And you walked into a necromancer’s den, she reminded herself. What terrors does a bedroom hold in comparison to that?
She leaned forward. “I read your permanent record. You spent part of last year tutoring younger students.”
“I did,” Cirroc said. He grinned at her, mischievously. His white teeth flashed against his dark face. “I was suitably rewarded, of course.”
“Of course,” Emily agreed. She’d been surprised when she found out, although she did have to admit that Aloha had helped her out a lot in her first year. Cirroc wasn’t the type of boy she expected to host a tutoring session. “The tutors were quite impressed.”
Cirroc shrugged. “I wanted some pocket money. And tutoring seemed an expedient way to make it.”
“I know,” Emily said. She’d never considered trying to sell tutoring services. In hindsight, it was something she’d overlooked. But then, she’d never had to make money after her first few months. “I was wondering if I could hire your services.”
“I’m not allowed to tutor students in my year,” Cirroc said. “And you ...”
He stopped. “It’s not for you, is it? It’s for Frieda.”
Emily nodded. There was no point in trying to hide it for a few seconds more. Cirroc had probably heard the rumors too. Emily had hoped that Frieda’s attack on Marian would remain a secret, but parts of the story had leaked out. Thankfully, the full truth hadn’t escaped or all hell would probably have broken loose.
“She needs a tutor,” she said. “Someone she’ll actually listen to.”
Cirroc raised an eyebrow. “And you think she’ll listen to me?”
“I think it’s her best chance,” Emily said. She’d read Cirroc’s record very carefully. “You got high marks in both alchemy and charms, plus you have experience in breaking down complex subjects for novice students. And you’re old enough for her to take you as a respected authority, rather than a fellow student. She might listen to you when she won’t listen to me.”
“I think you’ve never tried to tutor anyone,” Cirroc said, dryly.
Emily shrugged. She’d found it easier to tutor her mentees than Frieda. They’d seen her as a senior student, rather than a friend. Frieda, on the other hand, had too much experience talking to Emily as an equal. Emily couldn’t help wondering if Frieda had the same feelings towards Emily as she had towards Celadon. He was an equal and yet he was presuming to lecture her from a position of superiority.
“I can’t tutor her,” she said, shortly. “But you can.”
Cirroc made a show of considering it. “I suppose I could,” he said, finally. “What’s it worth?”
Emily looked back at him. “What do you want?”
She held up a hand before he could say a word. “I don’t have the time or patience to dance around the subject, with you hinting and me playing guessing games,” she added. “A simple statement of what you want will be sufficient.”
Cirroc grinned. “A date next weekend, in Dragon’s Den?”
Emily felt a hot flash of rage, then realized he was joking. “Pick something else.”
“We shall see.” Cirroc shot her a challenging look. “The second round of the dueling contest will be held next week, won’t it?”
“As you know perfectly well,” Emily said, dryly. She doubted anything short of an earthquake would convince Gordian to cancel it. “We have been discussing plans for the last couple of days.”
“Quite,” Cirroc said. “I want you to hand the dueling club to me.”
Emily fought down a smile. If Cirroc wanted to throw her in the briar patch, who was she to object? And yet, she would have to convince Gordian to let Cirroc take over. That wouldn’t be easy. Perhaps she could make him see that she really didn’t have the time to handle the dueling club as well as everything else, not if she was focused on the contest. Or maybe just make the transfer and then dare Gordian to do anything about it.
If he tries to override me, he’ll call my authority as Head Girl into question, she thought, wryly. And if he sacks me for gross insubordination, I won’t be Head Girl any longer.
She tried to sound reluctant, although she had the feeling she wasn’t fooling him. “Why do you want it?”
Cirroc stretched. His muscles bulged against his shirt. Emily tried not to stare.
“To you, the club is nothing more than fun,” he said. “To me, it’s a chance to make myself look very good to the dueling masters.”
“Fun,” Emily repeated. She wouldn’t have called the club fun. There were too many members who seemed to think that playing around with dangerous hexes was a perfectly reasonable way to spend the evening. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Yeah.” Cirroc shot her a challenging look. “What else can you give me?”
Emily could think of a number of answers to that question, but most of them were either obscene or useless. Cirroc had a point. Practical experience running a dueling club would look very good on his record, as he’d said before. She could pour out enough money to smooth his path, but no one had enough money to guarantee he’d be taken as an apprentice. Real experience, on the other hand ...
And it’s not like I want to keep the job, she thought. I had to let Cirroc run the show last week, just because I was too busy to be there.
“I can let you take the club, as long as the Grandmaster doesn’t object,” she said. It would be easy to just leave Cirroc in charge, but that would cause problems further down the line. He might not be credited with running the club if he didn’t have the formal position. “I trust that will be satisfactory?”
Cirroc gave her a look that reminded her of a cat eating cream. “It will be more than satisfactory. We can organize the transfer after the second round.”
“You can run the contest too,” Emily said. She had the feeling he’d want that more than the club itself. He’d be showing off in front of the third and final set of representatives from the dueling club. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
“Thank you.” Cirroc leaned forward, smiling. “And when do I start tutoring?”
“As soon as possible,” Emily said. She’d told Frieda to wait in the library, but she was reluctantly aware that Frieda might not have listened to her. Frieda had taken to vanishing at odd moments, spending as much time as she could out of the castle. For someone who was more sociable than Emily, Frieda seemed to be spending a great deal of time alone. “Now, if possible.”
Cirroc rose. “Well, I don’t have anything to do for the rest of the day,” he said. Emily fought down a flash of envy, mingled with the droll awareness that Cirroc would consider keeping his side of the bargain more important than his formal schooling. “Unless you want to go to Dragon’s Den.”
Emily shook her head. She’d found herself noticing men more over the past year, after she’d started dating for the first time, but she didn’t have the time to date. She honestly didn’t know how Imaiqah had managed it. And besides, Cirroc was handsome, but he had the kind of hard edge that worried her. She was fairly sure she was a more powerful magician than he was, yet she still found his obvious strength a little intimidating ...
And Caleb was hardly a weakling, she told herself as they walked into the corridor. For someone who would probably have been considered a nerd back on Earth, Caleb was amazingly muscular. But then, he had spent two years at Stronghold. Do you think he couldn’t have crushed your neck if he tried?
She pushed the thought out of her mind, walking in companionable silence up to the library. It felt odd to spend time with a boy—a young man—who wasn’t Caleb or Jade ... she told herself, tartly, that she was being silly. Cirroc wasn’t someone she knew very well, she had to admit, but he was hardly an enemy. And besides, he had something she wanted. The fact he wanted something she couldn’t wait to give away was merely icing on the cake.
The library was thrumming with activity when she pushed open the door, a long line of students waiting by the desk to have their books stamped before they could
be removed from the library. Several more were arguing with the librarians, insisting that they needed a particular book instantly; others were searching the stacks with the single-minded dedication of students who knew they needed to catch up on their studies before exam season rolled around again. Emily wondered, sourly, just how many books had been hidden behind the stacks or deliberately filed out of place. Too many students seemed to think that concealing books they needed was a completely new and original plan.
Frieda sat at a desk, looking tense. Frieda had a distracted look, as though she was talking to someone even though she was alone. Emily frowned as she led Cirroc over to the desk. Frieda looked up, her eyes going wide when she saw Cirroc. Emily hoped she’d look up to him, even if he was only two years older than she was. She’d definitely taken orders from him in the dueling club.
“Good luck,” she said, as Cirroc led Frieda into a study room. “And thank you.”
“I’ll see you tonight, at the club,” Cirroc said. “Take care.”
Emily sighed, then looked around the library. A pair of students were making rude gestures at each other, mindful of the library’s zero tolerance policy towards noise. She kept a wary eye on them for a moment, just in case they started shooting hexes at each other, then walked into the next study room. Cabiria and the Gorgon were seated at a table, working their way through a set of complex notes.
“Your friend nearly picked a fight with a senior librarian,” the Gorgon said, by way of greeting. “Did she really hex someone into next week?”
Cabiria snickered. “I thought you didn’t pay attention to rumors.”
The Gorgon’s snakes hissed, something Emily had come to recognize as embarrassment. “I try to ignore them,” the Gorgon said. “But sometimes you just hear things.”
“And sometimes you just listen.” Cabiria grinned, sweetly. “It isn’t as if any of us are going to blame you for listening. Anyone who wants privacy should cast a privacy ward.”
Emily sat down. “She didn’t hex someone into next week,” she said, flatly. “She just ... hurt someone.”
The Gorgon blinked. “And you think that’s acceptable behavior?”
“No,” Emily said.
“Then do something about it,” the Gorgon said.
Cabiria nodded. “Right now, there’s a rumor going around that you let her get away with murder. You have to do something about it.”
“I don’t know what,” Emily said. “Do you even know who’s spreading the rumors?”
“You know how it is,” Cabiria said. “Rumors grow and change in the telling.”
Emily nodded, sourly. A rumor could be warped out of all recognition after passing through a dozen mouths. People would mishear, or add details, or even simply mingle details from two separate rumors into one. By the time she heard it, the original rumor might have been buried under a mountain of utter nonsense.
And the only good thing about it is that most people won’t believe a word of them, she thought, ruefully. But something might stick if it’s repeated often enough.
“I don’t know who started the latest set of rumors,” the Gorgon said. “But you have to find a way to stop it.”
“You have to find a way to stop her,” Cabiria said. “I’ve got sisters. I know when someone is acting up to get attention.”
“And you never did that,” the Gorgon said, dryly.
“I got too much attention.” Cabiria’s face twisted into a bitter grimace. “I never had to act up.”
The Gorgon shrugged. “Maybe Frieda is just being bitchy. You can tell she didn’t have a good upbringing.”
“She grew up in the mountains,” Emily said. “She didn’t have an easy life.”
“That doesn’t excuse bad behavior,” the Gorgon said. “And while you might feel sorry for her, others will not.”
“People always felt sorry for me,” Cabiria put in. “I hated it.”
“I bet,” the Gorgon said.
“You’re missing the point,” Cabiria said. “I could get away with anything because ... because I was a freak. People felt too sorry for me to do anything about my behavior. I was a little brat.”
The Gorgon smirked. “And now you’re a big brat?”
Cabiria shot her a two-fingered gesture. “You’re missing the point. Everyone did it, even my sisters. You know, the ones who might be expected to resent any special treatment offered to the family cripple. And I hated it, because they weren’t being nice to me because it was me. They were being nice because they felt sorry for me.”
She looked at Emily. “Frieda doesn’t need care and compassion. She needs someone who can give her a kick up the ass, someone who doesn’t give a shit about her temper tantrums. Above all”—she pointed a finger at Emily—“she needs someone who can keep an emotional distance from her. You’re too close to her, Emily, and she’s too close to you.”
Emily nodded, slowly. Cirroc could do that, she thought. But he was being paid to tutor Frieda ... not, she supposed, that it mattered. He’d do what he’d agreed to do, unless it proved impossible. If Frieda acted badly, he’d just walk away.
And then we’d have to argue over who gets the club, she thought. Joy.
“It could be worse,” she said.
“I suppose it could,” the Gorgon said. “Now, are you going to study?”
Emily took the hint and rose. “I’ll see you both at dinner,” she said. She would have liked to stay, but she had her duties to attend to. “And thank you.”
She walked back into the main library, taking the opportunity to glance into the next study room. Frieda and Cirroc were sitting at a table, their heads bent over a book. Emily hoped—prayed—that some extra tutoring would help. Frieda was far from stupid. A tutoring session might clear up the problem. If not ... she couldn’t think of anything else.
And I need to check on Celadon, she thought. I don’t know if his concept actually worked!
Chapter Thirty
“SO,” SAMRA SAID, AS EMILY AND Melissa stepped into the classroom. “I trust you have been practicing looking at yourself?”
“Yes,” Emily said. She wasn’t in the best of states for soul magic, but she had a nasty suspicion Samra didn’t care. “I’ve been doing it whenever I have time.”
“Very good.” Samra waved a hand at a table. A pair of scrolls sat there, surrounded by a protective charm. “Emily, I need to have a word with Melissa. While we’re gone, read those scrolls and consider them carefully. I’ll call you into the next room when we’re ready.”
Emily nodded, shortly. The idea of sitting down sounded good, all things considered. It had been a long and thoroughly unpleasant day. Professor Armstrong had insisted she had to rework her personal wards, Professor Lombardi had questioned her judgement after a tiny error had threatened to snowball into a major disaster and Professor Thande had made the entire class repeatedly brew an alchemical concoction of no obvious value. If she hadn’t been summoned to attend an impromptu class on soul magic, she would have gone straight back to her bedroom and taken a nap.
She sat down and opened the first scroll. It was nothing more than an attempt by an unknown writer to translate the terms of soul magic into something common magicians could understand. Emily found herself struggling to parse it out, understanding—not for the first time—why most magicians shied away from soul magic. Altering a single variable in a charm could prove disastrous, but the effects could be anticipated and countered, while in soul magic alterations and effects seemed to be completely unpredictable. The writer concluded by stating it should be possible to weave soul magic into a standard ward, but Emily couldn’t swear to it. His argument relied upon so many buzzwords—half of which seemed to have been invented specifically for the scroll—that it was impossible to follow his words.
No wonder Frieda is having problems, she thought, feeling a flicker of sympathy. The writer seemed to be an older version of Celadon. I can’t make heads or tails of this scroll either.
She put it asi
de and opened the other one. It felt old against her bare fingers. Whoever had written it had used Old Script rather than the common tongue, forcing her to translate it as best as she could. Her head was pounding by the time she managed to decipher the first passages, leaving her wondering why no one had bothered to do an official translation. But an account of the first person to experiment with soul magic—or at least the first person to survive the experience—wasn’t something that anyone would want translated. It sounded as though the writer hadn’t enjoyed himself.
The door opened. “Emily,” Samra called. “Replace the protective charm and join us, if you please?”
Emily nodded, rolling up the scrolls before carefully resetting the charm. The parchment probably had some magic woven into the material, just to keep it intact. It awed her to think that it might have been passed down from master to master ... she wondered, suddenly, if it predated Lord Whitehall and his commune. She hadn’t heard anything about soul magic during her trip to the past, but the commune had been fairly isolated. Magicians didn’t start sharing secrets openly until after Whitehall School was established.
She rose and walked into the next room. Melissa was sitting in an armchair, so stiffly that Emily wondered if she’d been frozen in place. Only the rise and fall of her breasts—and her blinking eyes—suggested otherwise. Her face was so tightly controlled that Emily knew she was unhappy. She glanced at Samra, wondering just what the old woman had done. It would have to be something bad after everything else Melissa had done in the last few months.
“Close the door,” Samra ordered. “Melissa, say something.”
Melissa opened her mouth and brayed like a mule. Emily jumped. There was no shortage of spells that made people talk like animals—there was no shortage of spells to turn people into animals—but she wouldn’t have expected one of them to work on Melissa. She was a sixth-year student, for crying out loud. Melissa should have had no trouble shrugging off a spell that even firsties could counter after a few weeks of training. And yet ...
The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13) Page 28
