Cat cocked his head. “I was under the impression that the Duke of Iron was useless.”
“Not quite,” Jade said, grimly. “If Randor and Alassa both die, and perhaps Alicia’s child too, Duke Traduceus would inherit the throne by default. There wouldn’t be any other members of the Line of Alexis left, unless Randor has another bastard he hasn’t told anyone about.”
Emily shrugged. If Randor had had a son at any time in the past twenty years, he would have shouted it to the rooftops. A girl…perhaps less so. He’d been so desperate for a male heir that he would have emulated Henry VIII and retroactively bastardized his daughter if he’d managed to sire a son. Her lips twitched at the irony. It had to be killing Randor that he’d finally managed to have a son when his daughter was too old and too powerful to be put aside with the stroke of a pen.
“They’ll declare Duke Traduceus their nominal leader, then attack the city,” Jade added, sharply. “And they’ll make sure that both Randor and Alassa die.”
Cat leaned against the office wall. “Who’s they?”
“It has to be the nobles,” Jade said. “Baroness Harkness and her gang of traitorous backstabbers. We know we didn’t do it, the Levellers aren’t ready to do it and there aren’t any other suspects.”
“Unless there’s another faction out there too,” Cat pointed out. “What if Duke Traduceus arranged his kidnapping himself? He may plan to plant his own ass on the throne.”
Jade shook his head. “He’s in no state to rule. Whatever his wife did to him, it left him with almost no willpower at all. He does whatever he’s told to do. You could tell him to cut his own throat and he’d obey. I believe his bodyguards have strict orders to make sure that no one takes advantage of him.”
“A true leader, who does exactly as he’s told,” Emily quoted. Monty Burns would have approved. She could see why the barons liked the thought, although they’d be much less charmed if Randor did it to them. “And it isn’t generally known, is it?”
“I imagine they’ll have some idea how they’re going to prop him up, once he’s on the throne,” Jade said. He shrugged, expressively. “It doesn’t matter. Right now, we have to move before Randor either doubles the guards or moves Alassa into the castle.”
Emily felt the chat parchment grow warm in her fingers and looked down at it. Alicia had written a hasty note, confirming that Duke Traduceus had been kidnapped and that his older brother was furious. Randor was, apparently, ordering all kinds of security measures, from doubling the guards at the gate to dispatching soldiers to head off the kidnapping party before it could reach safety. Emily was no expert, but she doubted Randor’s men had a chance of recovering the kidnapped duke. The raiders would be difficult to intercept.
And impossible, if they have a sorcerer with them, she thought, as she finished her drink and put the cup on the floor. They could just teleport home.
Cat clapped his hands. “So…what’s the plan?”
“Emily, get changed into something you’d wear around town,” Jade ordered. “You and I will go plant the parchment on our unwitting ally. Cat, get set up here. We’ll have to move in a hurry, once the parchment is in place. Mouse, go fetch the assault team–everyone who can be rounded up. I want them here in an hour.”
Mouse curtsied. “Yes, My Lord.”
Emily hid a smile as she hurried over to where they’d left the box of clothes. They’d needed to empty the townhouse of everything that could be used to trace them, at least in the hands of a competent sorcerer, but still…it had been sheer luck that they’d brought the clothes instead of having to go back to the townhouse to change. Jade had insisted that everything they couldn’t take with them, when they fled the city, had to be destroyed. She felt icky as she swapped her shirt and trousers for a long dress, wishing she had time to do more than splash water on her face, but there was no time.
No one will notice, she told herself. If there was one advantage to living in a pre-technological society, it was that fewer people fussed over their looks. There were no visions of beauty in magazines or online to taunt people with unrealistically perfect bodies. And they won’t notice I haven’t had time to have a bath either.
“I need to look like a merchantman,” Jade said, as he pulled his trousers and shirt on. “And maybe just a little drunk.”
Emily nodded, impatiently. She really should be staying behind, helping Cat to fine-tune the spellware while waiting for the assault force to arrive, but there was no choice. A young man on the streets, apparently alone, would attract more attention than one walking with a young woman. Jade looked just important and wealthy enough not to be chased by the guards, but not anything like important and wealthy enough for them to pretend they hadn’t seen him swaggering by. His clothing had clearly benefited from an expensive tailor, but the materials were cheap.
Relatively cheap, she reminded herself. A commoner would have to save for years if he wanted to purchase them.
She smiled at the thought as they headed for the door. A merchant could probably purchase a suit made of more expensive materials–Paren had been wealthy enough to purchase as many dresses as Queen Marlena–but the Sumptuary Laws forbade it. It wouldn’t do for the commoners to start dressing as aristocrats. Why, the very social hierarchy itself would be turned upside down. Paren’s wealth would have allowed him to make a much better show than a hundred impoverished aristocrats who had nothing but titles. No wonder Randor had been so keen to forbid it.
The streets felt…tense, as if everyone knew that something had happened even if they didn’t know what. Emily looked from side to side, noting the number of soldiers on the streets and silently counting the number of civilians. Randor seemed to be pulling his men out of the poorer parts of the city, something that worried her more than she cared to admit. The king would be sending the men elsewhere…where? The Tower? Or the walls? Or was he mounting a pre-emptive strike on the nobles?
There were more soldiers on the streets as they reached the riverbank and started to walk north towards the sea. They didn’t seem to be taking much interest in two lovers out for a stroll…indeed, the absence of leering was quite worrying. She couldn’t help thinking of the men she’d watched steeling themselves for battle at Farrakhan, when they’d known that the following day would bring either victory or death. Randor thought of his men as disposable, she was sure, but she couldn’t feel that way. The soldiers were people, men with hopes and fears and dreams of their own. And hundreds–perhaps thousands–of them were going to die in the coming weeks. She might kill a few herself.
Don’t get too empathetic, a voice whispered in her head. It sounded like Lady Barb. These men will happily rape or kill you if given the chance.
A chill ran down her spine as they walked past the Tower. There were more guards at the gates, their eyes following her as if they thought she was a potential threat. The wards buzzed against her mind, pushing her away; she found herself picking up speed, no matter how hard she tried to resist. She hoped the guards had found a way to shield the prisoners from the wards, even though she could see how they might be used to keep the inmates under control. A person who was helpless to resist–or avoid–the wards would be steadily driven into a constant state of fear.
Maybe that explains why there are so few stories of what it’s like inside the Tower, she thought, morbidly. The wards are designed to interfere with memories.