Emily looked up, sharply. “Levellers?”
“They’re not well-organized, so I’m told,” Rogan said. “The king cracked down on them hard, aided by elements of parliament that didn’t want any real change in the status quo. I don’t think they have the resources to assassinate the king, and you’d be the last person they’d want to kill, but... it’s just another complication right now.”
“Yeah,” Emily agreed. Levellers. She hadn’t realized they’d spread so far. “I take your point.”
Her thoughts ran in circles. Levellers had tried to assassinate King Randor. Levellers had fought against him, in vast numbers. And... it was quite possible that someone had decided the king had to go, hoping that a weak regency government would give the movement time to rebuild itself and grow into a very real threat. And yet... she scowled. She didn’t want to believe it. But she knew how dangerous extremists could be.
And if the king wasn’t amenable to reason, she mused, they’d have a very good reason to want him dead.
She felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t founded the movement, but her innovations had made sure it spread far and wide. The last she’d heard, there were cells scattered right across the northern lands. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Any kingdom or city-state that resisted the New Learning was doomed, sooner or later. But when they accepted her innovations — and the flood of improvements craftsmen had made over the last six years — they opened the doors to massive social change. The divine right of kings was no longer taken for granted.
The murderer used sorcery to kill the king, she told herself, firmly. The Levellers would have used gunpowder.
Rogan cleared his throat. “Lady Emily?”
Emily flushed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was miles away.”
“I wish I was,” Rogan said. It was the closest he’d come to cracking a joke. “As I was saying, I can’t stall for much longer. They’ve long since run out of original arguments and now they’re repeating the old ones, time and time again, in ever-louder voices. Unless someone comes up with something completely new, which is unlikely, I doubt I’ll be able to keep from making a decision for more than a week.”
“You might have to stall for longer,” Emily said. “I...”
“I can’t.” Rogan cut her off, sharply. “The longer I delay, the greater the risk of one side taking matters into its own hands and staging a coup. I’ve heard rumors insisting that the queen is going to kill the duke, or the duke is going to kill the queen, or parliament is going to kill the pair of them... sooner or later, someone is going to act on those rumors and then the legalities will no longer matter. The best I can do is set a deadline for submissions... but if someone comes up with something new, they’ll insist I admit it as evidence.”
“I see, I think,” Emily said. “I take it you’re not allowed to take what would be best for the kingdom into account when you make your decision?”
Rogan smiled. “Of course not,” he said. “And even if I could, each and every one of them would argue that they would be the best choice for the kingdom.”
Of course not, Emily’s thoughts echoed. They don’t care about the kingdom. They care about their own power.
She finished her drink, putting the mug on the table. There might be no easy way to avoid bloodshed. If the queen took power, the duke would lose... and lose badly. He’d have every reason to launch a coup in the hopes of settling things by force. And if the duke took power... the queen would be in the same position, with two innocent kids to protect. Parliament would seem a better choice, but it wasn’t clear if they could keep the duke and the queen from tearing the kingdom apart. And they’d have their own plans for the protectorship. Willis might take power, only to discover he’d lost the Royal Prerogatives...
And that might not be a bad thing, Emily thought. From the point of view of the average commoner, democracy was far superior to monarchical or aristocratic view. Willis won’t see it that way, though.
She scowled. She liked Willis. She couldn’t help thinking of him as a kid brother. And yet, his claim to power disgusted her. An accident of birth was no guarantee of power. Willis might be a good king or a bad king... it didn’t matter. His subjects would have the choice between tolerating him, whatever he turned out to be, or launching a bloody uprising that would probably make things worse. And yet... there was no way she could warn him off taking the throne. He’d been raised to think it was his by right.
“A week, at best,” Rogan said, drawing her attention back to him. “Find the murderer, Lady Emily. We have to know who killed the king.”
Emily frowned. “And if we expose the murderer, what then?”
“His bannermen would have ample grounds to desert him,” Rogan said. “They wouldn’t fight for someone who killed his overlord.”
“Ha.” Emily wasn’t so sure. The Barons of Zangaria had betrayed King Randor repeatedly. She didn’t think any of their subordinates had deserted them until the king gained a decisive advantage. And a reputation for bending and breaking the rules of honorable combat. “And if they don’t?”
She grimaced. The duke wouldn’t go quietly, if he’d killed the king. He had everything to gain and nothing to lose by fighting. If he won...
“It would be treason,” Rogan said, quietly.
“Treason never prospers,” Emily misquoted. “Why? Because if it prospers, none dare call it treason.”
“Well put,” Rogan commented. “But if the outside world knew the new king had killed the old king, they wouldn’t take it calmly.”
Emily looked him in the eye. “And would they go to war to remove him?”
“Dragora is difficult to attack,” Rogan said. “But they’d certainly take steps to exclude the kingdom...”
“It won’t matter,” Emily said. “If they’re not going to take effective steps to dethrone the murderer, whoever it happens to be, the demands of politics will force them to eventually accept the murderer as a legitimate monarch.”
She winced. Willis was not going to be in a comfortable spot. If his protector was his father’s killer... she wouldn’t bet a single forged coin he’d last more than a year or two. There would be a hunting accident — or something — and the protector would reluctantly take the throne for himself. Willis would have to flee — and quickly — before he found himself locked in a gilded cage. And if he did escape... it was hard to see how he could recover his throne. The other kingdoms would think twice about supporting him.
“I’ll do my best,” Emily said. “But... right now, I’m short of clues.”
“You know someone tried to kill you,” Rogan pointed out. “Couldn’t you use yourself as bait?”
“I did that once already,” Emily said. “I can try, but... the murderer knows they failed.”
“Do they?” Rogan stroked his chin. “How many people saw you this morning?”
“Too many.” Emily considered it for a moment, then shrugged. She hadn’t tried to hide as she slipped through the corridors. “The guards saw me. They’d report my survival if anyone asked.”
And it might be interesting to see who — if anyone — did ask, she added, in the privacy of her thoughts. No one would ask after a guest’s survival unless they had some reason to believe the guest would be dead.
“Unfortunate,” Rogan said. “Do what you can. Please.”
“I’ll try,” Emily promised. “I should be able to redesign my wards, now I know how the murderer kills. It should be possible to trace the magic now I know what to look for. It might work.”
She frowned. “The murderer must think I’m getting close,” she said. “But I don’t have a clue.”
“You have one,” Rogan said. “If he tried to kill you... you must have a clue, even if you don’t know it. You should probably go through everything you know and see if it points anywhere.”
“I did open the king’s chambers,” Emily mused. “Perhaps I should search them more thoroughly.”
“The duke’s already regist
ered a complaint about you opening them,” Rogan said. “The queen and the princess made milder protests.”
Emily lifted her eyebrows. “On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that the king’s chambers are the king’s, and thus should be left untouched until Willis reaches his majority,” Rogan said. “Willis himself hasn’t said anything about it, but... you’re probably right. You should search the chambers before his complaints reach my superiors.”
“Understood,” Emily said. She hadn’t found anything... but it was possible she’d overlooked something significant. “I...”
A thought struck her. “Arbiter... is it really the king’s body on the bier?”
“I have the testimony of four healers proving it,” Rogan said. “Why do you ask?”
“I... met someone who faked his death and hid in the walls for years,” Emily said. The king would have been able to conceal himself within his wards, she was sure. She just couldn’t think of any motive. “How did they test the corpse?”
“I imagine they compared the body to its relatives,” Rogan said, dryly. “The king is most definitely dead.”
Emily nodded, making a mental note to check for herself. It would be difficult to bribe or fool a healer, but she knew better than to think it was impossible. And yet... if the king were hiding in the walls, how would he be able to bribe anyone without revealing himself? It seemed fantastically complex, doomed to fail.
There was a knock on the door. “Trouble, of course,” Rogan muttered. He raised his voice. “Enter!”
The door opened, revealing a messenger. “Lady Emily,” he said, in a tone that suggested he wasn’t sure how to address her. “Her Majesty the Queen Dowager requests the pleasure of your company.”
Emily glanced at Rogan, then stood. “It will be my pleasure,” she said, as she brushed down her dress. “Lead the way.”
Chapter Thirty
IT WAS CUSTOM, EMILY HAD LEARNED over the last six years, for aristocrats and monarchs to have separate bedrooms, even when they shared a bed. The private chambers were places for rest and relaxation, where the inhabitant could let down their guard and be themselves... insofar as anyone could in an environment where everyone was watching and listening at all times. She found it a little strange, even though she had to admit there had been times when she wanted to sleep on her own or even just have a little time apart. Her upbringing told her that married couples should share rooms.
Queen Aquiline’s bedchamber was — unsurprisingly — luxurious. It was a suite several times the size of Emily’s own, decorated in a style that was both surprisingly tasteful and yet demonstrative of the owner’s wealth and power. A sizable painting of King Clarence, Dragonschild XVII, hung in her boudoir, a reminder that even now her former husband cast a long shadow. Emily guessed the remaining artworks were expensive and — quite probably — artifacts in their own right. The wards crackled around her as the maid showed her into the room, dropped a curtsy and withdrew. The queen — and an older man Emily didn’t know — sat in fancy armchairs. They looked more elegant than comfortable.
“Lady Emily.” Queen Aquiline stood. “Please allow me to introduce Lord Eddisford.”
Lord Eddisford stood and held out a hand. His handshake was firm and honest... a little too firm and honest. Emily studied him carefully, noting his clothes were a little too elegant and expensive. His face was rugged and masculine, but lacked the utter faith in himself that marred the features of too many aristocrats. There was no doubt Lord Eddisford was an aristocrat, but he’d been a very lowly man indeed — he’d made his fortune in trade — before his daughter had married the king. He wanted — he needed — to put on a show of wealth and power. He had good reason to think it might vanish unless he did.
“Lady Emily.” Lord Eddisford bowed over her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Emily said. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
Lord Eddisford’s smile became just a little strained. “All good, I hope?”
“I heard you introduced the New Learning,” Emily said. “I was quite pleased to hear that someone had adopted it so quickly.”
“Your ways are the ways of the future,” Lord Eddisford said. He sounded as though he believed every word, rather than merely trying to flatter her. “I’m simply trying to get ahead of the flow.”
“Please, be seated.” The queen made a gesture with her hand. “Would you like something to drink? Or to eat?”
“A drink, please,” Emily said. She sat, studying Lord Eddisford thoughtfully. It was hard to believe he’d fathered the queen. He looked... different. “I’ve already eaten breakfast.”
“You are more than welcome to break your fast with me,” the queen said. “My children and I would be delighted to have you.”
“I prefer to breakfast alone,” Emily said, after considering several separate answers. “I’m not at my best until I’ve eaten and showered.”
“A common problem,” the queen said. She tapped her flawless skin. “It takes hours, every morning, to prepare myself for the rigors of the day.”
“But it is important to put on a good show,” her father added. “Power resides where people believe it resides.”
Void wouldn’t agree with you, Emily thought. And neither would your social superiors.
She waited as the maid reappeared, carrying a tray. The queen said nothing as the maid poured three tiny cups of Kava, then withdrew as silently as she’d come. Emily wondered, as she felt more and more privacy wards sliding into place, if the queen trusted the maid and the rest of her servants. Some of them would have been with her for years, perhaps; some would only have been assigned to her after she married the king. Emily wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that some of them were spies. There was no shortage of people with motives to bribe the maids.
Including the king himself, Emily reminded herself. He’d want to make sure his wife didn’t stray.
“It isn’t easy to project the right image, Lady Emily,” the queen said. “Do you find you have trouble with that too?”
Emily smiled. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “But I’ve never tried to be a queen.”
“A queen must always look her best, even when she needs to control the world or be controlled,” the queen said. “It isn’t easy.”
“No.” Emily took the mug she was offered, checked it was safe to drink and sipped it quietly. “I would like to chat for hours, Your Majesty, but I don’t have the time.”
“And so you want us to get to the point,” Lord Eddisford said. He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “You have influence and power, Lady Emily. We would like you to ensure that my daughter becomes Lady Protector and Regent for her son.”
“For her stepson,” Emily corrected. From a legal point of view, the queen hadn’t adopted her stepchildren. “And my role here is merely to identify the regicide.”
“You have influence and power,” Lord Eddisford repeated. “I believe you could swing the debate any way you liked.”
“You might be right,” Emily said. She had her doubts. Rogan might listen to her arguments, if she chose to put them forward, but he wouldn’t let her dictate to him. He’d want to put forward a convincing case of his own, one that would stand up to scrutiny. “Tell me, then, why I should support you?”
She looked at the queen, inviting her to answer. The queen said nothing for a long moment, clearly considering what to say. Lord Eddisford opened his mouth, then stopped himself. He couldn’t afford to treat his daughter as a puppet, not in public. People would lose all respect for the regency if it seemed she was taking orders from her father. And yet... Emily rather suspected people would believe it was true. It was a convenient allegation, even if there was little actual truth in it.
“I pledged, when I married my husband, that I would treat his children as my own,” the queen said, finally. She held Emily’s eyes. “I pledged that I would uphold their interests. As Regent, I would always put Willis
first. I would not seek to usurp his power or secure my own position before he reached his majority. I would do as little as possible, merely holding things stable until Willis was old enough to rule in his own right.”
Emily lifted her eyebrows. “And afterwards?”
“I would remain Queen Dowager,” the queen said, calmly. “I would, of course, offer advice if my stepson desired it, but that would be unlikely. Young men do not like to be led by older women. I would be content organizing my life and doing good works.”
And if that is true, Emily thought, you’d be a pretty good candidate for the role.
She kept her voice steady. “And what about your other children?”
“My husband intended my stepdaughter to go to school and learn magic,” the queen said. “It is not proper for a young girl to travel so far without a chaperone, and it will damage her marriage prospects, but it was my husband’s wish.”
Emily had to smile. “Do you know how many marriage proposals I get, every year?”
Lord Eddisford looked up, interested. “How many?”
“Too many,” Emily said.
She frowned. It was rare for princesses to attend magic schools. Alassa was the only princess Emily knew who hadn’t been tutored privately, if only because she’d driven away all the tutors. It was easy for their enemies — and their family’s enemies — to allege they hadn’t been chaste, when they’d been so far from home. Emily remembered Alassa’s anger at having to submit to a virginity test, and shuddered. It wasn’t as if such tests couldn’t be fooled. There were spells one could use to regrow one’s maidenhead.
The queen kept talking. “My own children will grow up, make good marriages and keep the family alive. Eve was always the apple of her father’s eye. I will raise them properly, as the little princess and prince they are.”
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