The Princess in the Tower

by Christopher Nuttall

  Oh, Emily thought. And then...what happens next?

  She shuddered as a thought occurred to her. Bait. She was bait. Randor might expect Jade to mount a rescue mission, perhaps hoping to cause trouble in the capital while Alassa built up her forces in Swanhaven. He might even expect Cat to mount a mission on his own, if he knew Cat had accompanied them. There was no way to be sure. But he might also expect the Levellers to do something...

  And they’ll be walking right into a trap, Emily told herself, numbly. Randor would have thousands of troops on hand, each one armed with muskets...perhaps even cannons or the experimental repeating guns. The Levellers would be slaughtered. I have to get out of here.

  She thought, fast, but nothing presented itself. She was tied up, she had no magic...she couldn’t even awaken the snake. And she was probably going to be tortured too. Randor probably didn’t want her to look too battered when she was marched to her execution, but he had a Healer. She’d look her best on her dying day. No matter how she worked the problem, she kept coming to the same conclusion. There was no way out.

  “Goodbye, Lady Emily,” Randor said. His voice was very cold. “We won’t talk again.”

  He opened the door and stepped through, leaving her alone.

  Interlude Three: Nightingale

  VISCOUNT SEJANUS NIGHTINGALE WOULD NEVER HAVE admitted it, not unless he was threatened with torture or worse, but he was terrified of the Royal Family. King Randor had always been dangerous, even before the attempted coup, yet Princess Alassa was almost worse. She had changed him into a toad as a joke, years ago; even as an adult, she made no bones about hating him. She’d even foiled Sejanus’s plan to marry his ward a few short months ago, ensuring he could not build an independent power base for himself. Sejanus had no illusions about his fate, when Alassa took the throne. It was why he’d encouraged Alassa’s father to suspect–and eventually imprison–his daughter.

  He stayed on one knee as King Randor paced the throne room, his every movement promising blood and suffering for someone. The Crown Princess had escaped, making a bad situation worse. There were now two potential heirs to the crown running around, both outside Randor’s control. One or both of them might make a play for the throne–or be pressured into making a play for the throne–which would force them to kill the current occupant. Sejanus had no illusions about his fate if the Duke of Iron took the throne either. The man had always despised Sejanus...and his backers, the Noblest, hated him with an unrestrained passion. No, Sejanus’s very life depended on King Randor remaining firmly in control. He’d do anything to keep his monarch in power.

  “She could be anywhere,” Randor growled, swinging around to look at the map. The king’s castles were supposed to be garrisoned, but one castle’s guards had already fallen victim to treachery. How many more were on the verge of falling? “And so could he!”

  Sejanus bowed his head. “We could force Lady Emily to talk.”

  Randor spat. “She doesn’t know. The portal spell was unbalanced. They could be anywhere by now.”

  “Then they could be dead,” Sejanus pointed out. It was a shame. He would have enjoyed forcing Lady Emily to talk. “The portal could have spat them out in the Blighted Lands. Or the ocean or...”

  The king rounded on him. “Do you think my child would die so easily?”

  Sejanus didn’t look up. The king had never bothered to prepare Alassa to take the crown, not until it was almost too late. Now, the damage was done. Alassa wouldn’t wait patiently for her father to die before she inherited the crown. She’d try to take it. And so would the Duke of Iron and his backers. Neither of them had a choice. It was rare for a noblewoman to be executed, but Alassa was just too dangerous. Her head would be cut off as soon as she gave birth to the rightful heir.

  Which will give me time to ingratiate myself with the boy, Sejanus thought. He dealt with the prospect of the child being a girl by ignoring it. And when the king dies, I will be ready.

  “No, Your Majesty,” he said, firmly. Any child of Randor would be too tough to die in an accident. Besides, he hadn’t survived and prospered by taking things for granted. The princess was still alive, somewhere. “But it will take her time to build up an army. She does not have many supporters outside the capital.”

  He lowered his voice. “Particularly if we behead one of her strongest supporters now, before she can be rescued,” he added. “The execution may even serve to lure Princess Alassa into a trap.”

  The king glowered. “You would advise me to kill a baroness?”

  Sejanus didn’t quite meet the king’s eyes. “There are no other options,” he said. He was fairly sure the decision had already been made. “Lady Emily is dangerous. And she cannot be contained for long.”

  Randor lifted his eyebrows. “And the fact you don’t like her has nothing to do with your advice?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” Sejanus lied. He hated, feared and resented Lady Emily. A slip of a girl who’d been given the kind of wealth and power he had devoted his life to acquiring, for nothing more than dumb luck. He had served his king faithfully for years and he was no closer to the sort of independent power he wanted–he needed–to leave as a legacy for his children. “She is just too dangerous to keep alive.”

  The king resumed his pacing. Sejanus watched him, hardly daring to breathe. Randor was devious, devious enough to have Sejanus take the fall for executing a popular noblewoman...a woman who also happened to be related to a powerful sorcerer. Sejanus had no illusions about how disposable he was, if the king needed a scapegoat. Lady Emily was probably the most detested aristocrat in Zangaria, as far as the nobility were concerned, but she was very popular amongst the common folk. They might rise up to avenge her death.

  No one would rise in defense of the Crown Princess, he told himself. But they’d fight for a common-born bitch who turned their world upside down.

  “Very well,” Randor growled. He sounded as though he’d allowed Sejanus to talk him into it. “We will arrange a public execution. If my daughter shows her face, we will have her.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Sejanus said.

  He wondered, briefly, if he should arrange for Alassa to die while she was being taken into custody. And her wretched husband too. It shouldn’t be that hard to arrange for an accident, then cover his tracks. The king would be furious–he needed Alassa’s child–but he did have a bastard son. It wouldn’t be that hard for him to retroactively legitimize the child. And it would save Sejanus from the threat of Princess Alassa taking the throne and ordering his immediate execution.

  Risky, he told himself. If the king found out, Sejanus would lose his head. His entire family would lose their heads. But necessary.

  He bowed low, then went to carry out the king’s orders...

  ...And add a refinement or two of his own.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  EMILY WANTED–DESPERATELY–TO RUB HER aching jaw. Randor’s blows had hurt badly, badly enough to worry her. She could taste blood in her mouth, feel one of her teeth slowly coming loose...it could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse. Randor could have beaten her bloody, or raped her, or...he could have killed her. It might even have been the wisest thing to do. Alassa and the others would be forced to either abandon her or waste a great deal of time searching for her.

  And if I died in darkness, no one would be entirely sure I was dead, Emily thought. She shifted, uncomfortably. The manacles were starting to wear on her. I’d be like the Princes in the Tower...no one would really know what had happened to me.

  She closed her eyes for a long moment, feeling a surge of bitter helplessness. No matter how she wracked her brain, she couldn’t see any way out. She was chained up, locked in a cell...and she’d bet half her fortune there were plenty of security measures she couldn’t see. A handful of wards would be more than enough to keep her in place without requiring much effort from the guards. She was surprised Matilda hadn’t frozen her in place after the king left. It would have been an
extra layer of security that would have cost her nothing and potentially saved a great deal.

  She hated, really hated, being helpless. She’d worked hard to make it difficult for anyone to render her helpless. And yet, Randor and his servants had succeeded. She was trapped, unable to escape...utterly at their mercy. The only reason she was alive was Randor wanted–needed–to use her for bait. It wouldn’t be long before she was marched down to the execution ground and beheaded. And anyone who tried to save her was going to die too.

  Randor was right, she realized numbly. Void wasn’t going to come to her aid. She wasn’t his real daughter, after all. Perhaps he’d come anyway–she wanted to believe he was going to come anyway–but she didn’t dare hope too much. She had to stand on her own two feet, except...except her feet were chained too. There was no way she could stand on her own.

  She must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew was someone wiping her face with a cloth. Her eyes sprang open, her body recoiling in horror as she realized the dwarf was cleaning her skin with surprisingly tender motions. How...how had he managed to enter the cell without waking her? She wondered, grimly, if the wards were designed to make it harder for her to hear the guards...or if she was in a worse state than she thought. Her stomach growled, loudly. She flushed as the dwarf stepped back.

  “You’re awake,” he said, curtly. “Welcome back.”

  Emily glowered at him. The bastard had been touching her while she slept. Who knew what else he’d been doing to her? The dwarf ignored her glare and turned, revealing a small tray lying on the floor behind him. A single bowl of soup sat on the tray, steaming merrily away as the dwarf picked it up. He held a pewter spoon in his other hand.

  “Open up,” he said, with mock cheer. “I’ve got orders to feed you.”

  “I don’t think you’re meant to feed me like a baby,” Emily said. She wondered what she could do if she managed to get at least one hand free. “I can feed myself.”

  “The king has issued specific orders that you are to remain chained at all times,” the dwarf said. “And I cannot disobey his orders.”

  He scooped up some soup in the spoon. “Open up.”

  Emily felt her stomach churn. The soup didn’t look very tasty at all. It was yellowish, with chunks of fat floating in the hot liquid...she’d seen things in cesspits that looked more appetizing. Randor, it seemed, wasn’t going to allow the condemned girl to have a final meal before she faced the headsman. She was tempted to tell the dwarf to take the soup away, but a grim awareness that she needed to eat stopped her. Who knew? Maybe something would happen that would give her a chance to escape.

  She opened her mouth. The dwarf shoved the spoon in, giggling all the while. Emily gagged as she tasted the soup, trying desperately not to spit it out. She had no idea what the cook had been trying to do, but he’d failed. The soup tasted of nothing more than rancid fat, with hints of meat. She didn’t think she wanted to know the details. The dwarf gave her a second spoonful, then a third. Emily tried to ignore his heavy breathing. If he was getting a kick out of forcing her to eat like a baby...

  It could be worse, she told herself. Her stomach was churning unpleasantly. They could be making me drink poison.

  “I could fetch you something else,” the dwarf said, as he gave her the last spoonful. “But that would require certain considerations...”

  He leered at her, his hands going to his crotch. Emily recoiled, suddenly in utterly no doubt what he wanted. His grin told the rest of the story. He didn’t want to force himself on her, even though he could have done it easily; he wanted her to submit of her own free will...she glared at him, revolted. She would sooner die.

  “No,” she said. “Go away.”

  The dwarf laughed. Despite his diminutive statue, he seemed to loom over her. “Are you sure? I can make it worth your while.”

  “Fuck off,” Emily ordered.

  “Now, that’s not nice,” the dwarf said. “I...yikes!”

  He flew back and crashed into the far wall. Emily blinked, convinced–for one glorious moment–that her magic had returned to her. But...instead, a tall man was standing in front of her. She’d been so focused on the dwarf that she hadn’t even realized someone else had entered the cell, let alone that it was someone she recognized. It had been nearly a year since she’d seen Sir Roger, but he hadn’t changed that much. Only the uniform was new.

  “My apologies, Lady Emily,” Sir Roger said. He scooped up the dwarf by the scruff of the neck and tossed him out of the cell. “I hope this scum has not...inconvenienced you.”

  Emily swallowed the response that came to mind. “Sir Roger,” she said, instead. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” Sir Roger said. He was keeping his eyes averted, a consideration she found herself almost pathetically grateful for. “The king was kind enough to give his blessing.”

  “Oh,” Emily said. She felt her heart sink. She’d hoped, just for a second, that Sir Roger had come to free her. They’d met before, in Farrakhan. “I seem to have nothing but time...until tomorrow.”

  “Later today,” Sir Roger corrected. “You were asleep for quite some time.”

  Emily winced. “Thank you for telling me.” She’d heard there was a country where a prisoner on death row wouldn’t be told the time and place of his execution, ensuring that every time he left the cell he’d wonder if he was going to his death. It struck her as cruel and unusual punishment. “Why...what do you want to talk to me about?”

  Sir Roger sat on the stone floor. “There’s an army advancing on the city,” he said, coming from the south. “The Noblest are making their move.”

  “The Noblest?”

  “It’s what they’re calling themselves,” Sir Roger told her. “All the usual suspects, of course; Baroness Harkness, Barons Gaunt, Gaillard, Silversmith and Thornwood...led, at least on paper, by Duke Traduceus of the Line of Alexis. They sent the king their formal defiance shortly after they liberated his brother from imprisonment.”

  “And so they have declared war,” Emily finished. She felt a stab of bitter regret. She’d hoped, just for a second, that Jade and Alassa had already managed to raise an army. “How long until they reach the walls?”

  “Hours...a day, at most,” Sir Roger said. “We’re doing what we can to slow them down, of course, but they’re maintaining an impressive pace. They must have been planning the operation for quite some time.”

  Emily nodded. The plan was strikingly simple, but bold. Capture Alexis, kill the king and his daughter, have Duke Traduceus crowned in his brother’s place...they’d win the war in one fell swoop. Except, of course, Alassa wasn’t in the Tower of Alexis, waiting to be executed by the victorious Noblest. She was on her way to Swanhaven, where she could raise an army and come back to recover her birthright. The Noblest might be about to discover that their plans had gone awry.

  Too late for them to change their plans, she thought, vindictively. If they sent the king a formal defiance, they effectively declared war.

  “Brave of them,” she said, careful not to commit herself. “What does this have to do with me?”

  Sir Roger wrung his hands. “You do know I was exchanging letters with Imaiqah, don’t you?”

  Emily nodded, impatiently. Six months ago, it would have been a good match; Randor had had every reason to encourage it as much as he could. Sir Roger was loyal to the king, which meant that his marriage would tie Imaiqah closer to the king...except, of course, that her father had been a traitor. Sir Roger had dodged a bullet. If he’d married Imaiqah when their courtship had just begun, he would have been beheaded by now. Randor could not have risked him escaping to rally his troops and lead them against the castle.

  “I thought she–and you–were loyal,” Sir Roger said. “Why did you betray us?”

  “I made the best decision I could, at the time,” Emily said. In hindsight, perhaps she should have told Imaiqah and her family to flee the country. It wouldn’t have been that
hard for them to set up somewhere on the other side of the continent. “I just didn’t expect the truth to come out.”

  “Few people do,” Sir Roger said. “And yet, it always comes out at the worst possible moment.”

  Emily eyed him for a long moment. She didn’t know him that well, but she was fairly certain he was avoiding something. Something he wanted to talk about, yet...a subject he didn’t know how to broach. She knew the feeling all too well. And yet...

  “I don’t have much time,” she said. She rattled her chains, meaningfully. It wouldn’t be that long before they started to prepare for the march to her death. “What do you want to ask?”

  Sir Roger lowered his voice. “Why are you helping Alassa?”

  “She’s my friend,” Emily said. She didn’t think Sir Roger would listen if she called Randor’s sanity into question. “And she was unjustly imprisoned.”

  “That’s not the point,” Sir Roger told her. “A three-way civil war is about to break out.”

  Perhaps four-way, Emily thought. It would take time for Alassa to draw all the factions together, if they were willing to support her. Tam wasn’t the only one who distrusted the entire Royal Family. The Levellers might constitute a separate faction in their own right.

  She met his eyes. “Then what is the point?”

  “Whoever wins, Zangaria will be badly weakened,” Sir Roger said. “And that will weaken the defense against the necromancers.”

  Emily nodded, slowly. Zangaria was a long way from the Blighted Lands, but the country still sent troops to help secure the border chokepoints. The necromancers were powerful, insane–and, sometimes, ingenious enough to figure out ways to turn their weaknesses into strengths. Dua Kepala had managed to get hundreds of thousands of orcs across an impassable desert and straight into a fertile, lush and unprepared kingdom. And he’d only been stopped by sheer luck.