Wedding Hells (Schooled in Magic Book 8)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “She still wants to talk to you,” Frieda said, addressing Emily. “But she’s nervous about it too.”

  Emily frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “She keeps casting glances at you,” Frieda said. There was a quiet earnestness in her tone that made it impossible to disbelieve her. “And I’ve seen her watching when you’re surrounded by others. She even gave Caleb a dirty look on the dance floor. But she’s never been to your room, has she?”

  “She’d need an appointment,” Alassa said. She waved a hand at the walls. “The wards keep out everyone who hasn’t been cleared to enter the Royal Apartments.”

  And what does it mean, Emily thought, that Randor saw fit to grant that permission to Caleb?

  “I’ll see if I can speak to her alone,” she promised, putting the thought aside for later. She had no idea where she would find the time. When she wasn’t being fitted for dresses or taking part in rehearsals, she was helping elsewhere or burning off magic in the spellchambers. “But why?”

  “I don’t know,” Frieda said. “Whatever it is, however, weighs quite heavily on her mind.”

  “She probably wants to recruit your support for her title,” Alassa said, briskly. She rose to her feet and padded over to the table. “Does anyone want a drink?”

  Emily frowned as Alassa picked a couple of bottles off the table and carried them back to the group. “What is that?”

  “SummerFlower Wine,” Alassa said. She placed the bottles in the center of the circle, then went back for snacks and glasses. “Each of these bottles is worth a knight’s ransom - I believe these date all the way back to the first king. They wouldn’t have been released from the wine cellar if it hadn’t been my day.”

  Emily stared at the bottles as Alassa started to pour glasses. She didn’t like alcohol; her mother had been trying to drink herself to death when Shadye had kidnapped Emily from Earth. She’d flatly refused to drink alcohol outside Whitehall - it was banned in the school, with good reason - but how could she object without sounding like a spoilsport? She took the glass, sniffed the liquid and cursed as the scent of berries rose to her nostrils. She’d expected the repulsive stink of the cheap wine her mother had enjoyed, not something she actually wanted to taste.

  “To Zangaria,” Alassa said, and drank. “And life!”

  Emily took a very careful sip. It tasted heavenly, as if it were a mixture of fruit and sunshine. She wanted to finish the glass, then have another; somehow, she forced herself to put the glass down and push it away from her. The others had already finished their glasses, she noted; Alassa seemed surprised, and offended, that she hadn’t finished hers.

  “It’s nice,” Alassa said, gently.

  “I don’t want to get drunk,” Emily admitted. She hesitated, unsure what she could tell them about her past. Alassa knew about Earth, but she didn’t know much about Emily’s true parents. Emily hadn’t wanted to talk about them to anyone. “I hate giving up control.”

  “I understand,” Alassa said. “Can I have your share?”

  “If you like,” Emily said. She tasted fruit on her tongue and swore, inwardly. “Is there anything else to drink?”

  “There’s fruit juice - real fruit juice - in a jug,” Alassa said. She started to refill the glasses, one by one. “There isn’t any alcohol in it at all.”

  “Good,” Emily said. She rose, walked over to the table and poured herself a glass of fruit juice. “What else are we going to be doing this evening?”

  “Drinking, eating and chatting,” Alassa said, as Emily rejoined them. “Are you enjoying the wedding so far?”

  “It’s been a little too complex for me,” Emily said. She looked at Imaiqah. “But you’re doing a good job of keeping everything running smoothly.”

  “Barely,” Imaiqah said. “One of the bridesmaids got a slap from her mother after she threw a fit in the middle of the rehearsal.”

  “She deserved it too,” Alassa said. “Nineteen years old, and acts like she’s nine. And she’s looking for a husband for herself too. Would you marry someone who threw a tantrum whenever she didn’t get her way?”

  “I dated someone who threw a tantrum whenever he didn’t get his way,” Imaiqah said. “He wasn’t a very good boyfriend.”

  “I can imagine,” Alassa said. She let out a very out of character giggle as she swallowed another glass of wine. “Do this! Do that! Get your clothes off! On the bed! Off the bed! On the floor!”

  Imaiqah colored. “He was worse than that,” she said. “I thought he was incredibly boring.”

  Emily eyed the glasses thoughtfully. She knew next to nothing about alcohol - her mother had gone through several bottles a day - but she was fairly sure that the wine was heavily alcoholic. Just how many glasses had Alassa drank? And she wasn’t a frequent drinker, any more than any other magician. Even a relatively small amount of alcohol would be hitting her hard.

  “You mean he didn’t tell you to take off your clothes?” Alassa asked. “What a waste of space!”

  “He had no imagination,” Imaiqah said. She giggled too. “And when I dumped him, he took up with Pricilla.”

  “That girl from Third Year?” Frieda asked. “The one with the long nose and big ears?”

  “That’s her,” Imaiqah confirmed. “I heard they split up shortly afterwards.”

  “She probably didn’t like him telling her what to do,” Alassa said. “Jade doesn’t tell me what to do!”

  “He wouldn’t dare,” Emily said. She shook her head in dismay. Alassa and Imaiqah were already drunk and Frieda was well on the way. What the hell was in the wine? “I don’t think anyone would dare tell you what to do.”

  “My father does,” Alassa said. She let out a sob, suddenly. “He told me that I had to invite--” she hesitated, stumbling over names “--him and him and him and him and her and him...and it’s my wedding. I should get to decide who to invite.”

  She turned suddenly to look at Emily. “I should have just run off with Jade,” she added, darkly. “It isn’t as if my family has another heir.”

  “Your father would have gone mad with rage,” Emily said.

  “My father can go stuff his head in the privy,” Alassa said. She coughed violently as she reached for the bottle. “And...”

  “I think you’ve had too much,” Emily said. Alassa looked to be a silly drunk, not a mean drunk, but either way she’d had far too much. Queen Marlena’s words suddenly made a great deal more sense. She caught the bottle before Alassa could take it and stood. “Drink some water...”

  Alassa made a gesture and the bottle flew from Emily’s hands to hers. “I’m the Crown Princess,” she sneered, as she tipped the bottle up and held it to her lips. “I can do what I like.”

  Emily cursed as Alassa drank great gulps of the wine. “You’ve had far too much to drink,” she said. She looked to the other two girls for support, but they were holding each other and giggling inanely. “You’re going to do something you’ll regret.”

  “The only thing I regret is not letting Jade go farther when he was kissing me,” Alassa said, loudly. She stood, then dropped the bottle and watched as it bounced on the floor. “He was stroking me and...and...”

  She swayed suddenly. “Emily, do you love me?”

  “You’re my friend,” Emily said. She didn’t want to get too close. Her mother had never hit her, but her rages had been terrifying. Alassa might remember, at any moment, that she could do magic. In her drunken state, she might accidentally really hurt someone. “I won’t hurt you...”

  “But you left when I was playing Ken,” Alassa said. She staggered; Emily stepped forward and caught her before she could fall to her knees. “Did you think we wouldn’t miss you?”

  “I know,” Emily said. And if she had stayed and watched the game, a great deal of trouble might have been avoided. “It was my mistake.”

  “Wanted to shout at you,” Alassa slurred. She looked down at her hand, opening and closing her palm as if she’d never seen it before.
“But you were so upset.”

  Emily glanced at Imaiqah. Her friend was leaning on the cushions, her eyes opening and closing rapidly. Beside her, Frieda’s eyes were closed and she was snoring gently. Emily thought they’d be all right, although they’d have headaches to remember the following morning, but Alassa was clearly losing control. She was forced to be uptight, most of the time and...

  “Love you, you know,” Alassa said. She gave Emily a brilliant smile that sent chills running down Emily’s spine. “Wouldn’t be alive without you. Want you with me and yet don’t understand you.”

  She twisted in Emily’s arms and fell to the cushions. “Father wants to use you,” she said, clearly. “Wants all of us on his side. Thinks you’ll be his puppet. Told him you wouldn’t be anyone’s puppet...”

  Her body convulsed, violently. Emily knelt down beside Alassa as her eyes closed, then helped her friend into the recovery position. She’d done it before with her mother; Alassa would survive, like the others, although she’d have a hangover too. She kissed Alassa gently on the forehead, then lay down next to her. Even if they hadn’t intended to spend the whole night together, there was no way she’d leave the three of them alone. They were in no fit state for anything.

  And Jade will probably be getting drunk too, she thought, as sleep started to overcome her and she fell into darkness. And Caleb and...

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “WELL,” A FAMILIAR VOICE SAID. “THAT wasn’t a surprise.”

  Emily jerked awake at the sound. King Randor was kneeling beside Alassa, cradling his daughter in his arms. For a chilling moment, she thought that Alassa was dead or dying, before rational thought reassured her that Alassa was merely hungover. Alassa moaned, a second later; King Randor gently lowered her to the carpet and rose to his feet. Emily sat upright and stared at him. What was the king doing here?

  Randor turned to look at her. Emily remembered what she was wearing, suddenly, and blushed bright red.

  “You didn’t drink much of the wine,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “How much did she drink?”

  Emily had to think to come up with the answer. “At least two-thirds of a bottle,” she said, slowly. She wasn’t actually sure how long they’d been drinking, but hadn’t they all collapsed very quickly? “What was that stuff?”

  “SummerFlower Wine,” the king said. He eyed Imaiqah for a long moment, then looked back at Emily. “It tends to overwhelm its drinkers very quickly.”

  “So it would seem,” Emily said. She crossed her hands under her breasts as Alassa moaned again. “Are they all going to be hungover?”

  “Probably,” the king said. He fixed her with a stern glance. “Which leads neatly to the next point, Lady Emily. You are not to give her a hangover potion. Do you understand me?”

  Emily stared at him, rebelliously. “Why not?”

  “Alassa has been permitted much, but she has never been allowed to drink,” King Randor said, sternly. “Her governesses had strict orders to ensure she never touched a drop of alcohol as she grew into her teens - and Whitehall, of course, bans it from the school. She needs to learn the dangers of drinking now, before she takes the throne. My grandfather, alas, never understood the dangers of strong wine.”

  Bryon the Weak, Emily thought. Alassa had drank something in Dragon’s Den, but Emily wasn’t sure what. She kept that thought to herself. “He was a drunkard?”

  “Among his many weaknesses was a taste for the bottle,” Randor confirmed. “His cronies would often try to keep him drunk while they helped themselves to peerages and money. My father had a considerable mess to sort out.”

  He jabbed a finger at Emily, who flinched. “You are not to give her a headache potion,” he repeated. “She needs to suffer today.”

  Emily scowled. “She doesn’t need to suffer.”

  “Yes, she does,” Randor said. “She must understand the dangers of strong drink in a manner she cannot forget. No amount of lectures will replace having her head threatening to burst for the next few hours.”

  He smiled, rather tartly. “My father ensured that I learned the same lesson. I hated the old man at the time.”

  “I’ve seen you drink,” Emily said.

  “I know how to filter out the alcohol,” Randor told her. He peered down at her. “Do you understand my orders?”

  Emily forced herself to meet his eyes. She’d known that privacy was pretty much nonexistent for Alassa, but she’d never expected the king to walk into his daughter’s bedchamber when Alassa had three guests. Hell, he’d probably expected all four of them to be battling hangovers and trying to remember how to cast spells to purge their bodies of toxins. Trying to do that while drunk would probably count as attempted suicide. There was a reason, after all, why alcohol was banned at Whitehall. A drunk magician was a danger to everyone around him.

  And yet, she couldn’t help feeling angry at him. Who knew what would have happened when they’d all drank far too much?

  “I understand,” she said. “I will not give her a hangover potion.”

  “Very good,” Randor said. He turned and started to walk towards the door, then stopped. “I will have maids sent in to assist Imaiqah and Frieda. They can have a potion, if they wish, once they are away from Alassa. If you drank any of the wine, I suggest you take one too, even if you feel fine. SummerFlower Wine does have one hell of a kick.”

  Emily scowled at his retreating back as he walked out of the chamber before turning to check on her friends. Imaiqah was snoring peacefully, while Frieda was twitching gently, as if she were having a pleasant dream. Emily rubbed her forehead tiredly as Alassa moaned for the third time, then walked over and knelt beside her. The princess looked up at her heavy-lidded eyes, flinching away from the light.

  “My head feels...ugh,” she said. “What happened?”

  “You drank yourself silly,” Emily said. Had Queen Marlena undergone the same ritual or was it reserved for Crown Princes and Princesses? “I think you need some water and a bath.”

  “I can’t think,” Alassa moaned. “What happened?”

  “You had too much to drink,” Emily said, tartly. How long had it been since she’d tried to help her mother after a night of drinking? The memories mocked her. If she’d gone to someone else, the school counselor perhaps, and asked for help...maybe her mother would have been saved, instead of continuing to try to drink herself to death. “I told you not to drink so much.”

  “I don’t remember,” Alassa said, slowly. “What was I drinking?”

  “That’s probably for the best,” Emily said. Alassa would be hugely embarrassed if she knew what she’d been doing under the influence. “And you need to fight it off.”

  Alassa moaned as someone knocked on the door. Emily looked up, just in time to see a trio of maids enter the room. They helped Imaiqah and Frieda to their feet with practiced ease, escorting them out of the chamber without a backwards glance. Emily wondered, darkly, if Alassa was meant to recover from the hangover on her own, or if her father would have stayed with her if Emily had drank herself into a stupor too. There was no way to know, short of asking him, and she didn’t want to see King Randor again. Not for a while, anyway.

  She rose to her feet, found a jug of water on the table and poured Alassa a glass. Alassa tried to take the glass and failed, her hand twitching so badly that she almost spilled the water on the carpet; Emily sighed, then helped her to sip the water. Alassa shuddered and convulsed, as if she were on the verge of throwing up, then retched once, violently. She hadn’t eaten very much the previous night, Emily reminded herself. The alcohol had been bad enough, but it had hit an empty stomach. That had probably made it a great deal worse.

  “Not good,” Alassa said. She tried to sit upright and fell backwards. Emily caught her before she could crack her head against the floor. “I...get me a potion.”

  “Your father said no,” Emily said. She poured Alassa a glass of fruit juice and helped her to drink it. “I...”

  “My h
ead will explode,” Alassa predicted, mournfully. “What was I thinking?”

  “Good question,” Emily said. She stared down at her hands for a long moment - the part of her mind that remembered her mother was very unsympathetic - and then learned forward. “I can cast a healing spell if you like, but it will be unpleasant.”

  Alassa snickered. “He didn’t forbid healing spells?”

  “Just potions,” Emily said, carefully. Lady Barb had taught her to look for loopholes in her orders; Sergeant Miles had even rewarded his students who found ways to evade his instructions, even though he’d been careful to close each loophole after it had been found and exploited. Randor, on the other hand...she looked at Alassa’s pale face and made her decision. Her friend was in pain. “I can heal you, if you wish.”

  “Please,” Alassa said. “Just...don’t tell father.”

  Emily hesitated - she didn’t know what King Randor would do if he found out - and then pressed her palm against Alassa’s forehead, murmuring the spell under her breath. Alassa shuddered, jumped to her feet and ran into the privy. Emily heard the sound of retching from behind the wooden door and winced, feeling a flash of sympathy. Lady Barb had taught her the spell, warning her that the toxins would leave the body as fast as possible. Alassa was in for a very unpleasant few minutes.

  She was starting to get nervous when Alassa opened the door and walked out of the privy, looking pale and wan. Emily rose, passed her the remains of the jug of water and watched helplessly as Alassa poured it down her throat, droplets spilling down and staining her nightgown as she drank. Alassa looked unsteady, but at least she wouldn’t be hungover any longer. She’d still have a rough time of it as the remaining toxins worked their way out of her body.

  And if my mother had had that spell, Emily thought, she’d have considered it a small price to pay for the freedom to drink.

  “My father supplied the wine,” Alassa said, as she finished the water and moved on to the remaining fruit juice. “Do you think he wanted to teach me a lesson?”