Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) (20 page)

Her mind was still spinning as she sensed the portal coming into view. It sat in the middle of a grassy field, right in front of a fortified position that could be held for hours, even without magic. The portal didn’t
look
very complex–it was nothing more than a simple stone arch, large enough to allow three or four carriages to drive through comfortably–but the magic surrounding it was hellishly complex. And it could be sensed from miles away by anyone with any sensitivity to magic at all.

The sergeants had gone into some detail on the advantages and disadvantages of a portal. On one hand, once set up, troops and equipment could be moved instantly from one part of the Allied Lands to another. A small bridgehead could be captured in enemy-held territory and then expanded with the help of troops coming through the portal. On the other hand, it was relatively easy to
disrupt
a portal, effectively destroying it, while it could take hours to set one up. A single enemy magician with a great deal of skill could get close enough to knock down the portal without being noticed until it was too late, allowing the enemy to counterattack and wipe out the bridgehead before it could be reinforced.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Alassa muttered. She could sense the portal too. “My first tutor in magic used to work on portals. He told me that only the most skillful of enchanters dared work on a portal.”

Emily nodded, feeling oddly as if she were about to ride a roller coaster. The magic field just kept growing stronger and stronger. She hadn’t done any enchanting herself–that was a third-year subject–but she knew enough to realize that it was incredibly difficult. The enchanter she’d visited in Dragon’s Den, the one who had sold her the chest, had been one of the best in the world. Did he help construct portals?

“Here we go,” Alassa said.

Emily felt the magic field twist sharply. She cried out in pain as something wrenched at the side of her head–or at least it felt that way–and then the pain simply vanished. Emily rubbed her head, feeling a headache flowering into life; she had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting. Alassa reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, an odd gesture of compassion. But then, she’d been through the portal too.

“The stronger your talent, the worse the effect,” she said, softly. “You’re going to be very powerful indeed.”

Emily whimpered, feeling stabbing pains running through her head. The sergeants had taught her pain management spells, but every attempt to use magic seemed to set off another explosion in her head. Instead, she tried to meditate and focus her mind, yet her thoughts kept spinning around and around in her head. Alassa offered to cast a sleep-spell on her, to give her time to recover, but Emily shook her head. The mere movement seemed to make her head hurt more.

She’d wondered why Void teleported everywhere, given that it could be very dangerous if the magician’s concentration slipped for even a second. Or, for that matter, if he tried to teleport into a location that was heavily warded against intrusion. Now, though, she suspected she knew the answer. Portals would cause him terrible pain and flying ran the risk of someone using their own magic to send him tumbling out of the air. And besides, teleporting didn’t need someone to set up a matching portal at the far end.

“They never told me about that,” she said, through sheets of pain that refused to fade from her mind. “If portals are so dangerous to magicians…”

“But only to magicians of extreme power,” Alassa said. There was a hint of envy in her voice. “It hurt me, yes, but I kept going. You…you couldn’t light a candle at the moment.”

She made a face. “Someone could put you through a portal and immobilize you,” she added. “I think you’d better refrain from telling
anyone
what happened.”

Emily wasn’t so sure that it would matter. Void would presumably know the dangers–and so would the necromancers, if they were the ones behind the assassination attempt. And besides, there were other ways to block her powers, at least for a few hours. Malefic, Shadye’s ally, had used a potion to keep them from using their magic. If he hadn’t deliberately allowed Emily and Alassa to escape, they might well have died in Dragon’s Den.

“I won’t,” she said, finally. “Don’t tell anyone either.”

Her senses swam and she must have blacked out, for the next thing she knew was that someone was pushing a potions bottle against her mouth. Barely aware of what she was doing, she sipped it gratefully and felt a sudden charge of energy sweeping away the headache. It wouldn’t last–she knew from experience that the potions never did–but it would allow her to survive the rest of the day.

“A nasty shock,” Lady Barb observed, as she withdrew the potion bottle. “But you should be fine. Just make sure that you get plenty of rest tonight.”

Emily scowled. They had reached White Rose, which meant that there was likely to be a formal reception ceremony and then more dancing–and loud music. Despite the effects of the potion, she knew it would be hours before she recovered completely and she couldn’t face the thought of more music. Besides, she really
didn’t
want to have to dance with the princes, particularly not Prince Slark. Alassa had told her more than she wanted to know about the prince’s wandering hands.

“I can speak to Nightingale,” Lady Barb said, doubtfully. “Perhaps you could spend the time examining the proposed marriage contract instead of attending the ceremonies.”

“Tell him that I ordered it,” Alassa said, firmly. “
Someone
has to read the contract and besides, Nightingale has been complaining that he hasn’t been allowed to attend all of the ceremonies.”

Emily stared at her. “But I wouldn’t know what to say…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lady Barb advised. “Having someone read it now is just a ritual, part of the ceremonies. King Randor will have the final say in all matters. Just let us know if they want something completely unacceptable.”

“Oh,” Emily said. “And what constitutes unacceptable terms?”

Alassa smiled, but it didn’t quite touch her eyes. “Anything that compromises Zangaria,” she said. “And, for that matter, my independence as queen.”

“Go upstairs,” Lady Barb ordered. “I will deal with Nightingale.”

Whatever she said must have been effective, Emily decided later, because after that no one seemed to expect her to attend the ceremony, let alone the dancing afterwards. The maids brought her a large jug of water and a platter of bread and meat, which might have been intended as a subtle insult. Emily found it hard to care as she sat down in front of the fire to eat. Food and drink would make her feel better before Alassa came back from the dance.

She
had
made progress on learning how to read the local language, but the marriage contract was extremely difficult to parse out. The translation spell didn’t help, representing part of the contract in old English and the rest in a style that seemed almost chatty. Emily had never been entirely sure of how the translation spells
worked
, but they didn’t seem to work too well when dealing with aristocratic double-speak. Half of the passages in the contract seemed to contradict the other half.

If I ever get home
, Emily thought, as she produced some parchment from her trunk and started to copy out the passages in a more understandable style,
I will never complain about internet user agreements again
.

The contract started by acknowledging that Alassa–although a mere girl, it added in those exact words–would be the Queen of Zangaria and the dominant partner in her marriage. Her husband would be styled as royal consort, rather than King. However, she was to settle on him lands and monies sufficient to uphold the dignity of a Prince of White Rose, including a household of no less than four hundred servants. Emily shook her head in disbelief as the contract went on to specify that the royal consort would have his own manor near Alexis, although he would be living with Alassa. What exactly did he want a manor
for
?

It grew even more outrageous as she parsed out the rest of the document. The royal consort was to have a place on the Privy Council, with a vote equal to a middle-ranking lord and the same say in affairs as the rest of the councilors. Emily was sure that was contradictory too–not all lords were created equal. Besides, she had no doubt the royal consort was also expected to influence his wife while they were alone. And if, the document continued, Alassa became pregnant, the royal consort would be crowned king once she gave birth.

Maybe it made a certain kind of sense, Emily decided, reluctantly. If Alassa died in childbirth–a risk even for the high nobility–and the child survived, he or she would need a regent who would be completely devoted to the child’s interests. The father would be the best person for the job, although Emily’s studies of history suggested that it wouldn’t work out as neatly as the contract-writers might have assumed. It was quite likely that the father would try to take advantage of the position for himself. After all, when the child became king, the father would no longer be regent.

The following clauses seemed designed to cover each and every possible eventuality. If the couple produced no children after five years of marriage, they were to divorce, but the former royal consort would still hold his position on the Privy Council. Emily couldn’t see Alassa–or her father–agreeing to
that
. If the couple had a major falling out, so terrible that there was no hope of cooperating long enough to produce a child, the royal consort could return to his homeland, keeping the dowry he would be given as part of the ceremony. The wording seemed to be imprecise over the exact status of the marriage in
that
eventuality; Emily couldn’t tell if they would be still married, or if it would be counted as a
de facto
divorce.

“I don’t believe it,” she muttered out loud, as she read the final sections. “What do they think they’re getting into?”

If Alassa married the Prince of White Rose, there was to be a permanent alliance between the two powers. There would be no trade barriers or excessive taxation on passage between the two kingdoms. Remembering one of the political maps the sergeants had made her memorize, Emily thought through the implications. If someone attacked White Rose, it would risk setting off a general war throughout the Allied Lands. The necromancers would just walk in and take over once the dust had finished settling. And that would be the end.

This is supposed to be a draft
, she reminded herself, as she stowed her notes away in her chest.
They’re going to haggle over the exact terms. I wonder which of them is in the stronger position
.

She contemplated it for a long moment. Alassa
had
to marry, both for political and social reasons. It was expected of her, so much so that she hadn’t raised any serious objections–at least not in Emily’s hearing. On those grounds, Zangaria was not in a good position to bargain; they
needed
a royal consort. But the sheer prestige of having provided the Royal Consort of Zangaria and the father of the next King of Zangaria would be very useful for any other kingdom. It wasn’t as if Alassa was short of suitors. And a royal consort from outside Zangaria might be able to build up his own power base–one of the clauses in the contract referred specifically to patronage–but he would never have the influence of someone who was actually born in the country. He would always be dependent, in the final analysis, on Alassa.

Poking through the chest, she found the copy of
Mental Blood Magic
she’d borrowed from Whitehall’s library and carried it over to the bed. Lady Aylia had threatened all kinds of punishments if she lost the book, but she hadn’t raised any serious objection to Emily taking it for study over the holidays. After what had happened when Shadye had invaded Whitehall, no one could argue that Emily didn’t need to know how to defend herself. All of the standard precautions against Blood Magic had failed miserably.

The book, as always, felt faintly uncomfortable to the touch. Almost all of the books that touched on dark magic–or something that could become dark magic, given bad intentions–felt unpleasant when she touched them with her bare hands. She’d tried wearing gloves, just to see what would happen, only to discover that the effect was still there. But then, a protection that was so easy to circumvent would have been no protection at all.

She carefully muttered a disarming spell as she opened the front cover. The Librarians Guild saw itself as the guardian of forbidden knowledge; anyone who defied the first warning and looked inside without proper care would come to regret it. Lady Aylia had told her that none of the books in Whitehall–even the forbidden books–were spelled to be lethal to anyone who touched them without permission, but it was a danger when dealing with tomes from outside the school. A handful of stories Emily had read as part of her ongoing project to learn as much as she could about her new world confirmed it. Reading the wrong book could result in paralysis, unwanted transfiguration–or death. Some sorcerers
really
didn’t like anyone poking into their private library.

Blood Magic was both simple and very complicated, she read. Simple, because it could be worked with a sample of the victim’s blood, which retained its potency until the victim died. Complex, because using it could be incredibly difficult if the victim had any relatives; the presence of someone else close to the victim by blood tended to mess up the spell. It was at least partly why Shadye had found it so easy to use Blood Magic against Emily. In this world, she had no relatives at all.