Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) (40 page)

And yet that seemed too simple to be missed easily.

Why not
? She asked herself sourly.
You forgot to use Berserker
.

Nightingale was sitting at a table inside the library, reviewing a set of parchments that looked old enough to date back to the Empire. He looked up as she entered and then stood up, bowing to her. Emily walked over to him, nodded once and took the seat facing him.

“You are aware, no doubt, that the Confirmation is the most important part of the crown princess’s path towards the throne,” he began, as self-importantly as ever. “While she was the acknowledged heir as soon as she was born, she was not formally presented to the barons as their future monarch. Custom decreed that the Confirmation had to wait until she was seventeen years old, capable of ruling without a regent.”

Emily nodded, impatiently. Zangaria prioritized male heirs, just like medieval Europe; a younger brother would have automatically taken Alassa’s place as heir. But a child, male or female, would not have been expected to be able to rule. Someone else would have served as regent…and, given enough time, have been able to build up a powerbase they could use to replace the heir. Or, perhaps, push Alassa into marrying him.

“The Confirmation will prove to the assembled nobility that the princess is capable of ruling them, that she is healthy and of sound mind as well as sound body, that she can take her father’s place when he dies,” Nightingale said. “It must
not
be allowed to go wrong.”

“I understand,” Emily said, sharply. “What do you wish me to do as part of the ceremony?”

“The crown prince is assigned a knight to accompany him,” Nightingale said. “But the princess is female and it would not be appropriate for her to be accompanied by a male knight. King Randor has therefore consented to allow
you
to serve as her knight.”

Emily blinked. Could a woman be knighted? She’d certainly never heard of it.

But she was sure that she
wasn’t
a knight.

“There will be other noblewomen, surely,” she said, finally. “Why me?”

“You don’t have any relationships within Zangaria, apart from your friendship with Alassa,” Nightingale pointed out. “Any noblewoman would have her own interests at stake, or those of her husband.”

He didn’t seem to realize that Emily’s other best friend
also
came from Zangaria, but Imaiqah
was
a commoner. Maybe she just didn’t count.

“Alassa will go into seclusion the night before the ceremony,” Nightingale informed her. “She will be expected to pray to the goddess that she will have a long and happy and fruitful reign, once she takes her father’s place. You will be there with her. The following morning, you will bear witness as the baronesses inspect her, making sure that she is healthy. Once they certify her, you will join her for breakfast and then proceed to the Assembly.”

Emily wondered what would happen if the baronesses
refused
to confirm that Alassa was healthy. It made sense, particularly in a medieval environment, but she couldn’t help feeling a moment’s pity for Alassa. The baronesses would poke and prod at her entire body, just to make sure that she was completely healthy. They couldn’t just hire a healer to do it?

“The king will present his daughter to the Assembly,” Nightingale droned on. “Once they have acclaimed her, the Duke of Iron will formally abandon his right to be regent and accept her as the crown princess, the first in line to the throne. She will in turn confirm him as her heir, to become the monarch in the event of her death. After that, the barons will come forward, one by one, and swear to be loyal to her when she assumes the throne. They will be followed by the lesser nobility and finally by the assemblymen.”

He took a breath. “And after that,” he concluded, “the competition for her hand begins in earnest.”

Emily gaped at him. “It hasn’t already begun?”

“There is a difference between a crown princess who has not been Confirmed and a crown princess who
has
been Confirmed,” Nightingale said.

Emily shrugged. It seemed a matter of semantics to her; Alassa had been her father’s heir from the moment she had been born. But the whole ceremony was clearly important to the locals. Confirming that Alassa was healthy–and presumably fertile–would give them the promise of an heir to replace her when she died. But that really required her to marry…

Nightingale leaned forward. “There is another reason for your role,” he added. His voice grew tighter as he spoke. “You must ensure that she remains awake overnight while in seclusion, to honor the traditions. And you will have to swear that she has done so.”

“I see,” Emily said. The sergeants had pushed them to the point where Emily could get by on little sleep, but Alassa hadn’t been in Martial Magic. And it was cruel to force her to remain awake the night before she was Confirmed. How long would the ceremony even last? “And what am I supposed to do if she falls asleep?”

“Keep her awake,” Nightingale said. He looked oddly reluctant to speak further, even though he knew he had to specify. “Whatever it takes, keep her awake.”

Emily snorted. “How many people volunteered for this job?”

“None,” Nightingale admitted. “But then, everyone who could have taken the role had…other commitments.”

“Answer me a question,” Emily said. “Why am I not surprised?”

E
MILY SHIFTED UNCOMFORTABLY ON HER SEAT
as Baron Bronze droned on and on about how much he loved King Randor, his crown princess and his country. It would have been a more impressive speech if the baron, who seemed never to have to pause for breath, hadn’t kept jumping back to the topic of his own services to the kingdom. But then, every dinner since the duke’s interrogation had included one of the barons having a chance to talk. Emily couldn’t decide just who, if anyone, was meant to be impressed.

Lady Barb hadn’t been joking when she’d promised Emily that they were going to be practicing magical and mundane combat. Every day, once Alassa had finished breakfast and taken the princes hunting or jousting, Lady Barb had sought out Emily and brought her to a training room. There, she’d forced Emily to practice and practice and practice, often sparring with her at the end of the session. She didn’t allow Emily to use any sort of painkilling potions either, leaving Emily aching for the rest of the day. Like the sergeants, Lady Barb seemed to believe that pain was the ultimate teacher. Emily had looked in the mirror every night and been astonished to see how many bruises were covering her body.

She looked over at Alassa, sitting beside Prince Hedrick, a faintly bored expression on her face. This was the night before her Confirmation; Alassa had chosen Hedrick as her escort simply because he
wouldn’t
say anything to her. Emily swallowed, not looking forward to the evening at all. The records Nightingale had found for her–after some persuasion–suggested that some previous princes had spent the night in ‘silent contemplation’ that was so loud that no one could sleep. Alassa might not be much better.

But then, there will be just the two of us
, Emily thought. She had toyed with the idea of inviting Imaiqah, but Lady Barb had talked her out of it, pointing out that the nobility would see her presence as an insult. Emily had asked why
she
was acceptable–after all, the standard account of her birth placed her as barely above a slave–and Lady Barb had pointed out that she
had
killed a necromancer. And
that
put her ahead of even a fully-trained sorcerer.

The baron finally came to an end and sat down, much to everyone’s relief. There was a pause, then King Randor stood up and announced that there would be no dancing; instead, everyone was urged to spend the evening in prayer for the crown princess. Several guests looked surprised, although it had been announced days ago. Every last detail of the formal dinners was carefully choreographed by the King’s staff. Perhaps the guests simply hadn’t bothered to find out what was actually going on.

“You are all welcome tomorrow,” the king concluded. “And I thank you for your acclaim.”

He walked behind the curtain. Protocol dictated that no one was allowed to leave before the monarch; his departure signalled that the revels were now over. Emily stood up, following Alassa as she walked out the door and headed up towards her chambers. She saw Zed scowling at her as she passed, clearly considering throwing a spell at her before thinking better of it. The alchemists King Randor had summoned to investigate Emily’s concerns about the Royal Bloodline were poking their noses into his work.

But you’d hate it too if someone did it to you
, Emily thought, ruefully. Magicians disliked
anyone
messing with their workspaces, to the point where it was common for them to scatter trap spells over their books, papers and equipment. Every day, Whitehall saw a handful of students trapped by spells set by their fellow students. She’d heard enough stories to know about what could happen to someone who broke into a magician’s house to understand that anyone who tried would be a candidate for the Darwin Award.

Alassa grinned at Emily as she stepped into her rooms. Most of the servants seemed to have been banished, leaving only a trio of maids to help Alassa undress and don a long white gown that looked faintly odd to Emily’s eyes. It took her a long moment to realize that it seemed to have been designed for an older women, rather than a young princess. The maids caught hold of Emily before she could object and undressed her too, then passed her a black gown that was the same cut and style as Alassa’s gown.

“The supplicant before the goddess always wears white,” Alassa explained, as soon as the maids had left the room. “Anyone who comes with them to bear witness wears black.”

“Tradition,” Emily guessed.

“Symbolism,” Alassa countered. She stepped over to one of her chests and opened it with a touch of her magic. “The goddess will only grant one’s prayers if the formalities are honored.”

Emily frowned as she saw Alassa pull a book out of the chest. “What is the book?”

Alassa smirked. “Most of the men in the city do not approve of the crone goddess,” she explained, as she passed Emily the book. “The book is charmed to appear like an ordinary textbook to any man who happened to gaze upon it. Those who look inside find themselves blinded.”

Emily looked down at the book. Some of the letters on the front were recognizably part of the Empire’s language. Others were unfamiliar, yet she couldn’t help feeling that she’d seen them before. She ran her finger down the spine, feeling an odd tingle as she sensed the magic buried within the pages, then opened it to the first page. The insignia that stared up at her was instantly recognizable. It was the same as the one on the front page of Void’s untranslatable book.

“The crone is the ultimate representation of womankind,” Alassa said. “Her sisters–the mother and the maiden–are transient. The crone is eternal. But men fear her deeply, even though she is not unkind. They believe that those who follow the goddess think for themselves.”

“Oh,” Emily said. Alassa hadn’t done much thinking for herself before she’d met Emily. “What happens to those who follow her?”

“Nothing,” Alassa said. She smiled at Emily’s expression, then rolled her eyes, suggesting that she wasn’t entirely serious. “Those who tinker with the rites of a goddess come to bad ends.
Everyone
knows that.”

She walked over to the far corner of the room and knelt down, facing the blank wall. “I am going to read from the book,” she said, “and then try to meditate. You can kneel behind me while I read, then you can move around or read one of the other books”–she waved a hand at her bookshelf–“while I meditate. Just don’t let me fall asleep.”

Emily grinned. “What would you like me to do if you
do
fall asleep?”

“Feel free to wake me up,” Alassa said. “My father told me that my uncle never even let him get a
wink
of sleep.”

She scowled. “I feel bad for him,” she added. “Being interrogated like that is
not
pleasant.”

Emily nodded. Lady Barb’s investigation had gotten nowhere, even though she was convinced that the true suspect was someone with access to the castle. Indeed, her suspicions seemed to have focused on Prince Hedrick, simply because he was the only trained magician amongst the princes. And the maid who had tried to kill Alassa–or Emily–had come from his kingdom.

But why would he risk summoning a cockatrice
? Emily asked herself.
It could have killed us all
.

Alassa began to read out loud from the book, using a language that Emily didn’t recognize. Could it be that she should have asked Alassa how to read Void’s book from the start? It had honestly never occurred to her…but what
was
the language the book’s authors had used? Why was it the same as that belonging to the crone goddess’s followers?

Emily concentrated, then cast a translation spell.

“…Of all we see,” Alassa said, her words suddenly understandable. “You bring us into the world, you marry us, you lay us out when we die…”