The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I don’t think that matters,” she said. “What matters, sir, is if they think they have a case.”

  “True.” Gordian looked up at her. “Very well. She may work with her partner, under supervision. Your supervision. And you will be held accountable for anything that goes wrong.”

  And perhaps give him grounds to try to expel me, Emily thought. She felt the wards at the back of her mind. She still had no idea what Gordian had been trying to do to them, but she was fairly sure it involved trying to remove her influence. Or push me into a place where I have to surrender the wards.

  “Very well,” she said.

  “Good,” Gordian said. “I believe we will have to hold the second round again ...”

  “I will be handing the dueling club and contest over to Cirroc,” Emily said, flatly. She never wanted to see a dueling ring again. “He can take control of both, now they are up and running. I believe he will be far better at handling them.”

  Gordian’s eyebrows rose. “As Head Girl, it is your responsibility to make them work.”

  “I did make them work,” Emily said. She’d done her best to anticipate everything Gordian would say and come up with counterarguments. “The dueling club now meets regularly, two days a week, and we are well on our way to finding a yearly champion who might even go on to the league! I don’t think the club needs me any longer. Putting someone else in charge, someone who has the talent and determination to make it work—and the time to dedicate himself to the club—would be far more efficient.”

  She paused. She was fairly sure Gordian would respond better to an argument that benefited him in some manner, but she was uneasily aware that he was at least thirty years older than she was. If he spotted her trying to manipulate him, and she knew she wasn’t very good at subtle manipulation, he might react badly. And the only way to counter that was to put the argument in a way that laid all the advantages out before him.

  “Cirroc has ambitions to join the league and become a dueling master,” she reminded him, carefully. “A strong tie between the club and a dueling master will benefit us in the future, will it not?”

  “True.” Gordian gave her a sharp look. “And you think he has a chance of succeeding?”

  “I don’t intend to join the league myself,” Emily said. She certainly had no intention of becoming a dueling master. “And nor do Jacqui and Cerise. Cirroc is the only one of us with such ambitions. He’s the only one who might succeed.”

  Gordian nodded, curtly. “Very well. You can pass the club to him.”

  Emily allowed herself a moment of relief. She’d been fairly sure it lay within her authority, but Gordian might have tried to overrule her. Coming to think of it, he might even have tried to pass the club to Jacqui or Cerise. That would have been embarrassing. But Cirroc offered the greatest long-term advantage, as far as Emily could tell. Gordian evidently agreed.

  “You can inform Frieda that she will be permitted to work on her joint project.” Gordian met her eyes, warningly. “And if I were you, I would be reconsidering my friendship with Frieda. Her behavior has become thoroughly unacceptable.”

  He pointed a finger at the door. “Go.”

  Emily turned and walked through the door, keeping her back ramrod straight. She didn’t allow herself to show any emotion as she passed through the antechamber, only sagging when the outer door was firmly closed behind her. Frieda was suspended ... she groaned as the full implications struck her. If Frieda failed her exams, she might not be allowed to repeat the year. Her behavior had been appalling, after all. And even if she passed, she might not get good enough grades to pass into Fifth Year. There wouldn’t be much hope of an apprenticeship if she left Whitehall with low marks.

  Fuck, she thought, numbly.

  She cursed Gordian under her breath. Expelling Frieda would have been kinder. God knew hardly anyone—apart from Emily—would challenge the verdict. And yet, she did have influence over Whitehall’s wards. Gordian might have been trying to find a compromise between punishing Frieda and not alienating Emily herself ...

  Too late, she thought.

  “Emily,” a voice said. Emily turned to see Melissa, looking tired. “A word, please?”

  Emily raised her eyebrows. “Did Jacqui send you?”

  Melissa gave her an odd look. “Why ...?”

  “Never mind.” Emily leaned against the walls, feeling power thrumming through the stone. “What can I do for you?”

  “My cousin was badly injured by your friend.” Melissa’s face twisted. “That is not going to look good.”

  “I know,” Emily said. She wondered if Melissa was going to challenge her, or merely throw a hex without bothering with a formal challenge. Adana had been Melissa’s baby cousin, once upon a time. Melissa had every right to be upset. “I’m sorry.”

  “The family isn’t going to be pleased.” Melissa walked up to Emily and stood next to her. “I know she’ll recover, physically. Mentally ...?”

  Emily nodded. She’d taken weeks—months, really—to recover from Shadye’s attack on Whitehall. Or the Mimic. Or Mother Holly. Or the moment when she’d killed Master Grey or watched, helplessly, as Casper died. The Nameless World could heal anything that wasn’t instantly lethal, if the victim was taken to a healer. But mental damage was beyond repair.

  And no one wants to try to find spells to help deal with it, she thought, morbidly. They’re too scared about accidentally creating a whole new breed of powerful necromancers.

  “I’ve been through worse,” Emily said, quietly. “Adana will recover.”

  “I hope so,” Melissa said. “But if she doesn’t ...”

  Emily sighed. “What will your family do?”

  “I don’t know.” Melissa sighed. “It’s not as if they invite me to conclaves now.”

  She snorted, bitterly. “They didn’t invite me before, of course. Fulvia just told us what to do and everyone went along with it. She decided who I’d marry and ... they just agreed.”

  Emily pulled herself upright. “Why did they even listen to her?”

  “She was old and powerful and knew where most of the bodies were buried,” Melissa said, sardonically. “And very few people dared to challenge her.”

  “Oh.” Emily started to walk down the corridor, Melissa falling into step beside her. “What happened between you and Jacqui?”

  Melissa frowned. “Jacqui and Cerise both come from families that are connected to mine,” she said, slowly. “We were the same age, so we were put together when the families met and ... and expected to get along. We did, of course. It was expected of us.”

  She sighed. “And then I was disowned and they dumped me,” she added. The bitterness in her voice was palpable. “Jacqui even turned around and practically ran up the corridor, just to make it clear she wasn’t spending any time with me. So much for everything I did for her! Gaius’s friends showed more loyalty.”

  “Jacqui invited me to befriend her,” Emily said. “Why?”

  Melissa stopped, dead.

  “Because she thinks she can use you, I suspect.” She snorted, rudely. “I wasn’t taught to have friends, Emily. The people we were taught to court were the ones who could help us.”

  “Jacqui said much the same,” Emily commented.

  “Well, of course,” Melissa said. The hurt in her voice grew stronger. “We had the same lessons.”

  She ran her hand through her hair. “You know—you should know—that people are expected to help their friends. But there’s also ...”

  Melissa sighed. “Jacqui sees advantage in courting you. I suppose there’s something honest about it. She’s not some man pretending to be interested in whatever boring subject you’re talking about because he wants to lift your dress the minute you’re alone together. She will be honest about trading favors for favors, about owing obligations, about speaking for you as you will speak for her.”

  Emily lifted an eyebrow. “How many men spoke to you like that?”

  “I was the Hei
r,” Melissa said, in a faintly pitying tone. “Men would have buzzed around me like flies, even if I was a hunchback with a wooden leg. I could have jumped in a cesspit—” she snickered, humorlessly “—and they would have been complimenting me on my perfume.”

  She looked sad, just for a moment. “And then I was disowned and suddenly ... no one was interested in me.”

  “You’re married,” Emily pointed out. “And Markus is a great guy.”

  “Relationships aren’t just about sex, Emily,” Melissa said. “I was taught to build up a web of people who owed me favors, who would repay them when I called. Now ... I have to start again, from scratch.”

  “Or refuse to play at all,” Emily said.

  “Which feels unnatural,” Melissa said. “Markus is doing the same, of course. He’ll be head of the banking guild when it is formally announced. His contacts with the other bankers make it a certainty.”

  She shrugged. “If you want to befriend Jacqui, then befriend her,” she said. The pain in her voice was clear. “But watch for the web of obligations. You might find yourself committed to something you don’t want.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said.

  Melissa snorted and walked away. Emily stood there for a long moment, centering herself as much as possible, then reached out to touch the wards. She’d never liked using them to locate someone, even a tutor, but she didn’t have a choice. She certainly didn’t have the time to search the school from top to bottom.

  She sighed. Frieda was in her bedroom. And that meant ...

  Time to go talk to her, Emily thought. And then ... what?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “THE FOUR OF YOU SHOULD KNOW better than to hurl dangerous hexes around,” Madame Beauregard thundered, as Emily stepped into the dorms. For an awful moment, she thought it was Frieda getting told off again. “You’re certainly not supposed to set the common room on fire!”

  Emily peeped into Madame Beauregard’s office. Four students, all boys, were cringing under the weight of her rebuke. She wondered, absently, what had happened to the housefather, then dismissed the thought as she made her way to Frieda’s room. The housemother would be more than equal to the problem. She’d never seen anyone defy any of the housemothers twice.

  She stopped outside Frieda’s door and braced herself. Frieda hadn’t looked happy when she’d left Gordian’s office, which meant ... Emily wished, suddenly, that she’d been there. She would have known what Gordian had said, even though her presence would probably have made Frieda feel worse. Shaking her head, she raised her hand and rapped on the door, firmly. The door swung open a moment later.

  The tension hung in the air like a physical presence. Frieda sat cross-legged on her bed, while her two roommates eyed her nervously. Emily could sense dozens of wards floating in the air, brushing against each other to the point where she suspected it was actually counterproductive. She couldn’t help wondering why Madame Beauregard hadn’t intervened. There were so many spells in the room that they might be interfering with the school’s wards.

  “Emily,” Frieda said, dully.

  Emily looked at Frieda’s roommates. “Go to the library for an hour.” She felt a twinge of guilt at ordering them out of their room, but she wanted—she needed—to talk to Frieda in informal surroundings. “You can come back afterwards.”

  The roommates didn’t hesitate. That, more than anything else, worried Emily. Something had gone badly wrong, so badly wrong they’d wanted an excuse to leave. And yet, retreating from their bedroom would have been a sign of weakness. Emily’s arrival—and her orders—had cut through that particular dilemma.

  “I’m going to sit on your bed,” Emily said, once they were alone. “Drop the wards.”

  Frieda looked up at her, then waved her hand in a limp gesture. The wards faded into nothingness, allowing Emily to step up to the bed and sit down. Frieda shifted, bringing up her legs and wrapping her arms around them. Her plaits fell down, making her look ten years younger. It struck Emily, suddenly, that Frieda looked thin again. Had she even been eating?

  On impulse, Emily reached out and pulled Frieda into a hug. The younger girl didn’t move, even when Emily held her tightly. Her body felt limp against Emily’s arms, as if she didn’t have the strength to move. Emily held her for a long moment, remembering the days she’d told Frieda stories before they went to bed. Had she done the right thing, after all, by bringing Frieda out of Mountaintop? Or should she have tried to do something else?

  She would have died, if you hadn’t been there, Emily reminded herself. And if she had lived, things might not have been better.

  Emily pushed the thought aside. “I’m sorry,” she said, quietly. “I wish ...”

  She tried, desperately, to think of the right words. Lady Barb would have told Frieda off, she was sure. She would have lectured Frieda in her quiet manner that was somehow far worse than shouting, pointed out all of her mistakes in a way that would have left her feeling about a millimeter high. But Emily couldn’t do that. Frieda was her friend and her little sister—in all but blood—wrapped into one. She could no more scream and shout at Frieda than she could beat her bloody.

  And yet, she had to say something.

  She wanted to demand answers, to know precisely what Frieda had been thinking. And yet, she knew demanding answers wouldn’t help. Gordian had probably demanded answers, hammering away at Frieda until she was a nervous wreck. Frieda had probably been forced to relive the whole incident over and over, every detail etched on her mind ... Emily knew she couldn’t do that, not to her friend.

  “It isn’t good,” she said, holding Frieda gently. The younger girl felt so small and slight in her arms. Frieda had always been small, even though she’d been putting on weight. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to pass the exams.”

  “He wants to be rid of me.” Frieda sounded as if she wanted to cry, but didn’t dare show weakness. Emily understood, more than she cared to admit. She’d never wanted to show weakness either. “I ... I don’t know what happened.”

  Emily frowned. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Frieda shook her head, but started to talk anyway. “I got angry. She was buzzing around me, tossing hexes at me ... I got angry. I was ... I don’t understand it. And then the creepers caught hold of me and ... I saw Dayan.”

  “Dayan?” The name meant nothing to her. It was masculine, she thought, but it was hard to be entirely sure. Gender-neutral names were unusual on the Nameless World. “Who was he? She?”

  “He was in my class, back at Mountaintop ... before I met you,” Frieda said. “They gave me a basic class in reading and writing before they assigned me to you. Dayan ... thought it would be funny to tie me up and dump me in a cupboard. I was there for hours before someone found and untied me.”

  Emily winced. “I’m sorry.”

  “I saw him,” Frieda said. “And I panicked.”

  “And your magic blasted the threat,” Emily said. “You nearly killed her.”

  “I thought I had killed her,” Frieda said. “The Grandmaster didn’t say.”

  Leaving Frieda with the guilt of thinking she’d killed someone, Emily thought. And a fellow student, no less.

  She loosened her grip. “I should have barred you from the contest. I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault.” Frieda slowly uncurled, brushing her plaits out of her face. “I’m going to fail, aren’t I?”

  There was a wash of bitter resentment in her voice, mingled with naked shame and self-loathing. Emily felt a stab of pity and reached out to take Frieda’s hand, holding it gently. A dozen possible answers washed across her mind, most entirely useless. There was no point in lying to her. Frieda could do the maths as well as she could. Being even a single week behind the rest of the class might make it impossible to catch up.

  “That remains to be seen,” Emily said. She sucked in her breath as Frieda looked at her, dark eyes shining with sudden hope. “You will have to catch up with some of your classe
s.”

  She made a face. Perhaps Cirroc would help tutor Frieda in other subjects. He’d probably want some other form of payment, but he could do it. Unless Gordian decided to be a pain and forbid Frieda from receiving any kind of tutoring. Emily made a mental note to do everything in her power to make sure he never found out, then pushed the thought aside. She had too many other problems at the moment.

  “All right,” she said. “What do you want to be when you leave Whitehall?”

  “A combat sorceress,” Frieda said. “You know, like Lady Barb.”

  “Yeah,” Emily said. She took a second to compose her thoughts. “You will need Alchemy, Charms, Healing and Martial Magic, at the very least. You’ll need advanced classes in all four subjects if you want to go straight into an apprenticeship after leaving school. That means you have to take them all in Fifth and Sixth Years.”

  “As well as others,” Frieda said.

  Emily nodded. “You can drop the other classes now,” she said. She understood Frieda’s reluctance to give up, but she’d really bitten off far more than she could chew. Aloha was the only student Emily recalled with a similar workload and Aloha had learned to read, write and study from a very early age. “I know you want to keep them, but you don’t have time.”

  “I can’t drop the joint project,” Frieda pointed out.

  “No, you can’t,” Emily agreed. She gritted her teeth. Celadon and Frieda would just have to put up with each other for a few more months. Then they could submit their project and settle their differences on the dueling field, if they wished. “You need to drop all of the other classes now.”

  “I’ll lose marks,” Frieda protested.

  “You’ll lose everything if your combined marks aren’t enough to push you into the next year,” Emily pointed out, a little more sharply than she’d intended. Frieda cringed, as if Emily had slapped her. “You can’t handle so many classes, not now. Drop them and concentrate on what you need.”