A silver bracelet glinted on Frieda’s wrist. Emily stared, then swung around to face Madame Kyla. “You put a bracelet on her?”
“It’s a monitor,” Madame Kyla said, flatly. “I’ll remove it before she wakes.”
She looked Emily up and down, briskly. “How long has it been since you ate?”
Emily’s stomach growled. “I’m not sure,” Emily admitted. They’d eaten something before leaving the house, hadn’t they? It felt like years had passed since they’d walked out the door, sealing it behind them. “Hours, at least.”
“Go get something to eat, then sleep,” Madame Kyla ordered. “If you have any problems, come back here and I’ll find you something to help you rest.”
“Understood,” Emily said. She didn’t have a bed, did she? Unless Madame Rosalinda had already found her a room. The housemother was brutally efficient. Emily probably had a new room earmarked for her already. For all she knew, Madame Rosalinda was already moving her possessions from one room to the other. It would be impolite, to say the least, but necessary. “I’ll sleep when I can.”
Madame Kyla gave her a sharp look. “Sleep now.”
Emily nodded, then took one last look at Frieda. Her heart ached to see her friend lying there, unmoving beyond the steady rise and fall of her chest. Frieda was normally so active, more active than Emily herself ... dynamic and sociable and friendly and ... Emily cursed Fulvia under her breath as she walked out of the room. Frieda hadn’t deserved to have her mind slowly warped, then ripped to shreds. Madame Kyla was right. There was no way to know what state Frieda would be in when she opened her eyes.
Melissa was waiting outside, looking pale. “Emily,” she said. “Is it true?”
Emily wondered, sourly, just what Melissa had been told. Rumors went through Whitehall at speeds most people believed impossible. The entire school probably knew Frieda had returned, even though the building was supposed to be on lockdown. Or ... Melissa might have heard that her great-grandmother had paid a very unwelcome visit to the school. Emily doubted Melissa would be pleased to hear that. Fulvia had planned her marriage, then ensured she’d be disowned by her family.
“Fulvia is back,” Emily said, flatly.
Melissa flinched. “No.”
“She’s back,” Emily said. She looked past Melissa. Sergeant Miles was still there, leaning against the stone wall. “She’s ...”
She shook her head. “We need to talk, later,” she added. Melissa owed her a favor or two - and besides, she knew more than Emily ever would about the magical aristocracy. And she had excellent reason to want to get Fulvia kicked out again. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Helping Madame Samra, it seems,” Melissa said. “What happened to Frieda?”
Emily opened her mouth, then closed it as Sergeant Miles shot her a warning look. “I’ll tell you later,” she said. “Come find me when you have a spare moment.”
Sergeant Miles scowled. Emily looked back at him, evenly. Melissa was the one person who could be counted on to keep it to herself. Everyone else ... rumors were currency at Whitehall. Knowledge was power, after all. The thought made her shiver. No one was entirely sure how old Fulvia was, but she was almost certainly in her second century. The amount of knowledge she must have gained was staggering. She’d know every last loophole in the law ... hell, she might even have helped write the law. House Ashworth certainly had enough influence to ensure the laws were drafted to their liking.
She’s had two years to rig the game in her favor, Emily thought. Everyone had thought that Fulvia had retired to a country estate, leaving politics and family affairs behind. They’d been wrong. And I have less than a month to rig it back.
“As you wish.” Melissa paused. “You should know that Samra is furious. I’d stay out of her way, if I were you.”
Emily nodded. Samra had told her, in no uncertain terms, that using soul magic without permission would cost her everything. Now ... Emily hadn’t had a choice, but she didn’t know if Samra would see it that way. Her threats against Emily’s life suddenly sounded a great deal more real. And if she hadn’t been so tired, Emily thought, she might just have taken them more seriously. Right now, they were the least of her concerns.
“I don’t think I have a choice,” Emily said. “But thank you for the warning.”
Melissa nodded, then strode down the corridor.
“Be careful,” Sergeant Miles grunted.
Emily looked at him, really looked. He hadn’t changed much, as far as she could tell; he was still short, muscular and approachable. His brown hair made him look ten years younger, although there was no way he’d ever be mistaken for one of his students. And yet, there was something different about him. She couldn’t put her finger on it.
“You pushed the limits to breaking point,” Sergeant Miles added, after a moment. He straightened, his hands dropping to his sides. “If you were still my apprentice ...”
“I did what I thought I had to do,” Emily said. She felt a pang of bitter guilt. She liked the sergeant. “And I was right.”
“You’ve also created other problems for yourself,” Sergeant Miles said. “And there are limits to what we can do to help you.”
Emily froze. “We?”
“The tutors,” Sergeant Miles clarified. He nodded to the door, inviting her to walk outside with him. “We cannot offer support or assistance.”
Emily allowed herself a moment of relief as they walked into the corridor. She’d feared that he’d meant himself and Lady Barb. Lady Barb wasn’t on the teaching staff, not now. Emily could write to her and ask for help and advice ... she could write to Void too. And others ... she had friends and people who owed her favors. Perhaps it wasn’t entirely hopeless after all.
“But you can’t offer anything to Fulvia either,” Emily said. “Is that right?”
“Yeah,” Sergeant Miles grunted. “The Grandmaster is charged with ensuring fair play, but beyond that ...”
Emily nodded as his voice trailed off. Whitehall might ensure a level playing field, in the sense it would prevent one side from cheating or make sure that everyone had equal access to resources, but it wouldn’t go further. The school certainly wouldn’t feel any inclination to help someone who didn’t prepare properly before going into the exam room. Students passed or failed by their own efforts. And beyond that ...
Fulvia has had plenty of time to lay her plans, Emily thought, as they reached the lower stairwell. A handful of students were walking down, their eyes lingering on her for long moments as they passed. The school was slowly coming back to life. I’ve only got a couple of weeks to prepare a defense.
“Do you remember what I told you about preparing battle plans?” Sergeant Miles carefully didn’t look at her as he spoke. “About how you need to plan for contingencies, but also leave room for the unexpected?”
“I remember,” Emily said, slowly. She’d done battle plans in Second Year, then tried to implement them. It hadn’t been easy. No battle plan ever survived contact with the enemy. “You said that the enemy might have plans of his own ...”
“Exactly,” Sergeant Miles said. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder, an odd gesture of affection. “Remember that, too.”
Emily nodded, slowly. It was advice, even though the sergeant would deny it if asked. Plan for contingencies, then try to anticipate what the enemy would do and plan countermeasures ... it applied in the courtroom as well as the battlefield. Fulvia had had plenty of time ... or perhaps not. Soul magic was dangerously unpredictable. Fulvia couldn’t have dictated the precise course and timing of events. She’d have had to update her plans as soon as she knew what shape events would actually take.
“Thank you,” she said, as they reached the top of the stairs. The Sixth Year dorms were right in front of them. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You will,” Sergeant Miles confirmed. “Good luck.”
Chapter Three
“EMILY,” MADAME ROSALINDA SAID, AS EMILY stepped thr
ough the door. “Come with me.”
Emily sighed and followed her down the darkened corridor. The common room appeared to be deserted, while the bedroom doors were firmly closed. She guessed the Sixth Years had gone to dinner, now that the lockdown had finally been lifted. They’d be sitting at their tables, pretending not to listen to the rumors flying around the school ... she sighed in helpless frustration. By now, no doubt half the school believed Frieda had murdered someone in cold blood.
And Celadon is probably still in the infirmary. She kicked herself, mentally, for not checking on him. Everyone will be saying Frieda killed him.
Madame Rosalinda stopped outside the door. “Open it,” she ordered. “Now.”
Emily fought down the urge to tell the older woman where to go. She didn’t need more trouble, not now. Defying the grandmaster’s orders, leaving the school without permission, being rude to the housemother ... she’d never get a job with a record like that! An insane urge to giggle bubbled up inside her, threatening to reduce her to hysterics. She controlled it ruthlessly as she pressed her hand against the door, feeling the wards slowly unlock at her command. Madame Rosalinda wouldn’t be impressed if she burst out laughing, not now.
The door opened slowly, revealing her suite. No one had been inside over the last few hours, as far as she could tell, although she knew that was meaningless. Whitehall’s staff included some of the most talented wardcrafters in the entire world. Lady Barb had drilled her, time and time again, on setting up wards to ensure her privacy, but Emily doubted they’d stand up to some of her tutors. They’d forgotten more about wards than Emily had ever learned.
She felt a sudden pang as the housemother sniffed in disdain. The suite was lovely, easily the best place she’d slept in her entire life. A large bedroom, a private bathroom, a kitchen and an office ... it was heaven. Having the room almost made up for being Head Girl and all the troubles that came with it. But now ... she wondered, sourly, where she’d go. Madame Rosalinda might try to force her to share a room with a younger student.
Not likely, she thought. Even a disgraced Sixth Year wouldn’t have to share ...
“You’re in Room 101,” Madame Rosalinda informed her. “Move everything of yours there, then check this suite carefully for anything left behind. If you can’t move it, inform me and it will be moved tomorrow.”
“Just in time for the next Head Pupil,” Emily said.
“Quite.” Madame Rosalinda’s lips twisted. “You do realize that you’re only the third Head Pupil to be stripped of the title?”
Emily shrugged. She had gone through the records, but her two predecessors had been punished for abusing their power, rather than going out on a limb to rescue a friend. They’d deserved to be stripped of their titles, while she was almost relieved. Losing the suite stung, but at least she wouldn’t have to handle the responsibilities that came with it. She hadn’t wanted them.
Gordian would say that I failed too, Emily thought, ruefully. And he would be right.
“I need a shower,” she said. “Can I shower first?”
Madame Rosalinda eyed her for a long moment, then nodded curtly. “Be out of this room by nine bells,” she ordered. “And make sure you dismantle all of your wards. The maids will clean it tomorrow.”
The housemother turned and walked out of the door, closing it behind her. Emily shook her head as she hurried into the bedroom, wondering why Madame Rosalinda had suddenly soured on her. Had Madame Rosalinda been one of the tutors who’d nominated her for Head Girl? Or was she merely treating Emily coolly because she thought Emily had screwed up?
She stripped off her shirt and trousers and hurried into the shower, pausing to inspect herself in the mirror. Her face was still pale, a nasty bruise clearly visible on her cheek. Other bruises covered her body, suggesting she’d been beaten. She made a mental note to rub salve into them later, then stepped into the shower. The water was hot, running down her body and washing away the sweat and grime. She wanted to stay under the water forever, but she didn’t have time. Madame Rosalinda would not be pleased if she wasn’t out of the room in an hour or so.
Not much time, Emily thought crossly, as she stepped out of the shower and dried herself with a spell. It’s lucky I don’t have too many possessions here.
She donned a clean shirt and pair of trousers, then dumped the old pair in the basket of dirty clothes. She’d have to take that out too, she suspected. Madame Rosalinda didn’t need another excuse to give her grief. Pushing the thought aside, she pulled her trunk out from under the bed and started to dump clothes and books into the pocket dimension. Lady Barb would have told her off for not sorting them properly, but it hardly mattered. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was a clotheshorse like Alassa. She’d had enough dresses, just in Whitehall, to outfit every girl in the school.
And I thought I could leave most of my possessions in the house, Emily thought, feeling another pang of dismay. She’d thought her collection of dangerous books had been well-hidden and protected with layer after layer of wards, but Frieda - or Daze - had somehow managed to get at them. Frieda had possessed access rights to the house, yet ... she shouldn’t have been able to get to the books. Another mystery, one she’d have to solve - and quickly. If Frieda or Daze could get in, someone else could do it too.
She made a mental note to ask Lady Barb to help her modify the wards, then walked into the kitchen. It had been ... nice to have a kitchen of her own, even though she was an indifferent cook at best. There had been definite advantages to not having to go down to breakfast or use the communal kitchen down the hall. Now ... she opened the food locker, silently calculating how much she could move to the communal kitchen. There were food lockers in the smaller bedrooms, she thought, but nowhere near as big. Thankfully, she hadn’t kept much food in her locker.
But I would have, if I’d had the locker in First Year, she thought. And perhaps I would have learned to cook.
She gritted her teeth as the memories resurfaced. She’d hidden cereal and oat bars in her bedroom on Earth, just in case her mother spent her welfare money on booze instead of food. And besides, she’d preferred to snack in her bedroom rather than risk going downstairs when her stepfather was awake. Frieda had done the same, when they’d shared a room. A person who’d grown up knowing that food was always limited, that it might run out at any moment, had no choice. A hidden cache of food might make the difference between life and death.
Someone tapped on the door, twice. Emily tensed, wondering who would visit her now. Melissa? Or someone else? Perhaps Madame Samra wasn’t going to wait for Emily to visit her classroom before she bawled Emily out for using soul magic without permission. Or ... she shook her head, dismissing the thought. There was no point in speculation.
“Come,” she called.
The door opened. Caleb stood there, looking pale. “Emily? Are you alright?”
Emily felt a sudden mad urge to take him in her arms. They weren’t dating any longer, but ... she pushed the impulse aside, sharply. Her life was complicated enough already.
“No,” she said. “Come in and close the door.”
Caleb did as he was told. “Is it true, then? You’ve been demoted?”
“Yeah,” Emily said. She looked into her bedroom. Her trunk was clearly visible, standing beside the bed. Thankfully, she hadn’t taken the time to personalize her chambers beyond lining some of the walls with books. “I’m no longer Head Girl.”
“I’m sorry,” Caleb said. “You deserve better.”
Emily eyed him, suspiciously. Frieda had attacked Caleb’s sister, almost killing her. Caleb had every reason to be angry at Frieda - and Emily, for not stopping Frieda. But it was clear now, in hindsight, that Frieda could not have been stopped unless the bracelet had been removed. And yet, no one had realized that the bracelet was a problem. Daze had done a very good job.
“I never wanted the post anyway,” she said, finally. “And now I have worse problems.”
She turned back to the k
itchen. “Are you here to help?”
“If you’ll let me,” Caleb said. “What happened? I mean ... what really happened?”
Emily sighed and ran through the entire story as she unpacked the food locker. The milk, bread and cheese could go to her new room; everything else would just have to go to the communal kitchen. Caleb listened, saying nothing, until Emily had finished the story, whereupon he started asking questions. Emily was torn between annoyance and a perverse kind of gratitude. Caleb’s interrogation was nothing, compared to what she knew she was going to face. Fulvia would do everything in her power to call Emily’s account of events into question.
“She should have been more careful,” Caleb said, when Emily had finished. “Letting someone con her into making that bracelet ...”
Emily was too tired to be angry. Besides, Caleb wouldn’t be the last to say that. “She’s always been weak when it comes to theoretical magic,” she said, as she gave the kitchen one last check. The mugs, plates and cutlery belonged to the school. They could be left for the next Head Pupil. “I think she didn’t realize the danger until it was far too late.”
“Mum always said to be careful,” Caleb said. “If you don’t understand what you’re doing, you should ask someone else ...”
“Frieda doesn’t have a mother,” Emily snapped. “She died in childbirth, remember?”
Caleb flinched. Emily felt a flicker of guilt, mingled with grim satisfaction. Caleb had never liked Frieda, even when he and Emily had been lovers. Now ... she told herself not to be bitchy. Caleb had better reasons, now, to dislike Frieda. Marian might never be the same again either.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She felt a pang of guilt. She’d had the same thought. Frieda could have come to her for help before it was too late. “That was uncalled for.”
Graduation Day (Schooled in Magic Book 14) Page 3
