I’ll have to find her something else, she thought, crossly. Or else people will wonder why I haven’t gotten her anything.
She pushed the thought aside for later contemplation as a handful of footmen walked forward, carrying a handful of heavy wooden chests. Emily had to smile when she saw them; the chests looked like pirate treasure chests, complete with golden metal holding the wood in place and silver padlocks that glittered under the light. Lady Regina rose as the footmen put the chests down, produced a key from somewhere within her dress and opened the first box, displaying its contents to Alassa. The crowd leaned forward; Emily heard them muttering and realized the chest was full of rare spices. Lady Regina opened the next four boxes in quick succession, revealing precious silks, trade goods from all over the world and a handful of gold and silver artefacts. She picked up a golden mask, surrounded with peacock feathers, and held it in front of her face.
She’s definitely scored a coup, Emily realized.
She glanced at Lord Hans. He didn’t seem happy; indeed, he didn’t seem to have brought anything himself. God alone knew when the gifts were actually meant to be handed over, but Lady Regina had shown off her wealth and power in front of the entire court. And Alassa would be expected to give her something in return...the barony, perhaps? Whatever she chose might wind up being held against her later. Lady Regina slowly returned to her knees, her motion drawing all eyes to her. She might just have won the power struggle with her cousin...
Alassa rose to her feet. “I thank you for your gifts,” she said, calmly. She stepped forward, knelt down beside Lady Regina and helped her to her feet, then kissed her gently on the cheek. “I would be honored to have you as one of my attendants.”
Emily tensed as Lady Regina stiffened, just for a second. Alassa had neatly cut the wind from her sails. Being invited to join the Princess’s bedchamber - the women who attended on her at every hour of the day - was a honor, a rich reward, but it wasn’t what she wanted. And none of the aristocrats in the room would be blind to what had happened. Lady Regina’s plot had been derailed.
And she will have to accept, or give offense in front of the whole court, Emily thought, gleefully. Anything so public couldn’t be covered up by the king. He’d have to do something to punish her, even if it was just granting the barony to Lord Hans. Lady Regina would become the laughing stock of the aristocracy, if she survived her cousin. Emily wouldn’t have bet good money on her lasting very long. Lord Hans would dispose of her as soon as possible. She’s been outplayed.
Lady Regina bowed, very slowly. “It would be my honor, Your Highness,” she said. “I shall attend upon you at your command.”
And I hope that Alassa never turns her back on you, Emily thought, nastily. Lady Regina had to be burning with rage. Killing Alassa would trigger a civil war - and Jade would probably invent some new torture curses, just so he could use them on Regina - but she had a feeling Regina didn’t care about anything beyond herself. Alassa would be wise not to let you anywhere near her bedchamber.
King Randor made a gesture. A team of footmen arrived, picked up the chests and carried them into the next chamber. Emily watched Lady Regina, wondering just how much money she’d spent on the gifts. She doubted Regina had access to that much money...had she taken out loans with the other aristocrats to buy the goods? Or had she managed to extract it from her rebellious subjects? Either way, it might well have been a wasted investment.
She pushed the thought aside as the next set of guests arrived. Lord Hans and Lady Regina stepped to one side; the newcomers marched up the carpet, knelt in front of the king and pledged their obedience and fealty in loud voices. Emily studied them without much interest; they seemed to be lower-ranked noblemen from the border lands. A young man looked darker-skinned than the vast majority of the nobles; she guessed his family dated all the way back to the Empire, when nobility from all over the world had been forced to mingle. But if his family was that old, he’d probably keep it to himself. King Randor wouldn’t appreciate the reminder that there were older families than his.
And the rebels are right about that too, she thought, as the ceremony wore on. The first generation is tough, capable and competent. They give way to the second generation, which may not be remotely as tough or competent because they haven’t faced the same challenges; they, in turn, give way to the third generation, which isn’t remotely tough or competent, merely entitled.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. The children of the nobility might as well have come from different worlds than the children of the commoners. Even Imaiqah, whose father had been a prosperous merchant, wasn’t regarded as noble. Their lives were so easy, surrounded by servants ready to meet their every whim, that they couldn’t even begin to understand why the commoners had legitimate grievances. It had gone on for so long that their position seemed like the natural order to them. They’d see any suggestion it wasn’t as a deadly threat...
...And they’d be right.
She allowed herself a moment of relief as the ceremony finally came to an end, the vast majority of the aristocrats heading into the dining hall for dinner. King Randor strode out of the room, vanishing into his private suite before anyone could stop him; Alassa stood at the center of a crowd of noblewomen, all of whom seemed bent on showering her in praise for her beauty, her dignity, and her intelligence. Emily overheard just enough of their conversation to note that they said almost nothing about Jade.
They probably don’t think he’s good enough for her, she thought, feeling a flicker of genuine anger. Fresh blood was precisely what the nobility needed. Or they think she’ll merely treat him as a stud bull.
Trying to hide her disgust, she turned and led Frieda towards Nightingale, who was holding court himself in front of a group of noblemen. Lord Hans was among them, glowering at their backs with a bitter intensity that sent shivers down Emily’s spine. His hand kept twitching towards his sword belt; Emily winced, inwardly, as she realized he still had his sword. She could stop him in an instant if she wished, freeze him in his tracks or turn him into a harmless animal, but he still scared her. He was too crazy to be deterred by anything other than naked force.
“Lady Emily,” Nightingale said. The noblemen backed off hastily, several of them glancing at Frieda with undisguised interest. “What can I do for you?”
Emily took a moment to gather herself. Nightingale was probably taking bribes, trading money or influence for access to the king. King Randor wouldn’t be blind to the man’s faults, but he’d still find Nightingale useful...besides, unless Nightingale fled the moment the king’s death was announced, he’d be butchered by one of his many political enemies. Hell, Alassa detested him. She might have him beheaded as an example to anyone who thought a female ruler was bound to be weak.
Not that they could think that after Alassa beheaded her aunt, Emily thought. There’s a streak of ruthlessness in her she gets from her father.
“Inform His Majesty that I need to speak with him urgently,” Emily said. She knew she didn’t sound anything like as autocratic as Alassa, but she could try. “It would probably be best to meet before dinner.”
Nightingale frowned. “His Majesty will have little time to meet you before dinner,” he said, carefully. “After dinner...?”
Emily swore, inwardly. There wasn’t long until dinner, certainly not long enough for a proper discussion. Afterwards...the king couldn’t leave the dining hall early without sparking off hundreds of rumors. The nobility might see it as a sign of weakness. They’d learned a harsh lesson three years ago, but some of them might have forgotten it. If they thought the king was weak, they’d start plotting another coup...
“As soon as possible, after dinner,” she conceded. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. She’d probably be trapped in the dining hall for at least three hours, nursing a headache for two of them. She had no idea how Alassa endured it. “Inform the king at once, if you please.”
Nightingale bowed and hurried through the door, following the k
ing. Emily watched him go, feeling suddenly very tired, then turned and smiled as she saw that Alassa had made her escape from the sycophants while Emily had been busy with Nightingale. She looked for Frieda and frowned; Frieda was talking to Lord Hans. The nobleman had pasted a charming smile on his face and held her arm as he spoke. Oddly, Frieda didn’t seem to mind.
Emily strode over to them, silently preparing a handful of spells. Doing something - anything - to Lord Hans without extreme provocation was probably a breach of etiquette, but she was damned if she was allowing him to hurt Frieda. Frieda looked up as she approached, her eyes wide. Thankfully, it didn’t look as though he’d hurt her...
“Emily,” she said. “Lord Hans was asking me for a dance, later in the evening.”
Frieda reached into her pocket and produced a dance card before Emily could object. Lord Hans took it, signed his name to the first dance and handed it back. He bowed politely to both of them and walked off, whistling cheerfully. Emily had to fight down the urge to hurl a hex - or a killing spell - into his back as he strode through one of the side doors and vanished.
“That man is not to be trusted,” she said, as she led Frieda in the opposite direction. She wrapped a privacy ward around them before Frieda could object. “Do not go anywhere alone with him.”
Frieda blinked. “It’s just a dance!”
Emily hesitated, fighting to bring her temper under control. “I met him in Swanhaven,” she said. “He’s cruel, unpleasant, and probably a little insane. His own servants are terrified of him. What does that tell you?”
“He just asked me for a dance,” Frieda protested. “I don’t get asked for many dances.”
“I know,” Emily said,
She sighed, rubbing her eyes wearily. Frieda simply didn’t fit into the aristocratic social structure. She was a commoner by birth, but magic and her friendship with both Emily and Alassa had raised her up. And yet she held no title of her own. Most aristocrats probably thought of her as nothing more than a female version of Nightingale. Useful, perhaps, but not truly noble.
“Dance with him, if you must,” she said. When would Randor want to meet? He didn’t normally stay past the first couple of dances. “I need to talk to the king about what happened today, so I want you to stay in the dance hall until I return.”
“I will,” Frieda promised.
“And remember, you have magic,” Emily added. “If he does something - anything - to you that you don’t like, hex him first and let me worry about the consequences.”
“Jade will have to worry about the consequences,” Frieda said. “He’s the Court Wizard.”
Emily had a mental image of Jade telling Frieda off for hexing Lord Hans, and had to conceal a smile. Jade probably didn’t like Hans any more than she did. He’d have to make a show of punishing Frieda, but it wouldn’t be a very dire punishment. Frieda might be sentenced to nothing more than reading her way through a few dozen books of magic.
“So will Alassa and her father,” Emily said, shaking her head. Randor couldn’t let someone get away with hexing his aristocracy. That was only meant to happen on his orders. “Now, it’s almost dinnertime, so we’d better go get changed.”
She dispelled the privacy ward and looked back into the hall. The aristocrats still chattered away, slowly drifting towards the dining hall. Great Ladies wore long flowing dresses, shining under the light, while the male aristocrats wore finely-tailored clothes that showed off their muscles to best advantage. Servants moved between them, carrying glasses of wine or bowls of snacks to tide their lords and masters over until dinnertime. None of the nobility even seemed to register their presence as they talked endlessly about nothing, sharing rumors and gossip about their fellows...
And they’re in for a shock, she thought, grimly. Had Paris looked so gay on the evening before the French Revolution? What will happen when the pressure cooker finally explodes?
Frieda caught her hand. “Emily? You’re staring.”
“I’m sorry,” Emily said. She turned and headed out of the hall, leaving the aristocracy behind. “While you’re dancing, you can think about something for me. What can I give Alassa - in public - for her wedding?”
“You did give her the wedding itself,” Frieda pointed out, after a moment. “Would Alassa have met Jade if they both hadn’t known you?”
“Alassa would be embarrassed if I didn’t give her something she could show everyone,” Emily pointed out. She shook her head, slowly. “What do I have to give?”
Chapter Eighteen
THE QUESTION NAGGED AT HER MIND as she changed into another blue dress, walked back to the dining hall and sat down in her chair. It was almost a relief when Nightingale tapped her shoulder and told her that the king had agreed to meet with her - and Alassa - just after the dancing began. She thanked him, asked Imaiqah to keep an eye on Frieda while she danced with Lord Hans, and endured the dinner as best as she could. It was finer food than she would have eaten on Earth, she had to admit, but eating the same meals day after day was...surprisingly unpleasant.
And back on Earth I would have thanked my lucky stars for such a dinner, she reminded herself, sharply. I shouldn’t be complaining when so few people have enough to eat.
The dinner - and the speeches - finally came to an end. She rose to her feet as a small army of servants cleared the chairs and tables away, while musicians came into the room and started to play. Frieda rose and hurried over to Lord Hans; Emily watched them for a long moment, every instinct screaming that she should have forbidden Frieda from dancing with him, and turned to leave the room. The king and Alassa had already left.
The watchers will note my absence as well as theirs, Emily thought. Queen Marlena had left too, accompanied by Lady Barb. No matter what we do, they will put it together.
She sighed as she walked through the warded door and into the next chamber. King Randor sat on a chair - elevated slightly higher than the others - while Alassa sat next to him, her expression under tight control. Who knew what they’d been saying while waiting for her? Had Randor approved her treatment of Lady Regina, or rebuked her for it? She hesitated, dropped a curtsey to the king and then took the seat he indicated. Alassa gave her a tight smile and winked.
“You requested this meeting,” Randor said, gravely. “We await your pleasure.”
Emily pulled the leaflet out of her pocket, smoothed it out and passed it to him. “This was given to us in the city, Your Majesty,” she said, as she ran through a brief explanation of the leaflets, the meeting and their escape from the guards. “I thought it best to inform you when we returned to the castle.”
Randor stared at her. “You were walking along the street, minding your own business, when you just happened to be invited to a seditious meeting?”
Emily colored. Put that way, it sounded more than a little unlikely.
“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat. “That’s precisely what happened.”
Randor leaned forward and started asking questions, going over everything that had happened in minute detail. Emily found herself sweating as he poked and prodded at her memory, forcing her to recall everything she could. Too many of his questions couldn’t be answered; the rebels had used glamors to conceal their faces, as well as a number of other tricks. She had no idea who they were and she doubted they remained in the same building. They’d said the Royal Guard was on the way, after all.
“I see,” Randor said, finally. “They have been busy.”
“It seems a little flimsy, father,” Alassa said. “What’s to stop an informer from taking one of the leaflets and going to the meeting?”
“They wouldn’t see the person in charge,” Randor reminded her. “Or, for that matter, most of the people who were too inquisitive for their own good.”
“They’d still need to recruit more rebels,” Alassa pointed out. “At some point, there would have to be a meeting without protective spells.”
“Maybe not,” Emily said.
Randor and Ala
ssa both looked at her, as if they’d forgotten she was there.
“Explain,” Randor ordered.
“The rebels spoke to everyone who took and kept a leaflet, Your Majesty,” Emily said. “They presumably have a few other tricks to watch for informers, but they didn’t seem to use them. That suggests, to me, that the whole purpose of the exercise was not to recruit new rebels. As you say, their recruitment method is a little shaky.”
“And if that is the case,” Randor said, calmly, “what is the purpose of the exercise?”
“To plant ideas in fertile soil,” Emily said. “To ask the questions that most people will shy away from. To make them think the rebels have a point.”
Alassa frowned. “And so?”
“To prime them for future rebellion,” Emily concluded. “That’s the point of the exercise.”
She looked down at her hands. “You may snatch up hundreds of people who attended one of those meetings, but you won’t find any of the real rebels,” she warned. “None of them will know anything useful. All you’ll do is make matters worse.”
Randor snorted. “They can get worse?”
“They can,” Emily said. “The rebels want Alexis to become like Swanhaven - a tinderbox just waiting for someone to light the match. One overreaction on your part, perhaps not even something you ordered, will be enough to spark a revolution. And even if you succeed in putting it down, it will cost you badly and sow the seeds for the next revolution.”
She looked up at him. He didn’t see it, any more than Nicolas II had understood the dangers of pushing his abused subjects too far. Randor had survived a coup plot spearheaded by the aristocracy by the skin of his teeth, but he didn’t see the commoners as a danger. How could he? They were nothing to him.
Wedding Hells (Schooled in Magic Book 8) Page 18