She looked up as someone pulled the chair away from the table. “Lady Emily,” a very soft voice said. “I believe I am sitting here.”
“Welcome,” Emily said, although she wished she were sitting next to Frieda. “Please, join us.”
The newcomer looked...odd. She had white-blonde hair, skin so pale it was almost translucent and large blue eyes. Her pale blue dress was cut low, revealing the tops of her breasts, and clung neatly to her hips. Emily couldn’t help being reminded of Alassa, save for the fact that while Alassa looked stunningly human, there was something oddly inhuman about the newcomer. There was nothing she could put her finger on it, yet it was there.
“I am Alicia, Heiress to the Barony of Gold,” the newcomer said. There was almost no emotion in her voice at all. “I admire you greatly, Lady Emily.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, feeling her face heat. Heiress to the Barony? Baron Gold, the third most powerful nobleman in the kingdom, had been beheaded in the wake of the coup attempt, two years ago. Alicia had to be his daughter. “You’re not the baroness in your own right?”
“No, my lady,” Alicia said. “His Majesty has not yet seen fit to confirm me as baroness.”
Emily studied her for a long moment. King Randor had never liked the idea of a female heir — he’d spent years trying to have a son before giving up and accepting that Alassa would be his heir — and he might have denied Alicia the title for the same reason. Or he might have viewed her in the same light as her father, as a potential traitor. Keeping her powerless might be nothing more than self-defense.
But Alicia didn’t look very threatening.
You should know better than to judge by appearances, she reminded herself, savagely. Lin didn’t look very threatening either.
Alassa elbowed Emily, catching her attention. “Mother is apparently unwilling to attend the feast,” she said. “We will be talking to her later.”
Emily blinked. “Unwilling?”
“Apparently,” Alassa said. “Father says we will discuss it later.”
That was odd, Emily knew. It was rare, very rare, for aristocrats to show any signs of weakness. Lady Barb had been right; the slightest sign of weakness or carelessness would have people licking their lips and hiring assassins, or coming up with cunning plans to take advantage of the weakness. Queen Marlena would have attended a function on her deathbed, if she had to bring her deathbed with her. And now she was absent...
She cast a privacy ward hastily, then leaned forward. “Do you think they’ve had a row?”
“My parents wouldn’t have allowed a fight to get in the way of showing a united front,” Alassa said, scornfully. “That’s what worries me.”
Emily nodded, then dispelled the ward as the servants arrived, each one carrying a colossal plate of food. She felt her stomach clench at the plates of meat, roast potatoes and vegetables, strangely bland compared to the food at Whitehall. Behind them, other servants carried trays of condiments and jugs of gravy, each one strong and thick. She recalled one experiment with mustard she had no intention of repeating and wished, just for a moment, that she was close enough to Frieda to whisper a warning. But she’d never met anything her younger friend couldn’t eat.
She waited, with the others, until everyone was served, then started to eat. As she’d expected, the meat was bland, but the gravy was surprisingly tasty. Emily ate enough to satisfy the hunger pains, then looked around, studying the guests. Alicia ate with a daintiness that surprised Emily, picking at her food as little as possible. Perhaps she just wanted to keep her figure, Emily thought tartly, although she hadn’t seen many fat teenagers in the Nameless World. Beside her, Frieda seemed intent on cramming as much as she could into her mouth before the servants could take it away.
Her table manners need work, Emily thought, remembering how Alassa had taught her how to handle herself in a royal court. But she didn’t grow up learning the ropes from her parents.
Jade was chatting to the king, his words hidden behind a privacy ward. Emily wondered just what they were saying to one another, then looked for Lady Barb in the crowd. The combat sorceress was missing, she realized, after sweeping the tables twice. Maybe she’d gone to visit the queen.
“We will dance, after this,” Alassa said. “And then we will drink potions and sleep.”
Emily nodded. “Do you know what the meeting tomorrow is about?”
“I don’t, but it was put off so you could attend,” Alassa told her. “I suspect it’s probably important.”
“Yeah,” Emily agreed. If it was something that Bryon couldn’t handle, it had to be important. But it was also odd. Randor could have summoned her at any moment, at least after she’d left Mountaintop. Lady Barb could easily have teleported her to Zangaria. “Will you be attending?”
“I don’t think so,” Alassa said. “Tell me about it afterwards, okay?”
Emily blinked. “What sort of meeting is so secret even you’re out of the loop?”
“I don’t know,” Alassa said. “Father...has been sharing a lot with me, now I’ve been Confirmed. But I don’t know what this is about.”
“I’ll tell you,” Emily promised. “You can look after Frieda while I’m gone.”
“Mother will want to meet her,” Alassa agreed. “I’ll take Frieda to her room.”
“Thanks,” Emily said. “Would it be terribly wrong of me to skip the dancing and go straight to bed?”
“Probably,” Alassa said. “They all want to know you’re healthy.”
Chapter Six
EMILY HAD KNOWN, FROM HER FIRST visit to Castle Alexis, that King Randor had a private set of rooms that were locked and warded away from most of the castle’s residents. He’d even shown her a set of such rooms, when she’d first visited the castle. But she’d never known there was a meeting chamber below the throne room, or that it could be entered by stepping through a seemingly solid wall. If one of the king’s private servants hadn’t shown her to the chamber, she knew she would never have seen it at all.
Subtle magic, she thought, as the rune carved into her chest burned uncomfortably. Not enough to be dangerous, but enough to keep this room hidden unless someone is shown how to reach it.
It was surprisingly bland, compared to the throne room. A large portrait of Alexis I, the founder of the kingdom, hung on the far wall, while the other two held maps of Alexis City and Zangaria itself, respectively. A wooden table was placed in the center of the room, surrounded by hard wooden chairs. King Randor, she assumed, had the only chair that had a comfortable seat, probably intended to help remind the noblemen of their place. Besides, it would also ensure that meetings didn’t last very long. She’d sat on enough hard wooden chairs at school to know it was never pleasant.
She kept her face impassive as the other barons eyed her, their faces under equally tight control. There were only four barons in the kingdom now, including Emily herself; Alicia, it seemed, had not been invited to the meeting. None of them liked Emily or trusted her, she knew, even though they feared her power. To them, she was the person who had defeated the coup and killed some of their friends and allies, even though it hadn’t been Emily who’d executed them after the coup had failed. They thought of her, she suspected, as someone between a tattletale and an agent of chaos.
A door at the far corner opened, revealing King Randor. The barons — and Emily — hastily went down on one knee; the king eyed them for a long moment, before motioning for them to rise. He looked surprisingly pleased with himself, Emily noted, as he took his seat at the head of the table. It struck her, suddenly, that he had been looking forward to the meeting.
“Please, be seated,” King Randor said. He waited for them to sit, then continued with an air of mischievous amusement. “It has been years since we have been gathered together, has it not? Then, there were six of you and my poor charmed brother. And now there are only four.”
He smiled, rather coldly. The former Duke of Iron had been packed off to an isolated castle; a prison
, in all but name. Even if he escaped, he was powerless. Alassa had claimed his title, Emily knew, after executing the duke’s treacherous wife. No one would risk their position to back his weak claim to the throne, particularly now that Alassa had been Confirmed.
And the barons are powerless too, Emily thought. Their private armies had been scattered, their sorcerers packed off to other countries...they were weaker than they’d been for nearly a hundred years. They have to hate it.
“We shall begin by discussing my will,” Randor continued. He produced a sheaf of paper from his pocket and dropped it on the table. “My kingdom will, of course, go to my daughter. She is, as yet, unmarried, but she is Confirmed. And, I might add, a powerful magician in her own right. Who would be fool enough to dispute the title with her?”
There was a long pause. No one answered.
“There are a handful of other bequests,” King Randor added, “but they are comparatively minor. You will be expected to uphold the terms, should I die before my appointed time.”
He passed the sheaf of papers to Baron Silver, who read it quickly and then passed the will to the next baron. Emily winced inwardly when the papers came to her — the will was written in Old Script, rather than English — and then started to read it. She wasn’t anything like an expert, but as far as she could tell there were only a handful of bequests. Queen Marlena would receive enough money to keep her in luxury for the rest of her days, a handful of loyal servants would be rewarded for their service and...a number of payments were marked out to various women of the court. Emily’s eyes narrowed at the final section. What the hell did that mean?
“I do not intend to divide the kingdom,” Randor said. “It is my intention for my daughter to inherit a unified land.”
“Your majesty,” Baron Gaunt said. “When is your daughter to marry?”
Emily winced, inwardly. Alassa had to produce an heir at some point, someone who shared the Royal Bloodline as well as a strong claim to the throne. And whoever married Alassa would have a chance to make himself king, in fact as well as name. She had a feeling that the three barons, all easily old enough to be Alassa’s father, would have happily put their wives and children aside for a chance to marry the princess.
“When she has found a suitable husband,” King Randor said. “One will be found, I have no doubt, and then she will marry. She has time.”
“She should have been married sooner,” Baron Silver said.
“But she was not,” King Randor said, sharply. “And this leads us to the second part of the discussion.”
He placed his hands on the table and smiled at them. There was something cool and deliberate about his movements, as if he had planned the meeting beforehand. Emily felt a cold shiver running down her spine as she realized that, whatever the King had to say, the barons were not going to like it.
“A number of noble families have lost their heads,” he said. “Their children, alas, have been cast out in the world with no one to protect or discipline them, let alone guide them through the rocks and shoals of the path towards adulthood. The estates, held in trust for them, will languish without a firm hand to keep their clients in line. Their peasants are already fleeing the fields for the opportunities of the cities.”
Emily felt her cheeks heat as two of the barons tossed her sharp glances. It was her fault, more than anyone else, that so many opportunities had opened up in the cities. Now, peasants who were legally bound to the land were fleeing to the cities, seeking a chance to make new lives for themselves. The barons were furious; clearly, it had never occurred to them that no one liked working hard, then only being allowed to keep a tiny portion of their crops. Taxes were so high in some parts of Zangaria that they were literally impossible to pay. And then the barons wondered why so many peasants became bandits.
“This is, of course, a grave concern to the kingdom,” King Randor continued. “I will therefore be assuming guardianship of all the minor aristocratic children, effective immediately.”
Emily didn’t understand what he meant, but it was clear the other barons did. They looked, very much, as if they wanted to protest, to object to what the king had said. If they’d had weapons...she shook her head, inwardly. She rather doubted King Randor would have been defenseless, if they’d gone at him with swords or daggers. The wards surrounding the room were light, compared to Whitehall’s, but they would be effective against men without magic.
“The children will come to the castle to live with my family,” Randor said. “Once they reach their majority, they will assume their titles and serve as aristocrats in their lands.”
He paused. Emily realized, suddenly, that he was effectively gloating, rubbing their helplessness in their faces. But why? What did the guardianship of minor children matter? But there was no way she could ask, not now. She would have to discuss it with Alassa later, and perhaps Lady Barb. And then...she wondered, briefly, if there was anything she should or could do. But she couldn’t say without knowing what was going on.
“Your majesty,” Baron Silver said. “You have yet to confirm Baroness Alicia in her lands and title, even though she is of age.”
“She is a girl,” King Randor said, dismissively.
“So is Baroness Cockatrice,” Baron Silver said, indicating Emily. His voice dripped honey...and sarcasm. “And she saved your throne, for which we are all truly grateful.”
“Baroness Emily was rewarded for her services to the crown,” King Randor said. “What has Alicia done to merit being confirmed in her lands and title?”
The barons sucked in their breath. Even Emily was astonished. King Randor had targeted, intentionally or otherwise, the cornerstone of the aristocratic system. Noble titles and power were passed down from father to son — or daughter, if there was no suitable male heir. For him to deny Alicia her rank and titles...she shook her head, promising herself that she would go over it with Alassa at the earliest possible moment. There was too much here she simply didn’t understand.
Maybe I should just give up the title, she thought, ruefully. There is probably no shortage of others who want it.
“She is the only surviving heir of Baron Gold,” Baron Gaunt said. “And she was not involved in his treachery.”
Emily frowned inwardly as something clicked into place. The three most powerful barons were called Gold, Silver and Bronze. Collectively, they controlled enough lands and power to bring the king to heel. Or they had, before Baron Gold had been beheaded and King Randor had deployed a new and powerful army. Was King Randor delaying because he didn’t want a new Baroness Gold? Alicia might be very far from harmless with such wealth and power in her hands. She would be only human if she didn’t want some revenge for her executed father.
“We will see,” the King said. He held up a hand as the barons started to object. “The third matter is considerably more alarming.”
He waved a hand in the air. Moments later, a pair of dark-clad servants entered, carrying a box of documents between them. Emily’s eyes narrowed as she spotted the jewels implanted in their foreheads, anchoring the enslavement spells in place. The servants — no, the slaves — would do whatever they were told by their master, without the slightest hope of resistance. It wasn’t something she would wish on her worst enemy.
“These...pamphlets have been spreading through the kingdom,” King Randor said. “You will, I suspect, find them quite disturbing.”
Emily took one of the pamphlets and read it, quickly. It was written using English letters, but, as always, the local spelling left something to be desired. Words were spelled out phonically, ensuring there were several different, but technically correct spellings for many different words. Hell, the writer couldn’t be bothered being consistent; he’d used the same word several times, spelling it four different ways. But it didn’t matter, she knew. As long as the words could be sounded out, they were readable.
Her eyes went wide when she finally parsed out the first section. Years ago, she’d read Karl Marx. She hadn’t be
en impressed, either with the arguments or the verbiage; it had seemed to her that Marx had been trying to hide the weakness in his thinking behind a mountain of long and complicated words. But the writer who’d written the pamphlet seemed to be channeling the ideal of Marx...
“Baroness Emily,” King Randor said. “Why don’t you read to us?”
Emily looked down at the pamphlet. “Our society is shaped like a triangle,” she read. “The king and his aristocracy are on the top, peasants and slaves are at the bottom. This is the one truth we are taught right from birth, when we become aware of both society and our place in it. The higher up the triangle, the more power a person possesses over his inferiors. But the question we are taught never to ask is why? Why is our society so fixed?
“We are told that peasants deserve to be peasants and slaves deserve to be slaves. We are told that peasants are slow, stupid, incapable of being anything more than grunt animals in the fields. And yet, when given the opportunity, peasants who escape the fields can make their own lives, earning wealth for themselves, rather than their owners. Is it true, therefore, that there is something inherently slavish about the peasants?
“And if this is not true, and common sense tells us it isn’t, is there something inherently noble about the nobility? Why should they have power when they have done nothing to earn it, save being born lucky?”
King Randor held up a hand. “These have been found everywhere,” he said. “Some argue that the nobility should be elected, or that real power should be placed in the hands of the Assembly. Others call for the total destruction of the aristocracy and a grand sharing out of the wealth and power we have built up over centuries. They are, of course, hideously subversive.”
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