Chapter Twenty-Three
“I FEEL LIKE AN IDIOT,” EMILY grumbled.
Void gave her an odd look. “Because you’re wearing formal dress?”
Emily looked down at herself. The black dress had been designed by someone who knew how to combine style and practicality. It was loose enough to hint at rather than reveal her curves, tight enough to make it easy to move if she had to run or fight. A single gold badge hung above her left breast, glowing faintly with magic. She didn’t recognize the sigil.
“It doesn’t feel like me,” Emily said. It had taken her months to get used to dresses. “Why do I have to wear it?”
“Because you represent me,” Void said. “And because you need people to take you seriously.”
Emily nodded curtly as she ran her hands down the dress. Whoever had designed it knew how to design for a magician. There were pockets hidden within the gown, almost invisible to those who didn’t know to look. She’d stuffed a handful of possessions, from a coin pouch to a couple of tools and potions vials, into the dress. The material had to be carefully charmed. She felt as if she weren’t carrying anything.
I’ll be the center of attention, she thought, sourly. She wasn’t particularly comfortable with that. Alassa, Void and Lady Barb dominated rooms as soon as they walked in, but she’d always preferred to stay in the background. She had the feeling that wasn’t going to be an option any longer. Everyone will know who I am.
Void smiled. “You’re clear on your instructions?”
“Figure out what you want me to do, then do it.” Emily tried to hide her scowl. “And don’t communicate with anyone outside... outside wherever you want me to go.”
“Precisely,” Void said. “I’m sure you’ll do well.”
“It would be easier if I knew what I was doing,” Emily pointed out. “I’m not comfortable knowing that lives might rest on my decisions...”
“That’s been true for six years,” Void said. “And the choices you make will show us who you are.”
Emily shook her head. Void wasn’t going to budge. She’d just have to hope she figured out her mission before time ran out. If there was a time limit... Void had been cagey on that point. Perhaps he would lose patience and summon her back if she didn’t solve the puzzle in a week or two. Or... he was off to the Blighted Lands. He might have devised the whole mission as a way of keeping her out of his hair while he sneaked up on the necromancers.
She braced herself. “I’m ready,” she said. “What about Silent?”
“I’ll bring her later,” Void promised. He held out a hand. “Shall we go?”
Emily took his hand, magic crackling around his fingertips. The tower was his. He could teleport in and out as he pleased. And yet, she couldn’t help feeling a flicker of fear as the spell formed around them. Teleport spells weren’t very forgiving at the best of times. Now... the slightest mistake could get them both killed. She squeezed her eyes shut as the world exploded with light, the ground heaving underneath her feet. This time, thankfully, she didn’t materialize upside down.
She opened her eyes. They stood in a small antechamber. The stone walls were decorated with tapestries, each showing a dragon in a heroic pose. She felt a frisson of recognition, mingled with a grim awareness that she was being misled. The room reminded her of Alassa’s castle, but it wasn’t. The wards humming through the air weren’t unfriendly, yet... they weren’t welcoming either. There was layer upon layer of wards, each elaborate enough to be difficult to unpick. She would have bet half her fortune that it would be impossible to dismantle them without setting off a dozen alarms.
Void let go of her arm. “I do hope we’re not too late,” he said, in a tone that suggested he was faintly displeased. “I was expecting to perform introductions.”
A door opened gently, as if whoever had opened it didn’t want to make a sound. A small elderly man stepped inside. No, he wasn’t small. He looked as if he was only a head shorter than Emily, but he walked in a manner that made him seem a dwarf. His skin looked like chestnut, tinted odd; his eyes were soft, brown and good natured. Emily found herself liking him at once, even though she wasn’t sure why. Subtle magic? Or just someone who was good at projecting the right image? She reached out gingerly with her senses. The newcomer was surrounded by magic, tightly controlled magic. He might not be as powerful as others she’d met, but she was sure he was skilled.
“Lady Emily, Baroness Cockatrice, Necromancer’s Bane, Child of Destiny,” Void said, formally. “Allow me to introduce Arbiter Rogan, Arbiter of the Allied Lands.”
“My pleasure.” Arbiter Rogan spoke in a voice that was soft and calm, yet hinting at hidden power. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Emily dropped a curtsy, taking advantage of the move to study Rogan further. He wore fine clothes, without any sigils or rank badges beyond a single white rune sewn into his black shirt. A golden chain hung around his neck. Magic surrounded it, although she couldn’t tell what it was supposed to do. His skin was marred by tattoos, each a complex rune in its own right. She had the feeling he had his own defenses against everything from subtle magic to outright compulsions. She made a note to tighten her own defenses. Wherever she was, it wasn’t safe.
“Thank you,” she said. Arbiter Rogan looked like a kindly uncle, the sort of elderly relative who would happily slip a child a sweet and swear blind he’d done nothing of the sort. “It’s good to be here.”
Void nodded. “I’ll be seeing you,” he said. “Good luck.”
He stepped back and vanished in a flash of light. Emily took a moment to gather herself, then turned back to Rogan. He was studying her intensely, his eyes suddenly sharp and cold. She shivered, realizing there was a great deal to the arbiter he kept hidden. He wanted — he needed — to be underestimated. She understood. She felt the same way.
Rogan opened the door. “If you’ll come with me,” he said, “I’ve prepared a small welcome.”
Emily frowned as she followed him into the next room. It looked very much like a castle’s guestroom. Dragons were everywhere, from the doors to the paintings on the walls. A large window, covered with spells rather than glass, looked over a distant mountain range. She walked to the window and looked out, gazing over a city that looked very much like Alexis. The castle, if castle it was, struck her as odd. There were no walls surrounding the keep, no guards on visible battlements...
“I trust you drink Kava,” Rogan said, as she turned to face him. He was sitting at a small table, pouring two mugs. “I don’t keep wine in this chamber.”
“I do,” Emily confirmed. There were a hundred questions she wanted to ask, but they’d make her sound ignorant. She didn’t dare ask any of them. She’d happily confess ignorance to her friends, but to a stranger? “I was told to ask for an up-to-date briefing.”
“A good thought,” Rogan said. He motioned for her to take the seat facing him. “How much did your master tell you about the crisis?”
Emily sat, smoothing out her dress. “I need to hear your truth,” Emily said. “And your take on the crisis.”
Rogan studied her for a long moment. She couldn’t tell if he believed her. The person on the spot generally knew more about what was going on than someone in a distant tower — she’d learned that from Sergeant Miles — but he wouldn’t expect her to be completely ignorant... would he? What had Void told him? She didn’t dare ask that, either. If he knew she was ignorant, he might lie. Or present a version of the truth designed to be misleading.
“It’s been three weeks since the king died,” Rogan said. He took a sip of his drink. “It was my hope that I could smooth out the succession crisis before one or more of the parties resorted to violence. I thought it would be relatively simple. There’s no dispute over who should be king. It’s who should be protector that bothers people.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. “The king is too young? Or mentally challenged?”
“Crown Prince Willis, Dragon-in-Waiting, is ten years old,” Rogan said. He s
tared into his mug, as if he was choosing his next words very carefully. “He will not be able to rule in his own right until he’s at least fourteen. Before then, whoever becomes Lord Protector will be in possession of the king and able to arrange matters to suit himself. The king may not be able to put things right when he takes the throne.”
“I see,” Emily said. Dragon-in-Waiting? The title meant nothing to her. But then, she supposed Prince of Wales would mean nothing to someone who hadn’t heard of Wales. “And there’s no dispute about his parentage?”
“King Clarence, Dragonschild XVII, apparently tested the boy-child repeatedly, after his mother died giving birth,” Rogan said. “There is no question that King Clarence fathered the boy. Queen Beatrice, Lady Harmony, was apparently renowned for her chastity.”
And the king wouldn’t have married her if there was any doubt about it, Emily thought. The merest hint of a dispute over parentage could plunge the country into crisis. If she had affairs, she would have kept them very discreet.
“I see,” she said. “And who are the factions?”
“There are three,” Rogan said. “The king’s second wife — Queen Aquiline, Queen Dowager — is either in command of one faction or its figurehead. The king’s younger brother — Duke Hardcastle, the Dragonsbane — controls a second. Dragora’s Parliament controls a third, represented by Sir Mowbray. Whichever faction takes control, the other two have reason to fear they’ll be ground down before the king assumes power in his own right.”
“If he ever does,” Emily mused. Dragora. She was in Dragora. Master Lucknow had mentioned Dragora, hadn’t he? He’d said the king had been up to something. “Why are we here?”
Rogan shot her a sharp look. “Officially, my mission is to mediate between the factions and try to convince them to come to terms before I pass judgment on who takes the Protectorship. Unofficially, I — we — need to determine who murdered the king. He didn’t die naturally.”
Emily leaned forward. “What happened to him?”
“Dark magic,” Rogan said. “According to the reports, he spent the evening in his private chambers before retiring to the royal bedchamber, where the servants found him dead the following morning. There’s no doubt it was murder, Lady Emily, but, as yet, I have no clear suspect.”
“And everyone is pointing fingers at everyone else,” Emily guessed. “Right?”
“The queen blames the duke, as you might expect,” Rogan agreed, calmly. “The duke blames the queen. Parliament is divided into a dozen factions, many of which stand to gain if there’s a minority government. If I make the wrong choice, I’ll give the power of the monarchy to a murderer. Your master promised me you could pick out the murderer before it was too late.”
Emily blinked. Void wanted her to solve the murder? It didn’t make sense. Void hadn’t wanted her to involve herself in political affairs. He’d tried to convince her not to support Alassa during the Zangarian Civil War. She found it difficult to believe Void would care about some random monarch, even if he had been killed by magic. It wouldn’t mean anything to him. And yet... it might be a test. Lives would certainly depend on finding the murderer before it was too late.
And if we accuse the wrong person, or even the right person without a lot of proof, we’d be in real trouble, she mused. We have to prove the murderer’s guilt beyond any possible doubt.
She sipped her drink for a long moment. If the king was dead... any coup plotter worthy of the name would have a plan for taking control in the aftermath. The plotters in Zangaria had prepared carefully, despite the risk of word leaking out ahead of time. They’d had an army in the city, ready to storm the castle and lock the royal family in their own dungeons. But here...?
“The murderer must have had a plan to take control,” she mused. “Did anyone try to take power immediately after the king’s death?”
“No,” Rogan said. “That’s baffled me, too. Neither the queen nor the duke made any attempt to take control of the Royal Guard. They both brought small armies to the city within the first week — they’re camped on the commons, on opposite sides of the city — but they didn’t try to take power. Officially, they and their supporters have both sworn to uphold the prince’s claim to the throne. That hasn’t stopped them jockeying for power and position.”
“Of course not,” Emily said. “And Parliament?”
“Parliament doesn’t have an army, beyond the City Watch,” Rogan said. “They couldn’t have tried to take power...”
Unless they’ve built up an army in secret, Emily thought. If they have access to gunpowder and firearms, they could give the aristocrats a nasty surprise.
She glanced at the window. Who knew what was happening out there? The aristocrats might not be paying attention to the commoners. God knew King Randor had paid as little attention to them as possible until it was far too late. But... she shook her head. This was Dragora, not Zangaria. She didn’t know what was going on. She’d have to correct that as soon as possible, then... she scowled. She knew very little about catching murderers. It would be simple enough to round up the suspects and interrogate them with truth spells, but that would open a whole new can of worms. It was forbidden to treat aristocrats like commoners unless there was clear proof of misdeeds.
“So we have three possible suspects,” she mused. “Except... someone else could have done it on their behalf, leaving them ignorant. They’d swear they didn’t kill the king and, as far as they’d know, they’d be telling the truth. They would be telling the truth...”
“Yes.” Rogan shook his head. “And the king had hundreds of enemies.”
More like thousands, Emily thought. King Randor’s enemies had ranged from the very highest in the land to the lowest. And someone could easily have murdered the king in the hopes of starting a civil war.
“I’ll give the matter some thought,” she said. She’d have to start with the body. If she was lucky... she’d pick up enough of a magical signature to know who’d cast the spell. “How long do we have?”
“The Lord Protector needs to be appointed within a week,” Rogan said. “I’ve been stalling as best as I can, but they’re running out of patience. The armies are getting stronger. It’s only a matter of time before someone coughs in the wrong place and someone else takes it as a sign to start something violent. And then all hell will break loose. The entire country could come apart.”
And that wouldn’t bother Void in the slightest, Emily thought. If he didn’t care about Zangaria, why does he care about Dragora?
She finished her drink and put the mug on the table, politely declining the offer of a refill. She was missing something. She was sure of it. Void wouldn’t normally care about a murderer... even a dark wizard. Was there a necromancer in the country? In the castle? It was possible, she supposed. King Randor had managed to hide what he’d become for several weeks, even though he’d been on campaign. But here, with everyone watching...
Rogan met her eyes. “The White Council has a strong interest in Dragora remaining stable,” he said. “It is imperative that we don’t put a murderer in power.”
“I understand,” Emily said. Perhaps that was Void’s interest. The White Council might have asked him to intervene. But why send her? “I’ll do my best.”
“Please,” Rogan said. “Time is not on our side.”
Emily stood and walked to the window. It looked as though it was late afternoon, although she couldn’t be sure. Armed men patrolled the streets, weapons glinting in the sunlight. There were only a handful of civilians in view, all keeping their distance from the soldiers. It looked as if the city was bracing itself for trouble. She peered into the distance, spotting the wall surrounding the city and the army camp beyond. The wall didn’t look capable of stopping an army. She suspected the army — both armies — already had plans to seize the gatehouses and advance into the streets.
And then things will get bloody, she thought. She’d seen war. There was no honor, just endless horror. The aristocrats spo
ke of glory and bragged of their exploits. The commoners were raped, killed or simply robbed of everything they owned. The commanders will lose control in the chaos and then all hell will break loose.
There was a knock on the door. She turned, in time to see a redheaded young girl in a golden dress step into the room.
“Lady Princess Elena,” Rogan said, in surprise. He stood, so quickly he nearly knocked over the table. “I...”
“I’ve been asked to escort Lady Emily to her room,” Elena said. Her voice was very firm, as if she were channeling the ladies of the court, but there was a hint of... something in her tone. “Her trunk is already there.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. Really?
“It will be my pleasure,” she said. She thought she knew what was going on. “Arbiter, I’ll speak to you later?”
“Of course,” Rogan said. He looked faintly amused. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
EMILY STUDIED PRINCESS ELENA AS THEY went through the corridors and up the stairs. She was young, probably no older than fourteen. She had long red hair hanging down her back, but otherwise — in so many ways — she reminded Emily of Alassa. And yet... Alassa’s certainty of being born to rule was missing. Emily had no idea if it was because of Elena’s youth, or Elena's awareness of Emily’s power, or simply because Elena wasn’t born to rule. A faint hint of magic, on the verge of breaking into bloom, hummed around the girl. She was almost certainly on the verge of coming into her power.
And she came to escort me to my room, Emily thought. That’s... interesting.
She watched the princess as she opened the door, revealing a guestroom fit for a baroness — or a sorceress. Her trunk sat on the floor, but there was no sign of Silent or anyone else. Emily glanced at Elena as she prattled on about the bathroom, the servant facilities and a dozen other nothings. It was clear the princess wanted to talk about something, but what? She was looking around as if she expected her governess to materialize out of nowhere.
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