Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) (34 page)

She looked around Alassa’s dining room, shaking her head inwardly. What sort of mentality suggested that a young girl needed her own place to eat? But she was glad of it–and of Alassa’s invitation to a private breakfast. The last thing she wanted to do was face King Randor, or the princes.

What if she
was
wrong? There would be panic, perhaps some paranoia, but no serious harm. But if she was right, the Royal Family was in deadly danger. It would simply come to an end. Emily wished she knew more about genetics, but for once Zangaria and the Allied Lands seemed to be capable of doing more than Earth. As far as she knew, it was impossible to produce children to order, at least outside science fiction.

It took generations for inbreeding to produce a catastrophic effect, particularly if the original matches weren’t between brothers and sisters. Introducing newcomers should dilute the bad genes and add vigor to the family line. But Zangaria was altering the genes of any newcomer as well, preparing them for inclusion in the Royal Bloodline…what did
that
do to any new genes? Were they just turned into copies of native-born royalty? Did they actually introduce anything new at all?

“I should have spent more time with Professor Thande,” she admitted, out loud. “If I knew more…”

“The day I am crowned, you and I are going to have a very long talk,” Alassa said. “I don’t think my father knows what to make of you.”

She smiled. “I know you don’t mean anyone any harm, but you can make mistakes,” she added, a moment later. “And I love you for it.”

Emily grinned. “When did you become such a good judge of character?”

“I think I always was,” Alassa said. “It just happened that my idea of what made a good character changed after I met you.”

“How true,” Emily said. They shared a long smile. “What is your father going to do?”

“I think he was talking about calling in other alchemists and asking them to inspect the Royal Bloodline,” Alassa said. “Unlike his brother, he isn’t a trained magician; someone independent should be able to provide proper answers. And then they can decide what they want to do to retrieve the situation.”

If it can be retrieved
, Emily thought.

“Mind you,” Alassa added, “he will be
very
upset with you if it turns out you are completely wrong.”

“I wouldn’t blame him,” Emily admitted. “Alassa…”

“He does want you to remain involved in the kingdom,” Alassa interrupted. “But he also needs to ensure that there is a certain degree of stability. And you have a habit of turning the world upside down.”

Emily nodded, miserably.

“But I do need to ask,” Alassa said, changing the subject. “Why did you flee from hunting?”

“You killed a man,” Emily said, after a long moment. She’d had nightmares about it after going to sleep. Animal transfiguration was one of the common jokes played at Whitehall, but it had never occurred to her that it could be used as a permanent punishment, let alone to create semi-intelligent creatures for huntsmen to chase. “I…I hated to see that.”

She found herself groping for words, but none came. How did one explain to someone from a radically different culture that their culture was wrong? Emily found it hard to oppose the death penalty for truly awful crimes, particularly if a person’s guilt could be conclusively proven, but hunting humans for sport? She’d been hunted herself by orcs and goblins–maybe
that
was why she found it so appalling. Or maybe it was just her culture’s morality clashing with Zangaria’s morality.

What would Zangaria make of Earth, if the two cultures ever met?

“I wish I understood you better, sometimes,” Alassa said, softly. “And then there are times when I am merely glad you’re on my side.”

She shook her head. “I’ve got to spent most of the day in court, hearing petitions from various noblemen. The princes are supposed to see my spontaneous responses to their requests for help.”

Emily lifted a single eyebrow. “And how
spontaneous
are they going to be?”

Alassa smirked. “We–my father and I - are going to be spending the morning discussing the petitions,” she said. “Every one of them will be answered properly, by me. I won’t actually have to think at all.”

“You mean your father wrote the petitions himself,” Emily guessed. “And he picked topics that would allow you to shine.”

Alassa winked at her.

“Clever,” Emily said. “What happens if someone asks a question you
haven’t
prepared for?”

“My father will be very unhappy,” Alassa said. She looked down at the remains of her breakfast, then back up at Emily. “I wish I could come with you.”

“You could,” Emily said, suddenly. “We wrap a glamor around you and no one would ever realize that you were the princess…”

“My father would be furious,” Alassa said. “Maybe after the Confirmation, when we can all relax a little. Oh, and Nightingale will be briefing you on your part later in the week. I’m supposed to tell you to pay close attention to him.”

Emily stood up and walked around the table. “I’ll do my best,” she said, as she gave Alassa a hug. The thought of being bored stiff for an hour as Nightingale droned on about etiquette wasn’t appealing, but it was better than hunting. “And if you don’t mind, I’m going to change.”

“Lucky you,” Alassa said. “And give Imaiqah my love.”

Emily nodded and walked back to her rooms, where she changed into the clothes she’d convinced one of the maids to find for her. The outfit looked simple–a shirt and a pair of trousers - yet it was made from fine materials, suggesting that she was nothing more than the daughter of a wealthy merchant. It was loose, but allowed her to move easily, just like the uniforms they wore in Martial Magic. Emily hid her knife in the belt and checked her money pouch, then strode down to the hall. Lady Barb was waiting for her.

“You look acceptable,” Lady Barb said, after a long moment of inspection. “There are plenty of young women who dress like that.”

“Good,” Emily said. “Will I attract attention?”

“You shouldn’t be connected with Lady Emily, Necromancer’s Bane,” Lady Barb said, dryly. “On the other hand, you
do
look an attractive middle-class girl. There will be men who will ask for your father’s name.”

Emily flushed. Was it ever going to end?

She didn’t
feel
attractive. She’d always been too thin, her breasts too small, her face too plain to be conventionally attractive. And what little male attention she’d received had been largely unwelcome. But now…having admirers made her feel strange. And the thought of total strangers trying to court her, just because of her looks, was terrifying.

“However,” Lady Barb continued, a mischievous glint in her eye, “you may tell them that your father has already betrothed you to another young man. They should know better than to press you if they believe you to be engaged.”

“Thank you,” Emily said, tiredly. Maybe she should start wearing a wedding ring. Did women in Zangaria
wear
wedding rings? “How do you tell a married woman from an unmarried woman?”

“A married woman of the lower classes will cover her hair with a scarf,” Lady Barb explained, “at least until her hair turns grey. The upper classes are less formal, but everyone is supposed to know everyone anyway.”

She led Emily away from the main gate, somewhat to her surprise, and down a long flight of stairs that seemed to go a very long way down. Finally, they reached a dank set of dungeons, seemingly completely empty. Emily shivered as she remembered the prison cell Shadye had dumped her into, back when he’d first kidnapped her, and looked away when Lady Barb headed towards a stone wall. She pushed her hand against a particular place and the wall clicked open silently. Emily sensed the presence of a powerful silencing charm as Lady Barb stepped into the darkness, conjuring a light ball to illuminate their path. Without the charm, she realized, the noise would have been heard on the upper levels.

Inside, there was a second set of stairs leading into the darkness. Lady Barb pushed the light ball ahead of them as she walked, picking her way down a flight of stairs that seemed dangerously thin. Emily followed her, carefully placing her feet so that if she fell she’d fall upwards, rather than down the winding staircase. She sensed the presence of more spells as they went lower, a thin cobweb of wards that watched for unwanted intruders. It was hard to escape the feeling of claustrophobia.

Lady Barb stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “We’re deep under the mountain now,” she said, softly. Her voice echoed oddly in the confined space. “Very few people know there are tunnels under the inner city, let alone where they lead. The king granted me special permission to show them to you, but you are
not
to attempt to explore them on your own. If you do–and you are caught–you will be lucky if you are merely hung.”

Emily swallowed. “How many others know about these tunnels?”

“The king and his family, as well as a handful of trusted retainers,” Lady Barb said. “I swore a binding oath that I would never reveal the secret to anyone, without his permission. And I may not use them for my own purposes.”

She led the way forward into the tunnel network, the light ball flickering oddly as it brushed against the wards. Emily took a deep breath, tasting the dryness in the air, then followed Lady Barb, catching sight of dozens of passageways leading off under the city. It was impossible to tell how old the passages were, but they might easily have been hundreds of years old, predating Zangaria’s time as an independent kingdom. A handful of tunnels seemed to be dead ends, as if someone had been altering the network in the years after it had been constructed.

Emily found herself wondering just how far the tunnels actually went. Was there a secret passageway that opened up outside the city? Or did one go even further? The Royal Family would definitely want a private bolthole…or did it have more mundane uses? If King Randor had a mistress, he might want to sneak her in and out of the castle without anyone actually seeing. The strange laws of etiquette that governed the kingdom might prohibit anyone from taking notice of the mistress as long as the king didn’t show her too publicly.

“I will never understand,” Emily muttered.

“Few people do,” Lady Barb said. She looked back, a faint smile on her face. “What are we talking about this time?”

“The etiquette and protocol,” Emily said. “Why are there such strange rules?”

“Sometimes they serve a useful purpose,” Lady Barb said. “And sometimes they just exist so the upper class can detect an imposter from the lower classes. It
has
been known to happen.”

“I see,” Emily said. She stopped as she caught sight of a handful of bones on the ground. “How…how long have they been there?”

Lady Barb shrugged. “Years,” she said. “People are not supposed to find their way into the tunnel network, Lady Emily. If they do, they don’t come out again. Try widening your senses.”

Emily concentrated, reaching out with her mind to sense any nearby source of magic. She
was
talented–all of her tutors said so–but it still took her several minutes to detect the charm woven through the stone walls. It was so subtle that it seemed to fade away the moment she looked at it, as if it was capable of adapting to hide itself from anyone. Someone who wasn’t looking for it would miss it completely, unaware that it was gently confounding their senses and ensuring that anyone who stumbled into the network without permission would never come out again. They’d keep on walking in circles until they collapsed and died.

Magic, she’d been taught, could be flashy, with effects that ranged from animal transfiguration to giant castles floating in the clouds. Or, for that matter, a school that was literally much larger on the inside than the outside, designed to alter its interior to suit the school’s requirements. But the subtle magic spells could be more dangerous. Someone could be influenced into doing something stupid, or trapping themselves, without ever realizing what was happening. Even a very low-level magician with little formal training had to be taken seriously. He might just be capable of tying someone with more power, but less experience, up in knots.

“That spell”–even as Emily spoke, she could feel it trying to fade from her awareness–“that spell is very dangerous.”

No, it was not
just
trying to hide. It was trying to make her forget that she’d ever sensed it.

“You have no idea,” Lady Barb said, softly. The tunnel suddenly widened, revealing another set of stairs heading upwards. “And believe me, this place isn’t very dangerous compared to sneaking into a dark magician’s lair. It was easier sneaking into a necromancer’s tower.”

Emily looked over at her. “You sneaked into a necromancer’s tower?”

“It was actually depressingly easy,” Lady Barb admitted. “Necromancers rarely bother to take elaborate precautions, like subtle wards and tripwires; they just create the strongest defenses they can and then rest comfortably. It never occurred to Dark that I could simply dig a tunnel
under
his wards and pop up inside his tower. He didn’t even bother to have a general scan underway for intruders. Once I was inside, I was safe as long as I didn’t attract his attention. I watched him for months before withdrawing as silently as I’d come.”