Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) (52 page)

“Very well done,” Alassa said, sardonically. She twisted slightly, until the blade was pushed closer to her throat. “Except, of course, that the moment you let go of me, one of us will turn you into a slug and stamp on you.”

“I have protections,” the duchess said. She smiled. “No one thought anything of them, of course. A lady has to be careful, particularly when she’s in a castle with a royal brat. Why, I heard that the magicians down in the inner city were doing a roaring trade in protective amulets when the servants heard that you were coming home.”

Her voice hardened. “I may have no magic of my own, but you can’t touch me,” she added. “And I
can
slit your throat before your friend can push my protections aside.”

Emily thought fast, but she couldn’t come up with a solution. Even
berserker
wouldn’t give her the speed necessary to kill the duchess before she murdered Alassa in cold blood. The barons would count it a victory if the princess died, Emily realized; if they worked together, they might be able to rule their private estates while sharing national authority. Or perhaps Zangaria would simply dissolve into a handful of smaller states that would be gobbled up by stronger neighbors. It would be pretty much inevitable if other states reaped the benefits of Emily’s concepts while Zangaria tried to turn the clock back.

The duchess didn’t give her any more time to think. “You can be a useful girl, I am sure,” she said. “But trusting you would be difficult, hey?” Her face twisted into a smile. “If you want to see your friend live, you will swear an oath never to harm me–indeed, you will swear to obey me and protect me and help me rule this country to the best of my ability.”

Emily winced. It
was
a logical solution to the duchess’s problem.

“The barons just want you as a puppet,” she pointed out, still playing for time. There had to be
something
she could do. “They’re not going to let you
rule
, not if they were nervous about
Alassa
taking the throne. The best you can hope for is looking good on the throne.”

“Ah, but I will have
you
helping me,” the duchess said. “You do realize that King Randor seriously considered having you killed?”

She smiled, grimly. “You brought so many changes, even when you were thousands of miles away at Whitehall,” she said. “Who knew what you would do when you were here?”

Emily didn’t want to think about it, so she changed the subject. “Listen to me,” she said, urgently. “What will happen when Zangaria collapses into anarchy? Because that is what is going to happen. You
know
there are people outside fighting your men. What happens when the country comes apart at the seams?”

She pushed on, desperately. “The fighting will draw in the other powers,” she added. “All of the nearby kingdoms will see their chance at snatching territory for themselves. The fighting will grow worse as foreign armies invade, probably drawing in other powers that don’t border Zangaria. And it will grow and grow until the Allied Lands disintegrate into chaos. And then the necromancers will just walk in and that will be the end.

“Think about what you’re doing,” she pleaded. “You’re giving up wealth and power in exchange for chaos, chaos that will end with the complete destruction of civilization. Don’t you
understand
? Everything will be destroyed!”

The duchess didn’t understand, Emily saw. How could she? She was one of the most powerful women in the country and yet her horizons didn’t stretch much further than Alexis and the duke’s lands in the countryside. She was barely aware of the neighboring kingdoms, let alone the rest of the Allied Lands–or the necromancers. A threat so far away might as well have been on another world as far as she was concerned.

But it shouldn’t have been a surprise. The White Council–and sorcerers like Void–had a global understanding; the rest of the Allied Lands simply didn’t have anything of the sort. There was no internet, little in the way of long-range communications–at least without using magic–and no real interest in foreign affairs, at least outside the high nobility and monarchies. The duchess, a powerless woman without her husband, could hardly be expected to have a global outlook.

My fault
, Emily thought, bitterly.
How much of this whole ungodly mess is my fault
?

“You prattle about nothing of importance,” the duchess informed her. She didn’t seem to care about the necromancers, or anything else apart from her power. “All that matters is power, power to secure my position.”

Emily had wondered if a necromancer was behind the whole plot. Why not? The necromancers had good reason to want both Alassa and herself dead. But there was no necromancer hiding behind the curtain, just a woman who wanted power and security and didn’t care who got stamped on in the process. She might have felt sympathy for the duchess, but she was threatening Emily’s friend.
Both
of her friends.

She couldn’t swear to serve the duchess. The consequences would be far worse than anything she’d done before, particularly once the duchess pushed her into talking about splitting atoms. She couldn’t see the duchess hesitating over the use of nuclear weapons…

…But if she refused, Alassa would die.

Emily was sure she could kill the duchess seconds later, but it would be too late. She’d never really had friends before coming to Whitehall; she couldn’t lose either of them. And without Alassa, Zangaria would have a civil war anyway, a civil war made worse because of concepts Emily had introduced. The duchess was right, she told herself again. Too much of the ghastly mess was her fault.

Shadye had thought that Emily was a Child of Destiny, never realizing that her mother’s name had been Destiny. Now, Emily found herself wondering if she were a Child of Chaos. Was there such a concept? She didn’t know.

Alassa was going to die. Imaiqah was going to die. It would happen whatever she chose, Emily knew, yet she couldn’t make the choice. She
couldn’t
sacrifice Alassa, even if it
did
mean peace in the kingdom–and it wouldn’t. Her thoughts ran round and round in her head, unable to come to a decision. What could she do?

If it had been her…she’d braced herself to die, when she faced Shadye. But how could she throw away the life of a friend?

She opened her mouth…

Alassa spoke first. “Duchess Lithia… you don’t have to do this,” she said, twisting slightly. One hand dove into the loose-fitting trousers Imaiqah had given her. “I could keep you alive, exile you from the kingdom with a bag of gold…you’d be an exile, but you would be alive. You wouldn’t even be a
prisoner
. You could go wherever you pleased…”

“As a
woman
in a world where we are expected to simper for men?” The duchess demanded. “Why should I walk away from the chance at real power?”

“Because the power wouldn’t last,” Emily said. She kept her eyes firmly on the duchess’s face. “You’d be riding a dragon. One slip and you’d fall off. And if the barons decided to put you aside…what’s to stop them? Alassa’s offer is far more than you deserve.”

“Her father will send assassins after me,” the duchess snapped. Her voice hardened. “How stupid do you think I am?”

She glared at Emily, who flinched back from the sheer naked hatred in the duchess’s eyes. “I thought that I would have power and respect as the wife of the Duke of Iron. Instead…I have nothing. My husband could have put me aside at any time. Why should I not make a grab for power? What do I have to lose?”

“Your life?” Alassa asked.

“I don’t have a life,” the duchess snarled. “And
you
should understand
that
!”

“Move the sword,” Emily said, sharply. She could see a red splash where it was touching Alassa’s throat. If she was wrong about what Alassa had in mind…everything was about to be lost, forever. “Move the sword and I will swear to you.”

“You can’t crack my protections in time to save your friend,” the duchess sneered. “I can cut her throat in a second.”

“I understand,” Emily said, desperately. Blood was trickling down Alassa’s neck and staining her shirt. One slip might cut Alassa’s throat by accident, ending her life. “Move the sword and I will swear…”

The duchess moved the sword away from Alassa’s throat, very gently. Emily tensed as the duchess turned her eyes to meet hers, inviting her to swear the oath. And then Alassa’s right hand came up and caught the duchess’s sword arm, holding the blade back from her throat. Her left hand stabbed the concealed dagger into the duchess’s chest. Emily ran forward as the duchess struggled, gasping for breath, and pulled the sword right out of her hand. Alassa put one hand to her bleeding throat as the duchess crumpled to the floor, fighting for life.

“Give me the sword,” Alassa said. Her hand was stained with her own blood, but she didn’t look weakened at all. “Now!”

Emily blinked at the note of command in her voice, but obeyed. Alassa took the sword, tested it and then looked down at the duchess. The woman was still fighting…if she got to a healer, she might even survive.

“I am the Crown Princess of Zangaria, daughter of King Randor, heir to the throne,” Alassa said, looking down at the duchess. Her voice was very cold, very clear. “The power of High, Middle and Low Justice rests with me. In the name of Alexis I, founder of the kingdom, I sentence you to death.”

The blade sliced through the duchess’s neck, beheading her in a single blow.

Emily stared, feeling a confusing mixture of emotions. Shock and horror warred with pride and understanding…and a droll awareness that she’d killed too. But she’d killed in self-defense and Alassa had sentenced her aunt to death. And yet who else could have executed the duchess without raising more issues that would need to be settled by force? It had to be Alassa, the crown princess who had yet to be Confirmed. Somehow, she doubted that the barons would appreciate the irony. By delaying Alassa’s confirmation, they had created a legal gap between the unconfirmed and confirmed crown princess, even though they happened to be the same person.

There was a grunt from behind them.

“Uncle,” Alassa said, and ran for the throne. “Uncle!”

The duke’s eyes opened and he stared blearily at his niece. “Al… Alassa? What… what happened?”

Alassa looked down at him. “It’s a long story,” she said, finally. “A very long story. But it’s all over now.”

No
, Emily thought, grimly.
It is far from over
.

They might have defeated the coup plotters, although some of the barons were still alive and would probably try to bargain for their lives. It had worked before, although the barons facing Alexis III had been in a stronger position than the ones who had tried to unseat King Randor. No doubt most of them would claim to have been misled, or tricked, or forced into going along with the
real
plotters, the ones who were safely dead.

But the problems Emily had caused wouldn’t go away so quickly.

How could they?

She yawned as Alassa pulled her uncle to his feet and sent him to call off the guards. The duchess had used him to command the Royal Army–after all, he
was
their commander–and the soldiers would listen to him. After that, they could find King Randor and work out what to do next. Alassa seemed to believe that some of the barons had probably built up their own private armies. Avoiding a civil war might be impossible.

“Be careful where you go to sleep,” Alassa said. “You never know what might be lurking in your room.”

Emily stared at her, then burst out laughing. There was a
cockatrice
in her room! The entire section of the castle would have to be abandoned until they could get enough magicians in place to stun the beast, or simply wait for it to starve. How long would that take? The books had suggested that dragons could go
years
between eating…on the other hand, it would make a new form of cruel and unusual punishment to replace hunting transfigured criminals. Maybe the king would hurl the treacherous plotters into the rooms and watch as the cockatrice ate them.

“We have to deal with the rest of the plotters,” Emily reminded her. She wanted to sleep–she hadn’t slept for over twenty hours–but there was no time. “The others are still out there.”

Alassa looked down at the bloodstained sword in her hand, then up at Emily.

“Let them come,” she said, quietly.

A
RE YOU GOING TO THE CEREMONY?”

Emily looked up, rubbing her eyes. Lady Barb stood in front of her, her face bruised and battered after she’d been beaten into unconsciousness by the duchess’s hired soldiers. Four days under the care of a watchful healer had saved her life, but not repaired her face. That would have to come later.

“I don’t know if I’d be welcome,” Emily said, finally. She’d barely seen Alassa since the coup had been defeated, let alone King Randor. The Royal Family had to secure their grip on power before they did anything else. “Do you think they’d want me?”