Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) (24 page)

“We also welcome twenty-two princes who have come to bid for her hand,” King Randor continued. There was no trace of doubt in his voice–but then,
his
marriage would have been arranged for political reasons too. He saw nothing wrong in the practice, even though he could have ignored his wife and Alassa would have found it hard to ignore her husband. “Give them great honor, as they deserve.”

Twenty-two? Emily glanced back and saw that the princes had been joined by a handful of others, princes who
hadn’t
come with the procession. But they hadn’t had time to visit
all
of the prospective princes in their natural environment. Emily wondered absently if that meant that those princes had a poor chance of winning Alassa’s hand–or the exact opposite. Alassa had already declared that there was absolutely
no
hope of spending the rest of her life with Prince Slark, even if she had to kill him herself. And Prince Hedrick just didn’t seem to care.

The herald stepped forward as trumpets blared. “Your Majesty, Your Excellencies, Your Lordships…Prince Hedrick of Alluvia, son of King Jorlem!”

Prince Hedrick ambled up to the throne as if he were an actress on a catwalk. Emily had to conceal her own amusement and noticed that several of the lords were doing the same, although others were looking calculating. If Prince Hedrick was touched in the head, it would ensure that he wouldn’t be able to supply Alassa with a backbone–although if they thought she didn’t have one, they didn’t know her very well. Given time and experience–and magic–she was likely to be formidable.

King Randor’s face showed no trace of his true feelings as he accepted a bow from Prince Hedrick. Emily watched as the prince stepped to one side and waited as the herald announced Prince Slark, who swaggered forward and bowed grandly to King Randor. Some of the younger members of the court looked interested, but the older ones still looked calculating. A slimy prince might be easy to manipulate too.

He wouldn’t force her to marry him, would he?
Emily asked herself. But who knew
what
Slark would bring to the match, apart from his own personality? What sort of calculations might cross the King’s mind? And yet Alassa was determined to refuse him.

One by one, the princes bowed to King Randor and joined the line beside the throne. Emily realized that the whole purpose of the ceremony was to introduce them formally, ensuring that everyone would know who they were. But there were so many princes that she felt her head beginning to hurt just trying to keep track of them. Maybe Alassa could do it–she’d been memorising aristocratic genealogies since she had been old enough to read–but Emily couldn’t. It was hard enough remembering the spells she’d memorized since coming to Whitehall.

The line of princes finally came to an end. It was difficult to read King Randor’s feelings–he was far more skillful than his daughter at concealing his innermost thoughts–but Alassa looked both relieved and worried. Emily realized, as heads turned back towards the doors expectantly, that
she
was next. She wanted to run and hide–this was going to be worse than any of the other kingdoms–but somehow she held herself in place. And then the herald read her out.

“Your Majesty, Your Excellencies, Your Lordships…Lady Emily, Necromancer’s Bane.”

Emily had to force herself to walk forward, feeling all eyes on her. She had no real title–
Lady
was a courtesy title offered to a sorceress–but she
had
killed a necromancer. And if she’d tricked Shadye, no one would have kept it a secret. The mystery only added to the potency of her growing reputation, as well as suggesting that no one should mess with her. In hindsight, she wondered about King Rupert’s veiled threats. Should she have been snarkier to ensure that he
knew
she was powerful?

But even the most powerful of necromancers could still be poisoned.

The back of her neck felt hot as she approached King Randor. Alassa hadn’t been entirely sure of the correct protocol for
Emily
; officially, she was common-born, but she
was
a close friend of the princess and that effectively conferred aristocratic status. And then she
might
have been the daughter of an immensely powerful sorcerer, powerful enough to cause huge amounts of devastation if he felt that his daughter had been insulted, and she
had
killed a necromancer. All of the factors, added together, could only cause confusion. Who knew
what
the correct protocol should have been?

She curtseyed, very carefully, and then went down on one knee. It was the standard protocol used by sorcerers and sorceresses, who were generally considered honorary nobility. They were powerful, but not too powerful. There was a long pause, just long enough for her to wonder if she’d messed it all up, and then King Randor stepped forward and helped her to her feet. Up close, the impact of his presence was astonishing. If Emily hadn’t faced Shadye, who had also had a powerful presence, she might have swooned at his feet.

The cynical side of her mind pointed out that such a presence would be a powerful asset to any monarch. Or, for that matter, to any man. Love potions and spells didn’t last very long, unless one deliberately brewed one of the forbidden recipes, but glamors to make someone more attractive could be quite potent. And not, for some reason, forbidden, at least outside Whitehall.

“Lady Emily saved the life of Our crown princess,” King Randor said. He hadn’t let go of Emily’s hand. “When she was kidnapped, it was Lady Emily who rescued her. When an assassin tried to murder her, it was Lady Emily who saved her life. When a cockatrice tried to kill her, it was Lady Emily who tricked and captured the beast. She is welcome in Our kingdom.”

Emily shivered. The true target of the first kidnap had been Emily herself, with Alassa as the innocent bystander–although she couldn’t blame King Randor for thinking otherwise. Apart from the grandmaster, Void and Emily herself, no one knew the truth. And then Lady Barb had raised the question of just
who
had been targeted by the charmed maid. And there was no way to know if the cockatrice had deliberately targeted the royal procession or if it had just been hunting for lunch.

King Randor pulled her close, close enough for her to feel his beard pricking against his skin, and whispered in her ear. “We’ll talk later,” he said, too softly for anyone else to hear. “And you
are
welcome.”

He sat back and motioned for Emily to stand on the other side of the throne from the princes. Alassa’s face remained expressionless, but Emily read her relief as she relaxed slightly. Emily’s first meeting with her father could have been disastrous and they both knew it. The king looked up, his gaze sweeping the hall, and then smiled at his nobles. It was a smile that suggested a certain amusement at their expense.

“It is Our wish that We shall hold a proper dance to welcome the princess home,” King Randor said. “And all of you are welcome to stay.”

And he will carefully note the names of whoever doesn’t stay
, Emily thought, as the minstrels came from a side door. The throne room was easily large enough for a dance, although it struck her as odd to combine the two functions. But then, perhaps the castle simply didn’t have too many large rooms. She looked up at the curtains propped against the wall and realized that someone could hide the throne without too much effort. Maybe the mere act of hiding it turned the throne room into a simple hall.

A maid caught her hand and pressed a piece of parchment into it. Emily stared at it blankly, seeing a list of dance names and nothing else. There were twenty-three dances listed in all; she realized, as King Randor clapped his hands and dispelled the formal atmosphere, that Alassa was meant to share one with each of the princes, and then perhaps use the final dance to imply favor. Or perhaps share it with her father or uncle instead.

“Ah… Lady Emily,” a voice said. Emily looked up to see a young man, barely a year older than her, looking at her nervously. He was handsome, in a bland kind of way, wearing a simple black tunic. “I am Brain, apprentice to Court Wizard Zed. Can I ask for the honor of marking your dance card?”

Understanding clicked. In order to avoid the embarrassment of choosing a new partner between dances, the men would come up to the women and mark their cards for each dance, reducing confusion during the actual dancing. Alassa was already surrounded by princes, each one trying to put their name in as quickly as possible. It didn’t seem as if Alassa was allowed to decline, but then she
did
have to share a dance with each of them. And they were all begging for the second dance too.

“You may,” Emily said. Brain didn’t
look
like a nobleman who thought he was god’s gift to womankind. Besides, she had no idea of who she could and couldn’t dance with, at least according to standard protocol. Some of the barons couldn’t dance with the daughters of the newly-created Earls, although the logic escaped her. “Would you like the first dance?”

He marked his name on the card, then waited beside her as several other young men came up to add their own names. Emily felt oddly flattered and yet flustered by the whole experience; how many of them wanted to dance because they liked her and how many of them were just eager to tell their friends they had danced with the Necromancer’s Bane? She caught sight of the Court Wizard standing beside the throne and shivered inwardly as Zed stared back at her with a hint of abiding dislike. Had
he
been the one who had bungled Alassa’s early magical education?

And, if so, had he done it deliberately?

“You’ll have to point people out to me,” she said, as the music started to play. “Who is the stone-faced man beside that young girl?”

“That’s the Duke of Iron,” Brain said, as they took their places. “He’s the King’s younger brother and chief defender of the realm. The woman is his wife.”

Emily nodded. The Duke of Iron didn’t seem as handsome as King Randor–he had a nasty scar on his face that he seemed to have decided to keep, despite the existence of spells that could have removed it–but there was something about him that Emily couldn’t help liking. His wife was clearly younger than him, yet she was obviously devoted to the duke. Her bright red hair spilled down over a gown that was clearly held in place by magic, or the stares of every young man in the hall.

The other princes had had no trouble in finding other partners, mainly the daughters of rich and powerful noblemen. Brain identified a handful of them for her, including Baron Silver–the queen’s brother–and Baron Holyoake, who was apparently famous for great voyages in his younger days. Zangaria had not been able to set up any colonies away from the main continent–the natives had been too tough–but apparently it had turned a fading baronetcy into a powerful family once again.

“Zed wishes to talk to you later,” Brain added. “He wants to know how you beat a necromancer.”

Emily scowled as the dance–a formal waltz–started.
Everyone
seemed to want to know the answer to that question, but all of her reasons for keeping it to herself continued to apply. Given someone with enough magic to experiment–and the basic concept–the results could be disastrous. Emily knew that magic could be used to split atoms. Who knew
what
else could be done when a magician started to poke around with the whole idea?

“I’d be more interested in talking to him about other subjects,” she muttered, using a privacy ward to ensure that no one could overhear them. “What sort of magician is he?”

“An Alchemist,” Brain explained. “His whole career has been spent studying and improving the Royal Bloodline.”

He leaned closer. “But I can’t tell you anymore,” he stage-whispered. “Big secret that, very big secret. Unless you have something to bargain with.”

“We’ll see,” Emily said. She
did
want to know just what went into the Royal Bloodline, but she might not have to bargain to find out. “And thank you for the dance.”

“You’re welcome,” Brain said. “Feel free to come visit us at any time.”

Emily had to smile. “I will,” she said. She allowed her smile to get wider as he flushed. “And
thank you
for the dance.”

The dancing lasted until very late, unsurprisingly, but eventually it was all over and Emily was escorted up to her bedroom. This time, she wouldn’t be sharing with Alassa; Emily had been given guest quarters suitable for a royal princess. She kept her private thoughts–that any hotel on Earth that showed such lack of concern for hygiene would be closed down–to herself and stumbled into bed. At least the punishing journey was over. And tomorrow she could begin to explore in earnest.

And with that thought, she went to sleep.

E
MILY’S ENTIRE BODY ACHED WHEN SHE
crawled out of bed the following morning. One thing that was rarely mentioned in the historical novels she’d read was that carriages had almost no suspension–and, despite the spells that made the ride smoother, it always took a toll on the passengers. She stood up, glanced at her watch and then headed for the washroom. It might have had cold running water–the kingdom didn’t seem to have hot water on tap–but she could heat it up using magic. She just needed a soak.