Emily jumped, spinning around. A middle-aged man was standing there, regarding her with bleary eyes. He didn’t look that much older than her, but his red nose and the bottle in his hand told her everything she needed to know about him. A drunkard…an aristocratic drunkard. His clothes were far too fine to belong to anyone but a nobleman. No doubt he’d claim to be a high-functioning drunkard too. He leaned against the wall as if his legs were on the verge of giving way, but his eyes were firmly fixed on her. He’d seen her…how the hell had he seen her?
The drink must have helped, she thought, as her mind raced. Who was he? One of the family, of course, but who? Or perhaps a guest…? The spies hadn’t been clear on who else was in the mansion. Maybe he was Lord Burrows’ lover. Emily couldn’t imagine kissing a drunkard, but Lord Burrows might have different ideas. If he’s drunk, the charms might not work right.
“Come here,” the man croaked. He giggled, a high-pitched sound that went through her like a knife. “I know how to deal with naughty little maids like you.”
Emily blinked. He’d mistaken her for a maid? The charms were still working, then. He thought her presence was quite normal and his mind had filled in the rest. At least he wasn’t screaming for help. Emily had no doubt that a cry would rouse the entire household in seconds. The servants would come running…
“Come here,” the man repeated. His gaze traveled over her breasts. “I know…”
A hot flash of anger ran through Emily’s mind as she shaped a spell. The man blinked in surprise, his eyes defocusing as the spell took effect. Emily didn’t like using any kind of mind control spells, let alone using magics that tinkered with a person’s memory, but she’d make an exception for the drunkard. She knew that maids were routinely harassed–or worse–by their employers, yet she hadn’t really understood the scale of the problem. She understood it now.
“Go back to bed and sleep,” she ordered. The suggestion would be almost irresistible, normally. A drunkard might take further convincing. “And when you wake up, forget you ever saw me.”
The man’s eyes blinked, slowly. Emily watched him turn and stagger down the corridor, his bottle slowly slipping from his hand. He tightened his grip a moment before it could fall to the ground and smash. Emily hesitated–she could make a few more suggestions–then turned and made her way towards the master bedroom. A pair of maids, sitting in the antechamber, were frozen before they even realized she was there. Emily felt a moment of contempt–aristocratic women seemed to need nursemaids, even when they were fully-grown adults–then stepped into the bedroom itself. A faint light glowed above the bed, illuminating a head covered in golden hair…
Alicia rolled over and sat up, one hand grasping for a flintlock pistol hanging by the side of her bed. Emily’s eyes went wide as she saw the weapon–she’d never expected Alicia to be armed–and she hastily froze the older woman before she could fire. The sound would wake the entire house!
She must fear assassins, Emily thought, morbidly. A woman with Alicia’s resources could surround the entire mansion with guards, if she wished. And if the king would let her. She doesn’t know who she can trust.
“Alicia,” she said, closing the door behind her. “I think we need to have a chat.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
ALICIA DIDN’T MOVE, OF COURSE, AS Emily cast a handful of wards in the air before carefully removing the flintlock from her hand and placing it well out of reach. And yet, Emily could feel the girl’s fear, almost as if it were a physical force. Alicia had good reason to be scared, to fear for her life…and her child’s life. Alassa had tried to kill Alicia–would have killed her, if Emily hadn’t saved her life. Now, with Alassa in the Tower and the kingdom on the verge of civil war, Alicia was horrifyingly vulnerable. She had no way to know which way Emily would jump.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” Emily said. “But it is important you don’t cry out.”
She looked around the darkened room, making sure they were alone, then relaxed the freeze spell. Alicia slumped forward, her entire body shaking with fear. Emily felt a stab of pity, knowing–all too well–that Alicia was little more than a puppet. She’d had little say in her life, before and after her father’s death. Randor had certainly never treated her as anything other than a tool to be used or discarded as the whim struck him. It had been a terrible shock to discover that he’d managed to get her pregnant.
And the baby must be with the wet nurse, Emily thought. Aristocratic women rarely suckled their children. Or is he up at the castle?
“Emily,” Alicia stuttered. “What…what are you doing here?”
“I thought we should talk,” Emily said. “And I’m sure you’re not going to tell the king I visited.”
Alicia looked up at her in surprise, then lowered her eyes in dismay. Emily could practically see the thoughts running through the older woman’s head. Randor would never believe that Alicia was completely innocent, not when she owed Emily a huge favor. He wouldn’t have any problems clapping Alicia in the Tower too, while raising her child himself…and if Alassa’s baby was born safely, Alicia’s son would probably be sent out of the kingdom. The child’s mere existence was an open invitation to civil war.
As if anyone needed another excuse for war, Emily thought, passing Alicia a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. We’re on the verge of civil war already.
Alicia cleared her throat. “What do you want?”
Emily shifted back, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. “Merely to ask a few questions,” she said. “What is the word in the castle? What’s happened to Alassa? And Imaiqah?”
“The king won’t answer any questions,” Alicia said, after a moment. “But everyone knows they’re in the Tower. There are hundreds of rumors flying around.”
“I’m sure there are,” Emily said, thoughtfully. She was tempted to ask for details, but she didn’t have time. “And you? What are you doing at the castle?”
“The king wants my son to stay near him,” Alicia said, reluctantly. “He was very insistent–he didn’t even want me to take Alexis to the mansion. But I couldn’t leave him at the castle.”
“I suppose not,” Emily said. Even if she’d trusted Randor and his servants completely, she wouldn’t have wanted to leave her child with anyone. A two-year-old boy would be defenseless. “And your husband? How is he?”
Alicia gave her a sharp look. “We…get along,” she said. “He’s the king’s man, through and through.”
Emily felt another stab of pity. In theory, Alicia controlled one of the largest and most powerful baronies in the country; in practice, her ability to do anything was heavily circumscribed. Her staff had been appointed by the king, her personal attendants might not be loyal to her first and foremost and her husband, the man who technically shared her bed, owed his position to the king. Alicia was surrounded by spies, by men and women who knew she had very limited power to help or hinder them. She couldn’t do anything without having it noted by a hundred eager eyes.
And her husband is technically in charge of her armsmen, Emily thought. It wasn’t exactly traditional–baronesses who ruled in their own right were quite rare–but a husband couldn’t be treated as a decorative bauble on her arm. Even if she wanted to build up an army of her own, Randor would know about it before the first man was recruited.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Does he…does he watch you?”
Alicia looked away. “Yes, but…”
Emily nodded in understanding. Randor had covered all the bases. He’d married Alicia off to a man who would never question a child’s parentage, a man who couldn’t be seduced into supporting his wife rather than the king. Alicia had the wrong plumbing to interest her husband…Emily felt sick, torn between grim admiration for how Randor had played his cards and utter disgust. She would have understood a pair of arranged marriages to hide a gay and a lesbian couple from public view, but not this. Randor had arranged matters to his satisfaction and to hell with the couple involved.
“I have a question,” she said. “Do you want to get back at him?”
Alicia’s eyes opened wide with fear. “Are you mad?”