scrambled through the window. I’m sorry.

  She felt a twinge of guilt. She’d seen enough to know that household servants lived in a very strict hierarchy–and scullery maids were only one or two steps above the bottom. The girl probably slaved all night, while her mistress danced with the king and her superiors took the credit. And if someone realized that Emily had sneaked through the window, the girl would probably be blamed. She couldn’t have stopped Emily–she couldn’t even have screamed–but no one would care. She’d be lucky if she was only cast out into the cold night to die.

  Emily took a long breath, modifying the obscurification charms before sneaking out of the scullery and up the servants’ staircase. Anyone who saw her would think she had a perfect right to be there, as long as they didn’t focus on her specifically. A household rarely slept completely, even in the middle of the night. Emily wouldn’t be surprised to discover that a few dozen servants were still awake, frantically preparing for the next day. They’d sleep during the day and work at night.

  She couldn’t help looking around with interest as she headed further upstairs. She’d never been in the mansion before–and, even if she had, she wouldn’t have been shown the passageways that the servants used to keep out of sight. Their lords and masters wanted their servants to work, but not to show themselves. Emily’s lips twitched at the thought. How did they expect people to work without being seen? But then, the mansion was immense. The servants had plenty of rooms to clean without their masters going anywhere near them.

  And there will be some rooms that are completely off-limits, Emily thought. She had a set of offices, at Cockatrice, that had been hers and hers alone. The servants had been told not to enter on pain of dismissal. Alicia and her husband will each have a private study.

  She reached the top of the stairs and frowned. If the mansion followed the same general idea as the others, the master bedroom would be right at the top of the building. Emily had no idea if Alicia and her husband actually shared a bed–it was very much a loveless marriage–but if they didn’t, Lord Burrows would be quite close to her. Jade had his own suite, coming to think of it, even though he shared Alassa’s bed. Her lips twitched in cold amusement. The man cave was alive and well in Zangaria.

  A sound echoed behind her. She froze, just for a second, as she heard footsteps coming up the staircase. They didn’t sound urgent, but that meant nothing. Someone could have heard her, despite the charms, and come to see what she was doing. She pressed her back into the wall and waited, slowing her breathing as much as possible as the source of the footsteps came into view. A middle-aged woman, moving like someone far older. People aged quickly on the Nameless World, unless they were magic...Emily tried hard not to feel pity for the older woman. A housekeeper–she looked like a housekeeper–would rule her subordinates with a rod of iron.

  The housekeeper showed no sign of seeing through the charms. She walked past Emily and headed down the corridor, passing through a concealed door into the real corridor. Emily counted to ten, then slipped down to the hidden door. There was a tiny peephole hidden within the wood, allowing her to peer into the corridor. Emily concealed a smile as she checked it was empty, then opened and stepped through the door. The aristocrats were clearly unconcerned about their servants spying on them.

  Alassa didn’t care about being naked in front of a lower-status man, she reminded herself, wryly. And besides, it’s not like they can see into their bedrooms.

  The corridor would have been beautiful, Emily thought, if it hadn’t been covered in tasteless artworks and endless rows of portraits. Alicia’s ancestors had been quite distinguished, she thought, but she didn’t think they were that distinguished. The portraits seemed designed to convey the impression that Alicia’s ancestors had done everything, with the kings and the other barons as little more than helpless spectators. Emily knew that Alicia could trace her family line back for generations, but still...

  They were never part of the elite, she thought. The Empire’s upper levels had been practically wiped out by the wars that had destroyed it. The Barons were quite low on the totem pole before the pole was shattered by the wars...

  “Hey,” a sodden voice said. “Who...who are you?”

  Emily jumped, spinning around. A middle-aged man was standing there, regarding her with bleary eyes. He didn’t look that much older than her, but his red nose and the bottle in his hand told her everything she needed to know about him. A drunkard...an aristocratic drunkard. His clothes were far
too fine to belong to anyone but a nobleman. No doubt he’d claim to be a high-functioning drunkard too. He leaned against the wall as if his legs were on the verge of giving way, but his eyes were firmly fixed on her. He’d seen her...how the hell had he seen her?

  The drink must have helped, she thought, as her mind raced. Who was he? One of the family, of course, but who? Or perhaps a guest...? The spies hadn’t been clear on who else was in the mansion. Maybe he was Lord Burrows’ lover. Emily couldn’t imagine kissing a drunkard, but Lord Burrows might have different ideas. If he’s drunk, the charms might not work right.

  “Come here,” the man croaked. He giggled, a high-pitched sound that went through her like a knife. “I know how to deal with naughty little maids like you.”

  Emily blinked. He’d mistaken her for a maid? The charms were still working, then. He thought her presence was quite normal and his mind had filled in the rest. At least he wasn’t screaming for help. Emily had no doubt that a cry would rouse the entire household in seconds. The servants would come running...

  “Come here,” the man repeated. His gaze traveled over her breasts. “I know...”

  A hot flash of anger ran through Emily’s mind as she shaped a spell. The man blinked in surprise, his eyes defocusing as the spell took effect. Emily didn’t like using any kind of mind control spells, let alone using magics that tinkered with a person’s memory, but she’d make an exception for the drunkard. She knew that maids were routinely harassed–or worse–by their employers, yet she hadn’t really understood the scale of the problem. She understood it now.

  “Go back to bed and sleep,” she ordered. The suggestion would be almost irresistible, normally. A drunkard might take further convincing. “And when you wake up, forget you ever saw me.”

  The man’s eyes blinked, slowly. Emily watched him turn and stagger down the corridor, his bottle slowly slipping from his hand. He tightened his grip a moment before it could fall to the ground and smash. Emily hesitated–she could make a few more suggestions–then turned and made her way towards the master bedroom. A pair of maids, sitting in the antechamber, were frozen before they even realized she was there. Emily felt a moment of contempt–aristocratic women seemed to need nursemaids, even when they were fully-grown adults–then stepped into the bedroom itself. A faint light glowed above the bed, illuminating a head covered in golden hair...

  Alicia rolled over and sat up, one hand grasping for a flintlock pistol hanging by the side of her bed. Emily’s eyes went wide as she saw the weapon–she’d never expected Alicia to be armed–and she hastily froze the older woman before she could fire. The sound would wake the entire house!

  She must fear assassins, Emily thought, morbidly. A woman with Alicia’s resources could surround the entire mansion with guards, if she wished. And if the king would let her. She doesn’t know who she can trust.

  “Alicia,” she said, closing the door behind her. “I think we need to have a chat.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ALICIA DIDN’T MOVE, OF COURSE, AS Emily cast a handful of wards in the air before carefully removing the flintlock from her hand and placing it well out of reach. And yet, Emily could feel the girl’s fear, almost as if it were a physical force. Alicia had good reason to be scared, to fear for her life...and her child’s life. Alassa had tried to kill Alicia–would have killed her, if Emily hadn’t saved her life. Now, with Alassa in the Tower and the kingdom on the verge of civil war, Alicia was horrifyingly vulnerable. She had no way to know which way Emily would jump.

  “I’m not here to hurt you,” Emily said. “But it is important you don’t cry out.”

  She looked around the darkened room, making sure they were alone, then relaxed the freeze spell. Alicia slumped forward, her entire body shaking with fear. Emily felt a stab of pity, knowing–all too well–that Alicia was little more than a puppet. She’d had little say in her life, before and after her father’s death. Randor had certainly never treated her as anything other than a tool to be used or discarded as the whim struck him. It had been a terrible shock to discover that he’d managed to get her pregnant.

  And the baby must be with the wet nurse, Emily thought. Aristocratic women rarely suckled their children. Or is he up at the castle?

  “Emily,” Alicia stuttered. “What...what are you doing here?”

  “I thought we should talk,” Emily said. “And I’m sure you’re not going to tell the king I visited.”

  Alicia looked up at her in surprise, then lowered her eyes in dismay. Emily could practically see the thoughts running through the older woman’s head. Randor would never believe that Alicia was completely innocent, not when she owed Emily a huge favor. He wouldn’t have any problems clapping Alicia in the Tower too, while raising her child himself...and if Alassa’s baby was born safely, Alicia’s son would probably be sent out of the kingdom. The child’s mere existence was an open invitation to civil war.

  As if anyone needed another excuse for war, Emily thought, passing Alicia a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. We’re on the verge of civil war already.

  Alicia cleared her throat. “What do you want?”

  Emily shifted back, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. “Merely to ask a few questions,” she said. “What is the word in the castle? What’s happened to Alassa? And Imaiqah?”

  “The king won’t answer any questions,” Alicia said, after a moment. “But everyone knows they’re in the Tower. There are hundreds of rumors flying around.”

  “I’m sure there are,” Emily said, thoughtfully. She was tempted to ask for details, but she didn’t have time. “And you? What are you doing at the castle?”

  “The king wants my son to stay near him,” Alicia said, reluctantly. “He was very insistent–he didn’t even want me to take Alexis to the mansion. But I couldn’t leave him at the castle.”

  “I suppose not,” Emily said. Even if she’d trusted Randor and his servants completely, she wouldn’t have wanted to leave her child with anyone. A two-year-old boy would be defenseless. “And your husband? How is he?”

  Alicia gave her a sharp look. “We...get along,” she said. “He’s the king’s man, through and through.”

  Emily felt another stab of pity. In theory, Alicia controlled one of the largest and most powerful baronies in the country; in practice, her ability to do anything was heavily circumscribed. Her staff had been appointed by the king, her personal attendants might not be loyal to her first and foremost and her husband, the man who technically shared her bed, owed his position to the king. Alicia was surrounded by spies, by men and women who knew she had very limited power to help or hinder them. She couldn’t do anything without having it noted by a hundred eager eyes.

  And her husband is technically in charge of her armsmen, Emily thought. It wasn’t exactly traditional–baronesses who ruled in their own right were quite rare–but a husband couldn’t be treated as a decorative bauble on her arm. Even if she wanted to build up an army of her own, Randor would know about it before the first man was recruited.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Does he...does he watch you?”

  Alicia looked away. “Yes, but...”

  Emily nodded in understanding. Randor had covered all the bases. He’d married Alicia off to a man who would never question a child’s parentage, a man who couldn’t be seduced into supporting his wife rather than the king. Alicia had the wrong plumbing to interest her husband...Emily felt sick, torn between grim admiration for how Randor had played his cards and utter disgust. She would have understood a pair of arranged marriages to hide a gay and a lesbian couple from public view, but not this. Randor had arranged matters to his satisfaction and to hell with the couple involved.

  “I have a question,” she said. “Do you want to get back at him?”

  Alicia’s eyes opened wide with fear. “Are you mad?”

  “You’re vulnerable,” Emily said, flatly. “Randor will never let you control your barony, not the way it should be cont
rolled. He’ll be too afraid of your son posing a dynastic threat to his bloodline. If his grandson is born safely, your son will be...”

  Alicia gasped. “She’s pregnant?”

  “Alassa is pregnant,” Emily confirmed. “Is that not common knowledge?”

  “No.” Alicia shook her head, mournfully. “After all the rumors...no one will take the prospect seriously.”

  Emily winced. She had no way to know if Alassa had merely imagined she was pregnant or if she’d miscarried very early into each of the pregnancies, but either way...too many people had suspected she was barren. Randor too, perhaps. It might explain why he’d been so insistent on keeping Alicia’s child close to the throne. Now, no one would believe Alassa was pregnant until the king made a formal announcement. Some people had excellent reason to want to believe that the Line of Alexis would end with Alassa.

  “She’s pregnant,” Emily said. She met Alicia’s eyes. “And what do you think will happen to you?”

  Alicia pulled up her legs, wrapping her arms around them. “I...I don’t know.”

  Emily pushed as much certainty into her voice as she could. “Randor may marry you, if he puts Queen Marlena aside, and retroactively declare your child legitimate. If he does...at that point, he may have enough clout to dismiss any threat from the remaining nobles or crush them if they rise against him. Or...he may simply discard you, once you have served your purpose. You have already served your purpose. There is no way he’ll let you take control of your birthright.”

  Alicia’s face twisted. “Why not?”

  “Because you would pose a threat to him,” Emily said. “The king has always struggled to cut the nobles down to size. He now feels he can do it without risking a disastrous defeat of his own. If he wins, the best you can hope for is being a puppet queen or comfortable imprisonment in the Tower.”

  Alicia gulped. “He wouldn’t do that.”