Emily grimaced. “Shit.”
“Quite.” Althorn made a face. “People made fortunes at first, including my family. My father had spent most of his life trying to keep himself afloat... now, we had enough money to secure our house and even start thinking about the future. My older brother was going to inherit the family business, my sisters were going to get good dowries... I was already flirting with radical politics, I will admit, but I was starting to think things might get better without violence. And then...”
“And then the bubble burst,” Emily guessed.
“Yes.” Althorn ground his teeth. “The money vanished like... dew in the morning. My father had invested again, you see, and all that money simply evaporated. He hadn’t been completely stupid, you see. He’d made sure we owned our home and business. He didn’t put that at risk. We might have survived if... if it hadn’t been for what happened next. The king, keen to escape blame for the disaster, blamed it all on commoners. He’d encouraged us all to invest, but... anyone who earned enough money to raise their station, such as my father, was heavily fined. The aristocracy refused to accept we could make fortunes.”
He scowled at the floor. “The fines were so high that my family lost everything. My father was arrested on trumped-up charges and died in jail. My brother stood up to the guards and was beaten to death. My mother died on the streets. My sisters... they were lucky, I suppose. They managed to hide their shame and find employment elsewhere. And I, who only survived because I hadn’t been there when the guards arrived, swore revenge. Why should I trust a monarch who invites his subjects to make money, then punishes them for it?”
“That monarch is dead,” Emily pointed out.
Her stomach twisted in guilt. She hadn’t created the first Vesperian Bubble - she hadn’t even heard of it until the bubble had been on the verge of bursting - but it wouldn’t have happened without her innovations. And that bubble had been quite bad enough. The City Fathers of Beneficence hadn’t had the power to claw back money from investors who’d seen disaster looming and gotten out while they could. But a king... she could believe he’d certainly try to get the money back. No wonder the country had been on the brink of revolution. The king would have been wiser to accept the mistake and refrain from doing it again.
“Yes,” Althorn said. She dragged her attention back to him. “But his sons are still alive.”
“Go speak to them, Emily. Go tell them that they can have some of their former prestige, if they accept the new order of things. Or they can go into exile. They stole enough money from the treasury to fund a lifestyle most people couldn’t even begin to imagine. They can go into exile and leave their poor, abused people alone.”
His voice hardened. “Or they can fight to put the chains back on,” he added. “And we will fight too, for our freedom. And if they do, there will be no mercy. We will fight to the last.”
Emily believed him, every word. “I’ll tell him,” she said. “However, I must ask for one thing first.”
“And that would be?”
“I want to see Queen Francoise,” Emily said. “The Crown Prince will wish to know her state.”
“Indeed.” Althorn studied her for a long moment. “We placed her on trial...”
“Do you really believe she’s guilty of all that,” Emily asked waspishly, “or did you just reach for the worst accusations you could imagine and declare her guilty without bothering with a proper trial?”
“Goodwoman Francoise is a product of the system,” Althorn said. “She’s guilty by default.”
Emily took a moment to compose her response. The idea of collective - or inherited - guilt had never sat well with her. It made it impossible to put the past in the past, where it belonged. The descendants of both rebels and royalists would still be fighting it out, two hundred years in the future, if the matter wasn’t laid to rest now.
“She’s also someone you can trade,” she said, finally. Moralistic arguments were unlikely to get her anywhere. “And, if you want to use her for leverage, you’ll have to convince Dater she’s alive.”
“Very well,” Althorn said. He stood. “And then you can go.”
Chapter Seventeen
“WE DIDN’T KNOW THERE WERE CELLS under the palace,” Althorn commented, as he led Emily down a long flight of stairs. “Under the castle, yes. Here... no. We didn’t.”
Emily frowned. The air was growing steadily colder. She could feel wards - old ones - resting in the air, pervading the stonework. It would be impossible to scry the dungeon cells from a distance, she thought; it might be impossible to so much as tell the dungeons were there. She wasn’t too surprised - King Randor had maintained several secret prisons, including one he’d kept her in for a few, short days - but it was disquieting. Who knew how many secrets remained buried under the city, just waiting to be found?
She cleared her throat. “Were there any prisoners?”
“No.” Althorn sounded as if he didn’t quite believe himself. “The cells were searched, when we secured the palace. The guards had long since fled. We assumed there was no one in the cells, but really... we don’t know for sure. The king had a habit of disappearing his political rivals. It’s possible the prisoners were executed and
