Love's Labor's Won (8 page)

A door at the far corner opened, revealing King Randor. The barons — and Emily — hastily went down on one knee; the king eyed them for a long moment, before motioning for them to rise. He looked surprisingly pleased with himself, Emily noted, as he took his seat at the head of the table. It struck her, suddenly, that he had been looking forward to the meeting.

“Please, be seated,” King Randor said. He waited for them to sit, then continued with an air of mischievous amusement. “It has been years since we have been gathered together, has it not? Then, there were six of you and my poor charmed brother. And now there are only four.”

He smiled, rather coldly. The former Duke of Iron had been packed off to an isolated castle; a prison, in all but name. Even if he escaped, he was powerless. Alassa had claimed his title, Emily knew, after executing the duke’s treacherous wife. No one would risk their position to back his weak claim to the throne, particularly now that Alassa had been Confirmed.

And the
barons
are powerless too
, Emily thought. Their private armies had been scattered, their sorcerers packed off to other countries...they were weaker than they’d been for nearly a hundred years.
They have to hate it
.

“We shall begin by discussing my will,” Randor continued. He produced a sheaf of paper from his pocket and dropped it on the table. “My kingdom will, of course, go to my daughter. She is, as yet, unmarried, but she is Confirmed. And, I might add, a powerful magician in her own right. Who would be fool enough to dispute the title with her?”

There was a long pause. No one answered.

“There are a handful of other bequests,” King Randor added, “but they are comparatively minor. You will be expected to uphold the terms, should I die before my appointed time.”

He passed the sheaf of papers to Baron Silver, who read it quickly and then passed the will to the next baron. Emily winced inwardly when the papers came to her — the will was written in Old Script, rather than English — and then started to read it. She wasn’t anything like an expert, but as far as she could tell there were only a handful of bequests. Queen Marlena would receive enough money to keep her in luxury for the rest of her days, a handful of loyal servants would be rewarded for their service and...a number of payments were marked out to various women of the court. Emily’s eyes narrowed at the final section. What the hell did that mean?

“I do not intend to divide the kingdom,” Randor said. “It is my intention for my daughter to inherit a unified land.”

“Your majesty,” Baron Gaunt said. “When is your daughter to marry?”

Emily winced, inwardly. Alassa had to produce an heir at some point, someone who shared the Royal Bloodline as well as a strong claim to the throne. And whoever married Alassa would have a chance to make himself king, in fact as well as name. She had a feeling that the three barons, all easily old enough to be Alassa’s father, would have happily put their wives and children aside for a chance to marry the princess.

“When she has found a suitable husband,” King Randor said. “One will be found, I have no doubt, and then she will marry. She has time.”

“She should have been married sooner,” Baron Silver said.

“But she was not,” King Randor said, sharply. “And this leads us to the second part of the discussion.”

He placed his hands on the table and smiled at them. There was something cool and deliberate about his movements, as if he had planned the meeting beforehand. Emily felt a cold shiver running down her spine as she realized that, whatever the King had to say, the barons were not going to like it.

“A number of noble families have lost their heads,” he said. “Their children, alas, have been cast out in the world with no one to protect or discipline them, let alone guide them through the rocks and shoals of the path towards adulthood. The estates, held in trust for them, will languish without a firm hand to keep their clients in line. Their peasants are already fleeing the fields for the opportunities of the cities.”

Emily felt her cheeks heat as two of the barons tossed her sharp glances. It was
her
fault, more than anyone else, that so many opportunities had opened up in the cities. Now, peasants who were legally bound to the land were fleeing to the cities, seeking a chance to make new lives for themselves. The barons were furious; clearly, it had never occurred to them that no one liked working hard, then only being allowed to keep a tiny portion of their crops. Taxes were so high in some parts of Zangaria that they were literally impossible to pay. And then the barons wondered why so many peasants became bandits.

“This is, of course, a grave concern to the kingdom,” King Randor continued. “I will therefore be assuming guardianship of all the minor aristocratic children, effective immediately.”

Emily didn’t understand what he meant, but it was clear the other barons
did
. They looked, very much, as if they wanted to protest, to object to what the king had said. If they’d had weapons...she shook her head, inwardly. She rather doubted King Randor would have been defenseless, if they’d gone at him with swords or daggers. The wards surrounding the room were light, compared to Whitehall’s, but they would be effective against men without magic.

“The children will come to the castle to live with my family,” Randor said. “Once they reach their majority, they will assume their titles and serve as aristocrats in their lands.”

He paused. Emily realized, suddenly, that he was effectively gloating, rubbing their helplessness in their faces. But why? What did the guardianship of minor children
matter
? But there was no way she could ask, not now. She would have to discuss it with Alassa later, and perhaps Lady Barb. And then...she wondered, briefly, if there was anything she should or could do. But she couldn’t say without knowing what was going on.

“Your majesty,” Baron Silver said. “You have yet to confirm
Baroness
Alicia in her lands and title, even though she is of age.”

“She is a girl,” King Randor said, dismissively.

“So is Baroness Cockatrice,” Baron Silver said, indicating Emily. His voice dripped honey...and sarcasm. “And
she
saved your throne, for which we are all truly grateful.”

“Baroness Emily was rewarded for her services to the crown,” King Randor said. “What has Alicia done to merit being confirmed in her lands and title?”

The barons sucked in their breath. Even
Emily
was astonished. King Randor had targeted, intentionally or otherwise, the cornerstone of the aristocratic system. Noble titles and power were passed down from father to son — or daughter, if there was no suitable male heir. For him to deny Alicia her rank and titles...she shook her head, promising herself that she would go over it with Alassa at the earliest possible moment. There was too much here she simply didn’t understand.

Maybe I should just give up the title
, she thought, ruefully.
There is probably no shortage of others who want it
.

“She is the only surviving heir of Baron Gold,” Baron Gaunt said. “And she was not involved in his treachery.”

Emily frowned inwardly as something clicked into place. The three most powerful barons were called Gold, Silver and Bronze. Collectively, they controlled enough lands and power to bring the king to heel. Or they had, before Baron Gold had been beheaded and King Randor had deployed a new and powerful army. Was King Randor delaying because he didn’t want a new Baroness Gold? Alicia might be very far from harmless with such wealth and power in her hands. She would be only human if she didn’t want some revenge for her executed father.

“We will see,” the King said. He held up a hand as the barons started to object. “The third matter is considerably more alarming.”

He waved a hand in the air. Moments later, a pair of dark-clad servants entered, carrying a box of documents between them. Emily’s eyes narrowed as she spotted the jewels implanted in their foreheads, anchoring the enslavement spells in place. The servants — no, the
slaves
— would do whatever they were told by their master, without the slightest hope of resistance. It wasn’t something she would wish on her worst enemy.

“These...pamphlets have been spreading through the kingdom,” King Randor said. “You will, I suspect, find them quite disturbing.”

Emily took one of the pamphlets and read it, quickly. It was written using English letters, but, as always, the local spelling left something to be desired. Words were spelled out phonically, ensuring there were several different, but technically correct spellings for many different words. Hell, the writer couldn’t be bothered being consistent; he’d used the same word several times, spelling it four different ways. But it didn’t matter, she knew. As long as the words could be sounded out, they were readable.

Her eyes went wide when she finally parsed out the first section. Years ago, she’d read Karl Marx. She hadn’t been impressed, either with the arguments or the verbiage; it had seemed to her that Marx had been trying to hide the weakness in his thinking behind a mountain of long and complicated words. But the writer who’d written the pamphlet seemed to be channeling the ideal of Marx...

“Baroness Emily,” King Randor said. “Why don’t you read to us?”

Emily looked down at the pamphlet. “Our society is shaped like a triangle,” she read. “The king and his aristocracy are on the top, peasants and slaves are at the bottom. This is the one truth we are taught right from birth, when we become aware of both society and our place in it. The higher up the triangle, the more power a person possesses over his inferiors. But the question we are taught never to ask is why? Why is our society so fixed?

“We are told that peasants deserve to be peasants and slaves deserve to be slaves. We are told that peasants are slow, stupid, incapable of being anything more than grunt animals in the fields. And yet, when given the opportunity, peasants who escape the fields can make their own lives, earning wealth for themselves, rather than their owners. Is it true, therefore, that there is something
inherently
slavish about the peasants?

“And if this is not true, and common sense tells us it isn’t, is there something
inherently
noble about the nobility? Why should they have power when they have done nothing to earn it, save being born lucky?”

King Randor held up a hand. “These have been found everywhere,” he said. “Some argue that the nobility should be elected, or that real power should be placed in the hands of the Assembly. Others call for the total destruction of the aristocracy and a grand sharing out of the wealth and power we have built up over centuries. They are, of course, hideously subversive.”

You would think that
, Emily thought acidly. She couldn’t blame the king for wanting to protect his position, but she’d never liked the idea of an aristocracy. Why, indeed, should some people have the right to rule others, merely through having been born to the right families?

“I have issued orders to ban these documents and discover the producers,” Randor continued. “I expect each and every one of you” — his gaze rested on Emily for a long moment — “to concentrate on finding the writer of these...these pieces of toilet paper and arresting him.”

That wouldn’t be enough, Emily knew. The printing press ensured that thousands of copies could be produced very quickly, while English letters made sure just about anyone could
read
the subversive papers. It would be impossible to suppress them completely, not without completely destroying the printing presses and killing anyone who knew how to read English letters. And
that
would cripple the newborn economy beyond repair.

And she wasn’t sure she
wanted
to catch the person or persons responsible. She’d seen too much of the nobility, mundane or magical, to have any faith in aristocracy as a basis for long-term government. Alassa had been a brat when they’d first met, a brat armed with magic, while half of her would-be suitors had been lecherous fools. And Melissa was a member of the magical aristocracy...

“Change is coming to Our Kingdom,” Randor said, softly. “We cannot avoid it. But we can, we will, manage it so that all that is noble and good about our lands is not destroyed.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Baron Gaunt said.

“But there are other issues to be discussed,” Baron Silver said. “The broadsheets, for example. They should be controlled.”

King Randor looked at Emily. “Can they be controlled? Should they be controlled?”

Emily swallowed. It was hard, in all honesty, to actually answer the question. On one hand, she knew from Earth that freedom of the press was the cornerstone of a healthy democracy. But, on the other hand, Zangaria wasn’t exactly a democracy. King Randor was practically all-powerful, with an army powerful enough to threaten both the Noble Estates and the Assembly. And even if it
had
been a democracy, too much press freedom had proved as corrosive as too little...

“They shouldn’t,” she said, finally.

“I see,” King Randor said. “And would you like to explain that statement?”

Emily forced herself to think. “Most of the broadsheets will not survive,” she said, after a moment. “There were hundreds established just after the printing press became freely available, but the economy simply cannot support them all. However, those that do survive will often point to very real problems that need to be fixed, if you allow them the freedom to do so. And, because you have allowed them freedom, you will be believed when you use them to spread your own words and statements.”

“But they will also make people question their betters,” Baron Silver observed, darkly.

“People always question their betters,” Emily said. She rather doubted anyone in Zangaria believed a word of the official statements, even the ones read out by heralds in the center of town. “But this way, you start making connections with the people...”

She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to say anything else, then plunged on. “The events of two years ago upset the kingdom,” she said. “You cannot afford to proceed as if nothing has changed.”