Wedding Hells (Schooled in Magic Book 8)

by Christopher Nuttall

  She cursed under her breath. Nanette might not have dared use magic before the shooting started, but if she’d heard about Alassa turning Alicia into a rat, she would have guessed the wards didn’t prevent magicians from casting spells. And then it wouldn’t have been hard for her to test it, once the rebels made their move, knowing that if the wards stopped her from using magic she could just escape the castle in the confusion.

  But she went up to the battlements instead of down to the gates, she thought. Why? What is she doing?

  “The wards will still stop you from teleporting,” she said. She was fairly sure that was true. The wards at Whitehall certainly prevented people from teleporting in and out of the castle and, she assumed, the same was true for Mountaintop. “That is quite a noticeable spell.”

  “No doubt,” Nanette mocked. “But tell me, Emily; are you sure?”

  Emily met her eyes. “If you’re sure, teleport away from here.”

  She wasn’t sure what would happen if Nanette tried. Jade might not have set the wards to prevent teleportation, after all; he might only have configured them to prevent intruders from teleporting into the castle. Or the wards might already have been damaged in the fighting, leaving them powerless. Or the spell might not work at all. Or Nanette might wind up being torn to atoms.

  Nanette smiled. “Not yet, I think.”

  Emily lifted a hand. “I have magic to continue the fight,” she said. She deliberately boosted her aura, showing off her power. It wasn’t considered polite at Whitehall, but she was past caring. “Do you?”

  “Of course,” Nanette said. She held up her palm. A spell glittered into life, sparkling with deadly energy. “As you can see...”

  She tossed the spell. Emily caught it on her wards, then swore; Nanette smiled as it started to burrow through her protections, threatening to tear them apart. She hastily shoved the ward away from her, canceling before it could collapse, then threw back an overpowered fireball of her own. Nanette had to shield herself hastily as flames burned into her wards, throwing back a handful of spells to force Emily to refrain from pressing her advantage. Emily deflected them all, casually. And then she heard someone coming through the door behind her...

  Nanette smiled, coldly. Emily stepped sideways. Whoever was coming was unlikely to be friendly - Nanette might have been waiting for the newcomer - and she didn’t want to get caught between two fires. But as the person came into view, she stared in disbelief. Paren, Imaiqah’s father, was many things, but he was neither a magician nor a fighter. He had no business chasing Nanette, or putting himself in the middle of a magician’s duel.

  And then she froze in horror as the pieces fell into place.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “IT WAS YOU,” SHE SAID, QUIETLY. She’d wondered how the rebels had gotten their hands on flintlocks, let alone smuggled them through the gates. Now she knew. “You’re the traitor.”

  Paren looked surprised to see her, she noted, feeling ice congeal around her heart. Had he thought she’d be dead already? Or had he thought she’d stay with Alassa instead of chasing Nanette? Or...she pushed the thought aside as the horror grew stronger. If Alassa survived, the friendship she’d formed with Imaiqah would be shattered beyond repair, leaving Emily caught in the middle.

  He brought fireworks into the castle and a brace of pistols for Alassa, she thought. He smuggled the rebels into the castle right under our noses.

  “There was no choice,” Paren said. He met her gaze unflinchingly. “The king was systematically weakening the Assembly. We knew it wouldn’t be long before it was dismissed altogether, even though we paid our taxes. He had to go.”

  Emily froze. Was Randor already dead? He’d been wearing armor, but would that have provided any protection? If both the king and Crown Princess were to die, the kingdom would plunge right into civil war...and if Paren had a musket-armed force under his command, he might win that war outright. And the hell of it was that, under other circumstances, she might have joined him. He’d wanted her to join him.

  “You were trying to recruit me,” Emily said, numbly. “When we talked...”

  “I told him you wouldn’t be interested,” Nanette put in. Emily kept a wary eye on her as she moved behind Paren. “You’re far too attached to your friends.”

  “It was an opportunity too good to pass up,” Paren said. “Randor made agreements, in the wake of the coup, that he had no intention of honoring. The chance to kill him, his daughter, and hundreds of aristocrats was too good to miss.”

  “And to kill your daughter’s friend,” Emily snapped. “Imaiqah loves Alassa.”

  “Alassa sees her as nothing more than a pet,” Paren said. “My daughter is nothing more than a younger Nightingale to the princess.”

  “And what is one girl’s happiness,” Nanette offered, “compared to the end goal?”

  “Aurelius was quite happy to sacrifice your happiness,” Emily sneered. “You saw him as a father and yet he dumped you, the moment I came along.”

  Nanette’s face darkened. “Aurelius is dead,” she said. “I saw the body.”

  Emily looked at her. “Did you kill him?”

  “No,” Nanette said, flatly.

  Paren sighed. “Join us, Lady Emily. You’re the one who made all of this possible.”

  “He’s right,” Nanette mocked. “None of this would have happened without your innovations.”

  Emily wanted to close her eyes in pain, but she didn’t dare take her attention off either of them. Nanette was a powerful and capable magician; Paren had managed to hoodwink one of the most paranoid and suspicious men Emily knew. Randor might not have taken him quite seriously - he wasn’t a born aristocrat, after all - but the king should have known that Paren was capable of thinking for himself. And that his interests might not be entirely aligned with the king’s.

  There is always pain in birth, she told herself. Her own thoughts mocked her. But is it different when the Marie Antoinette figure happens to be someone you know? When Henrietta Marie happens to be a close friend of yours?

  “You could have bided your time and worked on Alassa,” she said, carefully. “You didn’t need to start a civil war.”

  Nanette cocked her head. “Does it matter any longer?”

  “Of course not,” Emily said. She didn’t understand; no, she understood Paren, but she didn’t understand Nanette. Was she engaging in a private vendetta? Or did she have a long-term plan of her own? Someone would have had to help her after she left Mountaintop. “There’s no way to undo the past.”

  “You need to make a choice,” Paren said. He flinched as a handful of shots rang out somewhere below. “Are you on our side, or the aristo side?”

  “She’s not capable of making a choice,” Nanette said. She sounded indecently amused for someone who was trapped on the battlements. “One of her friends is an aristocrat, another is a commoner. She can’t choose between them.”

  “Violent revolution will only lead to another round of violent revolution,” Emily pleaded, trying to make Paren understand. “You’ll create an oppressive system of your own.”

  “That might happen,” Paren agreed. “But would that possibility undermine the reason for the first revolt? Randor and the aristos aren’t going to give us our freedom.”

  “Certainly not after this,” Nanette said.

  She’s still stalling, Emily thought. But why? Does she want Paren to get caught?

  She forced herself to think. Nanette had deliberately lured her up to the battlements...had she wanted to taunt Emily, or had she assumed that Jade would be the one who gave chase, while Emily looked after Alassa? Jade would have found it a great deal harder to ignore Paren’s role in the whole affair.

  Paren must have assumed he’d be caught shortly after the shooting started, she thought, coldly. Randor isn’t a fool. Everyone involved in producing the weapons would be interrogated under truth spells. Paren would be exposed very quickly if he remained in the castle, assuming Randor or Alassa survi
ved...

  She scowled as the thought caught up with her. Paren should be running right now, she realized. She was starting to think that Nanette and Paren had different outcomes in mind. Paren wants to get to his people and start building the barricades, Nanette...wants what?

  “You could leave, now,” she said, desperately. She didn’t want to lash out at Imaiqah’s father, let alone destroy Imaiqah’s friendship with Alassa. “Run from the kingdom and hide...”

  “Randor will never let me hide,” Paren said. “You know he won’t allow me to live. Either we overthrow him, or he tightens his grip on the kingdom.”

  “You’ll start a civil war,” Emily said.

  “We can win,” Paren said. “I’ve produced enough muskets and gunpowder to arm our forces and crush the army. The barons will be even less prepared for war. No outside kingdom will be able to intervene in time.”

  “You might draw in the necromancers,” Emily said. “What happens when the neighboring kingdoms invade? They won’t let an entire kingdom be ruled by an elected body.”

  She looked past him, at Nanette. “Are you working for the necromancers?”

  Nanette snorted, rudely.

  “The king has used the threat of the necromancers to keep us in line,” Paren said. “And yet the necromancers are on the other side of the continent.”

  “Shadye attacked Whitehall,” Emily snapped. “The threat is real.”

  “But we want to be free,” Paren said. “I suspect you would feel differently about it, Lady Emily, if you had been born a commoner.”

  “And you’re probably right,” Nanette put in.

  Emily shook her head. “I can’t allow the country to get torn apart. You...”

  Nanette made a gesture with one hand. Emily sensed a flicker of magic; she braced herself, expecting an attack, but nothing happened. She hastily tightened her wards anyway, just as she heard someone else crashing through the door. Lord Hans rushed onto the battlement, waving a sword around like a wild thing. Paren had no time to dodge before Lord Hans slashed the sword into his chest. He staggered and fell to the ground. Emily cursed out loud, hurling a force punch spell at Lord Hans as he spun around to face her, his face twisted into a wild leer. The force of the impact picked him off his feet and threw him off the battlements.

  “Well,” Nanette said. She sounded indecently amused. “You’re certainly much more ruthless now. I approve.”

  “You released him from his cell,” Emily accused.

  “A mind like that is always useful if it can be pointed in the right direction,” Nanette agreed.

  Emily winced in pain. “You never wanted Paren to escape, did you?”

  “Of course not,” Nanette said. “The kingdom is decapitated, the rebel factions are no longer united...dozens of aristocrats have been killed. And it’s all your fault.”

  Emily felt a surge of anger, just before she threw a series of spells at Nanette. She staggered backwards under the hail of spellwork, her wards flickering and flaring as Emily combined overpowered spells with hexes designed to weaken wards and prank spells that might not be recognized as serious threats. She stepped forward as Nanette’s wards started to fail, feeling the magic pulsing through her and demanding release...

  “Oh, you have changed,” Nanette said. Her voice was mockingly calm, even though her wards were collapsing one by one. “I wonder if there will come a time when you look back on this day and shudder.”

  Nanette threw a force punch down at the battlements, the reaction tossing her up into the air and away from the castle. Emily stared as Nanette soared through the air, then hurled a series of fireballs after her. But it was too late. Nanette’s body vanished in a flash of light as she teleported away. She’d thrown herself outside the wards...

  She must have heard how I escaped the Mimic, Emily thought. And then she adapted the idea for herself.

  Gritting her teeth, she knelt down next to Paren. Imaiqah’s father was dying; the sword had cut deeply into his chest and blood was spilling onto the battlements. She knew a dozen healing spells that weren’t normally taught to non-healers, but she didn’t think she could use any of them to save his life. And even if she did, what then? Randor or Alassa would kill him - and his entire family - for trying to assassinate the monarch and destroy the royal line. She would save him only to watch helplessly as his entire family died.

  “Can you talk?” she asked. “Did you tell Imaiqah about your plan?”

  “No one knows, but me,” Paren said. Emily knelt down beside him. He was coughing up blood as he spoke. “Kept everyone else unaware of what I was planning. Couldn’t risk a leak. Had to hide everyone involved from everyone else...”

  He coughed, loudly. “Thought I could trust Rahsia.”

  “She’s good at playing roles,” Emily said, bitterly. She’d seen Lin, the shy girl who faded into the background, and Nanette, the tough and confident head girl of Mountaintop. And now Rahsia, who had been a rebel. There was no way to know which was Nanette’s real personality. “She gave you the spells, didn’t she?”

  “Some of them,” Paren said. “Others...not every magician likes the current order.”

  “I know,” Emily said. “You risked your family’s lives!”

  “Protect them,” Paren said. “Please...?”

  Emily looked down at him for a long moment. Alassa was injured, perhaps dying; she had no idea what had happened to Imaiqah, Frieda, or the Gorgon, or even Aloha. Or Caleb. Her friends had been caught in the middle of a power struggle Emily had, however inadvertently, helped prepare. And if she let Paren’s role in the whole affair become public knowledge, it would rip her circle of friends apart.

  “I’ll tell them that Lord Hans killed you,” she said. It would be true enough. The other rebels, if any had been taken alive, would be unable to talk...unless, of course, Nanette had fiddled with the spell so the truth would come out at the worst possible time. “And I’ll do what I can to keep your family safe.”

  Paren gurgled once, spat up a stream of blood, and died. Emily hesitated, unsure what to do, then closed her eyes for a long moment, paying what little respect Paren might be due. She’d liked him, once; he’d taken her ideas, her half-remembered concepts from Earth, and turned them into real things. Muskets and flintlocks had just been the tip of the iceberg. Even if Paren’s death spelled the end of his commercial empire, the ideas were out and spreading. There was no hope of anyone putting the genie back in the bottle.

  I’ll keep your secret, she silently promised the dead body. If you covered your tracks properly, no one will ever know you were anything other than an innocent bystander.

  She reached out, closed his eyes, and rose. The sound of shooting from down below had died away, but she took a moment to reinforce her wards - against physical attacks as well as magical - before stepping back into the castle and walking down the stairwell. She paused long enough to check the servants she’d stunned - they still slept like babies - and then hurried down the stairs. A line of soldiers at the bottom looked up at her and stared in disbelief. It struck her, suddenly, that she had to be a terrible sight. Her clothes were stained with blood, her hair was a mess, and she looked more like a refugee from a battlefield than an honored guest. They might easily mistake her for a servant.

  “Lady Emily,” one of the soldiers said. “Do you require assistance?”

  “No,” Emily said. They recognized her and yet they couldn’t spot infiltrators in their own ranks? But then, any guard or servant would have to know the names and faces of the great and the good. “Where is the king?”

  “In the Great Hall, My Lady,” the guard said.

  Emily thanked him and hurried down to the chamber. Hundreds of men and women were being helped out of the room; dozens of wounded were being attended by the able-bodied, while the dead bodies had been placed against the wall for later attention. Emily spotted Galina working on a wounded man, her husband holding him down. There was no sign of any Healers.

  Her hea
rt skipped a beat as she saw Imaiqah casting a healing spell on a wounded bridesmaid, her dress as stained as Emily’s own. She didn’t know, Emily was sure; she wasn’t the kind of person to cheerfully drink with a friend while planning to slip the knife into the friend’s back. And yet, learning that her father was dead would devastate her. Emily silently promised herself she’d tell Imaiqah later, then headed over to help.

  “The Healers are dead,” Imaiqah said. Her voice was bleak. “There were four of them in the castle, four. And they were all poisoned.”

  Emily shuddered. Healers were rare. Few magicians with the power and talent were willing to accept the Healer’s Oath and the limits it imposed. Very few people would deliberately kill Healers. The rebels - or Nanette, she suspected - had just marked themselves out as completely beyond the pale. But they’d also made sure that few of the wounded could be saved before it was too late.

  “Lady Emily,” King Randor said. She turned and looked up at him. There was a nasty dent in his armor, but it was intact. Someone must have charmed it to repel attack. “You chased a magician out of the room.”

  “Her name was Nanette,” Emily said. She had a feeling Randor would recognize the name, assuming he’d been following her career with great interest. “I think she was using the rebels as puppets. She even released Lord Hans to add to the chaos. I...”

  She broke off and started to shake. She’d killed Hans, as casually as someone might stamp on a spider or swat a fly. He’d been a monster, he’d tried to lay hands on the king himself, his fate had already been sealed...and yet she hated the fact that she’d killed him. He hadn’t stood a chance against her. Master Grey, at least, had been ready and able to kill her if she hadn’t killed him first.

  “I killed him, Your Majesty,” she said. She rose and inclined her head, silently asking Randor to follow her so they could speak privately. “He killed Paren.”

  Randor’s face darkened, just for a second. “He will be mourned,” he said. Did he know she’d left part of the story out? “And you should not worry about Lord Hans, Lady Emily. I assure you he would not have wasted any time worrying about you.”