The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Emily sighed. “I never wanted to speak in public.” Alassa could do that, if she wished. But then, she had no choice. The Crown Princess was meant to speak in front of the Assembly every three months. “How many speeches do I have to give?”

  “You’re a public figure,” Gordian said, amused. She couldn’t help noticing that he hadn’t actually answered her real question. “You’ll give many speeches throughout your life.”

  He gave her a droll smile. “Learn.”

  And that, Emily knew as she watched him walk away, was good advice.

  She just wasn’t sure she could take it.

  Chapter Ten

  “THEY’RE LETTING HER in the school?”

  Emily sighed as she walked up the mountain trail. Perhaps it had been a mistake to tell Frieda that Marian had entered Whitehall. But Frieda would have recognized Marian the moment she laid eyes on the younger girl. And, unlike just about everyone else, Frieda knew what Marian had done. She’d been far less forgiving than anyone else too.

  “She wasn’t in her right mind,” Emily said. She smiled as a gust of warm air struck her, brushing through her hair. “She can’t be blamed for what she did.”

  “She also nearly managed to get us all killed,” Frieda pointed out, sharply. “And she did manage to destroy your ... relationship ... with Caleb.”

  Emily sighed, again. “That wasn’t wholly her fault. Caleb and I ... we were having problems, even before our final fight.”

  “Which wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t betrayed us,” Frieda said. “She should be kicked out of her family, not sent to Whitehall.”

  “That wasn’t our choice,” Emily said. “And I don’t blame Sienna for wanting to take care of her daughter.”

  She glanced at Frieda’s hard face and knew she wouldn’t be believed. Frieda had grown up in a mountain village, where family was all. Betraying the family wasn’t a harmless little prank like arson, murder and jaywalking. There could be no greater sin in a world where family was often all that stood between you and darkness. Willing or not, Marian had called into question the building blocks of House Waterfall itself. Frieda couldn’t forgive Marian for her betrayal, not when it had almost cost her everything. She couldn’t understand, either, why Caleb and his family were prepared to keep Marian with them.

  “She betrayed her mother and father,” Frieda insisted. “That doesn’t deserve forgiveness.”

  “I could cast a spell on you that would make you say or do or believe anything I wanted,” Emily pointed out. Sergeant Miles and Lady Barb had made her memorize a number of dominance spells, warning her only to use them in extremis. “Would that make you responsible for whatever I made you do?”

  Frieda looked away. “She wasn’t controlled directly, was she?”

  “She lost her way.” Emily reached out and squeezed Frieda’s shoulder. “She’s a firstie—you’re a grown-up Fourth Year. You won’t have to see her or speak to her or have anything to do with her.”

  “Unless she joins the dueling club,” Frieda muttered.

  Emily shrugged. That wasn’t likely to happen. Marian had looked scared of her own shadow. It was hard to understand why Sienna had allowed her daughter to leave the house, although ... perhaps Sienna’s parenting style had only made matters worse. Emily could appreciate having a mother who actually cared, but Marian might have felt differently after she’d been saved from certain death. She certainly might not have the strength to endure her mother’s care for long.

  “If she does, you can cope with it,” Emily said, firmly. “And if she doesn’t ... well, you don’t have to do anything with her anyway.”

  She turned right as they reached the top of the path, using a spell to push aside the concealment spell someone had placed on the bush years ago. It faded without a fight, to her private relief. The spell would have resisted more forcibly if someone had beaten them to the hollow. They made their way down a hidden path, then stopped as they reached the cliff. Below them, Whitehall shone in all its glory. Emily closed her eyes, feeling the magic spiraling around the school. The nexus point was tamed, but she could still feel it beating against her soul.

  This place was drenched in magic a thousand years ago, she thought. The forest had been full of magical creatures, almost universally dangerous. Dragon’s Den hadn’t been founded for another five hundred years, after the Empire. Now ... only a magician would sense anything out of place.

  She opened her eyes and sat down on the grass. Caleb had taken her to the hollow more than once, back before Whitehall had started to collapse in on itself. They’d made out on the grass, kissing and hugging and exploring each other’s bodies as the sun beat down and insects buzzed through the air. Now ... she shook her head, telling herself not to be silly. Falling in love and falling out of it was just part of life. And she didn’t really regret what she’d done.

  Frieda sat next to her. “Classes start tomorrow,” she said softly, one hand toying with her necklace. “Are you looking forward to them?”

  “Yeah,” Emily said. Some of her classes were new. Others ... she hoped the tutors realized how much work she’d done, between the war and retaking her exams. Whitehall wasn’t obsessed with GPA, but failing the first set of exams reflected badly on her. “I need to speak to the professors afterwards.”

  “You’re Head Girl,” Frieda pointed out. “You can go see them any time you like.”

  Emily nodded. She could have gone ... if she hadn’t been concerned about disturbing the tutors. They had everything from lesson plans to retaken exams to review before term actually started. Lady Barb had even told her the first week of term was always a nightmare for the tutors. And that was before a particularly stupid student could find a new and inventive way to injure or kill himself in front of the entire class.

  “I’ll see them tomorrow, hopefully.” She smiled. “Master Tor has me in his Ethics of Magic and Politics class.”

  “Ouch,” Frieda said. “It would probably be better just to keep your mouth shut.”

  Emily shrugged. Master Tor had been quite informative, back in Second Year. Law had never really interested her, beyond trying to figure out why some of the odder—and stupider—laws on the books had ever been written in the first place. Most of them had remained in force long after their original purpose had become immaterial, if there had been a reason in the first place. But she supposed it was important to know what might be considered a crime before it was too late.

  “I’ll try to pay attention,” she said. She wasn’t sure what Master Tor could tell her about ethics, but she supposed she’d find out tomorrow. “Did you catch up with Celadon?”

  Frieda’s face darkened. “Yeah,” she said, as she unslung her backpack and tore it open. “He was useless, as always.”

  “You didn’t say he was useless last year,” Emily reminded her, carefully. “I thought you were working well with him.”

  “That was before he started trying to change everything.” Frieda produced a notebook and thrust it at Emily. “Have a look!”

  Emily took the notebook, tested it for unpleasant surprises and then opened it. Students at Whitehall normally secured their notebooks, just to make it difficult for someone to steal their work, but Frieda hadn’t bothered. Emily made a mental note to remind her she was back at school now, then started to work her way through the diagrams. Celadon had been busy. He’d taken the original idea—which Frieda had copied down last year—and changed it beyond recognition.

  “There are some good thoughts here,” Emily mused, as she worked her way through the notebook. “A couple of them are quite innovative.”

  Frieda gave her a nasty look. “He didn’t check with me about any of them,” she snapped, angrily. “He didn’t even ask before he filed changed papers with our supervisor!”

  Emily looked up. “He told them you were changing everything?”

  “Yes.” Frieda looked down. “He didn’t even bother to tell me in his damned letters!”

  “Oh,
” Emily said. She didn’t blame Frieda for being steamed. If Caleb had done that to her, back in Fourth Year, she would have been furious too. She wouldn’t have minded if he’d found a new way to tackle the project, but she’d have wanted to check it—and make sure she understood it—first. “Weren’t you required to countersign it?”

  Frieda looked blank. “I ...”

  “Check that,” Emily advised. If Frieda hadn’t countersigned, she couldn’t be blamed; if she had, she might be in some trouble. No one was supposed to sign or countersign until they understood the underlying theory. Who knew what questions a suspicious supervisor might ask? “They’ll expect you to make a progress report in a couple of months.”

  “Fuck.” Frieda clenched her fists, angrily. “I don’t even know where to begin!”

  Emily studied the notebook for a long moment. Celadon had decided to combine charms, alchemy and crystallomancy to produce a set of alchemical tools that would make potion brewing considerably easier. Or so he’d said, according to the first set of notes. He’d talked Frieda into working out how magic flowed through different materials, then into planning a set of practical designs. Emily had a sneaking suspicion that some of the smaller devices wouldn’t work well—they’d explode if the magic level rose too sharply—but she had to admit it was innovative. The combination of charms and alchemy was particularly clever.

  “You think it’s a good idea, don’t you?” Frieda rose and started to pace. “Why does everyone think he’s always right?”

  Emily didn’t look up. “You helped to devise the first set of plans, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Frieda said. “And those plans have now been scrapped.”

  “I see,” Emily said.

  She found herself utterly unsure how to proceed. She understood precisely why Frieda was so upset. How could she claim a share of the marks if he’d done most of the work? Celadon had done nearly all of the theoretical work, as far as Emily could tell. He’d certainly done all the theoretical work for the second set of designs. And yet, most of his modifications appeared to be better. That could not be denied.

  Not easily, she corrected herself. But it would be pointless.

  “Sit down,” she said. “Do you actually understand what he’s done?”

  “No.” Frieda sat down heavily, crossing her arms under her breasts. “I can’t follow half of the equations. His spell notations are ...”

  “Poor,” Emily finished.

  She frowned as she skimmed through the final pages. Her handwriting wasn’t that good, but Professor Lombardi had drilled the importance of writing clearly and concisely into her skull, forcing her to write entire sections out again and again until he deemed them readable. She wondered, absently, just how Celadon had managed to avoid those lessons. Perhaps he’d been careful to write properly in class, perhaps he’d been good enough to get a free pass ...

  Or perhaps he’s trying to conceal something, she thought, darkly. She’d read countless reports where the grains of truth had been buried beneath a collection of polite, but ultimately meaningless, nonsense. It had taken her weeks to explain to her subordinates at Cockatrice that she wanted facts—including bad news—rather than obsequious toadying. There might be all sorts of gaps in his logic.

  “If this is his work,” Emily said slowly, “he certainly should be capable of explaining it to you.”

  Frieda looked pained. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Emily said. “Anything can be broken down into bite-sized chunks.”

  She sighed, inwardly. Frieda was very far from stupid, but she was far more interested in practical magic than theoretical studies. She mastered charms, hexes and incantations with terrifying speed, yet it took her days to grasp even the simplest theoretical concept. Someone who wanted to snowball her could snowball her, if they worked at it. There was certainly nothing to stop them.

  “You haven’t signed off on it,” she said. “Tonight—” she glanced at the setting sun and changed her mind “—tomorrow, go to him and ask him to break it down for you. Explain what he’s done, explain what he wants to do ... explain everything. And if he can’t explain it, insist on going back to the original set of plans. You have to understand what you’re doing before you get interrogated by the supervisor.”

  Frieda flushed, darkly. “He’ll say I’m stupid.”

  “You are not stupid,” Emily said. Frieda was in Martial Magic. She was surprised that Celadon had the nerve to suggest she was stupid. “Not understanding something doesn’t make you stupid.”

  “Hah,” Frieda said. “I don’t understand what you saw in Caleb.”

  Emily shrugged. “I don’t understand what Pandora sees in Mathis either.”

  “He’s handsome,” Frieda said. “And his parents are very wealthy.”

  “True,” Emily agreed, dryly. If there was one thing she’d picked up from Alassa’s stint on the marriage market, it was that money and land could make anyone look attractive. Ugly daughters and charmless princes were still courted with great enthusiasm. She found it hard to believe that any of the resulting marriages were actually happy, but stranger things had happened. “Do you like Celadon?”

  Frieda glowered at her. “He’s a conceited little git!”

  “It must be love,” Emily teased. “When’s the wedding?”

  “Never,” Frieda snarled. “I ... I should never have agreed to work with him.”

  “You were getting on fine last year,” Emily said. She couldn’t help feeling a flicker of disquiet. Had something happened between Frieda and Celadon? Frieda could take care of herself, physically, but emotionally? “What happened?”

  “We were, until he decided to change everything.” Frieda reached for the notebook and glowered at it. “What was he thinking?”

  “Perhaps he was trying to find a better way to do things,” Emily mused. She liked trying to find new and better ways to do things. “Or perhaps ...”

  “I don’t know.” Frieda’s voice rang with frustration. “I don’t know.”

  Emily looked at the distant school, thinking hard. She could take the notebook and work her way through it, trying to understand what Celadon had written. There was nothing to keep her from understanding it—or determining that it wasn’t meant to be understood. If Celadon had written a great deal of nonsense—or even ill-defined spellwork—she should be able to figure it out. But he’d have to be out of his mind to do it deliberately. The supervisor would not be amused. Celadon would, at best, have to repeat the year.

  Or worse, because he’ll have ruined Frieda’s work as well as his own, Emily thought. She might have to retake the year too. His punishment will be very unpleasant.

  She sighed. She didn’t really have time to do anything of the sort. There was no way she could check each and every piece of spellwork, not in less than a day or two. And there were too many other demands on her time. The Gorgon or Cabiria—or Caleb—wouldn’t have much time either. Besides, Frieda would sooner fail than ask Caleb for help. She’d never warmed up to him.

  “Get him to explain it to you,” she said, as another gust of warm air washed across the hollow. Dark clouds were already forming over the Craggy Mountains. It looked like a thunderstorm was on the way. “And if he can’t, you can file an official complaint.”

  Frieda gave her a sharp look. “Wouldn’t that be tattling?”

  “This isn’t someone turning you into a frog as you walk down the corridor, minding your own business,” Emily said. “This is something that threatens your academic standing.”

  She smiled, ruefully. Five years ago, she would have been horrified at the thought of being turned into a frog; six years ago, she’d known it was impossible. Now ... tattling wasn’t encouraged at Whitehall—students were meant to sort out their own problems—but pranksters and bullies were not meant to impede their victim’s studies. Anyone who tried would be in deep trouble, when they were caught. Frieda had every right to complain about Celadon if he—deliberately or otherwise—screw
ed up her marks.

  “He just makes me angry.” Frieda glared down at the ground. “I bet Caleb didn’t make you angry.”

  “Not that often,” Emily said. “We did have arguments over how to proceed, but we didn’t snap and snarl at each other.”

  She cocked her head. “If the two of you really can’t work together, you need to find other partners. Now.”

  “No one else will want me.” Another flicker of anger crossed Frieda’s face. “Or him. They all have their own partners.”

  Emily winced. Frieda might be right. The only reason she’d been partnered with Caleb—after missing half of Third Year—was that he’d been forced to retake a year. If he hadn’t, she didn’t know what would have happened. She might have had to retake a year herself, just so she had a partner, or try to complete the project on her own. But that would probably have been an automatic fail.

  “You’re not being judged on your spellwork alone,” she said. It was true, particularly for students who were exploring more conventional avenues of magic. “You have to learn to work with him. And he has to learn to work with you. If you can’t get him to see sense, you need to get your supervisor involved.”

  She glanced up, sharply, as she heard thunder crashing over the mountains. “We’d better get down quickly,” she said. “It won’t be long before it starts raining.”

  “I’ve seen worse,” Frieda said. “In the Cairngorms, we wouldn’t bring the sheep in for this.”

  Darkness fell rapidly as the storm moved towards them. Emily cast a night-vision spell and looked around. In the faint light, the trees and bushes were starting to take on a vaguely sinister aspect.

  Emily rose. “We’re not in the Cairngorms.” She’d only been to the Cairngorms once, but she hadn’t liked it. Frieda’s life had been hellish before she’d been discovered by a roving magician and taken away. “And the rain might turn to snow very quickly.”

  She held out a hand. “Shall we go?”

  Chapter Eleven