“I did,” Whitehall said, curtly.
Emily leaned forward. “Do you ... do you object to the relationship?”
“If I did not approve of Bernard, I would never have taken him as an apprentice,” Whitehall said. He sounded irked, although Emily suspected he wasn’t angry at her. “But their relationship will cause her problems if they do not get married.”
“And it won’t cause him problems,” Emily said. “How ... unfair.”
“The world is not fair,” Whitehall said, rather sarcastically. “And rumors will destroy a young woman’s reputation even as they enhance a young man’s.”
Emily looked at him. “You don’t have a problem if they get married,” she said. It was hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “But you do have a problem if they don’t get married.”
“Quite,” Whitehall said. “Did your family not have such problems?”
No, Emily thought. Because no one would have given a damn.
She shook her head in frustration. If Julianne lost her virginity outside wedlock, or if there were prevalent rumors she’d lost her virginity outside wedlock, it would reflect badly on her father. And if she’d had siblings, it would have reflected badly on them too, making it harder for them to find a good match. Hell, the mere suggestion that Bernard had seduced her purely to marry her wouldn’t do her any good either.
“I am surprised,” Whitehall said. He lifted his eyebrows. “Are things so different where you were born?”
“I never paid much attention,” Emily said. It was true enough—and it saved her from having to tell another lie. As absurd—as oppressive—as the system seemed, she knew it existed for good reason. The potions that might have changed that were simply unavailable, at least outside the fragmented magical community. “There was little hope of me marrying anyway.”
Whitehall didn’t look as though he believed that, although he didn’t seem inclined to challenge her words. An unwanted girl could always be sold off, if there was no one willing to marry her. Frieda would have faced such a fate if she hadn’t developed magic. Hell, she practically had been sold to Mountaintop. The harsh demands of survival insisted she be sacrificed so that others might live.
“It is of no matter,” Whitehall said. He smiled, rather wanly. “Although you should be aware that Robin has already asked for your hand.”
Emily shook her head, hastily. She had no idea why she’d been overwhelmed in the forest—her protections would have sounded the alarm if Robin had cast a love or lust spell on her—but she didn’t want to marry him. Her personal history said she would make it back to her future—she rubbed the scar on her cheek—and see Caleb again. She was damned if she was doing anything with Robin.
“I told him that I didn’t have the right to offer your hand,” Whitehall added. “I should say he’s shown more nerve than Bernard.”
“I’m not your daughter,” Emily said. She was the first female apprentice, as far as anyone knew. It was unlikely there were any provisions in the apprenticeship oaths for arranging their marriages. “And I don’t want to marry him.”
She shook her head in wry amusement. Bernard had to be terrified of approaching Whitehall and asking for Julianne’s hand in marriage. Whitehall could say no ... and where would Bernard be then? How could he even continue as Whitehall’s apprentice?
“Noted,” Whitehall said, pleasantly.
Emily looked at him. “Would you object if Bernard and Julianne were to marry?”
Whitehall looked back at her. “Are you asking on his behalf?”
“No,” Emily said. “I’m ... I’m just curious.”
“I see,” Whitehall said. He shrugged. “If Julianne is willing to be his wife, then I have no objection. But she’s been learning magic and he may object to that. The curse ...”
“Is no longer a concern,” Emily said.
“It is,” Whitehall countered. “You might well be wrong—and even if you’re not wrong, Julianne might already have damaged herself.”
“She was using magic to brew potions,” Emily said.
“Quite,” Whitehall said.
He pushed the vellum aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “And now as we approach bedtime,” he added, “it’s time for you to tell me how I caught you spying on the meeting.”
Emily swallowed hard. She had no idea. None of the wards she knew from her studies surrounded the office ... indeed, she could have spied on Whitehall without using the snake, if she’d been prepared to take the risk. And yet he’d known she was spying on him. A dozen options ran through her mind, but none of them quite made sense. Somehow, she doubted Whitehall would let her guess.
He didn’t try to block me, Emily thought. It was possible that Whitehall had wanted her to listen, but he could have made the order explicit. He couldn’t reasonably have expected her to guess that was what he wanted her to do? And he had no way to know what issues would be raised ahead of time.
Whitehall smiled, rather coolly. “Have you figured it out?”
Perhaps I should just take whatever punishment is coming, Emily thought. She’d been taught, time and time again, not to guess, that it was better to admit ignorance than pretend to know more than she did. And then maybe he’d explain ...
She gritted her teeth in frustration. There were no wards designed to block spying spells, no protections that would have kept her from peeking on him. Whitehall’s protections were brutally unsubtle ... there was no way he should have been aware of the snake’s presence, let alone that she could peer through its eyes. And yet he’d caught her.
Or had he?
“You didn’t catch me,” she said. Perhaps she was wrong, but it was worth a try. “You just gambled, you assumed, that I’d be trying to spy on the meeting. And you were right.”
Whitehall smiled. “And your reasoning is?”
Emily pushed onwards, despite the doubts nagging at her mind. “If I had been listening, and I was, I would hear your order to report here,” she said. “If I came, you’d know I was spying on you; if I didn’t come, you’d know I wasn’t spying on you.”
“Clever,” Whitehall said. “And what if you’d decided to call my bluff?”
“I couldn’t have,” Emily said. “If I’d assumed you were bluffing, and I was wrong, I would be in worse trouble. I’d have to gamble that I was right to call your bluff—if I was right, you’d never punish me because you wouldn’t know there was anything to punish me for, but if I was wrong you would.”
She met his eyes. “Am I right?”
“I am not going to tell you,” Whitehall said. “But I will give you a word of advice.”
Emily tensed as he rose and started to pace the room. “I have given you a great deal of leeway because of your ... origins,” he said. “I have—perhaps—not disciplined you as harshly as I would a male apprentice. But you have been pushing the limits very hard, Emily. If things had been different, teaching my daughter magic would have been the very last straw.”
“Yes, Master,” Emily murmured.
“And spying on me was unwise too,” Whitehall added. “If you did that to any other master, you would be in deep trouble. Do not do it again. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Master,” Emily said.
“They are already questioning our relationship,” Whitehall warned. “I have tolerated far too much from you, as far as they are concerned—and they may well be right. And while they may not openly challenge me, they are more than happy to challenge you. And you cannot defend yourself against whispered insinuations.”
“I know, Master,” Emily said.
“I would suggest you keep a low profile over the next few days,” Whitehall added, as he opened the door. “But as we are going to need you to help teach runes, Emily, it would be largely pointless. Just be aware that I cannot afford to turn a blind eye to your ... oddities any longer.”
Emily nodded. He wasn’t the first person to say that to her. “Yes, Master.”
She stepped through the d
oor and headed back to her bedroom, feeling torn between irritation at having fallen so easily for his trick and a gnawing concern about the future. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she couldn’t stay for much longer, but far too much could happen before she managed to craft the spells that would get her home. Master Chambers had good reason to hate her, she had to admit, and Reaper and Keldor probably felt the same way ...
And she hadn’t been making Whitehall’s life any easier, she admitted, privately. Perhaps it would have been better to tell him the truth, despite the risk to the timeline. He would have believed her if she’d teleported—or shown him something else beyond his skills ... wouldn’t he? She had no way to know.
And if I fall into the trap of believing that I am destined to return home, she told herself as she reached the bedroom door, I might well make a mistake that will cost me everything.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I DO NOT BELIEVE THAT THESE runes work,” Apprentice Tama said. He was a tall man, two or three years older than Emily; his hair, like nearly everyone else in the castle, had been shaved close to his scalp. “They’re useless.”
Emily scowled at him. Tama was precisely the kind of boy—a young man, really—that she would have hated and feared on Earth: strong enough to be threatening, stupid enough not to care. And Tama was far less inclined to listen to a girl than anyone she’d known on Earth. An hour of trying to batter runes into his head had left her feeling more irritated than she could recall, even when she’d been tutoring other students. At least they’d wanted to learn.
“They may save your life,” she said, tartly. Her head was starting to pound. Whitehall had to have known that Tama wouldn’t listen to her, hadn’t he? Perhaps he’d envisaged tutoring the idiot as a subtle punishment for spying on him. “The Manavores will consume you if you don’t know how to defend yourself.”
“I am mighty,” Tama said. He struck a pose that showed off his impressive muscles, then cast a spell to summon a fireball. “My fists are strong and my magic is ...”
“Useless against a Manavore,” Emily pointed out. “Bernard and Robin hit it repeatedly with spells and it just absorbed the magic.”
Tama snorted. He’d heard the stories, Emily was sure; Bernard and Robin had been telling everyone what had happened two days ago. And he’d been part of a group that had been forced to flee the creatures. But he clearly didn’t realize that it wouldn’t have made any difference if he’d stood and fought, rather than following the other apprentices away from the disastrous battle.
It would have made a difference, she thought, as she sketched out the next rune. It would have added his name to the list of the dead.
“This is not real magic,” Tama objected. “And it isn’t what I want to learn.”
“It’s what you have to learn,” Emily said. Tama’s former master had died, just before the remains of his commune had been absorbed into the Whitehall Commune. He knew enough to be dangerous, but not enough to be useful. “Your master died because he didn’t know how to defend himself.”
“My master was a very wise man,” Tama snapped. “But I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about wise masters.”
His gaze lingered on Emily’s chest. “What did you give him in exchange for training?”
“I learned,” Emily said. She wondered, briefly, if she should hex Tama into next week. He had a considerable amount of raw power—and he was certainly physically stronger than her—but she had far more training. Clobbering him with magic would be very satisfying, yet she doubted it would make him listen. “And you are going to learn, too.”
Tama picked up the vellum and tore it in half. Emily stared in shock. Parchment and vellum were expensive, even for magicians. Whitehall and Wolfe had only brought a limited supply to the castle and it was already running out. A common peasant would take months to earn enough money to replace the destroyed vellum.
“I don’t kneel to girls,” Tama said. He smirked at her. “Girls kneel to me.”
Emily opened her mouth to say something cutting, then stopped as Robin stepped into the room. “You should listen to her,” Robin said. “She beat Bernard in a duel.”
Tama sneered. “So he says.”
“And if you don’t listen to her,” Robin added, sharply, “I’ll teach you respect.”
Tama scowled at Robin, gave Emily a thoroughly nasty look, then rose to his feet and stalked out of the workroom, slamming the door behind him. Emily shook her head in disbelief as she picked up the pieces of vellum, wondering if she could use a spell to bind them back together. Tama hadn’t said much about his past, but his disdain for women and book learning suggested a commoner background. He probably didn’t give a damn about reading and writing—or the fiddly spellwork Master Wolfe used.
And reading would be a useless skill, if there were no books, Emily thought. What could he do with it?
She sighed. Robin might think he’d done her a favor. But to Tama? He’d just looked like a white knight defending someone who couldn’t defend herself.
“He lost his master during the rout,” Robin commented. He didn’t seem aware of her ambivalence. “And since then, he’s been forbidden to practice magic.”
“I can see why,” Emily said. Tama had too much to unlearn, if he wanted to continue to study magic. She didn’t blame him for being frustrated, but there were limits. If she’d managed to learn from Master Grey, who had planned to kill her, Tama could learn from a woman. “He didn’t learn anything from me.”
“I’ll have him beaten for you,” Robin offered. He sat down facing her, taking the seat Tama had vacated. Emily could sense the demon sitting on his shoulder, even though it was invisible to the naked eye. “Your master will not tolerate such impertinence.”
Emily cocked her eyebrows. “And is that what you—or Bernard—would do?”
“We’d curse him into a pulp,” Robin said. “But no one expects that from you.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t be beating him into a pulp,” Emily said. Robin was hardly a weakling, but Tama was clearly stronger than him. “And it isn’t me he has to worry about.”
“He’s got a chip on his shoulder,” Robin agreed. “He was an apprentice—his master was training him up to be a real magician. And then he lost his master and his chance of gaining his own mastery.”
Emily sighed. She would have felt sorry for Tama if he hadn’t been such an asshole—and a sexist prick, at that. People could and did lose something they’d worked for through no fault of their own—as an apprentice with some training, Tama should have found it easy to attach himself to another master. But there were forty-five other unattached apprentices in the castle and his attitude worked against him. Emily probably hadn’t helped by allowing herself to be attached to Whitehall right from the start.
Which probably explains why he was so unpleasant, she thought. It’s easier to believe I cheated—which I suppose I did—rather than accept I might be better.
She scowled down at the vellum as her spell repaired the damage. Tama would have to learn, sooner or later. It wouldn’t be long before the Manavores returned—or, perhaps, the magicians set out to hunt them down. The simple fact she’d never heard of anything like them in her time suggested that they had been exterminated—if, indeed, they were natural creatures. She knew enough about the coming years to fear for her friends among the commune. There was no way to tell who might die, years ahead of their time, and who might be forever changed.
“I’m sure he’ll get over it,” she said, curtly. “And if he doesn’t, he will wind up dead.”
“Yeah,” Robin said. “We could all be dead soon.”
He leaned forward. Emily had to fight the urge to move back.
“I asked your master for your hand,” he said, after a moment. “And he said I should ask you.”
Because I have no family, Emily thought, darkly. And because a girl with no family is horrifyingly vulnerable.
She sighed, taking a moment to study him. Rob
in ... didn’t quite make sense; he seemed to look down on her, yet he wanted her. His behavior veered backwards and forwards in a way she would have unhesitatingly called bipolar, if they’d been on Earth. He could be charming one moment and demanding the next. And he might well be just a little bit insane. Even now, he didn’t seem to have toned down his magic. She could sense the power boiling through him without any effort at all.
And he’s defying his master by talking to me, she thought. Master Chambers would not be pleased if he caught us together.
“I don’t want to marry you,” she said, finally. A dozen weaselling excuses came to her mind, but she pushed them aside. “I have ...”
Robin gave her a pleading stare. “I know you felt something, in the forest,” he said. He leaned forward, pressing into her personal space. “I felt it too.”
Emily winced at the memory. “It wasn’t real,” she said. She took a deliberate step back, unsure what else to do. “What happened there didn’t happen because I like you ...”
“It was real,” Robin said. His voice hardened. “Or are you trying to deny your own feelings?”
“I am aware of what I felt,” Emily said, stiffly. She clamped down hard on the flash of anger that threatened to overwhelm her. “But it was not real. I regret kissing you ...”
“Bernard doesn’t regret kissing Julianne, you know,” Robin said. There was a hint of envy in his voice. “And I don’t think she regrets it either.”
“They already had feelings for one another,” Emily said. “I don’t have any feelings for you.”
“You kissed me,” Robin protested.
“I know,” Emily said. She resisted the urge to shout at him, then held up her hand as he took another step towards her. “And I regret it.”
Robin glared. “Why?”
“I have a ... a prior relationship,” Emily said. “I don’t ...”
“You were trapped in the nexus point for years,” Robin snapped. He sounded, just for a moment, as if he thought she was being stupid. Perhaps he did. “You have no idea just how long you were trapped or how to return to your home, if it even exists. Your ... former partner will have found someone else—if he isn’t already dust! There is no reason for you to wait for him when there is no hope of you seeing each other again.”
Past Tense (Schooled in Magic Book 10) Page 23
