Wedding Hells (Schooled in Magic Book 8) (15 page)

“You’re weak,” Lord Hans accused. “You are too fearful to strike at the heart of our enemies.”

Lady Regina smiled, in a manner that reminded Emily of a snake poised to strike. “There is great wealth in exploiting the new ideas.”

“At the cost of power,” Lord Hans snapped. He thumped the table, hard. “And once we give up power, where are we?”

Emily looked from one to the other. Lord Hans was
definitely
unhinged, but she had a feeling that Lady Regina was worse. She was more calculating, more manipulative...hell, Emily couldn’t help wondering if she
had
tried to seduce the king. And while Lord Hans was likely to cause an uprising, Lady Regina might be worse in the long run.

Emily rose to her feet. “Thank you for your time,” she said. “We’ll continue our journey to Alexis today.”

Lady Regina blinked, surprised. “You’re not going to stay?”

“The king wishes me in Alexis as quickly as possible,” Emily said. It was true enough, although Randor
had
suggested she might want to spend two or three days in Swanhaven. “I have a wedding to attend there.”

She nodded to them both - technically, she was their social superior - and strode out of the room, Lady Barb following her. The functionary looked astonished when he saw them; he hastily snapped to attention, then threw himself to the floor. His behavior made a great deal more sense now that Emily had met Lord Hans. Anyone who worked for him did so at risk of his life.

Lady Barb caught her arm. “Leaving so soon?”

Emily nodded. “There’s no point in staying,” she said, keeping her voice low. “They will
both
lead the Barony to disaster.”

E
MILY HAD HALF-EXPECTED LADY BARB
to give her a lecture as soon as they left the city and started driving to the portal, but the older woman merely smiled at her as they overtook several large carts making their way to the nearest farms. She honestly wasn’t sure if she’d made the right decision - like Randor, they’d probably expected her to stay for much longer - yet she knew she couldn’t have tolerated either of the claimants for long. No matter which one became the sole ruler of the Barony, it would be bad for their subjects.

She contemplated the problem silently as Lady Barb drove them through the portal and towards Alexis. Lord Hans had looked as though he would behead anyone who disagreed with him, as if the merest hint of disagreement was outright treason; Lady Regina, on the other hand, had callously ordered the deaths of over a dozen people whose only crime had been standing up for themselves...and, instead of a simple execution, she’d sentenced them to one of the most cruel and humiliating deaths imaginable. And there was no way she could reject the right of people to question their rulers. What, apart from blood,
did
qualify either of the claimants to rule the Barony?

King Randor could put someone else in the castle
, she thought,
but that would cause other problems for him later
.

She looked down at her hands and sighed, inwardly. King Randor had made
her
a Baroness - but there hadn’t been any other surviving claimants to the Barony, as far as she knew. The baron had been beheaded, along with his sole surviving son. And everyone had agreed he needed to reward Emily in
some
way. A Barony was a small price to pay for the salvation of his throne. But Emily hadn’t
wanted
the Barony - or the headaches it brought with it.

“The crowds are celebrating,” Lady Barb said, dryly. “Do you want to join them?”

Emily looked up. They had passed through the gates and entered Alexis, which seemed to have come alive. Crowds of people thronged the streets, laughing and dancing as they drank from huge mugs of ale and toasted their king and his sole daughter. A large portrait of Alassa - Emily was amused to note it was surprisingly close to reality - hung from one wall, Jade standing behind her as if he were in her shadow. She had a feeling Jade wouldn’t be pleased to see that, although she understood the symbolism. Alassa, daughter of the king, was the senior partner in the marriage. Jade wouldn’t have any power of his own.

Except he will
, Emily thought, as she studied the portrait. Jade seemed to have been idealized; he’d always been handsome, in a rough-hewn kind of way, but the artist made him look like the reincarnation of He-Man, complete with muscles on his muscles and an outfit that showed them off to best advantage.
He’s a combat sorcerer
.

She shook her head in droll amusement as she tore her eyes away from the portrait. No one would be able to recognize Jade if they saw him in the streets, which might have been the point. Absent cameras and video recorders, hardly anyone
really
knew what anyone looked like, even King Randor himself. Jade could change his clothes and stroll through the crowds, completely unrecognizable. And, if he was going to be doing undercover missions for his wife and queen, it would be
very
useful indeed.

“Everyone’s happy,” she observed, as they made their way through a crowd of dancers who slowly moved aside for the carriage. “Are they
all
pleased for Alassa?”

“The more thoughtful ones will be pleased there’s a good chance that another civil war will be prevented,” Lady Barb pointed out. “And the others? They’re pleased about the free ale and cheap food. King Randor has probably even ordered a few hundred prisoners released from jail.”

Emily blinked. “Is that a good idea?”

“Most of them were debtors, rather than thieves or rapists,” Lady Barb said, dryly. “The
real
prisoners will have been enslaved or executed by now.”

“Oh,” Emily said.

She turned her head from side to side as they made their slow way towards the castle. The entire city seemed to be celebrating. Stallkeepers offered cheap food, innkeepers advertized bedrooms for weary travelers; she had to smile as she saw a line of children carrying boxes of sweets and offering them to passers-by without demanding payment. It was hard to shake the impression that
everyone
was delighted for Alassa, even though the more cynical part of her mind suspected the commoners merely considered it a chance for a party, where the normal rules were relaxed for a while. A young woman kissing strangers in public would be in deep trouble at any other time of the year.

“I trust you’ve been briefed on your role in the wedding,” Lady Barb said, as the crowds fell away. The Royal Mile leading to the castle was clear, armed guards ensuring that aristocratic visitors could make their way up the road without dodging commoners running around. “You know what you’ll be doing?”

“Witnessing,” Emily said. It didn’t sound like much, but she didn’t mind. “I’ll be there to sign my name when they tie the knot.”

“Quite,” Lady Barb said. “I don’t know how long I’ll be staying, so I’ll warn you now. A wedding is always a stressful time for the bride and groom. Expect Alassa to be...shall we say...not on her best behavior?”

Emily winced. “Is it going to be that bad?”

“There’s a great deal riding on this wedding,” Lady Barb reminded her. “And Alassa will be at the very heart of it. She may snap at you because it’s
safe
to snap at you. You’re not going to bear a grudge for the next fifty years if she shouts at you in public.”

“She’ll be the first one who does,” Emily muttered. No one had shouted at her since she’d killed Master Grey. At least her friends hadn’t treated her any differently. “She might take it out on the maids too.”

“It’s possible,” Lady Barb agreed. She turned to meet Emily’s eyes. “Give her as much patience and support as you can, Emily. She’ll need it.”

If she turns into a right royal brat again
, Emily thought.

She scowled, inwardly. She’d only ever attended one wedding in her life - when Melissa and Markus married - and that had been a quiet, subdued affair. Alassa, on the other hand, had over four thousand guests for the main ceremony alone. She would have to sit there, like a china doll, and be admired for hours on end. For someone so active, Emily was sure, it would be horrific. And it would go on for days...

“If I do marry Caleb,” she said, “will I have to endure a large wedding too?”

“As Baroness of Cockatrice, you will be expected to invite all the aristocrats in the kingdom,” Lady Barb said, dryly. “Some of them will, no doubt, come up with inventive excuses about why they can’t be there for you, but the others will be happy to attend and eat your food and drink your wine. You could probably get away with only having a two-day ceremony though, if you tried.
And
you’d have to invite the Duchess of Iron instead of Princess Alassa.”

Emily snorted, rudely.

They drove up to the gates and joined a long line of coaches and carriages being inspected by the guards before they were allowed to pass through and enter the courtyard. Lady Barb summoned one of the guards, explained who she was carrying and was hastily waved through the gates; inside, a handful of servants in royal livery took Emily’s trunk as she scrambled down to the cobblestones. Another servant took the coach and steered the horses towards the stables. They’d be well cared for until Lady Barb was ready to go.

“My Lady Emily,” a familiar - and slimy - voice said. “Her Highness has requested that you attend upon her as soon as you arrive.”

Emily sighed as she saw Viscount Nightingale, the former Master of the Princess’s Bedchamber. She hadn’t seen him since her first visit to Zangaria - she’d heard Alassa had dismissed him from her service as soon as she’d been Confirmed - but he didn’t look to have changed. His face was still unformed, his voice was
still
slimy and he made her want to keep one hand on her money pouch at all times.
And
he was wearing the king’s personal livery...

“Lead on,” she said, as grandly as she could. She didn’t want to bandy words with him, not when he made her feel uneasy. “Have my trunk taken to my rooms.”

Nightingale bowed. “You have been put in the Royal Apartments, a sign of Royal Favor,” he informed her. “His Majesty will be holding court in the evening. You are invited to attend.”

He looked at Lady Barb. “There are no specific instructions regarding you...”

“I’ll look up a couple of old friends,” Lady Barb said, cutting him off. “And I will make sure to attend court this evening.”

She turned and strode off. Nightingale stared after her in confusion - they’d never been friends, but they’d had to work together in the past - and then turned back to Emily.

“If you’ll come with me...?”

Emily nodded impatiently and followed him through a maze of corridors, feeling a handful of powerful wards drifting through the air. They were more complex than she recalled - she thought she tasted Jade’s signature on them - although she knew they were far from perfect. Too many people needed access to the lower levels of the castle for them to keep intruders out, even ones with bad intentions. But at least they’d pick out the magic-users amongst the guests. The wards buzzed at her as she climbed the stairs, warning her that she was being watched. She pushed the sensation away with an effort. King Randor wouldn’t want to keep
her
out...

Just the rest of his barons
, she thought. She wasn’t blind to the implications of giving her a room in the Royal Apartments. Nightingale was right. It
was
a sign of Royal Favor - and an upraised finger to the rest of the aristocrats.
And the wards are getting tighter the closer we approach the apartments
.

She frowned as a handful of servants walked past her, hastily lowering their gaze as she passed. It was uncommon to see servants in the main corridors - they normally stuck to the hidden passageways they used to stay out of sight - but the castle was heaving with life. No doubt King Randor had reluctantly decided it didn’t matter if his guests saw the servants or not. Nightingale sniffed - he was a servant, but far higher ranking - and paused outside a pair of sealed doors. A dozen protective wards, all tasting of Alassa, crackled over the metal threateningly. Emily felt them touching her magic before they allowed the doors to open.

“Your Highness,” Nightingale said. “I present to you Baroness Emily, Lady of Whitehall, Dueling Champion...”

“Emily, come in,” Alassa called, cutting off the recitation of Emily’s titles. She sounded tired - and relieved. “Nightingale, you may go.”

Emily stepped past Nightingale and stared into the room. Alassa stood topless in the middle of the chamber, surrounded by three male tailors and two maids. Her lower half was hidden in a white dress that swept out around her, covered in peacock feathers that shimmered under the light. Frieda sat against one wall, her head buried in a book, while a blonde-haired girl Emily vaguely recalled from her
last
visit to Zangaria ruffled through a set of designs. Nightingale closed the door behind Emily as she walked into the room, wrinkling her nose at the combination of perfume smells in the air. One or two of them might have been fine, she thought, but there were so many different scents that it was hard to keep from coughing.

“Thank you for coming early,” Alassa said. She glowered down at her dress. “What do you think of this?”

“I think you’re going to have problems dancing with Jade,” Emily said, dryly. Jade had long arms, but they’d both have to stretch merely to touch their fingers, let alone hold hands. “And it’s a little bit revealing.”

“Just a little,” Alassa agreed. “There
is
a top; it just isn’t ready yet.”

“It’ll be ready tomorrow, Your Highness,” one of the tailors said. Emily shook her head in disbelief. At least Queen Marlena had been willing to send
female
dressmakers to Whitehall to measure Emily. Alassa might be able to stand topless in front of three men who were
far
below her on the social scale, but Emily couldn’t do it. “We just need to finish the frills.”