Snippet – The Apprentice Mistress (SIM 26)

Prologue (Marah)

The trick to remaining unnoticed, through an obscurification spell, was to do nothing that might draw attention to you.

Marah wrapped her magic around her and walked through the crowd of angry citizens, watched warily by armed soldiers and mercenaries who were clearly unnerved, their foreheads shiny with sweat as they eyed the crowd and wondered, no doubt, if it was time to turn and flee before the crowd grew violent. The citizens weren’t permitted to bear arms, not legally, but there were dozens of men carrying muskets, pistols and swords in plain view, daring the Royal Guard to do something about it. Marah was mildly surprised King Frederick III of Valadon hadn’t already ordered them to try, although his orders might have gone missing somewhere in transit. Half the royal messengers had vanished and half of the remainder were working for the dissidents, the factions that wanted change in the kingdom and were no longer prepared to wait for it. Or perhaps the king was just biding his time. If the rumours were accurate, the mercenaries on the streets already were just the first of many.

The crowd looked ready for them. The armed men were covering others, carrying placards with demands and threats written in blocky writing. Others were carrying portraits of famous rebels – Althorn and Jair of Alluvia, Lady Emily of Herself Alone – and marching up and down, chanting their names in a manner normally reserved for the monarch alone. Still others were openly threatening, listing names of aristos renowned for greed and cruelty and reminding them, coldly, that their days were numbered. The smart ones would already have fled. The remainder would die, when the revolution came.

She grimaced, schooling her face into a calm mask as she walked past the guards. She’d donned a male outfit, hiding her red hair under a workman’s cap and adjusting her shirt to hide the curve of her breasts, but the guise wouldn’t last long – if at all – if they saw through the spell. The air was heavy with protection wards, preventing scrying and teleporting and many other spells. Virgil Quintus Fabius – her master – had assured her the obscurification charm should be fine, that it was too minor to be disrupted by the wards, yet she knew better than to take it for granted. She had no fear of the guards – she’d outrun guardsmen before, or used her magic to take them down – but using her magic openly would blow her cover beyond repair. She would have to run, leaving her mission undone. And that would disappoint her master.

And she couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing him.

A pair of guards swaggered past, their pretence undermined by the way they kept their hands close to their swords. The Royal Guard was supposed to keep the city calm, but they’d lost control of many districts and a number of others were teetering on the brink of anarchy. Even the safe districts were nothing of the sort, not for guardsmen. Quite a few had gone out on patrol and simply never come home, their bodies left to the rats. Marah’s hand twitched, the urge to draw her wand and turn them both into frogs threatening to overwhelm her. It would be a vast improvement, but … she shook her head curtly. The spell might be noticed. And that would draw attention, enough attention to tear away her protective charm and leave her exposed to the world.

The Royal Road lay in front of her, disturbingly – almost eerily – empty. The fancy homes and shops lining the road were closed and shuttered, their occupants hiding inside if they hadn’t already fled to the countryside. Marah felt a twinge of dark amusement as her eyes alighted on a particular building, a weird cross between a mansion and an apartment block, that belonged to a merchant-turned-aristo she knew by reputation. The man had build his fortune on the bodies of her family and countless others, then married into the aristocracy; she wondered, idly, if he cared one whit about the men and women left choking in the mines, their health irreversibly destroyed by the dust and flumes. She doubted it. She eyed the building for a long moment, noting the sheer volume of protective wards woven into the stone, and smiled coldly. The man knew he was hated, and had taken precautions. They wouldn’t be enough to save him, when the revolution came. Marah silently promised herself she’d be there, when the time came, to watch the newborn aristo swing.

A shame I can’t use his home for a firing point, she thought. But trying to get across the road now would be dangerous.

Her lips twitched coldly as she inched through the alleyway, then scrambled up the nearest wall. The apartment block was carefully designed to make the walls difficult to climb, but the architect clearly hadn’t been a climber himself. Marah had spent the last few months in the city practicing, joining the rooftop crews and learning their ways. She wasn’t as skilled as some of the street kids – she’d seen a young boy go up a wall she’d thought too smooth to climb – but she was good enough to get to the roof. The secret, she’d been told, was to be careful not to look down. If you froze halfway up, the Royal Guard was more likely to use you for target practice than try to help you.

She scowled as she reached the rooftop, looking around warily. The architect hadn’t realised he’d put his luxury apartments and shops too close together either, allowing the rooftop gangs to move from building to building without ever touching the ground. It was quite possible she wasn’t alone on the roof, although it would be a brave kid who stayed permanently. The guardsmen might also have set up observation posts on the rooftops, if the residents let them. Marah couldn’t help smiling at the thought. The aristos and wealthy merchants would sooner have their throats cut, than be protected by their social inferiors. She could imagine a wealthy matron telling the guardsmen they had to stay out of her home, or wipe their feet – at least – before they entered, and getting away with it. It was astonishing what you could do if you had the money and connections to get away with it.

Not today, she told herself.

She perched on the edge of the roof and peered down at the road. The street was still empty. Good. There would be no confusion about which coach was her target. She couldn’t help feeling a thrill as she unslung her knapsack and removed the special wand, battery and valve, then plugged the latter two into the wand. Her master had promised her a proper mission, when she’d recovered from her visit to Lord Allenstown’s mansion, yet all he’d had her doing was distributing leaflets and practicing her magic skills. Some distribution had been challenging – she’d had to find ways to put the leaflets in home and businesses, without being caught – but the remainder had been boring. Very boring. She had begged and pleaded for something to do. If he’d told her to sneak into the castle and assassinate the king himself, she would have done it.

The wand hummed in her hand, ready to go. Marah leaned back and forced herself to wait. It was important, very important, that she made sure of her target before she fired. The Allied Lands – or what was left of them – had dispatched a diplomat to patch the kingdom back together before it exploded into civil war … or, as she preferred to think of it, to give the moderates a chance to sell out the revolution before it had even taken place. They would, she knew, if they thought they could get away with it. They didn’t want to upend the system and destroy it. They wanted to carve out a better place for themselves. Marah had no illusions about what it would mean for the poor, like her family. They would be slaves still, just to different masters. It could not be borne.

It felt like hours before she spotted the first sign of movement. A lone gilded carriage, pulled by a pair of black horses and escorted by a handful of cavalry troopers, heading towards the gate. She glanced at the sun, noting to her surprise that the carriage was actually early; she’d been cautioned it might be hours, perhaps near sunset, before the diplomat left the castle and headed home. By tradition, he couldn’t actually stay in the city itself – or so she’d been told – but that wouldn’t stop the king doing everything in his power to turn him into an ally. He’d be flattered and feasted and given whatever he wanted – wine, women, song – in a desperate bid to convince him to side with the king. Marah’s lips twitched in disgust. The moderates were fools, if they thought the neutral diplomat was anything of the sort. They were merchants, weren’t they? They should know the danger of letting the king flatter and feast anyone. But then, if they wanted to come to terms that didn’t include outright revolution …

Her hand dropped to her wand, raising it to point at the carriage. Her master had been very clear, when he’d given her the instructions. She would only get one chance, once she triggered the spell. The protections around the royal carriage – another sign of kingly favour – were tough. Her magic, no matter how hard she tried, wouldn’t be enough to break them. But the magic stored in the battery would crack the wards like an eggshell … probably. The magic would flood into the carriage and snuff out all life inside, so quickly the occupant would have no time to react before it was far too late.

She took a breath, bracing herself, and prepped the spell. The guards would be shocked when they saw the blast, giving her enough time to escape. She hoped …

The wand twitched in her hand, the sudden surge of magic making her flinch even as she fought to keep the wand pointed at the carriage. The world seemed to explode with blindingly bright light, rapidly streaming into a ray of raw power that burned through the carriage’s wards and into the wood itself. The horses caught fire, breaking free of their harnesses as they panicked; the coachman threw himself off the vehicle, barely getting clear before it was too late. Marah was almost relieved. The man had worked for the king, and was probably as corrupt as the rest of his court, but he didn’t deserve to die. She hoped he’d have the sense to vanish, rather than face the blame for the disaster. The king would be looking for a scapegoat.

She gritted her teeth as the wand grew warm in her hand, almost burning her … an instant before the carriage exploded. Marah whooped, throwing caution to the winds even as she covered her eyes to protect them from the light. The carriage had become a towering pillar of smoke, a grim reminder of the fate of those who served tyrants …

Something moved, within the smoke. Marah stumbled to her feet, one hand grabbing for the wand at her belt, as she saw a figure flying up. Impossible. She’d unleashed enough power to shatter the wards and vaporise the carriage … for a moment, she thought she was seeing things. The figure came into view … she stared in disbelief as she drew her wand. She’d expected an elderly aristocrat, or a courtier completely dependent on his master, but the diplomat was a young woman only a few years older than Marah herself. She flew under her own power, brown hair fanning out around her … Marah felt a moment of absolute horror as she recognised her. Emily. Lady Emily. Who else could it be?

Emily pointed a finger at her. Marah raised her wand … slowly. Too slowly. Emily’s hand moved …

… And Marah plunged into darkness.

Chapter One

Emily was done.

She stared at the aristocratic family – minor nobility, of little interest to anyone if they hadn’t held lands along the Zangarian border – and felt a headache starting to pound behind her eyes. A father, who had failed to raise his sons; an elder son, who had been nearly murdered by his younger brother and retaliated by framing the younger man for an entire string of crimes; a younger son, so lost in his own grievance that he refused to own his share of the blame; a fiancée, engaged to the younger, who had cuckolded him with the elder and was now carrying his child … a mishmash of hatreds and resentments and sheer bloody foolishness that would give the Lannisters a run for their money. She would almost have preferred to deal with the latter, as short-sighted and obnoxious as they were. At least the three hadn’t been trying to smear and then kill each other.

And Alassa sent you out here to find out what really happened and deal with it, Emily reminded herself, tiredly. She understood her friend’s logic – Emily was the second or third-ranked noble in the kingdom, as well as a powerful magician; there were very few, even amongst the entitled aristocracy who would gainsay her – but it was hard not to think the queen should have handed the matter herself. No one would have blamed her for stripping the entire family of their titles and sending them all into exile.

She sighed inwardly, allowing the silence to grow until the air was uncomfortably tense. That wasn’t true. The aristocracy might not like Earl Wilfred and his family, but they would resist any attempt to strip them of their lands and titles. It would set a terrible precedent, one Alassa could turn against any other nobleman who displeased her. She might get away with disinheriting a lone nobleman, if he committed treason, but an entire family? It would cause too many problems, further down the line. Alassa had sent Emily because there weren’t many others who could make a ruling and then make it stick.

I never wanted to be an aristocrat, she thought, crossly. She almost wished she’d refused King Randor’s offer of lands and titles, even though she knew she’d done a lot of good … ironically, by doing as little direct ruling as possible. And these … people … don’t even have the decency to try to be good rulers.

She allowed her eyes to linger on the four. Heir Primus Harry and his brother Edmund, looking like cheap knockoffs of Thor and Loki respectively, their faces shifting between sullen defiance, self-righteousness and, hidden beneath the self-righteousness, soul-destroying fear. Emily couldn’t help thinking of them as children, young boys who hadn’t quite realised their games had very real consequences.  Lady Lindsay stood beside them, her eyes downcast and her hands clasped behind her back, doing her best to portray the very image of an innocent young woman caught up in a terrible plot. She was dressed for the part, Emily reflected; she’d donned a demure dress, then allowed her hair to hang freely down her back. Earl Wilfred and his wife, Lady Livia, stood on the other side, the earl looking like a broken man and his wife fearful of losing both of her sons in a single day. Emily wondered, sourly, if the older woman had realised something was wrong before it exploded in her husband’s face. She had the eyes of someone regretting her life choices.

“Let me see if I understand everything correctly,” Emily said, keeping her voice under tight control. It hadn’t taken long with liberal use of truth spells and charms, to uncover the entire story. They’d tried to claim the aristocracy was exempt from truth spells, when she’d told them she was going to ensure they were telling the truth, and only the threat of summary judgement against them had quelled their objections. “You” – she pointed to Edmund – “attempted to kill your brother. Twice. He, instead of taking the case to the queen, retaliated by sleeping with your fiancée, framing you for a set of serious crimes and siring a child on her. You discovered this adultery and tried to kill them, which led to your arrest and me being sent out here. Have I missed anything?”

Her lips twitched. Trying to murder your older sibling was flatly illegal – obviously – and, if Harry had gone straight to Alassa, she would have beheaded Edmund or expelled him from the kingdom. Harry could have saved himself a great deal of trouble if he had; he certainly hadn’t needed to frame his brother if his brother was already guilty of attempted murder. But he’d wanted to deal with it himself.

“Harry slept with my wife,” Edmund protested. “He framed me …”

“I’m not your wife,” Lindsey insisted. “You …”

Emily cut her off. “And why didn’t you go to the queen?”

Lindsey looked down. “My father would have disowned me.”

“Really?” Emily cocked her head. “I think the queen would have had something to say about it.”

She sighed, inwardly. On paper, it was legal to arrange a match for your children but illegal to actually force them into marriage. The arrangement had been made when both Edmund and Lindsey were preteens, and they could have said no when they reached marriageable age, yet … Emily understood, better than she cared to admit. Lindsey’s father would have pulled out all the stops to make her consent, from reasoned arguments to threats, beatings and other punishments. Too much rested on the marriage arrangement for him to do anything else; it was possible, all too possible, that he’d sent her to the earl’s castle in hopes she’d be caught in bed with her fiancé. Or that he’d make her …

And Alassa might have helped her, or she might not, Emily thought, coldly. The union would strengthen the border defences, always important in an age of change. Alassa wasn’t a bad person, but it would be easy for her to sacrifice Lindsey’s happiness on the altar of protecting her country. There was no way Lindsey could have counted on her for anything.

Her thoughts hardened. But that doesn’t justify what they did.

“Tell me something,” she said. “How were you planning to fool the paternity test?”

Harry smirked, just for a second. “Edmund was bragging about his stamina in bed.”

Emily rolled her eyes, feeling the last glimmer of sympathy she might have felt for the young man flicker and die. She wouldn’t have blamed him for going to the queen and demanding justice, or drawing his sword and trying to settle the matter in a honourable duel, but framing his own brother for rape, convincing him he was the father of his brother’s child, was going too far. Far too far. The paternity spell might have been fooled – Harry and Edmund were brothers – but Emily wouldn’t have cared to count on it. And an innocent babe would be caught in the storm if – when – the truth came out. It was insane to assume Edmund would be so proud of himself, for sleeping with his fiancée, that he’d refuse the test. They were carried out as a matter of course.

“My Lady,” Earl Wilfred said. “My boys have been very foolish, but …”

Harry and Edmund started arguing, loudly. Emily was silently relieved she was, as far as she knew, an only child. She’d wanted siblings, at least at first, but if a sibling relationship could turn so sour … she’d interrogated Edmund thoroughly, time and time again, to determine just how the things had gone so badly wrong. She could understand him being jealous of his elder brother, who stood to inherit everything, but … that didn’t justify murder. Or anything else. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t have gone south to build a new life for himself, far from his elder brother. He was just a petty and spiteful kid who had never had to worry about retaliation, until it was far too late.

And Alassa sent me to sort out the mess, Emily thought. She wasn’t blind to the political realities underlying the crisis, as minor as it seemed. For trying to murder his brother, Edmund should die; for sleeping with his brother’s fiancée and impregnating her, thus messing up the bloodlines, Harry should die; for willingly cheating on her husband-to-be, Lindsay should die too. She needs a solution that won’t be questioned.

She sighed, inwardly. That was going to be a tall order. Legally, she should kill all three of them. Practically, she knew she needed a better solution. Each brother’s supporters would insist he was the victim and the other the victimiser, particularly given just how far matters that gone before it came into the light. She wondered, idly, just what they’d planned to do about paternity spells. If the unborn child looked suspiciously like Harry, Edmund would have to be a total dimwit not to be suspicious. And his rage was entirely understandable. He had been made to wear horns in front of the entire earldom. The rest of the kingdom would know, and start laughing at him, soon enough.

But he did try to kill his brother, she thought. He deserves it and worse.

She shook her head as the argument grew louder, both brothers reaching for their swords … thankfully, Emily had insisted they both be disarmed before entering the hall. She doubted they were completely unharmed – their fancy outfits provided plenty of space to hide a blade – but she should have time to intervene before they could draw a concealed weapon. Lady Lindsey, too, might have a blade hidden up her sleeve. It was traditional for young women of a certain background.

“Enough.” Emily spoke quietly, but she infused the word with enough magic to make it echo around the hall. “It is time for judgement.”

Her lips quirked. Alassa had told her, more than once, that there was no such thing as too much drama when passing judgement. Emily was starting to see the wisdom of it.

She looked at Harry first. “You are the victim, but you are also the victimiser. Your revenge scheme could have had horrific consequences, for your family and the entire earldom as well as yourself. You could have been brought up to account for cuckolding your brother, if the deception was discovered, and if you married yourself beforehand it would have thrown your marriage arrangement into disarray. Your unborn child” – she nodded at Lindsey – “would have become a legal bastard, stripped even of the protection of being Edmund’s child. It might even have led to war.

“And you didn’t have to do any of this.”

Her eyes moved to Edmund. “You are the victim, but you are also the victimiser. You attempted to murder your brother, which is unforgiveable. You also were framed for rape, and punished accordingly, and to add insult to injury you were tricked into believing your fiancée’s child was yours. Your reaction was extreme. You could have gone to the queen and demanded justice.”

Although any investigation would probably reveal the murder attempts, her thoughts added, silently. There had been other options. Edmund could have gone to his father instead. It would have been messy, a political nightmare, but it could have been resolved relatively quietly. The earl would have bought you off just to keep you quiet.

She looked at Lindsey. “I understand that you did not want to marry Edmund. I also understand that you were under terrible pressure to get married as quickly as possible – and that such pressure can be difficult to resist. That does not excuse sleeping with your future brother-in-law, conceiving his child, framing your fiancé for rape in a bid to explain your pregnancy and effectively cuckolding him. The consequences for your actions would have been disastrous, when the truth finally came out. They would not just have fallen on you, but on an innocent child.”

Emily shook her head. “Did any of you even bother to think past the next few months?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. “Edmund, for your crimes, you will go into exile on the far side of the Craggy Mountains. Your martial contract is dissolved and the dowry and virginity compensation you were forced to pay will be repaid, with interest. In addition, the earldom will pay you a reasonably stipend for the rest of your life, regardless of who eventually inherits. You may take with you whichever of your retainers and servants wish to go, but they must make that choice themselves. Once you go into exile, you may not return without the queen’s permission.”

Edmund opened his mouth to argue. His father snapped at him to close it before he could get out a single word. Emily smiled, inwardly. Earl Wilfred had a working brain, which was more than could be said of either of his sons. They could be executed for their crimes, no matter the justification, and the family’s reputation dragged through the mud. Exile was the best Edmund could hope for, and his father knew it.

“Harry, for your crimes, you are banished from the kingdom until the queen sees fit to permit your return,” Emily continued. “Again, you will be paid a reasonable stipend from the earldom, and may take retainers and servants if they choose to accompany you.”

Earl Wilfred visibly gulped. “My Lady, one of my boys must inherit.”

“Alassa does not want or need aristocrats who step so far over the line,” Emily said. A gasp ran through the room at her casual use of the queen’s first name – a mistake, but not one that could be taken back. “They deserve each other.”

“Then let us fight a duel of honour,” Harry said.

“Honourable duels are for honourable men,” Emily said. Harry was an renowned swords master.  She had no doubt he would kill his brother and use his victory to claim he was cleared of all charges. “There are no honourable men here.”

She looked from face to face. “None of you have acted well,” she said. “And fortunately, there is a way to deal with the issue without fatally undermining the earldom.”

Emily moved her gaze to Lindsay. She could have felt sorry for the girl – she had been engaged to a man she didn’t know, threatened with marriage without her consent – but there was no way Emily could condone Lindsay’s actions. They had been short-sighted and dangerously foolish, and she and Harry would have been left high and dry if Edmund had had the wit to demand the court magician cast truth spells on everyone involved. He had been so drunk, he had to have been, that it was unlikely he could have had sex with anyone. If he had questioned the narrative, it would have come apart in short order. And then Lindsay would have been in very deep shit indeed.

“Lindsay,” Emily said. “I understand your motivations. I cannot condone your actions. Regardless of whether or not Edmund deserved his treatment, you have made life much harder for other young women in your position, all of whom will be put under much tighter supervision and none of whom will be believed if they report mistreatment. Your actions had consequences that will fall on people who have nothing to do with you or your decisions.

“You will go to court, where you will be under supervision, until you give birth. The child will be raised by Earl Wilfred and his wife and, as the child will be a blood heir, designated Heir Primus and the inheritor of the earldom when Earl Wilfred passes away. Afterwards, you will be sent into exile yourself. You may not return to the kingdom without permission from Her Majesty. As harsh it seems, this is a mercy.”

Lindsey’s face was expressionless. But Emily thought she saw a glimmer of relief. It was a mercy. Despite Alassa’s best efforts, there was still a nasty streak of misogyny running through the aristocracy. Lindsay was lucky she wouldn’t be blamed for everything – given how public the scandal had become, it was impossible for the young men to escape at least some of the blame – but she would get more than her fair share. She was lucky, too, that Edmund had attacked his brother rather than going straight to their father. Lindsay would have been sent home in disgrace and her prospects, such they were, ruined beyond repair.

She ignored the grumbling from the young men and the broken look on their father’s face.

“I hope the three of you will make something of yourselves, in exile,” she said. If nothing else, they would be out of Alassa’s hair … which was what her friend had wanted all along. “I have given you each a second chance. I suggest you take advantage of the opportunity before it is too late.”

She turned and left the hall, trying to keep her face under tight control. God, what a tawdry mess! And so unnecessary too. It would have been easy for Harry to go to the queen, instead of embarking on a demented scheme that had ruined his prospects as well as his murderous brother. Or Lindsey … she could have tried, at least, to go to the queen. Even Edmund could have headed south, with his father’s blessing, and tried to carve out a kingdom for himself in the Blighted Lands. It would have been so much better. Who knew, perhaps the two brothers would have repaired their relationship, once there were hundreds of miles between them.

They made their choices, she told herself, sharply. It was … irritating. For every aristocrat she’d met who were noble in behaviour as well as blood, there were a dozen entitled brats who thought their birth entitled them to do whatever the hell they liked. And the world is changing, like it or not.

She kept walking, ignoring the handful of petitioners outside the hall. The aristocratic world was shifting, like it or not, and those who didn’t evolve would die. The revolutions in Alluvia and Tarsier, the ongoing civil war in Kerajaan, the unrest everywhere else, with peasants fleeing repressive lords for more congenial masters or taking up arms when their lords tried to keep them from leaving. The railways were expanding rapidly, the broadsheets were bringing the truth to the people, the airships were taking to the skies … the world was going to change, no matter what the aristocracy tried. There was no putting the demon back in the bottle now …

A shiver ran down her spine, a grim reminder the demonic books were still out there. And the enigmatic Hierarchy, biding its time. She had no idea what it wanted – most people thought it simply didn’t exist – but she doubted she’d be pleased when she found out.

And there are many other problems we’ll have to deal with, in time, Emily thought. But right now I have to report back to Alassa.