Wedding Hells (Schooled in Magic Book 8) (22 page)

They could gather the manure and use it for gunpowder
, she thought. She made a mental note to check in with Paren about gunpowder and firearms production in Zangaria, then dismissed it.
Or even just dump it somewhere it can be collected later
.

She pushed the thought aside as they wandered through the streets. The entire city still seemed to be celebrating - she couldn’t help noticing that prices seemed to have doubled or tripled for outsiders - but there was something about their attitude that worried her. A sense - perhaps - that they’d had enough of the wedding already. She frowned inwardly and did her best to answer Frieda’s questions as they walked down to the docks, passing the massive sailing ship she’d seen on her first visit to Alexis. It didn’t look as though the designer had finished putting the final touches on his masterpiece.

Frieda wrinkled her nose as they paused beside a stall and bought fish sandwiches. “Do people really live here?”

“They do,” Emily said. The smell was bad, but she’d smelled worse. “Use a filtering spell if the smell is bothering you.”

“It isn’t just that,” Frieda said. She waved a hand towards the distant horizon. “This water...this water is so
big
.”

Emily blinked in surprise, then nodded. Frieda had grown up in the mountains before going to Mountaintop and Whitehall. She’d never
seen
oceans before. She might have heard about the vast bodies of water that covered a good two-thirds of the planet’s surface, but she wouldn’t really comprehend that they were
real
. Emily wasn’t even sure if Frieda could swim.

“It’s dangerous, too,” she said. “Can you swim?”

“Not well,” Frieda said. “Can you?”

“Reasonably well,” Emily said. She’d had to learn on Earth, an experience she would have preferred to forget. Sergeant Miles had made her swim as part of Martial Magic, but he’d been a great deal more competent than her first teacher. “I’ll make sure you get lessons once we go back to Whitehall.”

Frieda shuddered. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Emily said. “What would you do if you fell into the water?”

“Sink as my clothes get waterlogged,” Frieda said. “What would
you
do?”

Emily shrugged. Frieda had a point. “Swim as best as I could,” she said. Swimming in trousers was hard enough; swimming in a dress would be damn near impossible. She’d have to banish the dress before the weight dragged her under the water. “And get out of the water as soon as possible.”

They finished their sandwiches, left the crumbs on the dockside for the seagulls and headed back into the city. A small parade marched through the center of town, headed by a set of magicians who performed small spells for the benefit of the crowd. Emily wasn’t impressed - she knew the magicians wouldn’t be
too
powerful or they’d be doing something more lucrative - and did her best to ignore them. A handful of young men pushed past her, handing out sheets of paper; she took one automatically and glanced at it.

“Shit,” she breathed.

She’d seen some of the seditious pamphlets last year, back when Randor had discussed the issue with his senior aristocrats. This one was clearly new - it smelled of ink - and talked about the Royal Wedding. She read it quickly, realizing that the writer was linked to whoever had produced the first set of leaflets. He - or she - discussed just how much money was being wasted on Alassa’s marriage, breaking it down into figures the average person could understand. Taxes had been doubled, effectively, to
pay
for everything.

“Trouble coming,” Frieda said.

Emily glanced up. A handful of guardsmen were making their way through the street, snatching every leaflet they saw. She cursed under her breath, grabbed Frieda’s hand and pulled her into an alleyway. A dozen other people had the same idea; she did her best to ignore them as she hurried down the pathway and onto the next road. There didn’t seem to be any guards in sight, thankfully.

“Hey,” a quiet voice said.

They spun around to see a young man, his face half-hidden behind a glamor. It was a neat piece of work, Emily admitted privately. If she hadn’t had a great deal of experience with illusion spells, she probably wouldn’t have been able to see it at all. She tested him as covertly as she could and felt no reaction, suggesting he wasn’t a magician himself. But he could just be very good at masking.

“Make sure you don’t get caught with those,” he warned. “The Royal Guard has been in a state since we started distributing them.”

Frieda leaned forward. “We?”

“We,” the young man said. “And if you want to hear more about us, why don’t you come and hear one of us speak?”

He paused, looking at Emily. “I’m Char,” he said. Emily would have bet good money it was a false name. “And you?”

Emily cursed inwardly. She hadn’t anticipated needing to assume a false identity at the drop of a hat. “Millie,” she said, finally.
Emily
was an uncommon name - and most people would think of
her
if they heard the name - but there were thousands of girls called Millie. As long as Frieda kept her mouth closed, there shouldn’t be any problems. “And this is Frieda, my sister.”

“Pleased to meet you both,” Char said. He took Emily’s hand and kissed it, then did the same for Frieda. “And if you will come with me...?”

Emily tapped her lips as he turned away, warning Frieda to remain silent. Char chatted happily about nothing of importance as they made their way through a maze of side-streets, leaving her to wonder just what was going on. Had they been identified? Were they walking into a trap? Or had they shown a willingness to be recruited by keeping the leaflets? She studied Char’s back carefully, contemplating his glamor. If he wasn’t a
real
magician, there had to be one lurking around
somewhere
...

I beat Master Grey
, she reminded herself, sternly. It was almost certain that whoever was helping the rebels - or whoever they actually were - wasn’t a combat sorcerer.
I can deal with whoever is waiting for us
.

Char stopped outside a door, beat out a pattern on the wood and waited. Emily sensed a faint ward shimmering to life, moments before the door opened. Inside, there was a large chamber; she silently counted thirty men and women sitting on the floor as they entered. A privacy ward hung in the air, distorting their faces. Emily frowned as Char pointed her to a spot on the floor, silently analyzing the ward. Unlike most wards, it wouldn’t stop them from talking, but it would make it impossible for them to see each other’s faces. If any of them happened to get caught, she thought, they couldn’t betray the others. The stink of fear hung in the air.

“I shall not keep you long,” a new voice said. A man stood at the front of the room, his face hidden behind yet another glamor. “You are here because you got one of our leaflets and didn’t throw it away. You are here because, deep inside, you are already wondering why things are the way they are. It is that question the aristos most fear.”

He paused, dramatically. “Why
are
they in charge?

“I have thought about it, often,” he added. “What makes the aristos better than us commoners? Are they better people? No! Are they natural rulers? No! Ask anyone who lives in a city-state, where the rulers are chosen in any number of different ways, and he will tell you that birth alone does not make for a good ruler. And he would be right! Let us not forget that Alexis I was a capable ruler, Alexis II forged our country...and Bryon the Weak almost surrendered control to the aristos! We have seen it happen, time and time again, in every walk of life. Or do I tell a lie?

“You will all have seen family-run businesses where the grandfather is a tough and capable businessman, the father is a competent businessman...and the son is a weakling unable to stand up for himself, let alone grow the business. If such can happen in the business world, why can it not happen in the aristocracy?”

Emily mentally saluted whoever had written the speech. Somehow, he’d taken one example, one that would be understandable to everyone, and pointed out that the law
also
applied to the kingdom. The king might be...well, the
king
, but he was effectively in charge of a family business. And if he wasn’t up to the task, the business would fail.

“So tell me,” the man said. “Why should we let them rule us?”

A low murmur ran through the room, but no one tried to answer.

“Why should we pay vast sums of money or goods in taxes,” the man asked, “when we are not allowed a say in how they are spent? Why should we be...
encouraged...
to contribute to the wedding costs when
we
will see none of its benefits? Why should we be punished merely for asking these questions?

“There are some good aristos out there. But how many others are total
bastards
? How many do you know who steal from us, or take our women, or cut us down in the streets merely because we’re
there
? Why should they rule us while we grovel in the dirt? What makes them so powerful?”

“They have soldiers,” someone said, barely loudly enough to be heard.

“Yes, they do,” the speaker acknowledged. “And they have many magicians on their side - that cannot be denied. But...we are stronger than we know. They have worked hard to keep us weak, to keep our heads bowed, to make us believe that we cannot stand up for ourselves and say
no
. And they have failed, because we are asking the questions they tried so hard to keep us from even
considering
!

“There is
nothing
that makes the aristos better than us. There is
nothing
that gives them a right to rule. And there is
nothing
stopping us from standing up for our rights!”

Emily kept her expression blank with an effort. She’d thought Swanhaven was bad, but this was worse. Maybe there was no heavy repression, at least not yet...but it hardly mattered. Any steps Randor took to curb the talk would only lend it credence. The entire city would need to be destroyed if Randor wanted to root the seditious talk out, root and branch. And the hell of it was that she didn’t disagree with anything he said.

But Alassa is going to marry Jade
, she thought.
Wouldn’t that bring fresh blood into the aristocracy? And Imaiqah and I weren’t aristocrats before Randor ennobled us...

She caught herself, angrily.
That
was hardly the most important problem, not now. The rebels were in Alexis, protected by at least one powerful sorcerer. She’d stumbled across a
serious
threat to the king and his heir...

...And she
still
didn’t disagree with anything they’d said!

The speaker cocked his head, suddenly. “There’s a set of guardsmen making their way here,” he said. “Follow my friend--” he jabbed a hand at a man standing at the back “--through the tunnels, then scatter into the streets. Make sure you leave the leaflets here. Hurry.”

Emily ignored the instruction, shoving her leaflet into her pocket as she exchanged glances with Frieda - God alone knew what Randor would say if they were caught among the seditionists - and hurried out, following the others. There was no sign of any guards, she noted, as they flocked into the streets and dispersed. She picked her way through the smaller streets until they reached a main road and started to walk back to the castle.

“Emily,” Frieda said. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Emily said.

She felt the leaflet in her pocket and winced. As a baroness, it was her duty to take it to the king...but she couldn’t help feeling sympathetic towards the rebels. She understood
exactly
how they felt. Maybe she could talk Randor into offering political reform...she bit her lip, tiredly. There was no way Randor could offer any more than he already had without provoking a second rebellion from the aristocracy. And
that
rebellion might be better planned.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do anything,” Frieda said. Her eyes darkened. “Or maybe we should help them.”

“It will be bloody, whatever happens,” Emily said. She’d read about peasant uprisings on Earth. They tended to end badly; the aristocrats made whatever promises they had to make, then broke them as soon as it was safe. “Thousands of people will die.”

She stared down at her hands, feeling utterly unsure. “And Alassa is my friend,” she added, bitterly. She sympathized with the rebels, yet siding with them would pit her against one of her first friends. Was the rebellion the cause of the demon’s vision? “I can’t abandon her.”

“Then you need to talk to the king,” Frieda said. “I don’t see any other choice.”

“T
HE LORD AND LADY OF SWANHAVEN
have arrived,” Nightingale said, when they returned to the castle. “His Majesty would like you to join him in the great hall.”

Emily groaned - Lord Hans and Lady Regina were the last aristocrats she wanted to see right now - but nodded reluctantly. There would be no hope of speaking privately to the king until after the ceremony, perhaps after dinner too. She briefly considered trying to urge Nightingale to ask the king to see her sooner, but she knew it would merely spark off another set of rumors. Gritting her teeth, she nodded to Frieda - tapping her lips to remind the younger girl to remain quiet - cast a glamor over her clothes so she
appeared
to be dressed formally and followed Nightingale to the great hall. A line of supplicants bowed to her as she passed, with the guards opening the doors to allow her to enter. Inside, Lord Hans and Lady Regina knelt in front of King Randor and Alassa, speaking so quietly that Emily could barely make out the words. It looked very much as though they were groveling for attention.

Nightingale motioned for her to follow him around the back of the crowd to where the barons and their wives waited. Emily kept her face as impassive as possible as several of them glanced at her, their faces so tightly controlled that she was sure they hated her with every fibre of their beings. The leaflet in her pocket was a droll reminder of
why
they hated her. She’d introduced the innovations that had allowed ideas to spread through the kingdom faster than any countermeasures the aristocracy might have taken.