Wedding Hells (Schooled in Magic Book 8)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Everyone’s happy,” she observed, as they made their way through a crowd of dancers who slowly moved aside for the carriage. “Are they all pleased for Alassa?”

  “The more thoughtful ones will be pleased there’s a good chance that another civil war will be prevented,” Lady Barb pointed out. “And the others? They’re pleased about the free ale and cheap food. King Randor has probably even ordered a few hundred prisoners released from jail.”

  Emily blinked. “Is that a good idea?”

  “Most of them were debtors, rather than thieves or rapists,” Lady Barb said, dryly. “The real prisoners will have been enslaved or executed by now.”

  “Oh,” Emily said.

  She turned her head from side to side as they made their slow way towards the castle. The entire city seemed to be celebrating. Stallkeepers offered cheap food, innkeepers advertized bedrooms for weary travelers; she had to smile as she saw a line of children carrying boxes of sweets and offering them to passers-by without demanding payment. It was hard to shake the impression that everyone was delighted for Alassa, even though the more cynical part of her mind suspected the commoners merely considered it a chance for a party, where the normal rules were relaxed for a while. A young woman kissing strangers in public would be in deep trouble at any other time of the year.

  “I trust you’ve been briefed on your role in the wedding,” Lady Barb said, as the crowds fell away. The Royal Mile leading to the castle was clear, armed guards ensuring that aristocratic visitors could make their way up the road without dodging commoners running around. “You know what you’ll be doing?”

  “Witnessing,” Emily said. It didn’t sound like much, but she didn’t mind. “I’ll be there to sign my name when they tie the knot.”

  “Quite,” Lady Barb said. “I don’t know how long I’ll be staying, so I’ll warn you now. A wedding is always a stressful time for the bride and groom. Expect Alassa to be...shall we say...not on her best behavior?”

  Emily winced. “Is it going to be that bad?”

  “There’s a great deal riding on this wedding,” Lady Barb reminded her. “And Alassa will be at the very heart of it. She may snap at you because it’s safe to snap at you. You’re not going to bear a grudge for the next fifty years if she shouts at you in public.”

  “She’ll be the first one who does,” Emily muttered. No one had shouted at her since she’d killed Master Grey. At least her friends hadn’t treated her any differently. “She might take it out on the maids too.”

  “It’s possible,” Lady Barb agreed. She turned to meet Emily’s eyes. “Give her as much patience and support as you can, Emily. She’ll need it.”

  If she turns into a right royal brat again, Emily thought.

  She scowled, inwardly. She’d only ever attended one wedding in her life - when Melissa and Markus married - and that had been a quiet, subdued affair. Alassa, on the other hand, had over four thousand guests for the main ceremony alone. She would have to sit there, like a china doll, and be admired for hours on end. For someone so active, Emily was sure, it would be horrific. And it would go on for days...

  “If I do marry Caleb,” she said, “will I have to endure a large wedding too?”

  “As Baroness of Cockatrice, you will be expected to invite all the aristocrats in the kingdom,” Lady Barb said, dryly. “Some of them will, no doubt, come up with inventive excuses about why they can’t be there for you, but the others will be happy to attend and eat your food and drink your wine. You could probably get away with only having a two-day ceremony though, if you tried. And you’d have to invite the Duchess of Iron instead of Princess Alassa.”

  Emily snorted, rudely.

  They drove up to the gates and joined a long line of coaches and carriages being inspected by the guards before they were allowed to pass through and enter the courtyard. Lady Barb summoned one of the guards, explained who she was carrying and was hastily waved through the gates; inside, a handful of servants in royal livery took Emily’s trunk as she scrambled down to the cobblestones. Another servant took the coach and steered the horses towards the stables. They’d be well cared for until Lady Barb was ready to go.

  “My Lady Emily,” a familiar - and slimy - voice said. “Her Highness has requested that you attend upon her as soon as you arrive.”

  Emily sighed as she saw Viscount Nightingale, the former Master of the Princess’s Bedchamber. She hadn’t seen him since her first visit to Zangaria - she’d heard Alassa had dismissed him from her service as soon as she’d been Confirmed - but he didn’t look to have changed. His face was still unformed, his voice was still slimy and he made her want to keep one hand on her money pouch at all times. And he was wearing the king’s personal livery...

  “Lead on,” she said, as grandly as she could. She didn’t want to bandy words with him, not when he made her feel uneasy. “Have my trunk taken to my rooms.”

  Nightingale bowed. “You have been put in the Royal Apartments, a sign of Royal Favor,” he informed her. “His Majesty will be holding court in the evening. You are invited to attend.”

  He looked at Lady Barb. “There are no specific instructions regarding you...”

  “I’ll look up a couple of old friends,” Lady Barb said, cutting him off. “And I will make sure to attend court this evening.”

  She turned and strode off. Nightingale stared after her in confusion - they’d never been friends, but they’d had to work together in the past - and then turned back to Emily.

  “If you’ll come with me...?”

  Emily nodded impatiently and followed him through a maze of corridors, feeling a handful of powerful wards drifting through the air. They were more complex than she recalled - she thought she tasted Jade’s signature on them - although she knew they were far from perfect. Too many people needed access to the lower levels of the castle for them to keep intruders out, even ones with bad intentions. But at least they’d pick out the magic-users amongst the guests. The wards buzzed at her as she climbed the stairs, warning her that she was being watched. She pushed the sensation away with an effort. King Randor wouldn’t want to keep her out...

  Just the rest of his barons, she thought. She wasn’t blind to the implications of giving her a room in the Royal Apartments. Nightingale was right. It was a sign of Royal Favor - and an upraised finger to the rest of the aristocrats. And the wards are getting tighter the closer we approach the apartments.

  She frowned as a handful of servants walked past her, hastily lowering their gaze as she passed. It was uncommon to see servants in the main corridors - they normally stuck to the hidden passageways they used to stay out of sight - but the castle was heaving with life. No doubt King Randor had reluctantly decided it didn’t matter if his guests saw the servants or not. Nightingale sniffed - he was a servant, but far higher ranking - and paused outside a pair of sealed doors. A dozen protective wards, all tasting of Alassa, crackled over the metal threateningly. Emily felt them touching her magic before they allowed the doors to open.

  “Your Highness,” Nightingale said. “I present to you Baroness Emily, Lady of Whitehall, Dueling Champion...”

  “Emily, come in,” Alassa called, cutting off the recitation of Emily’s titles. She sounded tired - and relieved. “Nightingale, you may go.”

  Emily stepped past Nightingale and stared into the room. Alassa stood topless in the middle of the chamber, surrounded by three male tailors and two maids. Her lower half was hidden in a white dress that swept out around her, covered in peacock feathers that shimmered under the light. Frieda sat against one wall, her head buried in a book, while a blonde-haired girl Emily vaguely recalled from her last visit to Zangaria ruffled through a set of designs. Nightingale closed the door behind Emily as she walked into the room, wrinkling her nose at the combination of perfume smells in the air. One or two of them might have been fine, she thought, but there were so many different scents that it was hard to keep from coughing.

  “Thank you for coming early,�
� Alassa said. She glowered down at her dress. “What do you think of this?”

  “I think you’re going to have problems dancing with Jade,” Emily said, dryly. Jade had long arms, but they’d both have to stretch merely to touch their fingers, let alone hold hands. “And it’s a little bit revealing.”

  “Just a little,” Alassa agreed. “There is a top; it just isn’t ready yet.”

  “It’ll be ready tomorrow, Your Highness,” one of the tailors said. Emily shook her head in disbelief. At least Queen Marlena had been willing to send female dressmakers to Whitehall to measure Emily. Alassa might be able to stand topless in front of three men who were far below her on the social scale, but Emily couldn’t do it. “We just need to finish the frills.”

  “And then resize it again,” Alassa said. She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Take the lower half, then go away for an hour.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the tailor said.

  Emily looked away as they removed the rest of the dress and hurried out of the chamber, closing the door behind them. Alassa, wearing nothing more than a pair of silken drawers, marched over to a table, poured herself a glass of water and drank it hastily. It didn’t look as though she’d been having a good time.

  “Nineteen dresses,” she said, as she turned back to face Emily. “And I’ve only had five fitted so far.”

  “There are only fourteen to go,” the blonde-haired girl said.

  Alassa’s eyes flickered. “I shouldn’t worry about it, Alicia,” she said, in a sweet tone that fooled no one. “Your wedding will likely be delayed.”

  Alicia rose to her feet. Emily remembered her now, the sole heir to a barony who hadn’t been Confirmed before her father’s head had been lopped off by King Randor. She’d been staying at court ever since, trying to convince the king to give her the barony. If she was still here, Emily suspected, it didn’t look as though she’d succeeded, even though she was twenty-two years old. Alicia’s face was so pale it was almost translucent, but there was a wild desperation in her eyes that didn’t bode well for the future.

  “And yours is likely to drive you mad before the honeymoon,” Alicia said. She turned to Emily, a show of calculated rudeness directed at Alassa. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance once again, Lady Emily.”

  She swept out of the room before Emily could say a word, slamming the door behind her with a loud thump. Emily watched her go, then looked back at Alassa and lifted her eyebrows.

  “She’s been like that all week,” Alassa said. “Alternatively snapping at me and praising me.”

  Emily shook her head. “What was that about her wedding?”

  “She isn’t the baroness yet, so there’s a danger my father will marry her off to someone he picks,” Alassa said. She shrugged, as if it were a matter of small import. “He hasn’t made any decision yet.”

  “Poor girl,” Emily said. She hadn’t had much of a chance to get to know Alicia, but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. “Is he going to make a decision?”

  “I don’t know,” Alassa said. “But the older Alicia gets without being Confirmed and raised to the Barony, the more her subjects will act independently of her. She’ll have real problems asserting control when they’re all used to living without a baron.”

  Which is the same problem facing Lord Hans and Lady Regina, Emily thought. Is Alicia going to be that bad to her subjects?

  “She wants to talk to you,” Frieda said. Emily almost jumped. She’d forgotten the younger girl was there. Alassa just had a way of sucking all attention towards her. “She was asking me questions about you at breakfast.”

  Emily frowned. “What sort of questions?”

  “About Markus and Melissa and everything that happened last year,” Frieda said. “She was thrilled to hear about the duel.”

  “Wonderful,” Emily said, sourly. She would have preferred to forget the moment Master Grey’s body had exploded into flame. “Why does she want to talk to me?”

  “I have no idea,” Frieda said. “But it isn’t something she feels comfortable discussing in front of Alassa.”

  “Probably trying to secure your support for her claims,” Alassa said, dryly. “She’s been trying to sweet-talk me, half the time.”

  “But if she’s snapping at you the rest of the time,” Emily mused, “that doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know,” Alassa said. She smiled, rather coldly. “So far, she hasn’t gotten very far with the other noblemen. Some of them are only willing to back her in exchange for concessions, others think they’d be happier leaving the barony without a baron. I give it a few months before her neighbors start trying to take bits of her territory.”

  Emily nodded, rubbing her forehead. “I’m not planning to invade her lands.”

  “That makes you the only one,” Alassa said. She tapped her ears. “I hear that Baron Gaunt even demanded she marry him, in exchange for his support.”

  Emily shook her head in disgust. “He’s...what? Three times her age? And married?”

  “The old wife would be put aside,” Alassa said. She didn’t have any moral objections, Emily knew. Some of her early suitors had been a decade or two older than her. “But my father would never agree to the match. Combining two baronies into one...it would create too much instability.”

  “And a formidable power base for Gaunt,” Emily said. She felt another flicker of sympathy for Alicia. “It would ruin her position, wouldn’t it? I mean, if she did try to marry him. The king would see it as a threat.”

  “Probably,” Alassa agreed. “My father has become a great deal more paranoid later, Emily. The stress of the wedding is driving him insane.”

  Emily smiled. “Isn’t it supposed to be driving you insane?”

  “He has to put on a good show,” Alassa said. “This isn’t just about Jade and I.”

  She pulled a dressing gown off the wall and donned it. “”But don’t worry about it now,” she added. “Why don’t you tell me all about Caleb and his family?”

  “Later,” Emily said. She wanted a chance to gather her own thoughts first. “Why don’t you tell me about Jade?”

  “We haven’t been able to meet in private,” Alassa said. She smiled, lazily. “But at least we have the parchments. We can still talk.”

  “And you’re going to be married,” Emily said. “And then you’ll have all the time in the world together.”

  Alassa sighed. “I don’t know if that’s true,” she said. She sounded nervous, oddly. Emily couldn’t recall her being nervous since they’d become friends. “My parents don’t spend that much time together.”

  “I’m sure it will be different for you and Jade,” Emily said.

  “I hope you’re right,” Alassa said. “I really do.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I WAS SURPRISED YOU DIDN’T STAY longer in Swanhaven,” King Randor said, the following morning. He’d greeted her briefly the previous evening, but he hadn’t had time for a private discussion. “A couple of hours are hardly long enough to make up your mind about the claimants.”

  Emily forced herself to meet his eyes. Randor was a formidable personality, alternately forceful and shrewd. Even in an informal setting - he’d invited her into his private study and told her to relax, rather than remain on her knees - he still dominated the room. Alassa, for all that she’d been neglected as a child, had clearly learned her lessons in presenting herself from her father.

  “I didn’t see any need to remain longer, Your Majesty,” she said. It still felt faintly absurd to address someone - anyone - by honorific, but she doubted she had a choice. “I believe I saw enough in the city itself to be concerned about the future.”

  “Indeed?” Randor asked. “Do tell.”

  “The city is on the verge of an explosion,” Emily said, flatly. “I saw hundreds of soldiers on the streets, but there didn’t seem to be enough of them to deter trouble when it finally blows up. Worse, the claimants - both of them - seem prepared to take the har
shest of measures against potential troublemakers. They’ve only succeeded in creating martyrs.”

  “Acting against known troublemakers may lead to the rise of other troublemakers,” Randor observed, archly. “But not acting against known troublemakers is a sign of weakness.”

  “They wanted the deaths to be as horrific as possible,” Emily said. She understood that Randor was pointing out flaws in her argument, but it was still irritating. “It would have been easy to have the troublemakers beheaded, or enslaved, or merely thrown into jail. Instead, they were allowed to starve to death in the stocks. That in itself is a sign of weakness.”

  “Or a sign of resolve,” Randor pointed out. “A baron cannot let himself be hampered by the potential for trouble.”

  Emily met his eyes. “They weren’t any better in person, Your Majesty,” she said, firmly. “I think Lord Hans is likely to overreact to a problem and spark off an uprising. I’m not actually convinced he’s sane. Lady Regina, on the other hand, is far colder and more calculating. I suspect she was the one who issued the orders to let the troublemakers die in the stocks.”

  “It might have been,” Randor said. “They’re meant to share authority until I decide on who takes the title, but if they’re not in agreement...”

  He allowed his voice to trail off. “Do you have any other observations?”

  “Lady Regina was trying to push her cousin’s buttons,” Emily said. “I saw him grasping his sword in anger. She’s either trying to goad him into something stupid, or she’s too stupid to realize that he might skewer her.”

  “You were in the room,” Randor said. “She might have assumed you’d protect her if Hans decided to try to kill her.”

  Emily shrugged. “My honest advice is to find someone else for the post, Your Majesty,” she said. She honestly wasn’t sure if she would have tried to save Regina’s life, if her cousin had drawn his sword and tried to bisect her. “Neither of them is concerned with anything other than their own power and prestige; they think they have a right to the title, rather than trying to earn it.”