Wolf in the Fold, page 4
Alassa stepped into the room. “I think she remembers you.”
Emily nodded, feeling touched. Millie had gone through a prolonged period of stranger danger, objecting strongly to being held by anyone other than her parents or her governess, before returning to being her smiling self again. Being accepted by a little girl shouldn’t have meant this much, but ... it did. She held the young girl close for a long moment, then passed Millie to her mother. Alassa took Millie and held her gently. It was rare for a royal mother to show so much affection, but ... there was no way Alassa would leave her child alone any longer than strictly necessary. It made Emily wonder if the governess felt slighted in some way. She was supposed to be in charge of the child.
Although Alassa wouldn’t tolerate any mistreatment, she mused. Alassa had been spoilt rotten as a child – and she’d been one of the lucky ones. Emily had heard horror stories about governors who beat, isolated, or otherwise punished their charges. She knew what she’d do to any governess who did that to her child, or any child, and Alassa would do worse. The woman’s authority is very limited.
“She’s such a cute child,” Alassa said. “She takes after her father.”
“She takes more after you,” Emily said. Millie’s hair was actually a shade lighter than her mother’s, odd when her father had darker hair. “But you’re right. She is cute.”
She smiled, feeling oddly maternal. “Make sure she has the very best of education,” she added. “She’s going to need it.”
“Yes,” Alassa said, dryly. “I intend to.”
They shared a look. Princess Millie was the firstborn child – and, after the law had been changed to ensure that the firstborn inherited the throne even if she happened to be a young woman, the heir. It wasn’t going to be easy under any circumstances, but harder for Millie because the kingdom wasn’t used to the idea of a female monarch, particularly one who took the throne ahead of her younger brother. Emily could just imagine the younger kid being pushed into doing something stupid, if he felt cheated out of an inheritance he should have gained simply by being male, and ... it could end very badly. She hoped Alassa had the sense to try to keep sibling rivalry from turning lethal, but ...
“If you have a son, I want to discuss a betrothal,” Alassa said, seriously. “It may be the only way to keep the pressure off, as Millie grows older.”
Emily was torn between laughter and anger. “I’m not pregnant.”
“I know,” Alassa said. “But if you happen to have a son ...”
“I don’t know if I’ll have children yet,” Emily said. She thought she was a healthy young woman, she thought she wouldn’t have problems getting pregnant when the time came, but it was hard to be sure. Some couples never did, no matter how hard they tried. She had a suspicion it owed much to stress, the desperation to have a baby making it harder for them to actually have one. “And if I did ... I wouldn’t want to bind their future.”
“Betrothals get made and broken all the time,” Alassa pointed out. “And you wouldn’t make a fuss if the betrothal was cancelled when they reached legal age.”
Emily hesitated. She understood the problem, all too well. Alassa was being bombarded with requests for Millie’s hand in marriage, no matter that Millie was barely two years old and any perspective betrothed little more than three or four years older than her. Even having a betrothal wouldn’t stop the storm, as long as the challengers were higher-ranked than Millie’s betrothed. If they did agree to a betrothal, it would shut everyone else up as long as the betrothal lasted. Emily was a baroness, as high as one could go without being a member of the royal family. The implications would stop everyone else plotting for years.
“I don’t have a child,” she said. “And there’s no guarantee I ever will.”
“I know.” Alassa looked pained. “But ...”
She shrugged, expressively. “Would you consider it? If you do ...”
“If I do, then yes,” Emily said. “But it has to be under the clear understanding that my son – if I have a son – is free to break the betrothal when he comes of age.”
“Of course,” Alassa said. She held her daughter gently. “And the same for Millie, of course.”
Emily nodded. A betrothal wasn’t a silly little thing, a mock-wedding between children that had no legal validity, but a serious contract between both families. Alassa could easily land her daughter in hot water through making a contract with the wrong person, forcing her to either accept the match – regardless of how she felt – or risk war. Again. She could see the logic, understand where her friend was coming from. But she didn’t like it. She hoped she never would.
“You do realise it might be a while,” Emily said. One rule of betrothals was that the couple couldn’t be that far apart in age, unlike a wedding between two adults. “What happens if my son is eight years younger than Millie?”
“If that happens, we won’t go ahead with it,” Alassa said. “But ...”
“I know.” Emily took Millie back for a long moment, feeling her heart melt as she returned the child to her mother. “I do understand. But there’s no guarantee of anything.”
The governess said nothing as Alassa passed Millie back to her. Emily hoped to hell she was discreet. The governess was right next to the royal family, close enough to hear everything and report it to unseen masters. Alassa would murder the woman in cold blood if she betrayed one family secret, let alone all of them, but the damage would be done. It would be too late to put the demon back in the bottle, once word got out.
“We were hoping you’d teach her magic, once she comes into her power,” Alassa said. “I don’t know if she’ll be going to school.”
“She probably should,” Emily said. “You know it was good for you.”
Alassa smiled as she led the way through a maze of semi-hidden corridors. Emily doubted most of the passageways were true secrets, not in any sense of the word, but they were restricted to the royal family and their closest allies ... even they, Emily knew, weren’t supposed to enter without permission. She wasn’t sure she could ... she shook her head, dismissing the thought. The tunnels below the castle had never been completely explored, raising the spectre of someone using them to get inside and cause havoc. Or worse.
“It had its moments.” Alassa opened a hidden door and stepped into her private study. “I wouldn’t have met Jade if I hadn’t attended Whitehall. Or you and Imaiqah or ... anyone.”
Emily looked around with interest. The private study – the really private study, open only to Alassa’s closest friends – looked more like a comfortable living room than a queen’s workspace. Alassa sat on a comfortable armchair rather than a throne, an armchair that wasn't even bigger than the rest of the chairs ... Emily’s lips quirked at just how horrified some senior aristos would be if they saw the place. How could they tell where they stood in the pecking order if everyone had the exact same chair? The hell of it was that they had a point. Little things like seat selection were important in court, even if everyone else thought they were being silly. It was just ...
“She needs a chance to grow into her own person,” Emily said, quietly. “Your father made that mistake and ... look how it turned out.”
Alassa nodded, curtly. “It worked out in the end, but ...”
Emily heard the doubt in her voice and winced inwardly. Alassa had wanted the throne, had considered it rightfully hers, but ... she hadn’t realised, perhaps, that the throne was also a gilded cage. She was trapped behind her desk, reading papers and signing orders, or sitting on the throne and passing judgement when cases were brought before her; she could never take a proper holiday, never relax for fear someone might try to take the throne from her. And Millie would be condemned to the same fate, without a chance to make something of herself. There was no getting around it.
Be careful what you wish for, Emily told herself. You might get it.
“We’ll see how things go,” Alassa said. “I don’t want to foster her, let alone send her to school.”
“You may not have a choice,” Emily pointed out. “She’ll need to learn what it’s like to live and work in a place that cares nothing for her title.”
“I’d ask you to foster her, except you’re too nice.” Alassa smiled, but there was no humour in her tone. “She’ll need someone strict.”
“Whitehall will take care of that,” Emily pointed out. “She’ll be fine.”
“I hope so,” Alassa said. “I wish I could come with you.”
Emily nodded. “I wish so too.”
She knew it wouldn’t happen, no matter what she might say. Alassa couldn’t afford to leave the castle, let alone the kingdom. Even a Royal Progression involved months of preparation ... Emily felt a twinge of pity for Alassa and her daughter. There was no easy way out for either of them. Alassa knew her duty and she’d embraced it, before she’d quite realised the cost. And now it was too late.
“There’s always trouble along the borders,” Alassa said. Her eyes lingered on the map hanging on the wall. “I should visit in person, see with my own eyes what’s really going on ...”
“Be careful,” Emily advised. The border lords enjoyed more independence than most, because they could swap kingdoms in a heartbeat ... if they thought they could get away with it. She wasn’t sure what would happen if some of the smaller aristos tried, but win or lose it would be staggeringly expensive. “Don’t put yourself in danger.”
Alassa snorted. “You’re about the only regent who’d say that to me.”
“And I don’t want you gone,” Emily said. “Really.”
“Yeah.” Alassa sighed. “I guess that makes you unique amongst the senior councillors.”
Emily sighed, inwardly. Alassa had asked her to be Millie’s godmother and Emily had accepted before realising the implications. It wasn’t just an obligation to take care of the toddler if her parents died, but an obligation to take care of the kingdom itself. A high-ranking aristocrat would have to serve as regent – Imaiqah was far more qualified, but lacked the power base to make her claim stick – and Emily was the best of a set of bad choices. She didn’t want the kingdom for herself. Or even to enhance her power base before Millie took the throne.
“I won’t let you down, but try not to die,” Emily said. “And don’t take Jade with you.”
Alassa grinned. “You know he won’t let me go alone.”
“You know what I meant,” Emily said. Jade outliving his wife would solve a great many problems. As the new queen’s father, his claim to the regency would be unquestionable and his magic would make him difficult to remove. “Take care of yourself.”
“You too, Emily,” Alassa said. “You’re sure you don’t want to stay longer?”
“I wish I could,” Emily said, although it wasn’t wholly true. She loved her friends and she wanted to spend more time with them, but there were just too many servants in the castle for her to feel comfortable. They saw everything and ... she’d always considered them creepy, no matter how loyal they were. If she had children, they were not going to grow up with servants honouring their every whim. It was a minor miracle that most aristocratic children were as well-adjusted as they were, and most were spoilt brats. “The Hierarchy is breathing down my neck.”
Alassa stood and gave her a hug. “Take care of yourself too,” she said. “And don’t hesitate to call if you need help.”
Emily nodded, stiffly. “I’ll see you again,” she said. “I promise.”
“That’s good.” Alassa stuck out her tongue. “We have wedding dresses to design.”
“Oh.” Emily groaned. “Does it ever end?”
“You helped organise my wedding,” Alassa said. “What do you think?”
Emily felt her heart sink. Alassa’s wedding had been fiendishly complex – and that had been before the shooting had started. Her wedding ... she dreaded the thought of anything more complex than a simple ceremony. And to think it was too late to elope.
“Surely I can insist on not outshining you,” she said, finally. “Surely ...”
“Too late.” Alassa winked. “If we were getting married in the same year, then yes. But Jade and I were married three years ago. Too late.”
She winked, again. “Good luck.”
Emily nodded and turned away, feeling a twinge of unease as she stepped through the two lines of wards and out into the open corridors. A handful of maids hurried out of sight the moment they saw her coming, two junior noblewomen who had been sent to serve as handmaidens to the queen looked as if they wanted to ask her a few questions, but thought better of it before the words slipped out of their mouth. Emily couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for them. Their families had instructed them to get close to their monarch, in hopes of winning influence as well as suitable husbands, but their chances of getting close enough for either were very low. Alassa knew better than to trust them completely and she already had friends and allies the same age as herself. And yet, the poor girls couldn’t go back to their families without risking disgrace.
She kept walking, pretending not to see the maid who hadn’t quite managed to hide herself and was dangerously exposed. The poor woman was trembling ... Emily sighed inwardly as she walked down the stairs, through the maze of halls and corridors, and out into the courtyard. It was astonishing just how much was concealed within the castle walls, without the use of magic to make the building bigger on the inside. The guards saluted as she made her way through the gatehouse and onto the Royal Mile, passing a handful of petitioners lining up to face their monarch. They barely noticed her. Emily couldn’t help being oddly amused. They’d clearly been studying the wrong portraits.
The thought mocked her as she passed a row of shops and stalls, the latter offering goods from Cockatrice as well as Heart’s Ease. A small steam locomotive puffed around in a circle; a much larger steam tractor rested beside it, a handful of kids clambering into the wagon for a ride around the block. The designers had clearly ironed out most of the bugs, Emily noted, as the tractor puffed into life. It was just a matter of time before someone mounted a newfangled artillery piece on the vehicle and the very first tank was born. So far, no one had managed to make an internal combustion engine work, which limited the available horsepower, but that would change too. The airship overhead was a reminder of just what was coming down the line ...
Everything has changed, she mused, as she reached the edge of the city. And everything will change again.
She took a long moment to look around, noting how much cleaner and happier the city seemed to be. The streets were swept clean of horse manure and excrement – there was an explicit ban on throwing human waste onto the streets now – and the population had benefited. Alassa’s grand urban renewal program was already showing results, the public bathhouses and medical centres ensuring the population was healthier than ever before. The ever-growing network of factories outside the city would provide jobs for everyone, forcing the nobles to treat their workers better or lose them. Everything had changed, and would change again, no matter who wanted to put the clock back. Even if she died tomorrow, she would have the satisfaction of knowing she’d made the world a better place.
Her eyes lingered on a handful of children heading to school – education was another priority now – before she sighed and started to put the teleport spell together. There was no longer any time to delay, not when she had no idea just how much time she had left. The Hierarchy wasn’t a conventional threat, but something unlike anything she’d ever faced. And no matter how much she worked the problem, she couldn’t imagine any use for so much gathered power. How could they even control it? There was just no way to do it unless you had a nexus point and if you had a nexus point you didn’t need to gather such power. It made no sense. And yet, she knew the enemy had something in mind. Just because she couldn’t think of a way to do it didn’t mean the Hierarchy couldn’t.
Shaking her head, she triggered the spell.
Chapter Four
Celeste had claimed, more than once, to be the most beautiful city in the world. Emily had no idea if it was objectively true, but she had to admit the city had genuinely been striking before the regime had seized power and turned it into a nightmare. Now ... she stood on the hillside and stared down at Celeste, noting just how many buildings had collapsed and how many more looked tawdry, as if the magic were gone. It hadn’t been that long since she’d gotten in and out, giving the regime a bloody nose in the process, but ... she shook her head. A spark had clearly left the city, along with many of the former slaves. It would be years before it was rebuilt.
She took a breath and forced herself to start walking down the road to the gatehouse. It lay open, the guards she’d seen the last time she’d entered the city gone ... gone where? Her skin prickled as she kept moving, empty chambers mocking her as she walked through the complex and out onto the streets. Some shops were still open, their owners trying to sell their wares, but others were closed and shuttered ... a handful had even been burnt to the ground. Her lips twisted as she saw a couple of magicians trying to repair the damage to their shop, cleaning up the mess left behind by the fighting. Normally, they would have left such work to the mundanes. Now, there was no one else to do the work.
A shiver ran down her spine as she walked past the school – currently closed, thankfully – and neared the Citadel. It was a pile of rubble now, excavation teams trying to dig up what little they could for transport to Heart’s Eye. A handful of combat sorcerers stood guard, keeping the locals from getting any closer to the once-proud building. Emily suspected it was just a matter of time before the locals got organised and drove them out, but right now everyone was still too shocked to do more than sit on their hands. And try to find a way to cope without the mundane workers. It wasn’t going to be easy.
Sienna stood with her back to Emily, hands clasped behind her back as she watched a piece of magitech being lifted out of the rubble. Emily hesitated, all too aware that Sienna had reason to be annoyed with her ... or worse. Caleb’s mother hadn’t been consulted about his proposal, as far as Emily knew ... she wasn’t even sure Sienna knew her son had intended to propose. Sienna knew they were back together, but beyond that ... Emily forced herself to walk forward, making enough noise to tell Sienna she was coming. Combat sorcerers didn’t enjoy being surprised. They tended to lash out with overwhelming power.
