Graduation Day (Schooled in Magic Book 14)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “No, it wasn’t,” Caleb said. He looked as if he’d been slapped. “I’m sorry too.”

  Emily sighed. Frieda hadn’t had anyone she could trust, not until she’d met Emily. And Emily had been studying with Lady Barb and Sergeant Miles while Frieda had been on her work placement, where she’d made the bracelet. Perhaps, if she’d shown it to Emily or her supervisor before she put it on for the first time, it would have been possible to save her. But instead ... Daze had done a very good job. The spellwork he’d tricked Frieda into adding to the bracelet made it hard for her to realize that the bracelet might be warping her mind.

  And it would take someone with a great deal of experience to notice the spellware, even if they worked their way through the incantations, Emily thought. Frieda simply didn’t have the insight to see it.

  She felt a sudden pang of envy. Frieda’s mother had died in childbirth, Emily’s mother had been a drunkard; Alassa’s father saw her as a pawn, rather than a person in her own right ... Caleb was the lucky one, even if he didn’t realize it. Even Imaiqah’s parents had kept one eye on their daughter’s marriage prospects. Caleb’s mother was strict, strict enough to make Emily uneasy, but there was no doubt that Sienna loved her children. She’d proved that time and time again.

  “Can you take the food down to the kitchen?” Emily asked. “I’ll move the trunk to Room 101.”

  “Ouch,” Caleb said. “That’s right at the end of the corridor.”

  Emily nodded, curtly. Whoever had designed the section had anticipated over two hundred students, rather than a mere twenty-five. Room 101 was quite some distance from the door ... it was hardly a long walk, but it was symbolically right at the bottom of the pecking order. It wasn’t something that meant much to her, she admitted privately, yet most of her fellow students would pick up on it at once. Emily was no longer in favor.

  As if I ever was, she thought, crossly. The only thing I could do to earn Gordian’s favor would be to leave - and to do that properly I would have had to have done it last year.

  She levitated the trunk into the air and ordered it to follow her down the corridor. Cirroc was coming out of his room as she passed. He gave her a reassuring look, then headed off in the other direction. Emily hoped, with a fervor that surprised her, that he’d be appointed Head Pupil in her place. He’d be good at the job - and he’d want it too. She couldn’t think of many others who’d be both.

  Room 101 was right at the end of the corridor, nearly ten meters from the next - empty - room. Emily rolled her eyes at the melodrama as she opened the door. Room 101 was bigger than she’d expected, larger than Cirroc’s bedroom, but it still didn’t compare to the Head Pupil’s chambers. The bed was smaller, the stove barely large enough to heat a kettle, the bathroom ... she sighed, again. There was no bathtub, just a sink, a toilet and a shower. She told herself, firmly, that it could be worse. She’d been in places where she’d been lucky to get a chamberpot - and places where the inhabitants crapped out the window.

  She dumped the trunk on the bed, set the wards and then walked back to her old bedroom. Caleb was waiting for her, seemingly unwilling to enter without her. Emily snorted at the thought, then asked him to check the room for anything she’d left behind while she checked the office. Her files were neat, thankfully. She’d have to go through them with whoever took her place. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be too much gloating. Being Head Pupil was a bright mark on anyone’s resume.

  It could be worse, she thought, tiredly. She remembered Cicero’s joke about the one-day consul and smiled. My successor might have been appointed on the very last day of school. He would be so vigilant that he wouldn’t sleep during his term in office.

  “You’ve got a basket of dirty clothes,” Caleb called. “I can’t see anything else.”

  Emily felt her cheeks redden, even though she knew it was silly. Caleb had seen her naked. He could certainly handle seeing her dirty underwear. And yet ... she shrugged as she walked back into the bedroom. She’d drop the basket off as they went for a very late dinner. She just hoped that no one wanted to ask questions. All she wanted to do was sleep.

  She picked up the basket, then looked around one final time. The chambers looked ... oddly unchanged, as if nothing of her had seeped into the walls. She’d never bothered to hang posters on the wall, or decorate the ceiling with paintings from another world, or do anything to mark her territory. There hadn’t seemed any point. She would have had to give the chambers up anyway at the end of the year, even if she hadn’t been demoted. Her successor wouldn’t have wanted to keep Emily’s decorations.

  The wards glowed in her mind. She reached out and dismantled her private wards, careful to leave the school wards in place. Gordian wouldn’t thank her if some enterprising student from one of the lower years managed to break into the Head Pupil’s office and write KILROY WAS HERE on the walls. Her successor would have to establish his own network of wards. She finished dismantling the last ward, then turned and took one final look at the room. It was unlikely she’d ever see it again.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  She closed the door behind her as soon as they were outside, then led the way down to Room 101. The lights were starting to dim, a stern reminder that they really should be thinking about bed. She checked her watch, noting that it was nearly nine bells. There was time to get something to eat before she slept ...

  “I’ll make you something in the kitchen,” Caleb offered. “There’s no need to go down to the dining hall.”

  Emily nodded, thankfully. “Please,” she said. Sienna had taught Caleb how to cook. Indeed, he was a better cook than Emily was. That would probably have caused some amusement, if they’d gotten married. A husband cooking for his wife was seen as something of an oddity on the Nameless World. “Nothing too complex, please.”

  She dropped the basket off for the maids to collect, then walked into Room 101. The bed had been made, thankfully. She resisted the urge to just climb in and close her eyes. Instead, she walked back to the kitchen. It was mercifully empty, save for Caleb. He was cooking scrambled eggs and bacon in a pan.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said, as he ladled out the food onto a pair of plates. “There are several possibilities ...”

  “Tomorrow.” Emily caught herself trying to yawn. “Right now, I can barely think.”

  “I know the feeling.” Caleb passed her a slice of bread. Toast had never quite caught on at Whitehall. “Eat up, then go to bed.”

  “Yes, boss,” Emily said. The eggs tasted good, unsurprisingly. But she was so hungry she would have eaten anything, even the slop her mother called stew. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  Caleb smiled, but it didn’t quite touch his eyes. “Bed,” he said, firmly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Chapter Four

  EMILY WOKE UP IN AN UNFAMILIAR bed.

  Panic flickered before her memories returned. She was in Room 101, her new bedroom. And her new bed, she reminded herself, as she sat upright and groped for her watch. She hadn’t realized just how used she’d grown to her old bedroom until she realized that the walls felt far too close for comfort. Even the hum of magic running through the stone didn’t feel very reassuring.

  Seven bells, she thought. I could go back to sleep.

  It was a tempting thought, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep. She’d dreamed - she was sure of it - but whatever she’d dreamed hadn’t followed her into the waking world. And yet, sweat ran down her back. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, leaning against the wall until she felt steady enough to move. She’d definitely been spoiled over the last few months, she told herself firmly. There had been times in her life when she would have sold her soul for Room 101.

  She stumbled into the bathroom and peered into the mirror. Her face showed as dark rings against pale skin. She looked as though she’d stepped into a boxing ring and been beaten bloody, part of her mind noted as she brushed her hair. Some of the bruises had faded,
but others ... they were still marring her skin. She poured herself a glass of water and drank it, then dug through her trunk for a new set of clothes. A shower, then breakfast ... if she was lucky, she’d be in and out of the dining hall before half the student body was even out of bed. It was the weekend, after all. And the lockdown had probably thrown everyone’s biological clock out of whack.

  And everything else too, she thought, as she undressed, showered and changed into a basic dress. They’ll be thinking it’s still the middle of the night.

  She eyed herself in the mirror, dubiously. Her skin still looked pale and bruised. She rubbed salve on the worst offenders, seriously considering using a glamour to hide the rings around her eyes. But someone would sense the spell and try to cancel it ... she sighed, wishing she’d thought to bring a little make-up. It was technically scandalous for an unmarried girl to use cosmetics, but she was fairly sure no one paid any attention to that rule. Maybe she should ask Melissa if she had something that would suffice. Melissa was a redhead, but otherwise their coloring wasn’t that different.

  Closing her eyes for a long moment, she checked the wards were firmly in place and then walked out of the room. If there was one advantage to Room 101, it was that there were plenty of other tempting targets for anyone who wanted to break into an older student’s bedroom. A younger student who got caught in the corridor would be in trouble, unless they had a very good excuse. But she knew better than to take that for granted. Her rooms had always been prime targets, even before she’d been elected Head Girl. Her reputation had seen to that.

  She walked through the outer door, then down the stairs. A handful of students were running down to the armory, grumbling about Sergeant Miles not letting them sleep in. Emily’s lips twitched in a moment of humor, mixed with sympathy. She’d learned to dread early morning marches too, although she had to admit the experience had come in handy. She wouldn’t have been able to keep going during the war without it. A couple of the students turned to look at her, their expressions unreadable. They hurried onwards when she glared at them, almost tripping over their own feet. Emily couldn’t help wondering, as she reached the bottom of the stairs, just what they’d heard. By now, the rumors had probably mutated out of all recognition.

  She stepped into the dining room and looked around. It was almost empty, save for a handful of younger students. They glanced at her in surprise, then looked away hastily. Emily swallowed the urge to demand to know what they’d heard. Instead, she walked over to the counter, collected a plate of food and carried it over to an empty table. She didn’t really feel like eating, certainly not a whole plateful, but she had no choice. She’d need energy for the ordeal to come.

  It was a relief when Caleb arrived, ten minutes later. He collected his own food and sat next to her, looking calm and composed. Emily was glad of his presence, even though her emotions were a jumbled mess. It was nice to know that at least one of the students was still on her side. God alone knew what the other Sixth Years were thinking. A failure had no friends or family, for fear that failure might rub off. And Emily knew, all too well, that she had failed.

  “I booked a private room,” Caleb said, as they ate. “We can go there after breakfast.”

  Emily nodded. She poured herself a cup of Kava and drank it while her eyes wandered the room. Hardly anyone was willing to make eye contact. She thought about the rumors that had been running through the school over the last few weeks, then shivered. It was hard to imagine anything worse, but she knew others had stronger - or more perverted - imaginations. She’d given the rumormongers enough to keep them going for years.

  She looked at him. “How’s Marian?”

  “Recovering,” Caleb said, flatly. “There wasn’t any internal damage, thank all the gods, but ... she had a nasty scare.”

  Emily winced. Marian had gone through hell, even before she’d been sent to Whitehall. The girl’s confidence had been knocked out of her. And Frieda hadn’t made matters any better.

  “That’s good,” Emily said. She knew that Marian had been overshadowed by the fake god, but Frieda had been far less forgiving. “I’m sorry about ... well, you know.”

  “It’s a mess,” Caleb grunted. “I’ll be asking you to help her, you know.”

  “If I have time,” Emily said.

  They finished the rest of their breakfast in silence, then headed upstairs to the study rooms. The school was slowly coming to life, more and more students passing them on their way to breakfast. They stared as they saw Emily, falling silent as she walked past. Emily felt as if she was in the middle of a pool of utter silence, as if the world was quietening around her ... it was creepy, even though she’d seen spells that had similar effects. She knew it was no spell that kept their mouths closed.

  They’re scared, Emily thought. They don’t know what really happened.

  She fought down a wave of depression as they reached the workrooms. People were scared of her ... she didn’t like people being scared of her, even though part of her thought it was better than the alternative. But she’d done a lot of good over the years. She’d saved King Randor’s throne, she’d stopped three necromancers, she’d even won a war ... and yet, it wasn’t enough. Maybe people being scared was the price she paid for power. But ...

  Caleb opened the door. “Coming?”

  Emily felt a flicker of déjà vu as they walked into the room. They’d done their joint project together in a similar room, then made out on a table once ... she glanced at his back, wondering what would happen if she jumped him. She dismissed the thought a moment later, cursing herself. They’d had fun, but their relationship was over. They were friends and nothing else.

  But it isn’t easy to go back, she thought. She remembered his lips pressing against hers. Her heart started to race as she remembered his fingers slipping under her shirt or into her underwear. Or ... she gritted her teeth as she sat down. She couldn’t afford to let herself get distracted. She didn’t have time. We have to be just friends.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Caleb said. “You have to prove Frieda innocent, right?”

  “And Fulvia guilty,” Emily added.

  “You might not be able to do both,” Caleb said, bluntly. He met her eyes. “Look, Emily. I believe you, but others won’t. You’re accusing an elderly and respected matriarch of a very serious crime, one that carries the death penalty. Proving that she’s guilty beyond reasonable doubt may be impossible.”

  Emily glared down at her hands. He was right. She knew he was right. And yet, she didn’t want to believe it.

  “I could challenge her,” she said. The thought of blasting Fulvia apart was tempting, very tempting. “And if I won ...”

  “If you won,” Caleb interrupted. “I’m not sure you could challenge her, not now an inquest is being organized. And even if you challenged her and won, you wouldn’t clear Frieda’s name.”

  Emily felt a flash of anger. “But at least everyone would shut up.”

  “They wouldn’t,” Caleb said. “People still talked about you after you killed Master Grey.”

  “Fine,” Emily said, sourly. “What do you suggest?”

  “Well, there are four different sets of rules which govern inquests,” Caleb said. “I’m not sure which set of rules will actually be used. The Grandmaster will have to determine those, after careful consultation with his staff. But they all have one thing in common - a Prosecutor and a Defender.”

  Emily nodded. “Fulvia is the Prosecutor.”

  “Which is interesting,” Caleb said. “Normally, the family selects someone disposable, someone who can be disowned if necessary.”

  “Maybe they think she’s disposable,” Emily said, darkly. It was a reassuring thought, even though there was no way to be certain. “Perhaps they just brought her back for the trial.”

  “It might be worth checking,” Caleb agreed. “Melissa’s been disowned, but she’s hardly the only Ashworth in the school. Doesn’t Adana owe you a favor?”

  “
Perhaps,” Emily said. She had been Adana’s mentor last year, after all. “Celadon certainly isn’t going to help, is he?”

  “Probably not,” Caleb agreed, dryly. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “My point, Emily, is that Frieda needs a Defender. Someone who can hold her own in a courtroom. And while you seem to have slipped into that role by default, it isn’t something you can do. Is it?”

  Emily scowled, but nodded. She knew she was no good at public speaking. Facing one or two people, she could be persuasive; facing a crowd of strangers, she knew she’d cringe. And a hostile crowd would sense weakness ...

  “I see,” she said. Caleb had seen her weaknesses as well as her strengths. She silently gave him credit for that, as annoying as it was. “Who do you advise?”

  “My mother,” Caleb said. “Ask her to serve as the Defender.”

  Emily blinked. “I thought your mother didn’t like Frieda.”

  “She also owes you a favor,” Caleb said. “And she will pay it back, if - when - you ask. And ...”

  He sucked in his breath. “I know the odds seem stacked against you, but the Grandmaster cannot convene a kangaroo court. He cannot risk Whitehall’s neutrality.”

  “So he has to make it clear that he put Frieda to death perfectly legally,” Emily muttered.

  Caleb surprised her by nodding. “Pretty much, yes. He cannot be seen to bend to Fulvia - or her family - without fatally compromising his own career. They have to make a case that will stand up to inspection, Emily. There has to be solid proof of Frieda’s guilt. A handful of question marks might be enough to convince the jurists that Frieda was not acting of her own free will. And then ... they might determine a lesser punishment or even decide that the case has not been proven.”

  He reached out and touched Emily’s hand, gently. “My mother will be good at finding the cracks in their case and exploiting them,” he said. “And she will repay the favor she owes you.”

  “Frieda assaulted Marian,” Emily pointed out.