Cursed (Schooled In Magic Book 17), page 8
It isn’t as if anyone would question him, Emily thought. They wouldn’t even have grounds for suspicion.
Lady Barb came back, looking pleased with herself. “There’s a private washroom, a meeting room and a bedroom beyond,” she said, nodding towards the far door. “My guess is that someone stayed here from time to time, probably not a lover. The outer door is heavily sealed, and I can’t make an impression on it. Alassa might need to call for specialized help.”
Emily frowned. “Could someone have left that way?”
“Perhaps,” Lady Barb said. “But I’d hazard that the wards require someone to be on the inside when the door is opened.”
Emily considered it for a moment. A lover? It didn’t seem likely. Everyone knew that Randor had taken lovers. It was the subject of wild gossip by the courtiers, many of whom would happily steer their daughters towards the king if it meant they got something in exchange. Randor had had all the women he’d wanted, whenever he’d wanted them. It must have started to pall, Emily supposed. The power games Randor had played with Alicia had been about more than just sex. Perhaps he’d needed to do something extreme to give himself a thrill.
Or perhaps he was just an evil bastard, Emily thought. Randor had locked up Alassa, tortured Imaiqah and done everything in his power to kill Emily herself. Even by the standards of the Nameless World, Randor had jumped off the slippery slope long before he’d become a necromancer. He wanted to make us all suffer.
Lady Barb sat down at the table, resting her elbows on the wood. “I’m sorry, Emily,” she said. “I’d hoped we’d find an open book when we broached the chamber.”
“We still might find an answer.” Emily pointed to the pile of books in front of her. She was good at research. If there was an answer within the tomes, she’d find it. “And there are other possibilities ...”
She met Lady Barb’s eyes. “I didn’t want to ask earlier,” she said, “not in front of the others. But ... why don’t you want me to contact Void?”
Lady Barb said nothing for a long moment, her face hardening. “You know I was apprenticed to him, when I graduated with flying colors? And you know what he did to me?”
“I remember.” Emily’s mouth was suddenly dry. Lady Barb had disliked her, when they’d first met, merely for being Void’s supposed daughter. It was something she’d forgotten over the last five years. “You said he used you as an unwilling spy ...?”
“He put me in a position where I was effectively enslaved,” Lady Barb said, flatly. “Perhaps it was necessary. It wasn’t the last time I did something dangerous, something that could have cost me my life and freedom, because I believed it had to be done. But he didn’t bother to ask. I was just a tool to him. He put me in that position without even asking if I would do it.”
Her fists clenched. “And I would have done it, Emily. I looked up to him. Even if I hadn’t ... we knew it had to be done. If he’d asked ...”
“He’s been very good to me,” Emily said, awkwardly.
“Has he?” Lady Barb met Emily’s eyes. “He saved your life, I’ll give him that much. But did he save your life because he wanted to save you or because it was the easiest way to spite Shadye?”
“He could have killed me instead,” Emily pointed out.
“The gods themselves couldn’t have said what would have happened if Void, not Shadye, had killed you on that altar.” Lady Barb snorted, dismissively. “Yes, he saved your life ... and the very next thing he did was send you away. Whitehall was good for you, but ... he just sent you there, rather than giving you any basic education or information. You nearly got killed a few times because you didn’t know what you were doing.”
Emily felt her heart clench. “If he hadn’t sent me to Whitehall ...”
Lady Barb spoke over her. “Void does his duty and he does it very well. But he’s also a user. He used me. He’s used others. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that you’re not the only talented young magician he’s fostered ...”
“He wouldn’t,” Emily said. She didn’t want to think about it. “If there was someone else ...?”
“How would you know?” Lady Barb shrugged. “I think he’s supported you because he thought you might be useful. And you have been useful. He even jumped into battle with a necromancer because you were in danger. But did he do that because he cares? Or because you’re a tool that has not — yet — outlived its usefulness?”
She met Emily’s eyes. “And if you tell him that you’re powerless, he might do something drastic. Maybe he’ll decide to help you. Or, perhaps, he’ll decide that the secrets in your head make you a liability. And he might be right.”
“I ...” Emily said.
“Think carefully before you contact him,” Lady Barb said. “You might be signing your own death warrant.”
Chapter Eight
EMILY COULDN’T HELP HERSELF. SHE BROODED.
It was true, she supposed, that Void had saved her life one day and then sent her to Whitehall — away from him — the next. He’d told her that he wasn’t good with apprentices and Lady Barb’s experience certainly seemed to suggest he was right. And yet ... he hadn’t had to send her to school on a dragon, or give her an allowance, or ... for that matter, he hadn’t had to convince the school to take her. Emily had been nothing, back then. It would have been easy for Void, if he’d been the uncaring monster Lady Barb suggested, to throw her out of his tower and bar the door. She would have starved to death a long time before she stumbled across another living soul.
Her thoughts spun in circles as she picked up the books and carried them back to the antechamber. She trusted Void. He’d been the first person to show any consideration for her welfare — ever. And yet ... she also trusted Lady Barb. What would Void do if he knew Emily was powerless? Find a way to help her? Or drop her like a hot rock? Or ... Lady Barb was right, Emily knew. The secrets in her head could, in the wrong hands, be used to forge an empire or destroy the world. She dreaded to think what would happen if the nuke-spell or the batteries fell into unfriendly hands.
She was still mulling it over as she joined Imaiqah for lunch, then walked back to her workroom to start reading through the books. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about, but the thought refused to go away. She had to force herself to focus on the books, even though research was normally something she enjoyed. Randor’s collection was an eccentric mixture of standard textbooks, random journals that might contain something useful and a handful of evil and banned books. Once, she would have liked digging through the dross in search of gold. Now ...
Cat tapped on the door, then entered. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing in particular,” Emily said.
She glowered at the pile of books. The pages on subtle magic were well-thumbed — Emily had a suspicion that Randor had hidden quite a few surprises around the castle — but she hadn’t found anything relating to death curses. There were instructions for channeling the caster’s entire life force into a single spell, yet it didn’t seem to have a purpose. Whoever had written it hadn’t bothered to explain how to turn the energy into something useful. It wasn’t uncommon, Emily recalled. A theoretical magician would be able to take the instructions, link them with a familiar spell and make it work. Anyone who couldn’t, from what her instructors had said, had no business messing with the spells in the first place.
And that wouldn’t have stopped Randor for a moment, Emily thought. But did he have the background to use the spell to power his spellwork?
“You haven’t looked at all the books yet,” Cat pointed out. “And there might be other collections hidden throughout the castle.”
“Perhaps,” Emily said, although she doubted it. She felt a pang of bitter annoyance at being interrupted. “What are you doing here?”
Cat smiled. “It’s dinnertime. Alassa has invited us to eat with her.”
“People will talk,” Emily said, only half-seriously. People would talk, particularly if they already suspected something was wrong. Alassa couldn’t take two dinners in a row with her friends without courtiers feeling slighted. “Should I change for dinner?”
“You look fine,” Cat said, dismissively. He held out a hand. “Come on.”
Emily rose, glancing at the clock. Had it really been five hours since she’d left Imaiqah and returned to the workroom? She’d lost track of time while she’d been reading the books. It was so reassuringly normal that she had to smile, even though it worried her a little. She’d spent her early life hiding in the library, after all. Better to read books than face the real world.
But the real world intrudes anyway, like it or not, Emily thought. She took Cat’s hand, allowing him to escort her into the corridor. And it doesn’t take the hint when you tell it to go away.
She shook her head, tiredly, as they walked to Alassa’s quarters. Cat and Jade wouldn’t be able to help her, not really. Neither of them was particularly good at research, even though they wouldn’t have passed their exams without working brains. Lady Barb ... Emily wondered, grimly, where Lady Barb had gone. She’d said something about exploring the rest of the secret passageways and chambers, but it couldn’t have taken so long ...
Her blood ran cold. “Did Lady Barb come out of the chambers?”
“I believe she’s in the spellchamber,” Cat said. “She was tossing spells at the dummies when I walked through.”
Emily relaxed, slightly. It was hard to believe that Lady Barb would walk into a trap, but ... Emily had walked into a trap. Randor’s odd approach to magic, so unconventional compared to a formally-trained magician, had worked in his favor. Who knew what he might have hidden in his secret chambers? Lady Barb could have freed herself, without trouble, if she’d triggered the trap ... or could she? Emily could easily think of a couple of ways to make the trap lethal if it caught a dangerous magician. Lady Barb might not have time to react before it was too late.
“You shouldn’t have gone in there alone,” Cat said. He squeezed her arm, gently. “You know it’s dangerous.”
“Yeah,” Emily said. She felt a flash of resentment. Cat had never talked to her like she was a weak and feeble woman, certainly not after she proved herself in combat. She didn’t need a small army of bodyguards shadowing her every move. But now ... she knew he was right. She just didn’t want to believe it. “I just wanted to ...”
“I know.” There was a hint of ... something ... in Cat’s voice. “But you do have to be careful.”
He would have said more, Emily thought, if they hadn’t reached Alassa’s quarters and passed through the door. Alassa and Jade were sitting at the table, reviewing parchments as they waited; Emily looked for Lady Barb, but saw no sign of her. It didn’t feel right, even though she was sure the older woman could take care of herself. Lady Barb should have been there.
Alassa rang for food, then waved Emily to a chair. “What happened?”
“Not much,” Emily said. She outlined everything that had happened from the moment she’d stepped into the tunnels to when she’d taken the books back to her workroom. “So far, I haven’t turned up anything useful.”
She looked down at the table as the despondency threatened to overwhelm her again. It was easy to believe that they wouldn’t find answers or that the price for breaking the curse would be too high. Randor was no theoretical magician, but he could have done something to the curse to make it incredibly hard to remove. Emily could think of at least one piece of spellwork that would kill its host if someone tried to cancel it. Randor might not be able to devise such a spell, but he’d had sorcerers under his command. One of them might have designed the spell for the king.
Or the curse could still be trying to make me give up, she reminded herself. Or it could be trying to drive me to suicide.
Alassa watched her for a long moment, then looked up as the food arrived. “I need you to do something for me,” she said, as she carved the chicken. “Are you up to it?”
Emily hesitated, unsure what to say. “Maybe.”
“I have a problem,” Alassa said. “And you might be the only one who can solve it.”
Emily bit her lip. Alassa — her friend Alassa — would understand that Emily needed time to heal. But Queen Alassa couldn’t afford to give her the time. Emily ... she looked down at her hands, feeling a twinge of bitter resentment. She hadn’t asked to be a noblewoman, let alone an icon to the kingdom. It was hard to believe that anyone took her that seriously. She certainly hadn’t been born to think of herself as something special.
At least I actually did something to deserve fame, she reminded herself, dryly. It isn’t as if I released a hit single or scored a winning goal.
“I’ll do my best,” she said. She tried to hide her irritation. Whatever Alassa wanted, it would take her away from the books. “What can I do for you?”
Alassa passed her a plate of roast chicken. “You remember how many mercenaries my father had in his service?”
Emily nodded, shortly. King Randor had hired so many sellswords that the price had gone through the roof. He’d promised them everything from vast sums of money — he’d outbid everyone else — to lands and titles of their own. Emily had no idea if the king had intended to keep his promises, but it didn’t matter. He’d lost the war.
“We captured a handful of their leaders,” Alassa said. “And two of them were responsible for a whole string of atrocities.”
“Hang them,” Cat growled.
“That’s what the commoners want,” Alassa said. “But politically ... it’s sensitive. I can’t be seen to take a side, not here.”
“Because you might need mercenaries yourself, one day,” Cat said, curtly.
“Cat,” Jade said. “Behave.”
Cat scowled. “It’s true. No one hangs sellswords because they might need the bastards themselves, one day.”
Alassa’s face tightened. “Yes. You’re right. I might need them one day. The guilds will not be happy if I hang a couple of mercenary leaders, no matter what they did. My father issued the orders for slash-and-burn, did he not? But the commoners don’t care. They want the sellswords dead.”
“It’s hard to blame them,” Emily said. She understood Cat’s anger. Mercenaries fought for money, not for a cause. A sellsword who had fought for King Randor one day might be fighting for Alassa the next. “They committed a lot of atrocities. Rape. Murder. They looted everywhere ...”
“They can make a valid case they were simply following orders.” Alassa cut her off. “And they would be right. Technically.”
“And that isn’t good enough for the commoners,” Emily said. “They want you to hang the mercenaries.”
“And I can’t let them get the impression that they can bully me into doing something,” Alassa added. “That’s why I need you to hear the case.”
“And that lets you keep your hands clean,” Cat said. He grinned, suddenly. “Hang the bastards. Make a stand. You did make it clear that you would hang soldiers if they committed crimes — you did hang soldiers for committing crimes. It’s high time the mercenary guilds were brought to heel.”
Alassa let out a sharp breath. “And if we stumble into war with our neighbors,” she said, “guess which side will have no trouble hiring mercenaries?”
“They might hesitate if they know you’ll hang them for crimes against your people,” Cat said, simply. “The only way to deter atrocities is to demonstrate both the power and the will to punish them.”
Emily sighed, inwardly, as the discussion went on and on. The hell of it was that she could see all sides of the argument. The commoners were right to demand justice, but the mercenaries were also right to claim they had been following orders ... and if they hadn't followed orders, they would have been butchered by their own commanders. Emily had seen mercenaries at work. Atrocities were one thing, but defying their commanders was quite another. The unlucky mercenary would probably be killed on the spot.
“I’ll hear the case,” she said. “Are we talking about the leaders? Or all the mercenaries?”
“We do have a number of the rank and file under arrest,” Alassa said. “Dealing with them is going to be another problem.”
Emily nodded. King Randor’s conscripts had simply returned to their homes when the king had lost the war. His senior officers had either pledged loyalty to their new ruler or fled the kingdom. There was no reason to expect a threat from any of them. But mercenaries were different. They might be hired by the neighboring kingdoms, taking their knowledge of modern war with them. Emily rather suspected that everyone was trying to find out precisely what had happened in Zangaria. The modern weapons — cannons and muskets — had reshaped the face of war.
But the only alternative is butchering them, she reminded herself. The mercenaries couldn’t be kept prisoner indefinitely, nor could they be taken into Alassa’s service. What are we going to do?
“I’ll make arrangements for you to hold the trial tomorrow morning,” Alassa said. “Try and make it quick.”
“I’ll do my best,” Emily said. Trials in Zangaria had never been about fairness. She’d tried to change that, in Cockatrice, but it had been an uphill struggle. Too many people distrusted the king’s justice, with reason. “How many of these ... issues ... are we going to face?”
“Hopefully, just this and the inquest,” Alassa said. “I’ll do my best to keep the latter away from you.”
“Good luck with that.” Cat snorted, rudely. “They think Emily just added another notch to her belt. How many necromancers has she killed now?”
“Four,” Emily said, flatly. “And there were no tricks this time.”
“Going head-to-head with a necromancer is quite impressive,” Cat pointed out. “And terrifying.”
Emily gave him a sharp look. It would be terrifying ... right up until they realized that she’d lost her powers. And then ... she wasn’t sure what would happen. She had enemies in high places, people who hated her personally and people who feared the changes she’d brought to the world. She said a silent prayer of thanks that Fulvia was already dead. The former Matriarch of House Ashworth would have killed Emily in a moment, if she’d had the slightest hint that Emily was defenseless. She would even have broken the Compact in a desperate bid to wipe Emily off the face of the planet.
