Daughter of the Disgraced King (11 page)

His father snorted. “I never went to the Academy or the
Imperial court.”

Savyon had prepared for this argument. “That was a special
circumstance. You were not considered one of the heirs until ex-King Sandor
abdicated. I doubt the emperor would make such an exception twice.”

The king took the scroll from Savyon’s hand and read the
passage. Then he dropped the paper on a corner of his desk. “I’ll take this up
with my counselors and let you know.”

“But, Father . . . it’s nearly summer. The coaches will stop
running—”

“As you reminded me yourself, you’ve barely turned nineteen.
There’s time. No need to do this in a rush. There’s always next year.”

“But—”

“That’s all for now, Savyon. I’ve got real work to do.”

Savyon had no choice but to bow and leave, fuming. How was
he going to get to talk to Ailsa face to face? Did he have to just take his
horse and ride across the desert himself like a courier? He couldn’t do even
that without a change of horses.

He
had
to win this argument with his father. Persuasion
had never been one of his strong suits. He must learn to do better if he was
going to have a chance. Hmm. The best person to teach him that side of politics
was probably Ailsa’s father. He thought Sandor would be willing to give him
that coaching—
if
Savyon could find a way to spend some time with the
ex-king without raising his father’s suspicions. That was going to require some
thought.

Ailsa stared at the gilt-edged parchment. An invitation to
be presented to the emperor. Well, it had to be considered more a command than
an invitation, coming from the emperor. “What did I do wrong?”

Grandmama clucked. “Don’t be silly, child. You haven’t done
anything wrong. You’ve scarcely had the chance. The emperor and your father
were school friends back when they were only princes. Likely he just wants to
meet you and ask about your father.”

Ailsa tugged on her braid. She wasn’t convinced, but it didn’t
really matter. There was no way to refuse an invitation from the emperor
himself. According to the invitation, he was sending a carriage for her
tomorrow, whether she wanted to go or not.

She dressed carefully the next morning and wrapped her braid
up around her head, which made her look a little taller. It also prevented her
from tugging on it or chewing on the ends. She couldn’t wear student robes for
this. Fortunately, Grandmama had steadily been either having her wardrobe dyed
green or replaced. Ailsa selected a gray-green skirt paired with a tunic in a
lighter hue that brought out the green in her eyes. Nothing too rich or that
seemed to lay claim to the title “Princess”.

When the coach arrived, the ride was short. She hadn’t
realized that Grandmama lived so close to the Imperial Palace, probably because
it was a low, sprawling building or complex of connected buildings, only two
stories tall in most places—much less than most of the buildings in the nearby
Institute. What the palace lacked in height, tough, it made up in grandeur. The
entire façade, including impressive pillars as big around as the trunk of a
mature tree, was made of marble in at least three different colors. A guard in
dress uniform stood at attention in front of each of those pillars.

When the coach door opened, Jathan was standing there
offering his arm to help her out. “Don’t look like a frightened rabbit. Father
really doesn’t bite, you know. And
you
have nothing to worry about.”

“What does that mean?” she asked in a whisper.

“You’ll see.”

Instead of taking her up the broad marble steps of the
palace, Jathan led her around the side of the building, through a lush formal
rose garden, and to a much smaller side door on the west side. “This is the
shortest way. Besides, the gardens are the best part of the palace. Most of the
inside feels more like a museum.” There was a uniformed guard at this door,
too, but he didn’t blink as Jathan led Ailsa past.

Jathan winked at her as he knocked on the door. “This is my stepfather’s
private office. Much less formal than the audience chamber.” He swung the door
open and stepped in, pulling Ailsa behind him. She held her breath and prepared
to curtsy, but Jathan’s hand under her elbow kept her standing.

“Here she is, Father.”

Ailsa made one more desperate attempt to curtsy, but Jathan
was relentless, holding her up so all she could do was bow her head.

“None of that.” The voice was rich and deep. “This is a
private meeting, not a formal audience. There’s only me and my family here. No
need for my old friend’s child to bow and scrape in front of me.”

Cautiously, Ailsa looked up into the smiling face of an
older version of the princes. The emperor winked at her in exactly the same way
Jathan so often did. Startled, she choked back a chuckle at the unexpected
gesture.

“That’s better.” The emperor beamed at her. “Now, come over
here and sit down so we can talk more comfortably.”

One side of the room was dominated by a huge mahogany desk,
which must have been grand at one time, but now looked at least as well-used as
the one in her father’s study at home. On the other side, there was a large
armchair. The overstuffed leather upholstery destroyed any resemblance to a
throne. Two leather couches, big enough to seat three or four people each, were
arranged diagonally in front of the armchair, so that they faced the chair, but
occupants could also see and talk to each other. Jathan led her to the nearest
couch and then sat down on the one opposite.

The emperor sat in the armchair. “I’ve asked you here for a
couple of reasons. First . . .” He raised his right hand in a beckoning gesture.

From the back wall of the room, three young men approached.
Jathan’s stepbrothers. Ailsa had been so bemused by the emperor she hadn’t
noticed they were there.

Prince Artair stepped forward. “I apologize for our behavior
at the ball, Princess Ailsa. We truly never meant to embarrass you or spoil
your evening. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Sorry,” Princes Rishiart and Arrigo echoed.

Ailsa blinked, dumbfounded. Royalty apologizing to
her?
“I . . . That’s all right.”

All three smiled at her as if they were actually glad to
have
her
forgiveness.

“It’s anything but all right,” the emperor said. “However,
it’s very gracious of you to accept their apologies.” He waved his hand again. “You
three may go now.”

The three princes nodded and filed out through the inner
door to the office.

“Second, and most important,” the emperor went on, “I wanted
to get your opinion on the state of affairs in Far Terra. I’ve heard things
that disturb me from three different sources. I’d like an independent
assessment of the situation and you seem to be uniquely situated to provide
some insight.”

Ailsa suppressed a desire to shrug. “I am at your command.”
It wasn’t as if she’d ever had a choice about understanding politics. She’d been
forced to, just to survive. She probably understood politics better than even
Sav ever had. Not, she suspected, better than the emperor though.

The emperor shook his head, giving her a reassuring smile.
“Only a request. Not a command. Jathan has told me that your mail is being
read, possibly by King Ewart himself. Mage Malina and the Master of the
Institute also inform me that it’s possible mail between your mother and the
institute is being . . . diverted. The idea that anyone, even a king, feels
free to interfere with the imperial mail is disturbing.”

Ailsa bit her lip. “Yes. I know Mama writes to the Institute
at least once a month. She would have been telling the Master about which of
the barons treat their mages well and which . . . don’t. And Grandmama is
certain he would have acted on that information—if he’d gotten it.”

“Just so,” the emperor said. “This also gives me reason to
wonder if I’ve been getting complete news from Far Terra or if reports to me
have been . . . filtered.”

Ailsa paused to think about that. “That would be . . . very
risky.” Her eyes narrowed. “As far as I know, King Ewart’s only been to
Terranion when he was a student at the Academy. He was only a minor baron’s son
then. He might not consider it too dangerous to intercept letters to the
master. But mail addressed to you, sire . . . He’d have to have a very good
reason to do that.”

The emperor drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Hmm.
So . . . unlikely, but not impossible in your judgment. What do you think would
be a sufficient reason for King Ewart to risk interfering with reports to me?”

Ailsa hesitated. There were some things it just wasn’t safe
to say. She’d had that drummed into her from a very young age. She glanced at
Jathan for help, but all she got was an encouraging nod. He didn’t understand.
How could he?

“Speak freely,” the emperor said. “I cannot make good judgments
without good information. Consequently, I am not in the habit of shooting the
messenger.”

Ailsa swallowed hard. “All right. King Ewart has always been
. . . well, paranoid. He distrusts anything that might tend to increase Papa’s
influence. King Ewart knows that he wasn’t raised to rule. He’ll never have the
kind of . . . confidence Papa would have. And . . . I don’t think he can
believe that anyone would willingly give up that kind of power. In his mind,
Papa must be plotting some way to take the throne back.”

The emperor snorted. “Then he doesn’t know your father very
well. Sandor never yet went back on a decision—or a promise—once made.”

Ailsa smiled. The emperor really had known her father, then.

“What provocation would he have to intercept mail between
your mother and the master, then?”

Ailsa sighed. This was where Far Terra’s relationship with
its mages became really, really complicated. “When many of the mages terminated
their contracts and left Far Terra after my father’s abdication, it caused a
crisis. Right at the beginning of King Ewart’s reign, before he’d really had a
chance to get his feet under him, as my father would say.”

The emperor nodded. “Yes, I know.”

Ailsa went on. “That . . . made a very lasting and bad
impression on King Ewart, I think. I don’t know what his position towards the
mages would have been without that. But it was just the opening that the most
radical anti-mage barons needed to pull him to their side. It . . . played into
his paranoia. To King Ewart, the mages aren’t just a threat because Far Terra
so desperately needs their magic for its very survival. In his mind, they’re
all in league with Papa, which makes them—us—his enemies. And the worst of the
barons are his staunchest allies in making sure that the mages don’t make use
of their very real economic power. He might take what would seem to him like a
small risk to give those friends an advantage.”

The emperor nodded and tapped his chin with a forefinger. “I
see.” After a moment, he changed the subject. “I’ve also heard from the master
of the Institute of Magical Arts about the attack on you on your way here. I
had a very angry letter from Crown Prince Savyon about the same issue.”

Had she gotten Sav into trouble by writing to him? She’d
asked him not to tell her father, but hadn’t thought to warn him against going
to anyone else. She’d certainly never expected him to write to the emperor. “Sav
only—”

The emperor held up his hand. “A very appropriately angry
letter. The safety of travelers on the imperial roads is very much my business.
If there’s a hole in that security, I need to know about it. Now that I do,
steps have been taken to ensure that no such incident is allowed to occur again.
What troubles me about that is not the prince’s anger, but the lack of any
complaint from his father, the king, who should share my concern for the safety
of all travelers. I don’t like this dereliction of duty.”

Ailsa swallowed hard. “I . . . I’m not sure . . . I think
the king’s response might have been different if it had happened to anyone
but
me.”

The emperor’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? And why should he have
such a strong dislike for you?”

Ailsa shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t think King Ewart
would actually
want
to see me hurt.” She bit her lip. “I never thought
about it much before, but now I think, maybe, King Ewart has been worried about
some marriage alliance that would challenge his position. He’s certainly done
all he could to encourage the barons—and their sons and daughters—to keep a
distance from my family. Anything that would make such a marriage less likely
wouldn’t seem so bad to him.”

Jathan laughed. “He’s going to bust a gut when he finds out
you’re
at least
a seventh-level green mage, then.”

Ailsa shook her head. King Ewart would probably be relieved
by that news. It made her less of a threat in his eyes. Far Terra would never
accept a mage as queen.

The emperor frowned at his stepson before turning back to
Ailsa. “King Ewart is that insecure about his position?” His eyes narrowed. “Would
the king go so far as to have arranged the attack on you, do you think?”

Ailsa sucked in a breath. She paused to roll the implication
around in her mind. “I don’t know. Ordinarily, I’d have said no, but . . .”

“Yes?” the emperor prompted.

Ailsa repressed a shudder at the sudden chill that went down
her spine. “That last ball before I left. Usually, I’m next to invisible at the
balls back home. The barons and their sons and daughters wouldn’t want to be
seen talking to me. But that night, several of the barons’ sons asked me to
dance. It’s possible that made King Ewart nervous. He might have . . . taken
steps . . .”

Jathan jumped up from the opposite couch, face turning red. “That’s
. . . that’s . . . vile!”

The emperor waved him back down, his mouth set in a grim
line. “Yes, it is, if it’s true. We don’t know that yet, but there’s one way to
find out. I’ll send to learn if the man is still in custody. See what he has to
tell us.” He turned back to Ailsa. “Your grandmother thinks there may be
another reason.”

Ailsa nodded. “If King Ewart has been . . . manipulating
things so that certain information doesn’t reach the master, then he might try
to silence me, too.” She swallowed. “I’ve thought about that.”

“And?”

“It’s . . . possible. I was too frightened at the time to
think much about it, but . . .” She drew a deep breath. “The first time that
man . . . bothered me was at the first station stop. I was having a
conversation with the wife of a mage who was under contract to Baron Mikel—one
of the worst and also one of King Ewart’s closest cronies. And then . . . when
he came to my room up at the lake, he said something about mixing in things
that weren’t my business.”