Which might not be enough. Emily thought. Her behavior will not make the tutors eager to see her next year.
She forced herself to think. It wasn’t unheard of for a student to go into an apprenticeship after Fourth Year, but it was very rare. Frieda certainly wouldn’t be offered the chance to apprentice with a combat sorcerer, unless ... Emily considered a handful of possible options, one by one. Sergeant Miles would flatly refuse to take Frieda, she suspected, along with most of his peers. But Jade might ... he was a master, authorized to take students if he wished. And he owed Emily a favor.
Alassa might be glad to have another combat sorcerer—even a half-trained one—nearby, Emily told herself. And Jade certainly doesn’t have time to raise a conventional apprentice.
“You need to pass those four subjects,” she said. “Everything else, you can study during the holidays and take the exams before classes resume.”
“Like you,” Frieda said. “What happens if I fail?”
Emily shrugged. There were options. Frieda wouldn’t have any qualifications, but there were places so desperate for magical help that they probably wouldn’t care. Or she could find a private tutor if she got kicked out of Whitehall. Or ...
“Concentrate on not failing,” she said, firmly. She untangled herself from Frieda. “How many hexes have you placed around your desk?”
“They kept trying to break in.” Frieda waved a hand towards the desk. “I wanted to keep them out.”
Emily sighed. It sounded as though Frieda needed new roommates too. She wasn’t sure what she could do about that. Students weren’t supposed to change rooms without a very good reason. Perhaps she could talk the housemother into authorizing a change, if Frieda found someone willing to swap with her. But the way she’d been behaving recently, Emily doubted she would have any takers.
She used to get on with her classmates, she thought. Frieda had always been more sociable than Emily. She was the one who invented freeze tag! What happened?
There was a small notebook on the desk, sitting next to Frieda’s class schedule. Emily saw it and winced. Frieda had hardly any time outside classes at all. That wasn’t going to be a problem for the next few weeks, she reflected as she listed the classes Frieda would have to drop. She understood wanting to learn as much as possible, but there were limits. Frieda had clearly met hers quite some time ago.
“Write a formal note to the year head, informing him that you intend to drop all but those four classes,” she said. She picked up the notepad and held it out to Frieda. “And then I’ll take it down to his office.”
“You shouldn’t do that for me,” Frieda said.
Emily shrugged. Gordian was on the warpath. There was no point in giving him an excuse, no matter how thin, to turn Frieda’s suspension into an expulsion. Frieda would be better off staying in her room anyway, at least until dinnertime. Adana’s friends were likely to hex Frieda in the back if they saw her. They might be two years younger than Frieda, but if they were angry enough they were unlikely to care.
“I’ll take it,” Emily said. Frieda didn’t need to get into trouble for hexing younger students again. “You can start working on your study plan.”
Frieda blanched. “Study plan?”
“Yes.” Emily reached for the bookshelf, then stopped herself. “Remove the wards?”
Frieda scowled, but did as she was told.
“There’s a course outline in your year handbook,” Emily said. She’d studied hers religiously, once upon a time. “You can see what the tutors are teaching over the next three to four weeks. Your task is to work out what you need to study to catch up with the minimum of trouble.”
“I won’t be able to do any practical work,” Frieda objected.
“That might not be a problem,” Emily said. Gordian had agreed that Frieda could use a spellchamber. He’d meant for the joint project, but Emily figured she could stretch his rules a little. Besides, she could alter the wards to keep him from peeking. “For the moment, though, you need to concentrate on theoretical work.”
She passed Frieda the handbook, then sat on the bed. “You won’t get another chance,” she warned. “You cannot afford to let this one slip by.”
Frieda looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry. I just ... I just don’t know what happened.”
Emily frowned. She’d checked Frieda’s room—and Frieda herself—for outside influence, finding nothing. Frieda hadn’t been enspelled, nor was she being drugged or manipulated by magic. And that meant ... what? That Frieda was acting of her own free will? Or that someone had managed to manipulate her without magic? Emily honestly wasn’t sure which possibility was more disturbing.
She really did take on too much, she thought. Even Aloha had become cranky, as exam season approached. She’d once turned Emily and Imaiqah into tiny statues, just for talking too loudly when Aloha had been trying to study. And Frieda might be cracking under the strain.
“It doesn’t matter,” she lied. It wouldn’t be long before Adana’s parents heard what had happened. And then ... what? There was no way to predict their reaction. Thankfully, Gordian would have trouble issuing more punishment—or handing Frieda over to Adana’s parents—without an additional excuse. “What matters now is coming to grips with the problem.”
She leaned against Frieda, wrapping her arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. “You can cope with this,” she said, as reassuringly as she could. She tapped the notebook, meaningfully. “Start writing the note now.”
“All right,” Frieda said. “I ...”
She looked up. “I’m sorry, Emily,” she said. Her eyes were bright, but there was something odd in her voice. “You’ve been a really good friend.”
“So have you,” Emily said. Frieda had saved her life, back in Beneficence. “You will be fine.”
She watched as Frieda carefully wrote out the note, word by word. Her handwriting had improved immeasurably since they’d first met—Emily’s hadn’t been much better, given she’d never used a quill pen before coming to Whitehall—but she still labored over the paper. Master Tor was the sort of person who’d reprimand her for not crossing every ‘t’ or dotting every ‘i,’ although—after everything that had happened over the last two months—his reprimand would probably be meaningless.
“Very good,” she said, when Frieda had finished. “I’ll take it now.”
Frieda looked alarmed. “And you’ll come back?”
“I need to have a word with Cirroc,” Emily said. By her offhand calculations, Cirroc should have finished clearing up the mess by now. If not ... well, she could find him anyway. “I’ll come back after dinner.”
“I have to eat with the servants,” Frieda said, looking downcast. “Everyone will laugh at me.”
Emily winced. Frieda was probably right. Eating with the servants wasn’t something she would have considered a punishment, but it meant everything to status-conscious students at a boarding school. The servants were at the bottom of the social hierarchy, after all. Forcing Frieda to eat with the firsties would have been less of a humiliation.
“Just be glad you’re eating,” Emily said. She briefly considered inviting Frieda to eat in her suite, before deciding it would be a step too far. Gordian would be keeping an eye on Frieda now, if he hadn’t been already. “The food will be edible.”
She smiled. Lady Barb had told her that the cooks always kept back enough food to feed the staff, save perhaps for certain rare delicacies. Frieda might not enjoy eating with the servants—there’d be no chance to banter with them, or to discuss classes—but at least she’d have something to eat. The servants wouldn’t know what to make of her, Emily supposed ... she shrugged. Frieda would be able to eat, and that was all that mattered.
And no one will see her eating with the servants, she reminded herself. Unless someone decides to go cadge a late-night snack ...
She groaned. Someone would. Of course someone would.
“I’ll be back soon,” she promised. There was probably no way to keep
the rest of the school from noticing that Frieda was eating with the servants. Frieda would just have to put up with the taunts. “And I want you to have the study plan ready by the time I come back.”
Frieda smiled, but there was an unsteady edge to it. “And if I don’t?”
Emily frowned. “I’ll put a geas on you to make you do it,” she said, only half-joking. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if Frieda refused to take advantage of her last chance. “And then I will leave you to the tender mercies of your tutors.”
She rose, trying to ignore the flicker of pain in Frieda’s eyes. “This is your last chance,” she said, flatly. “Please. Don’t waste it.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“THAT YOUNG MAN NEEDS A SLAP across the face,” Cirroc said, quietly. They sat at one edge of the workroom, watching Frieda and Celadon try to work together. “Or probably a thrashing with a belt.”
Emily nodded, sourly. The last two weeks had been better than she’d feared—Frieda had improved, after dropping a number of classes—but the joint project was the real problem. And it was almost completely insurmountable. Frieda was starting to master the material, but Celadon—suddenly aware that his grade depended on her contribution—was trying to push her forward too fast. Emily was morbidly certain that the only thing keeping them working together was the looming presence of two seniors in the background.
And if they don’t hang together, they’ll hang separately, she thought. Celadon’s family would not be happy if the joint project failed—or his GPA fell past the point where he could automatically transition into Fifth Year. Having to retake a single year—let alone two—would not reflect well on him. At least he understands what’s at stake.
She sighed. Celadon wasn’t bad, per se, but he wasn’t the ideal partner for Frieda. He was too impressed with his own brilliance to tolerate someone slower, too concerned about making a splash to worry about the groundwork. Celadon might have been better off sticking with the original plan, then working on his own concept over the summer holidays. It would have ensured that he got full credit for anything workable.
“You have to cast the spell precisely,” Celadon said. He sounded more like a condescending older brother than a student talking to a peer. Emily didn’t need to see Frieda’s face to know the younger girl wasn’t happy about his patronising tone. Too many people had talked down to her in her life. “If you don’t get all the moving parts going in the right direction, the spell will fail.”
Frieda’s temper flared. “And you never heard of the KISS Principle?”
“This isn’t something that can be kept simple,” Celadon said. “Mixing a potion, let alone an alchemical brew, is complex. The magic must be inserted in precisely the right form or it will fail.”
Emily shared a long look with Cirroc. Sergeant Miles was very fond of the KISS Principle—he’d often explained that complex plans had a habit of going badly wrong from the start—but Celadon had a point. Alchemy was far more than merely throwing ingredients into a pot, inserting a little magic and hoping for the best. Anyone stupid enough to try would be lucky if they merely blew off their own hands. Brewing required a delicate touch and careful handling. Emily had never liked it. The slightest variation could have unpredictable—and spectacular—results.
“And how many alchemists are going to take the time to charge the fingers?” Frieda demanded, harshly. She picked one of them up and held it in front of her eyes. “Anyone who might want one will have the fine control necessary to brew the potion without it!”
“The idea is to market them to people who want to make potions without spending years mastering the skill,” Celadon reminded her. There was a hard edge to his voice, but Emily could hear desperation under it. “Or even to people who don’t have magic!”
Frieda glared at him, then cast the spell again. Emily watched grimly, knowing it was unlikely she’d be able to make the spell work while she was in a bad mood. Anger could power some spells, but none of them were particularly stable. Celadon’s spellwork was far too unforgiving, too complex to allow raw magic to overpower any flaws in the spell itself ...
She blinked. It worked?
“It worked?” Celadon stared at Frieda. “It worked?”
“It worked,” Frieda said. The finger glowed in front of them, ready to use. “I cast the spell.”
Cirroc nudged Emily. “I have to go down to the dueling field,” he said. “Will you be okay here?”
“Probably,” Emily said. Gordian hadn’t commented on Cirroc tutoring Frieda, but Emily would have bet good money that Gordian would object if Cirroc missed dueling. The second round of the contest had to be repeated, after all. “I’ll see you later.”
She watched him go, feeling a flicker of odd affection. Cirroc was the sort of guy she would have found frightening, back on Earth. Strong enough to take what he wanted, used to taking what he wanted ... Emily had never understood why some women found that enticing, even attractive. A man strong enough to pick her up was also strong enough to force her down and take her. And yet, Cirroc was far from just dumb muscle. Stupid magicians simply didn’t last very long.
“The finger isn’t quite stable,” Celadon said. Emily dragged her attention back to him. “We need to make them with more care.”
“You made this one,” Frieda jibed. She pointed a finger at a mark. “That’s your sigil there, isn’t it?”
Celadon scowled. “I was expecting you to ruin it,” he said, nastily. “I didn’t bother to make them perfectly ...”
Frieda’s face darkened. Emily felt her magic surge.
“Behave,” she said, sharply. She glared at Celadon. “You should be pleased that someone else has actually managed to master your spell.”
Celadon looked back at her, then nodded curtly. Emily sighed, inwardly. Cirroc had told her that Celadon found her more intimidating than him—something Emily still found a little unbelievable—but he was also more inclined to challenge her. Most magicians didn’t seem to like the thought of dealing with someone far more powerful than themselves, even if it was a fact of life. Perhaps that was the real reason students were separated by age and ability, Emily reflected. The younger students would be spending far too much time, otherwise, trying to knock the older students off their pedestals.
“Cast it again,” he ordered, shortly. “We cannot afford to fail when they inspect our work.”
Frieda’s face darkened, but she cast the spell again and again. Emily nodded in approval. A good spellcaster—and Frieda was good—would find it easier and easier to cast the spell as they practiced. Celadon looked irked, then relieved. Emily watched as he organized the fingers, before starting to cast the spell himself. He was right, unfortunately. Failing to cast the spell—even once—during the presentation would probably get them marked down.
“I’ll set up the caldron,” Celadon said. “You get ready to insert the finger.”
Perhaps another name would be better, Emily thought. Professor Thande would probably insist on it. A student who put a real finger in a steaming caldron would instantly regret it, if he survived. But that isn’t a problem right now.
She tossed possible alternatives around and around in her mind as Celadon set up the caldron and started to brew with practiced skill. The more complex healing potions were never easy to brew, not even for a skilled alchemist. Emily couldn’t help wondering if there would come a time, soon, when people would bless Celadon’s name. Healing potions were expensive simply because they were very hard to brew. Anything that made them easier would be warmly welcomed.
Except for the alchemists who feel they’ve lost status, she reminded herself. And everyone else who had something to gain from keeping the potions expensive.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. The Accountants Guild had collapsed when the New Learning had exposed just how badly it had exploited its position, but its absence had played a major role in Vesperian’s Folly. And that had nearly destroyed a city. She wondered, idly, just what consequences migh
t follow if the alchemists lost some of their influence, then dismissed the thought. The consequences were probably unpredictable. Besides, the fingers couldn’t be used to produce tailored potions. That required a skilled alchemist with plenty of spare time.
“The brew is ready,” Celadon said, softly. “Insert the finger ... now.”
Emily leaned forward, watching with interest as Frieda gently lowered the finger into the yellow liquid. She wasn’t sure if Celadon should be counted as a genius or not, but she had to admit that very few people would willingly try to use a wand—or anything charged with magic—to make potions. Professor Thande had warned them, time and time again, to be very careful that their tools were cleansed of magic, pointing out that an unexpected surge of magic could be very dangerous. Celadon had looked past the dangers and seen opportunity.
The liquid started to bubble, then turned a sickly green.
“That’s not meant to happen,” Celadon said, surprised. He sniffed the air over the caldron, then sat back hastily. Emily muttered a charm to dispel the stench before it spread any further. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Frieda said. “The spell was perfect.”
“The brewing was perfect too, until you inserted the finger.” Celadon picked up one of the other charged fingers and examined it. “You must have messed up the spell, somehow.”
“Or you messed up the brew.” Frieda’s fists clenched as she stepped back from the worktable. “The slightest mistake could have caused an unexpected reaction.”
“I didn’t make a mistake,” Celadon snapped. “This potion is so simple a child could do it!”
“Then why didn’t you?” Frieda slammed her hand onto the table. “The spell was perfect!”
“You probably didn’t anchor it properly,” Celadon said. His voice lowered, becoming more annoyed than angry. It grated on Emily’s ears as Celadon picked up three of the unused fingers and waved them at Frieda. “Practice again, on these three and ...”
Frieda snarled. Her magic flared around her. “Do not talk to me like that!”
The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13) Page 33
