Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) (54 page)

Emily smiled. “You never had time to swear,” she said. “Are you going to keep your word anyway?”

“No, I didn’t,” Alassa said. She shook her head. “I’ll keep my word, even though…is your world really what we want to be?”

Emily tried to see Earth through Alassa’s eyes. A dizzying blur of impressions, light and noise. Monstrous vehicles clogging up the streets, pollution in the air, litter everywhere…promiscuity and STDs running rampant all over the world, weapons that could destroy an entire city in a moment…terrorists, dictators with far more power than any monarch in the Allied Lands. Earth was far from perfect.

“I think you can try to do a better job,” she said, finally. Who knew? Combining magic and science might produce all sorts of interesting results. “But the genie is out of the bottle now. You won’t be able to stuff him back inside.”

“The barons wanted to try,” Alassa reminded her. She shook her head. “We’ll just have to see how things go. My father always told me that patience was the best option when one wasn’t sure what one should do. I never listened until now.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, her expression hardening. “One other thing,” she said. “
Don’t
use my blood for anything, ever again.”

Emily understood.
She’d
been manipulated–and, in some ways, her mental contact with Alassa had been even worse than using her body as a puppet. Some of Alassa’s deepest thoughts and feelings were part of her now; Emily suspected that some others would emerge slowly, flashes of insight and knowledge that came from what she had absorbed. Who knew
where
it would end?

“And don’t tell anyone else what you did, either,” Alassa added. “It would only give them ideas.”

“I won’t,” Emily promised. The duchess had believed that she could control Alassa, at least long enough to be declared her successor. It might well have worked…Emily still got the cold sweats when she realized how close they had come to disaster. “And you’d better make sure you destroy all that remains of your blood.”

“Zed handed in his resignation after we liberated him,” Alassa admitted. “Brain isn’t really up to taking his place yet, so Father is going to hire a small number of alchemists to work on the Royal Bloodline. And pay Brain’s tuition fees if he wants to go to Whitehall…his apprenticeship with an Alchemist has left him deficient in other matters, apparently.”

She shrugged. “We should have time to make sure we destroy
all
the samples,” she added. “We should be safe.”

But they’d never be
certain
, Emily knew. There could be one final sample of Alassa’s blood out there, ready and waiting for someone to find it and realize what it was. And, no matter what precautions they took, someone might manage to use it to influence the queen. Alassa would not have an easy reign, no matter what else happened; there would always be whispers that she wasn’t entirely her own mistress.

She’s going to have to marry
, Emily reminded herself.
That was always true
.

She looked up. “Did you settle on a prince?”

Alassa giggled. “My father has decided that the whole selection process needs to start again,” she said. “After all…they
all
fought for me, when the time came. How do we choose the bravest of them?”

“So we’re going to have to do it all again next year?” Emily asked. “Do I
have
to come?”

“Yep,” Alassa said. Her face sobered slightly. “Where would I be without you?”

T
HE GREAT HALL HAD BEEN CLEANED
after the duchess’s body had been removed, then decked out to match the destroyed Assembly Hall. Emily had watched the maids prepare the hall, transporting the thrones from the Assembly Hall into the castle while hiding the King’s original throne behind one of the white curtains. The symbolism–a king and his heir–would be maintained, even if the ceremony was being held in the wrong place. Now, she watched from behind one of the curtains as the hall slowly filled with people, chattering happily amongst themselves.

King Randor had thrown open the castle to potential witnesses. Aside from the surviving nobles and princes, there were assemblymen and councilors–including Imaiqah’s father–from the city below. Emily had heard that the guards had been worried about an assassin sneaking in with the crowds, but King Randor had dismissed their concerns. A show of bravado, he had said, would help convince people that the monarchy wasn’t scared.

Emily looked over at Alassa, who was clearly nervous. It had been decided that she didn’t need to remain awake for the vigil a second night before the ceremony, as she had already sat it in good faith, but not everyone had been happy with that decision. Too much of the original ceremony had been shortened for the second ceremony. Emily had heard two of the aristocrats complaining that the traditions were being mocked. She’d been unable to help wondering if they really
cared
about the future of the kingdom.

“Ready,” Alassa said, as the trumpets began to blare. “Here we go.”

Emily couldn’t escape the sensation that she was escorting Alassa to her wedding as they walked up the middle of the Great Hall. She could feel eyes staring at them - some friendly, some hostile, some merely indifferent–and winced, inwardly. Whatever had happened in her life, she
still
didn’t like being the center of attention–or even
close
to the center of attention. Alassa stopped in front of her father and went down on one knee, followed by the remainder of the hall. Emily stepped back until she was at the edge of the crowd and then joined them.

“There were those who believed that they could destroy the Line of Alexis,” King Randor said, into the silence. “They believed that We could be kept prisoner, along with Our wife, and the kingdom would just fall into their lap. But they reckoned without Our daughter. Few sons have ever served their fathers so well.”

Emily concealed her private amusement. The official version of the story credited Alassa with almost everything, including killing the duchess. She couldn’t blame King Randor for wanting his daughter to receive most of the credit; after all, the barons would remember what Alassa had done and perhaps think better of challenging her. Besides, three of the barons were dead, two more were under arrest and the remaining four knew that they were on probation. They’d want to claw back as much power as they could before they tried anything overt.

“There were those who said that Our daughter had the body of a weak and feeble woman,” King Randor added. He probably wouldn’t credit Emily–or Queen Elizabeth I - for the lines either. “But she has the heart of a king and a King of Zangaria too. Within her runs the blood of King Alexis I, who created our kingdom, and King Alexis III, who restored our control over rebellious factions. They thought they could remove her as easily as one might sweep out a cobweb. But she defeated them and executed the ringleader herself. She has more than proved herself in front of Us.”

Emily wondered, rather sourly, what the discovery that the duchess had been behind the plot would mean for Zangaria. It would be nice to believe that they’d start taking women more seriously, but it wasn’t too likely. No doubt they’d conclude that the duchess had been the puppet of her family and the other barons. It would certainly be more comforting than facing the truth.

King Randor stepped forward and helped his daughter to her feet. “It is Our wish that Alassa, crown princess of Our kingdom, be confirmed as heir,” he said. “What do you say?”

The cheer was so deafening that Emily’s ears rang for moments afterwards.

“We therefore confirm you, Our daughter, as Our Primary Heir,” King Randor said. A young page came up to him, carrying a thin silver crown on a cushion. The king took it from him, held it up over Alassa’s head and gently placed it on her golden hair. “You may take your seat.”

Alassa sat down on the second throne and folded her hands in her lap. Emily was perhaps the only person in the room who could see her relief. From what Alassa had told her, many of the rehearsals for the ceremony Alassa had undergone before leaving for Whitehall had been disasters. Emily had never considered that there might
be
rehearsals, but she had to admit that they might well be useful.

She looked back at the audience, decked out in their finery, and smiled to herself. After everything that had happened over the last week, very few people would dare to cross the King. The remaining barons had loudly protested their loyalty, while the heirs of the dead or arrested barons had promptly disowned their fathers. It wouldn’t be enough to save some of them. The arrested barons had been interrogated and confessed that their families had been deeply involved with the entire plot.

“It is traditional that we proceed to the feast,” King Randor said. “But there are others whose behavior requires acknowledgement. Those who were loyal to Us and Our family in Our time of need shall not go unrewarded. Paren, son of Johan, Councilor of Alexis, step forward.”

Imaiqah’s father stepped forward, looking shocked. Emily had to smile; surely, he’d known that there would be some reward. Unless, of course, he’d also feared what the king would say when he realized that the weapons the council had been stockpiling could have easily been aimed at him. But then, without those weapons the plotters would have kept most of their armed force in the castle and the counter-coup would have failed miserably.

“Kneel before Us,” King Randor ordered. “Paren, son of Johan, you were loyal to Our family. When all seemed lost, you convinced your fellow councilors to stand up against the usurpers who would take Our throne. Your loyalty will not go unrewarded.”

He drew his sword and placed the flat of the blade, very gently, against Paren’s shoulder. “We dub thee Viscount Paren, of House Steam,” he said. “We trust that you will always remember your duties to Us as well as you have done in the past.”

Emily had to smile when she caught sight of Imaiqah’s expression. A viscount wasn’t all
that
high a rank in Zangaria, but it would give Paren a degree of social prominence–and protection–that he could use to reform the city and challenge the remaining guilds. And it would also serve to bind him to King Randor. As a newly-minted aristocrat, his loyalty could be relied upon.

The king wants to co-opt the revolution
, she thought.
Will it cushion the impacts to come?

Absently, she wondered how he would fit in with the other aristocrats. Paren was wealthy–Emily had a private feeling that he’d kept more of the profits of their joint endeavors than he’d ever admitted–and with a title, poor but noble families would probably see his children as worthy partners for
their
children. Or would House Steam–a rather pointed name–be treated as little better than unwanted intruders, pretenders to true aristocratic glory? Who knew?

Paren rose, backed away from the king and returned to where he’d been standing. One by one, the other councilors were called out and rewarded, although none of them were promoted above the rank of knight. A handful of City Guardsmen were also knighted and offered commissions in the Royal Army. Given that a commission was the key to rising higher in social class, Emily doubted that any of them would refuse. Emily found herself growing impatient, wondering when the ceremony would come to an end. She had no idea how the rest of the guests were able to stand so still for too long.

“But there is one more person who should be rewarded,” King Randor said. “One person who has performed a great service for Our kingdom and asked for nothing in return. Lady Emily, step forward.”

Emily froze. She hadn’t expected
this
. A hand pushed her gently and she stepped forward, feeling dazed. It was all she could do to remember to kneel before the king…for a moment, she caught a mischievous glint in Alassa’s eye. Had her friend known what was to come and kept it to herself, hoping to surprise Emily? Surely the king would have consulted with his daughter, the person who knew Emily best, before deciding how best to reward her.

“You have done us a great service,” King Randor said. His face was impassive, but Emily was sure that she could detect lurking amusement behind his eyes.
He
hadn’t even asked her if she
wanted
a reward. “There have been few people in our kingdom’s history who have been Children of Destiny, let alone performed such a service as yourself. For that, you must be rewarded.”

Emily thought fast, trying to understand what he meant. He couldn’t tell the court about Emily’s role in stopping the duchess, even though most of them probably had some idea of the truth. It would destroy the myth they were trying to build around Alassa. And she doubted that he wanted to advertize the fact that
Emily
was behind all of the new concepts spreading through the Allied Lands. It would have made it harder for him to profit from them, particularly if she became a target for kidnap–or assassination–by just about every interested party.

And then it struck her. She’d helped Alassa reform into a decent human being, rather than a royal brat with more power than common sense. The king wouldn’t want to call attention to that either. After all, the sense that Alassa could be manipulated had helped spur the coup plotters onwards…