Alassa made a rude gesture, then grinned at Frieda. “Come with us,” she said. “You won’t regret it.”
“Very well,” Frieda said. She clambered off the bed and glanced at herself in the mirror. “Eva will hate me for taking this down.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Emily advised. She’d always disliked it when someone else tried to help her get dressed or do up her hair. “Just make sure you wrap up warm for the trip.”
“And pack a bag of essentials,” Alassa added. “My mother sometimes forgets the basics.”
Emily snorted — there was a whole castle of maids, who would happily find anything Frieda needed — but kept the thought to herself. Instead, she left them to sort out Frieda’s bag and walked back to the room Markus and Melissa were sharing. It was heavily warded, unsurprisingly, with a couple of wards that she wasn’t sure how to remove. Markus had admitted, after he’d been disowned, that there were people in his family — both families — who might do whatever it took to kill them both. He’d wrapped so many protections around them both that nothing short of a whole team of assassins could get to them.
She tapped the ward lightly, and waited. It was nearly five minutes before Markus, wearing nothing more than a towel, opened the door and peered out, suspiciously. Emily blushed and looked away, embarrassed. Casual nudity didn’t sit well with her at all.
“I have to leave the castle,” she said, shortly. “I may not be back before school resumes, but you can remain here until you go to Beneficence. I’ll write to you from Alexis to let you know what’s happening.”
Markus sighed. “Why have you been called away?”
“The king wants to see me,” Emily said. Imaiqah and her family were already in Alexis. It was quite possible that Randor had already interrogated Imaiqah. “And then I may have to go straight to Whitehall.”
“The Grandmaster’s heard about what we did,” Melissa said, walking up behind Markus and clutching his arm. Emily glanced at her and flushed. Melissa was wearing a towel too, which left very little to the imagination. “And he’s mad at us.”
“I don’t know,” Emily admitted. “But I just wanted to say goodbye before I left.”
“Be careful,” Markus advised. “And thank you, once again.”
Emily nodded. Markus had sworn the oath, once they’d worked out a suitable wording. He would found the bank for her, then start issuing small loans. And then...she hoped and prayed that nothing went badly wrong. There were so many ways magic could be used to damage the bank’s reputation.
But we have the charmed parchments, she thought, recalling how Aloha had agreed to let them borrow the concept in exchange for a handful of shares. And we have other tricks, too.
“I’ll see you at Whitehall,” she said, addressing Melissa. “And I wish you both every happiness.”
Turning, she walked down to the courtyard. Bryon was waiting for her, along with a number of maids, servants and cooks. They all bowed in unison when they saw Emily, making her cheeks heat once again. She couldn’t allow herself to get used to everyone bowing and scraping, she told herself firmly, or she might wind up yet another aristocratic brat. Who knew what that did to a child, growing up with everyone bowing to him?
You don’t need to guess, she told herself, as she motioned for Bryon to rise. Thankfully, there had been no time to organize a proper ceremony. Alassa was more than enough of a warning, when you first met.
“I’ll be back,” she promised, as she scrambled into the coach. Frieda, Jade and Alassa were already there, Jade and Alassa holding hands. “For now, goodbye.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“BARONESS EMILY,” KING RANDOR SAID, as Emily stepped into his private study. “Welcome back.”
Emily nodded, and went down on one knee. “Your majesty,” she murmured. “I thank you.”
It was odd, but she’d never realized just how submissive kneeling could be, at least until she’d had to do it herself. Prostrating oneself was definitely submissive, but even kneeling carried a hundred unfortunate implications, each one darker than the last. By kneeling, she was admitting, at the very least, that the king was her superior...
“You may rise,” King Randor said. “I understand that you wish to speak with me?”
“You summoned me,” Emily said. She took the chair he indicated and sat, clasping her hands together to prevent them from shaking. “I assumed that you wished to speak with me.”
Randor took his own chair, facing her. Even sitting, his presence seemed to dominate the room. It wasn’t magic, as far as she could tell; it was the sheer force of his personality. And yet, there was something about it that offended her sensibilities. She respected Randor, even liked him to some extent...and yet she didn’t think of him as her superior. How could she?
“But I was asked to summon you,” the king said. “I assumed you wished to speak with me.”
Emily felt her patience fray. “Alassa wished me to talk about a certain subject with you, yes,” she said, wondering just what game the king was playing. “She must have told you I wanted to speak with you.”
The king smiled. “She did.”
Emily looked up at him and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he knew what Alassa had wanted her to say. But how much did he know? He’d carefully not asked Alassa any questions that might have brought her new relationship to life. And yet, if he’d been watching her and Jade, he might well have deduced the truth...she shook her head, feeling a headache starting to pound behind her temple. She was in no mood for games.
“She wishes to marry Jade,” Emily said, bluntly. There was no point in spending the next half-hour dancing around the elephant in the room. “I think it would be a very good idea.”
“An interesting statement,” Randor observed. “Particularly as Jade’s name was once romantically linked with yours.”
Emily fought hard to keep her face under control, although she was sure that Randor could read something from her expression. The double standards had never seemed quite so hypocritical. Randor might have taken a hundred lovers, but he expected his wife to remain loyal and his daughter to remain chaste...and, too, his prospective son-in-law. Jade would hardly be the first person to have affairs before or after marriage and he would definitely not be the last.
“Jade and I were friends,” she said, flatly. She might have liked the idea of a father figure — a genuine father figure — but Randor wasn’t going to be it. “There was nothing between us, not really.”
“Your father disapproved,” Randor said. “Or did you?”
Emily hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Jade is a good and decent person,” she said, finally. “He’s smart, a capable magician, and a trained combat sorcerer. But he is also not the type of person to meld well with me.”
Randor smiled. “And you think he would meld well with my daughter?”
“There are many advantages to such a match,” Emily said. “He would not involve Zangaria in foreign affairs, nor would he excite resentment among the barons, nor would he seek to take power for himself. And he would be capable of giving Alassa a level of protection, and care, that few others could match.”
“But he is not a nobleman,” Randor pointed out, smoothly.
“He is a sorcerer, which ranks him as equal to a nobleman,” Emily countered. She shook her head inwardly in amusement. “And if he were to marry Alassa, the barons would not feel slighted because one of their number had been promoted, nor insulted because an inferior nobleman had been promoted above their heads.”
“You haven’t answered my real question,” Randor said. “Do you think he would meld well with my daughter?”
Emily smiled, suddenly. Randor cared about Alassa! It had sometimes been hard to tell, but she saw it now. He might have had to use his daughter as a piece on the kingmaker board, he might have done his best to have a male heir...and yet, he cared about his daughter. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, but it was there.
“Alassa is a very a
ctive person,” Emily said. “She isn’t stupid, far from it, but she prefers to be active rather than study. She loves to hunt, she loves to play games, she even set up her own team just so she could play Ken. She’s immensely competitive and focused on getting what she wants...”
She hesitated, then went on. “Jade is much the same,” she added. “He loves to hunt, to walk through the countryside, to climb mountains, even to play games. I remember him playing Scrum and carrying on, even with a broken nose. He and Alassa are well-matched. And he’s loyal, protective, and caring.”
Randor studied her for a long moment. “And you believe he will care for her?”
“Yes,” Emily said. Jade had comforted her, shortly after she’d almost killed Alassa. And then, he’d tried to help her out of her shell. And he’d been one of the few who hadn’t looked doubtfully at her after she’d killed Shadye. “Jade will be loyal and caring to whoever he marries.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Randor said. “But there are political considerations involved.”
Emily took a breath. “There are more than just political considerations involved,” she said, after a moment. “Your majesty, Alassa has chosen him. She is to succeed you as ruler of this country. What will happen if she takes the throne without a person she chose at her side?”
“I didn’t choose my wife,” Randor said, flatly.
“It’s different for girls,” Emily said. Actually, she had no idea how boys felt about arranged marriages, but they were granted far wider latitude than girls. “More to the point, how could she find a better match? How could she find someone who will complement her, rather than try to overshadow her?”
“An interesting point,” Randor observed. “But should she be allowed the freedom to choose?”
Emily placed firm controls on her temper. Snapping at the king wouldn’t help.
“Alassa is nineteen, pressing twenty,” she said, “and a capable magician to boot. She is old enough to make her own choice, your majesty, and old enough to bear a permanent grudge if you choose badly. Jade offers her everything she wants and needs from a marriage.”
“But he lacks the social polish of a born aristocrat,” Randor said. “What happens when he has bastards?”
“Everyone has bastards,” Emily snapped. God knew everyone thought Void, a sorcerer who could presumably use contraceptive spells, had at least one bastard. “I think Jade is much less likely to leave litters everywhere than some of your barons.”
Randor smirked, unpleasantly. “Point,” he said. “They do tend to cause problems when they grow old enough to know what they’re missing.”
Emily barely resisted the temptation to point out that Randor had presumably tried desperately to have a son, even a bastard son, of his own. The laws concerning illegitimate children were vague, deliberately so, but as long as the father acknowledged them they could be considered legitimate. And yet, the laws would complicate matters if Alassa had had an illegitimate child. Would the child still be part of the royal family if the father was definitely not a member?
“He saved her life at least twice, while she was at the Faire,” Emily added. “I think you would not be able to find a better man to marry her. And she wants him.”
“And tell me,” Randor said. “How do you feel about it?”
Emily shrugged. She was damned if she was going to expose her feelings to Randor.
“I think they will make a wonderful couple,” she said. “And I am very happy for them. I will be happy to support them, if necessary.”
Randor peered at her for a long moment. “And you have no feelings for him at all?”
Emily blinked. “We are friends,” she said, tartly. “And that is all we ever were.”
It struck her, suddenly, that Alassa had to have been panicking ever since she’d fallen for Jade. A word from Emily to her father could ruin everything. Emily was a baroness, after all, and the person who had saved Randor’s throne. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to talk about it. She might have known, or believed, that Emily wasn’t interested in Jade, but her father couldn’t have taken that for granted.
Not when so much is at stake, she thought. The barons could unify round me to resist the match.
“She loves him,” she said, simply. “And he loves her. And they are good together, for all the reasons I bet she outlined.”
Randor smiled. “And the dangers of insulting the nobility?”
“They can’t all marry her,” Emily said, remembering just how many suitors had clustered around Queen Elizabeth. She’d played them all masterfully but, in the end, she’d failed in her duty to provide England with an heir. It had been sheer luck that James I had been waiting in the wings. “If she marries Baron Silver, your majesty, Baron Bronze and the others will be insulted. Let her marry a complete outsider and spite them all equally.”
“The only baron who would not think of marrying her would be you,” Randor observed.
Emily wanted to roll her eyes. There wasn’t a baron — apart from Emily herself — who wasn’t married, with children. As far as she knew, the oldest Baron was easily old enough to be Alassa’s father. But they would happily put their wives and children aside, just for the pleasure of being king. They’d have done it even if Alassa had been so ugly she looked like a toad someone had tried to transfigure into a human. The prestige of being king would be more than enough reward.
“I don’t think I can marry her,” Emily said, dryly. There were no actual laws against homosexual marriage in Zangaria, probably because no one had ever felt the need to write them. But open homosexuality wasn’t highly regarded by anyone. “We certainly couldn’t produce children.”
“A terrible weakness,” Randor agreed. “I will grant my consent to the match.”
Emily blinked. That easily?
He knew, she thought. In hindsight, it was clear. He knew, and approved all along.
“I think they will be very happy together,” she said. “And he would make a good consort.”
“I should hope so,” Randor said, tartly. He leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I understand you have been asked to be Maid of Honor?”
“I would like to know more about the post before I agree,” Emily said. “Last time I agreed to something before learning what it actually involved, I nearly got a great many people killed.”
“Yes, you did,” Randor agreed.
He studied her for a long moment before he went on. “Alassa tells me that you’ve been having doubts about being a baroness.”
“Yes,” Emily said. She knew she shouldn’t turn down his gift, even in private, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep it. “I do not think I am suited for the post.”
“I could tell you stories about some of the other barons that would haunt you at night,” Randor said. “You have caused problems, yes, but so have the other barons.”
“I wasn’t trained for the post,” Emily said. “I...”
“They were,” Randor countered. “And many of the ones who inherited from their fathers caused far worse problems for their subjects than you.”
He shrugged. “I knew you would have problems coming to grips with the task,” he said, after a moment. “But you have a long life ahead of you. You have time to learn.”
“But I do not want to spend my entire life there,” Emily said. “There’s an entire world to explore.”
“And magic to be done, I imagine,” Randor said. He gave her another smile. “That’s what managers are for, Lady Emily. Hire more, give them a basic set of orders, and then leave them to handle the job.”
Or set up some form of democracy, Emily thought. She had no idea how well democracy would work, when there was no underlying agreement that everyone was theoretically equal, but it might be better than everything else. Something that lets people handle their own affairs.
Yeah, right, her own thoughts answered her. And what would democracy say the next time you have to tackle an unsavory contract?
&n
bsp; “I will see what I can find,” she said, reluctantly. “But I won’t have managers abusing the population.”
“Then don’t let them,” Randor said.
He reached out and clapped her on the shoulder. “You have a long way to go,” he said, “but I am sure Alassa will be with you.”
Emily nodded, slowly.
“But tell me,” Randor said. “What are these guns?”
“They’re something new,” Emily said. “They will change the world.”
She outlined the basic concept, keeping some of her thoughts to herself. Guns wouldn’t just make it harder for the barons to defend their castles; guns would make it easier for the commoners to rise up against the nobility. It took months to train a soldier, and years to train a combat sorcerer, but how long did it take to learn to use a gun? If King Randor saw all of the implications, he might want to shut down the whole program.
But Nanette’s notes are still out there, she thought, grimly. Who knows who else might be making guns and gunpowder now?
Randor frowned. “And why should I tolerate such a big change?”
“Because you need it,” Emily said. “What happens when the necromancers come over the mountains?”
“Zangaria doesn’t border the Blighted Lands,” Randor said.
“But that could change,” Emily said. “They could punch through Whitehall or a dozen other spots and march north. And then all hell would break loose.”
She wondered, suddenly, what would have happened to Shadye if he’d been lured onto a giant landmine. It would be simple enough to hide the gunpowder, and detonate it when the necromancer was standing on top of it. Would it kill him, make him lose control of the stolen magic, or would it just make him madder? There was no way to know.
“We will see,” Randor said.
He rose, signaling that the interview was at an end. “Lady Barb has requested permission to take you back to Whitehall tonight, rather than wait for dinner,” he said. “Do you wish to remain here to eat?”
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