Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) (30 page)

“Officially, he’s a diplomat,” Alassa repeated–and winked. “Unofficially, he’s a Black Sword–one of my father’s spies. But I didn’t tell you that. I’m not actually meant to know.”

Emily had to laugh. “How did you find out?”

“I have sharp ears,” Alassa admitted. “And I was often presented to guests when my father was hosting meetings. They all pretended to admire me–and then ignored me from that moment onwards.” Her face fell. “I should have been paying more attention. And I should have been more…like a princess.”

“You have plenty of time to make up for what you didn’t learn,” Emily said. No
wonder
King Randor had been so worried. His daughter should have started learning how the levers of power worked right from birth. Instead, he had allowed her to become a brat. “And besides, you have friends who will help you.”

“I should give Imaiqah a title,” Alassa said. “I
will
, when I’m queen. Is it wrong of me to enjoy her company?”

She shook her head before Emily could answer. “Tomorrow, we’re going hunting in the game preserves,” she added. “You are welcome to come, as are the ladies of the court.” Her lips twitched. “Although most of
them
will stay back and pretend to faint if they see even the slightest splash of blood. The prince who brings back the most carcasses will be honored by being allowed to sit beside me at table.”

“I thought you had to treat them all equally,” Emily said.

“I do,” Alassa agreed. She gave Emily a droll grin. “But I can choose which one sits beside me tomorrow.”

There was a knock at the door. “Time to get into something less comfortable,” Alassa said, with a sigh. “And to think that Imaiqah is having
fun
.”

The door opened, revealing a small army of maids. “Go to the library,” Alassa added. “The maids will find you when it is time to get dressed. And if Nightingale complains, feel free to turn him into a toad.”

“I think your father would object,” Emily said.

“I
know
,” Alassa said, with a sigh. “He certainly complained enough when
I
did it.”

“You turned him into a toad?” Emily asked. “Why didn’t they change him back?”

T
HE CASTLE’S LIBRARY WAS NOTHING LIKE
as interesting as Whitehall’s library, although it did manage to have quite a lot of information on the royal and noble family trees. Emily traced Alassa’s line backwards, wondering if she was actually right after all; there was no direct evidence to
prove
that the Royal Bloodline was reducing fertility. But it was impossible to deny the fact that there were fewer and fewer children in each generation, until Alassa had been an only child, without even a half-sibling.

She sat at a heavy wooden table and made notes on a piece of parchment, trying to figure out what–if anything–she could
do
about it. But the problem seemed largely insolvable, unless someone could figure out what they were actually doing and how to fix it. There was nothing in the library on the precise techniques used to create the Royal Bloodline, yet in the absence of knowing anything about genetics, she doubted that they could deal with the problems they had created.

Most of the time Earth science is superior
, she thought, ruefully.
Now there is something here that is superior.

She was still mulling it over when the maid entered the library and curtseyed to her. “Begging your pardon, Milady, but it is time to dress for dinner,” she said. “There is water already prepared in your rooms.”

“Thank you,” Emily said, gravely. She would
never
get used to having servants, let alone being pampered all day. Besides, it was only for the summer. If Whitehall had refused to allow Princess Alassa servants, the grandmaster would certainly not allow Emily to hire a maid. “Just let me return the book to the shelf.”

She put it back and then allowed the maid to lead her back to her rooms, wondering just how long it would be before the printing presses started to mass-produce proper books. Probably not too long, she decided, although it would take several years to master the concept. And then who knew what would happen? Most of the books King Randor kept in his private library were rare, but largely uninteresting. What would happen when they started experimenting with public libraries?

The Librarians Guild will be pleased
, she decided.
More work for them
.

It seemed futile to argue with the maids as they fussed over her, washing her in scented water and then fixing up her hair into a neat ponytail. That too was something she definitely didn’t intend to grow to enjoy; how could
anyone
survive being pampered to the extent that they couldn’t put on their own clothes? Hadn’t there been a royal court on Earth where each and every article of the king’s clothing was supposed to be presented to him by its own set of servants? Given a couple more generations, Zangaria might be like that.

“You look lovely, Milady,” the maid said, when they had finished. “The young men
will
be impressed.”

Emily rolled her eyes as she walked over to the mirror and inspected herself. This time, they’d given her a dress of blue silk that shimmered around her, charmed to remain warm even in the coolest temperatures. Emily dismissed the maids and drew Lady Barb’s dagger out of her previous dress, trying to decide how best to wear it. The sergeants had taught her how to use a dagger, but not how to conceal the weapon. And she knew she couldn’t wear it publicly. The king would have to take official notice of
that
. Eventually, she strapped the blade to her lower leg and practiced ducking down to draw it.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” she called, after a quick check to ensure that she was definitely decent. Alassa might be so convinced of her own superiority that she didn’t care about being naked in front of her inferiors, but
Emily
knew better. “The door is unlocked.”

The door opened, revealing a tall man dressed in a simple suit. He looked…average, somehow, the sort of person one might pass in the streets and never truly notice. Even his age was hard to guess, although that was true of almost anyone in a world where rejuvenation potions, glamors and hard work could make anyone look older or younger than they actually were. He had brown hair, a shade of two lighter than Emily’s own, and a simple neat goatee, like many of the young men in the court. And he also looked completely harmless.

“Milady,” he said, in a surprisingly deep voice. “It will be my pleasure to escort you to the dance.”

He smiled at her and Emily found herself smiling back. “Thank you,” she said, seriously. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. “You will have to tell me all about your service as a diplomat.”

“I’m sure we can find something to talk about,” Sir Xavier agreed. He nodded to Emily’s trunk, sitting in the center of the room. “Does that
really
contain a cockatrice?”

“Yes,” Emily said. “But it is perfectly safe.”

Word had spread through the castle almost as soon as they’d arrived, with the net result that the maids refused to even
look
at the chest, let alone try to move it. The spells holding the pocket dimension in place weren’t
that
weak, Emily knew, although she would have to have the chest checked when she got it back to Whitehall. She’d probably invalidated the warranty, insofar as there was such a thing.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sir Xavier said. “Do you intend to turn it into your own personal transport?”

Emily shrugged.

“Maybe,” she said, finally. “I haven’t quite decided.”

Sir Xavier held out his hand. “We can walk down to the hall now, if you please,” he said, politely. “I’m afraid we can’t be fashionably late for a dinner with the Princes.”

Emily had to smile. Royal protocol for a formal dinner insisted that it had to start at a specific time, when the royal family entered. After that, doors would be closed and no one else would be allowed into the hall, whatever the excuse. And King Randor would carefully note the names of those who didn’t attend, marking them down for future attention. From what Emily had picked up, invitations to the various balls in honor of the princes were in high demand. King Randor was using them as a way of showing favor or disfavor to the lesser nobility.

She took Sir Xavier’s hand and allowed him to lead her down to the grand hall. It looked very different from when she had first seen it; the servants had brought in tables and chairs for the guests. King Randor’s throne had been concealed behind a curtain; a high table had been placed at the front of the hall for the royal family. Emily realized absently that there were twenty-one tables, each one with a larger chair at its head. The princes would sit there, apart from the lucky one who would be sitting next to Alassa. She wondered if they found it insulting, before realizing that it didn’t matter. They couldn’t
all
sit at the high table, let alone next to the princess.

There were little nameplates on each of the tables, instructing the guests where to sit. Sir Xavier must have checked before he came to pick her up, for he headed to their seats without bothering to scan the rest of the tables. The room was filling up rapidly with nobility, including a handful of barons who were apparently seated just below the high table. Emily shook her head as she realized just how carefully the King’s staff had organized the ball. The barons couldn’t be seated anywhere lower or they would take it as a grave insult. Their wives and children, on the other hand, could sit anywhere. One of the children loudly whined about being seated at the rear of the room until his father told him to shut up and take his seat.

Trumpets blew twenty minutes later, just as Emily was starting to feel bored. The guests rose to their feet as King Randor walked into the room, followed by Alassa and Prince Hedrick. Alassa wore a long white dress, almost like a bridal gown, her blonde hair spilling down her back and shining under the light. Emily couldn’t help wondering if there was a reason protocol insisted she looked like a bride. She couldn’t marry
all
of the princes…was it just intended to tantalize them? Or was she completely wrong?

“Be seated,” King Randor ordered. The guests sat down. “We shall now begin.”

Sir Xavier proved to be a fascinating dinner companion, somewhat to Emily’s surprise. He didn’t say anything about his real work for the king, but he was quite willing to chat about diplomacy in the Allied Lands, allowing Emily to pick up more about the White Council and its role in the war against the necromancers than she’d learned at Whitehall. Apparently, he told her, the near-disaster at Whitehall had concentrated a few minds. All of the Allied Lands would be sending troops to help reinforce the border, while the haggling over who would actually
command
the force had been much reduced.

“Not that it will ever go away entirely,” he admitted. “They will always fear giving someone too much power.”

Emily frowned. “Will troops alone be able to stop the necromancers?”

“I don’t think so,” Sir Xavier said. He didn’t seem reluctant to talk bluntly to her, unlike some of her other dinner companions. “But if they decide to send monsters raiding over the mountains, we can use troops to intercept them and preserve our magicians for the real threat.”

Emily nodded. The books at Whitehall hadn’t said much about how the Faerie had created the orcs and goblins, but they
had
gone into great detail on how the shambling parodies of humanity had been programmed to breed and bow the knee to magicians with enough power to terrify them. Once terrified, they were too stupid to do anything, but
remain
terrified; Shadye’s forces had launched human wave attacks against Whitehall because they feared the consequences of disobeying him more than they feared death. They hadn’t broken and fled until the necromancer had been defeated.

But each female orc gave birth to multiple children in each pregnancy. Their society–such as it was–had a permanent overpopulation problem, which was at least partly why the necromancers could make such free use of them. There was no reason why one of Shadye’s fellows couldn’t encourage a few thousand orcs to cross the mountains and ravage part of the Allied Lands, just to remind the local nobility that they existed. If the necromancers didn’t spend so much time fighting each other, Emily knew, they would have won by now. Orcs and goblins were brutish creatures, barely capable of carrying out a plan more complicated than picking a target and charging at it, but there were a
lot
of them. Human wave attacks worked when the defender couldn’t hold them back any longer.

“I really can’t stand these balls,” Sir Xavier admitted, changing the subject. “All of the real negotiation happens elsewhere.”

“And yet the kingdoms hold them anyway,” Emily mused. “Why do they hold them if they’re not important?”

Sir Xavier grinned. “Because it allows the princess to meet her suitors in a controlled environment,” he said. “Because it allows the nobility the chance to pretend that they have a say in who the princess marries. Because it allows King Randor, long may he reign, an opportunity to show off his daughter.”