The Princess in the Tower

by Christopher Nuttall

  They’re waiting for something to happen, she thought, recalling Alicia’s words. They know it won’t be long before all hell breaks loose.

  She walked around the outer edge of the wards, silently working out the details. They would move as soon as the charmed parchment was inside the Tower’s wards, hacking them down through brute force...then find their friends and open the portal. If they were lucky, they’d be able to open the portal right into Alassa’s bedroom...if not, they might have to search the Tower. It would be nice to discover that Imaiqah and Alassa were sharing quarters, but she doubted it. Randor probably wasn’t inclined to be nice to Imaiqah.

  “Make sure Tam knows to be ready to flee,” she warned. “We have to leave the warehouse as soon as we’re out of the portal.”

  “Understood,” Jade said. “We’ll teleport to Swanhaven.”

  Cat looked up. “Are you sure? You know Randor’s going to have bumped off everyone who liked you there...”

  “That would be a lot of people, some of whom are actually important,” Jade said, dryly. “I should be able to muster some support from the local guard. It’s as good a place as any to start.”

  “And a good place to get yourself killed,” Cat said. “Do they really love you that much?”

  “Compared to the two idiots who were competing for power only two years ago, yes,” Jade said. He held up a hand. “I understand the risks, Cat. But we have to start somewhere.”

  He nodded politely to Emily, then headed for the door. “We’ll stay here tonight,” he added, firmly. “We really do not want anyone to break into the warehouse, not now.”

  “Joy,” Cat muttered, as Jade closed the door behind him. “We’ll be stiff and sore tomorrow.”

  “We’ve been in worse places,” Emily reminded him. “Remember that forced march over the Craggy Mountains?”

  “True,” Cat said. He grinned at her, then sobered. “You do realize that this little thing”–he indicated the portal spellware–“is going to change the world?”

  “I know,” Emily said. “It will make things very different.”

  “Until someone figures out how to block it,” Cat said. “Chat parchments don’t emit any betraying vibrations, but there must be something”–he shrugged–“and yet, it doesn’t matter. We could put an invasion force right inside Randor’s castle.”

  Emily hesitated. Was he right? Could the war be won by a single stroke? It wasn’t as if it would take long to recharge the batteries, not in Swanhaven or Cockatrice. There were enough enchanters and craftsmen in the baronies to help build a new portal generator...a hundred portal generators. They could win the war overnight...

  Except it wouldn’t work, she thought. They’d have to target the portal on the castle, with help...they’d need to get another piece of parchment into the castle. And the wards would be far harder to bring down from the inside. Randor had lost his castle’s wards once, thanks to her. He’d have done whatever it took to make sure she couldn’t do it again.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “And even if we did win so easily, we’d still have to reckon with the nobles.”

  Cat put an arm around her shoulder, leaning in for a kiss. “We’d win,” he said. “We would have half the country on our side from day one.”

  Emily kissed him back, knowing he was being far too optimistic. Sure, there were factions that would back Alassa simply because she wasn’t Randor or any of the Barons, but there were others that wouldn’t be impressed by royal blood. They would be more interested in bare survival than anything else. The population hadn’t risen in outrage when Alassa had been confined to the Tower. It was unlikely that the vast majority of the country really cared about who was on the throne. Why should they?

  Because the king has more power than ever before, Emily thought, as Cat’s hands started to roam over her body. And, one way or the other, things are going to change.

  Interlude Two: Simon Harkness

  NIGHT WAS FALLING–WITH A GRIM finality–as the Iron Castle slowly came into view. Simon Harkness was almost disappointed they hadn’t encountered any pickets, although they wore the king’s livery and carried forged papers that should, in theory, satisfy the castle’s guards. If he’d been guarding a very important prisoner, he would have made sure to stick the bastard somewhere no one would ever think to look...not in the heart of what had once been the prisoner’s castle. But then, technically, the prisoner wasn’t a real prisoner. He just wasn’t allowed out of his castle, even under heavy guard.

  He spat on the ground as the remainder of the small force caught up with him. They were really far too close to Alexis for comfort, particularly after someone had tried to kidnap or kill Princess Alassa on her way back to the capital. He’d led his men under cover of night, careful to stay well away from any major settlements, but he was all too aware that they might have been seen and reported to the king. Randor would know that he hadn’t authorized flying patrols, not near the Duchy of Iron. He’d sound the alert at once.

  But we couldn’t bring an army up here, he reminded himself. We have to rely on speed and stealth instead of brute force.

  He looked back at his men. They were his trusted companions, men who had faced death–and worse–with him during his short career. Simon knew there were people who wondered why he hadn’t claimed the barony, but–in truth–he didn’t want it. He liked being a soldier, he liked leading men into combat...he wasn’t so interested in running the family’s vast estate. And besides, his adopted mother was formidable. She could run the estate far better than he could.

  And the king will pay for what he did to her, Simon vowed. It had taken him quite some time to realize that Baroness Harkness held a position of considerable privilege, compared to the other women on the estate. The king would pay for taking it away. Simon had dedicated himself to his adopted mother’s service long ago and he was damned if he was forgetting that, just because real power had been passed to his father. The king will pay.

  He cleared his throat. “Remember, we’re the king’s loyalists...until we are in a position to move,” he said. They’d gone through the plan a dozen times, looking for weaknesses and planning how to counter them. “And then...no mercy.”

  The horse shifted under the saddle as he dug in his spurs, cantering down the King’s Road towards the Iron Castle. It was a giant brooding mass, only a handful of lights visible in the growing darkness. The gatehouse looked to have been recently renovated, with additional slits for arrows and firearms. Simon had no illusions about what would happen if the alarm was sounded before he was inside the gates. The defenses were strong enough to keep out a full-sized army, let alone the handful of men he’d brought with him.

  He braced himself as they moved up to the gatehouse, his eyes picking out a handful of defenders peering down at them. They were pressing their luck, coming so late; it was quite possible that the castle’s defenders would refuse to open the gates, no matter what the paperwork said. Simon would have preferred to arrive in complete darkness, but that would have run the risk of leaving them stranded outside the castle. No one would be allowed to enter after night fell.

  “Ho,” he called, loudly. “I bring a message from the king!”

  A tiny door opened, allowing a guardsman to step out. Simon felt a flicker of pity–the poor bastard had been sent out to die, if the newcomers were hostile–and passed over the parchment scroll. They were committed now, whatever happened. If the guards thought to check with the king–if the guards could check with the king–Simon and his force would be far too close to the castle to escape.

  The guardsman took the parchment and stepped back inside. There was a long chilling pause, long enough that Simon started to believe they had been caught before the portcullis slowly started to inch up. He allowed himself a moment of relief, then rode his horse into the courtyard–his men following him–as soon as the space was clear. A fat man stood there, waiting for him.

  “His Grace is abed,” he said, stiffly. “I will
have rooms prepared for you and your men.”

  Simon glanced at his men, then gave the signal. Half of them ran back, into the gatehouse; the other half ran forward and seized the gate into the castle. The fat man–the king’s servant, Simon guessed–stared in horror. He was too slow to run before Simon jumped off the horse, grabbed him by the neck and threw him to the ground. Behind him, Simon heard the sound of slaughter. Caught by surprise, by enemies inside the defenses, the guards didn’t stand a chance.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he hissed. “Tell me...where is the Duke?”

  The fat man started to stammer. “I...”

  “Tell me, or I swear I’ll unman you,” Simon hissed. “Where is he?”

  “Upper levels,” the fat man said. “Please...I...”

  Simon slammed his gauntlet into the man’s head, knocking him out. There would be time to come back and interrogate him later, if it turned out he’d risked lying. Not that it mattered, he supposed. They could search the entire castle, killing everyone they met, until they found their target. King Randor’s younger brother was about to become a political pawn once again.

  And we will have our revenge, Simon thought, as he walked into the castle. The defenders didn’t seem to have realized that they were under attack. Resistance was light, completely and utterly futile. The king will die...and his kingdom will be ours.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “EMILY,” JADE SHOUTED. “WAKE UP!”

  Emily started awake, feeling a momentary flicker of confusion and alarm as she bumped into Cat. They’d been cuddling together on a blanket in the office, Jade giving them some privacy while he slept in the warehouse itself. There was no light, save for a lantern Jade had brought with him and charmed to only provide light for the three of them. The warehouse roof was impressively solid for a building that had clearly been put together in a hurry.

  Cat growled, the light of a death-spell flickering over his hand. “What’s happening?”

  “I just got word from Tam,” Jade said. Mouse stood behind him, eying Jade warily. “The Duchy of Iron has been attacked! Someone’s kidnapped the Duke!”

  Emily blinked in shock. “The Duke?”

  Her mind raced. Randor’s brother had been sent into comfortable semi-retirement, hadn’t he? He’d been a prisoner in all but name for the last five years, while his duchy had been given to Alassa. And he’d been stripped of his power and place in the line of succession...he was powerless, useless...wasn’t he?

  “Check with...check with our friend in the castle,” Cat said. He stood, the light of the spell snapping out of existence. “It could be a trap.”

  “Tam has a spy in the kitchens,” Mouse said. She sounded nervous. It took Emily a moment to realize that she’d been plunged into darkness. Jade must have led her through the warehouse by hand. “He heard it from the cleaning staff.”

  Emily cast a light-globe with one hand, casting the warehouse into stark relief, then reached for the chat parchment. Alicia hadn’t written anything during the night, unsurprisingly. She might not be sharing a bed with her husband, but the servants were always watching. Emily wrote out a short note, then stood. It was a shame the warehouse was so unfurnished. The facilities left quite a lot to be desired.

  It could be worse, she reminded herself, as she took a mug of hot Kava. Jade was using spells to heat the water, just as they’d done on overnight marches. We could be sleeping rough.

  “We need to move now, as soon as possible,” Jade said, sipping his own drink. “It won’t be long before they double the guards everywhere.”

  Cat cocked his head. “I was under the impression that the Duke of Iron was useless.”

  “Not quite,” Jade said, grimly. “If Randor and Alassa both die, and perhaps Alicia’s child too, Duke Traduceus would inherit the throne by default. There wouldn’t be any other members of the Line of Alexis left, unless Randor has another bastard he hasn’t told anyone about.”

  Emily shrugged. If Randor had had a son at any time in the past twenty years, he would have shouted it to the rooftops. A girl...perhaps less so. He’d been so desperate for a male heir that he would have emulated Henry VIII and retroactively bastardized his daughter if he’d managed to sire a son. Her lips twitched at the irony. It had to be killing Randor that he’d finally managed to have a son when his daughter was too old and too powerful to be put aside with the stroke of a pen.

  “They’ll declare Duke Traduceus their nominal leader, then attack the city,” Jade added, sharply. “And they’ll make sure that both Randor and Alassa die.”

  Cat leaned against the office wall. “Who’s they?”

  “It has to be the nobles,” Jade said. “Baroness Harkness and her gang of traitorous backstabbers. We know we didn’t do it, the Levellers aren’t ready to do it and there aren’t any other suspects.”

  “Unless there’s another faction out there too,” Cat pointed out. “What if Duke Traduceus arranged his kidnapping himself? He may plan to plant his own ass on the throne.”

  Jade shook his head. “He’s in no state to rule. Whatever his wife did to him, it left him with almost no willpower at all. He does whatever he’s told to do. You could tell him to cut his own throat and he’d obey. I believe his bodyguards have strict orders to make sure that no one takes advantage of him.”

  “A true leader, who does exactly as he’s told,” Emily quoted. Monty Burns would have approved. She could see why the barons liked the thought, although they’d be much less charmed if Randor did it to them. “And it isn’t generally known, is it?”

  “I imagine they’ll have some idea how they’re going to prop him up, once he’s on the throne,” Jade said. He shrugged, expressively. “It doesn’t matter. Right now, we have to move before Randor either doubles the guards or moves Alassa into the castle.”

  Emily felt the chat parchment grow warm in her fingers and looked down at it. Alicia had written a hasty note, confirming that Duke Traduceus had been kidnapped and that his older brother was furious. Randor was, apparently, ordering all kinds of security measures, from doubling the guards at the gate to dispatching soldiers to head off the kidnapping party before it could reach safety. Emily was no expert, but she doubted Randor’s men had a chance of recovering the kidnapped duke. The raiders would be difficult to intercept.

  And impossible, if they have a sorcerer with them, she thought, as she finished her drink and put the cup on the floor. They could just teleport home.

  Cat clapped his hands. “So...what’s the plan?”

  “Emily, get changed into something you’d wear around town,” Jade ordered. “You and I will go plant the parchment on our unwitting ally. Cat, get set up here. We’ll have to move in a hurry, once the parchment is in place. Mouse, go fetch the assault team–everyone who can be rounded up. I want them here in an hour.”

  Mouse curtsied. “Yes, My Lord.”

  Emily hid a smile as she hurried over to where they’d left the box of clothes. They’d needed to empty the townhouse of everything that could be used to trace them, at least in the hands of a competent sorcerer, but still...it had been sheer luck that they’d brought the clothes instead of having to go back to the townhouse to change. Jade had insisted that everything they couldn’t take with them, when they fled the city, had to be destroyed. She felt icky as she swapped her shirt and trousers for a long dress, wishing she had time to do more than splash water on her face, but there was no time.

  No one will notice, she told herself. If there was one advantage to living in a pre-technological society, it was that fewer people fussed over their looks. There were no visions of beauty in magazines or online to taunt people with unrealistically perfect bodies. And they won’t notice I haven’t had time to have a bath either.

  “I need to look like a merchantman,” Jade said, as he pulled his trousers and shirt on. “And maybe just a little drunk.”

  Emily nodded, impatiently. She really should be staying behind, helping Cat to fine-tune the spellware
while waiting for the assault force to arrive, but there was no choice. A young man on the streets, apparently alone, would attract more attention than one walking with a young woman. Jade looked just important and wealthy enough not to be chased by the guards, but not anything like important and wealthy enough for them to pretend they hadn’t seen him swaggering by. His clothing had clearly benefited from an expensive tailor, but the materials were cheap.

  Relatively cheap, she reminded herself. A commoner would have to save for years if he wanted to purchase them.

  She smiled at the thought as they headed for the door. A merchant could probably purchase a suit made of more expensive materials–Paren had been wealthy enough to purchase as many dresses as Queen Marlena–but the Sumptuary Laws forbade it. It wouldn’t do for the commoners to start dressing as aristocrats. Why, the very social hierarchy itself would be turned upside down. Paren’s wealth would have allowed him to make a much better show than a hundred impoverished aristocrats who had nothing but titles. No wonder Randor had been so keen to forbid it.

  The streets felt...tense, as if everyone knew that something had happened even if they didn’t know what. Emily looked from side to side, noting the number of soldiers on the streets and silently counting the number of civilians. Randor seemed to be pulling his men out of the poorer parts of the city, something that worried her more than she cared to admit. The king would be sending the men elsewhere...where? The Tower? Or the walls? Or was he mounting a pre-emptive strike on the nobles?

  There were more soldiers on the streets as they reached the riverbank and started to walk north towards the sea. They didn’t seem to be taking much interest in two lovers out for a stroll...indeed, the absence of leering was quite worrying. She couldn’t help thinking of the men she’d watched steeling themselves for battle at Farrakhan, when they’d known that the following day would bring either victory or death. Randor thought of his men as disposable, she was sure, but she couldn’t feel that way. The soldiers were people, men with hopes and fears and dreams of their own. And hundreds–perhaps thousands–of them were going to die in the coming weeks. She might kill a few herself.