The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “We will see.” Daze sounded as calm as if he were ordering dinner, not slowly breaking down her protections. “I’ve often found it amusing how many exclusive spells can be reworked for others to use.”

  “Fulvia will use you and then discard you,” Emily said. The pressure was growing stronger as her wards started to crack. “Do you think she’ll reward you?”

  “I think she’ll pay through the nose to get her hands on you,” Daze said. “Do you not?”

  Yes, Emily thought. Fulvia would shell out her entire fortune just to get her hands on me.

  Her wards shattered. Daze reached forward, magic crackling around his hands. Emily braced herself, then thrust the snake at him. Aurelius hissed, loudly; Daze froze for a split second, then jumped back in shock. A moment later, a wave of force slapped through the air, knocking the snake into the wall. Emily screamed as her bones shattered ... no, Aurelius’s bones. The familiar bond worked in both directions ...

  “A Death Viper,” Daze breathed. “Your Death Viper?”

  Emily gasped for breath. It was hard to keep her thoughts in order. He’d hit her ... no, he hadn’t hit her. He’d hit Aurelius. And yet, her ribs felt as if they were about to crack ... no, they had cracked. She felt the bond waver as Aurelius fell into unconsciousness. It was luck—sheer luck—that Daze hadn’t killed the snake. Emily wasn’t sure what would have happened then, but she was fairly certain it would have thrown her into unconsciousness for a while too ...

  Daze reached out and caught her by the neck. Emily fought to muster her magic, but only a tiny flicker answered her call. It was hard to gather more, let alone shape a tiny spell in her mind. His power was crawling over her skin, checking for defenses ... she tried to push him away, but she couldn’t even move her arms. A spell flickered on the edge of her mind ...

  ... And she had an idea ...

  “There’s no point in trying to cancel my spell,” Daze said, as she cast the spell. His eyes bored into hers. “Even if you did succeed, I could just cast another one.”

  Emily spat, aiming for his face. Daze’s face darkened with anger. She braced herself, expecting him to hit her. Fulvia would hardly complain if Emily was black and blue when she was handed over. But at least it would keep Daze focused on her. She hadn’t aimed the spell at him ...

  “You are remarkable,” Daze told her. Perversely, he sounded admiring. “But the game is over.”

  His magic pushed forward. Emily braced herself for the final struggle ... then jerked backwards as Frieda slammed a deadly spell into Daze’s back. Emily allowed herself a moment of relief as white lightning flashed over Daze’s body, silently thanking all the gods of the Nameless World that Frieda was on her side. Daze hadn’t realized that Emily had aimed to free Frieda, not cancel his spell. It had been a deadly gamble, but there had been no choice.

  Daze fell to the floor, his body smoking. Emily fought the urge to cover her nose—she’d never grown used to the smell of burning flesh—as she looked at Frieda. Her friend was staring around wildly, her eyes flickering from side to side as if she was on the verge of bolting. An incoherent keening escaped from her mouth, drool dripping down to the floor ...

  ... And then Frieda’s hands shot to her own throat and started to squeeze.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  EMILY STARED IN NUMB HORROR, THEN pushed herself forward as Frieda’s grip tightened. She pulled at Frieda’s hands, trying to get them away from her neck. Daze must have programmed a suicide trigger into Frieda’s mind, she realized as she struggled to save her friend’s life. He’d wanted to be sure that no evidence remained behind, if something happened to him. And if Frieda killed herself, no one would know the truth.

  “Let go,” Emily said. She’d known Frieda was physically strong—good food and healthy exercise had worked wonders—but she hadn’t realized just how strong. Her arms felt immoveable. “Frieda, listen ...”

  Frieda lashed out, throwing a punch into empty air. The second blow caught Emily in the shoulder, sending both of them falling to the ground. Frieda hit out time and time again, throwing punches in random directions ... as if she thought, deep in her mind, that she was fighting a whole mob of people. Emily struggled to raise the magic to freeze her, or to stun her, or to do something, even as she tried to avoid punches that would do real harm if they hit home. Frieda was on the verge of tearing herself apart.

  Damn him, Emily thought, as Frieda shoved Emily over and climbed on top of her. Frieda drew back her fist, as if she was about to start beating Emily into a pulp, then threw the punch into the air. What did he do to her?

  Emily tried to think of a plan as Frieda waved her fists around frantically, her eyes flashing from side to side. She didn’t have the strength to subdue Frieda—either magically or physically—and it was only a matter of time before one of Frieda’s blows struck Emily hard enough to stun her. Whatever was going through Frieda’s mind, she’d clearly lost all touch with reality. Emily wasn’t sure there was anything she could do ...

  He cursed her mind, she thought, numbly. And that means ...

  A thought struck her. It would get her in real trouble, if someone chose to take a dim view of it, but it was the only thing that came to mind. She owed it to Frieda to take one last gamble before letting her friend kill herself. Besides, Gordian was probably planning to expel her already. She’d made so many blunders over the past few weeks. What was one more?

  She reached up and caught Frieda’s arms, yanking her down. Frieda struggled, fighting with terrifying force as Emily pulled her close, then pressed her bare hands against Frieda’s cheeks. The last scraps of her magic rose up within her, allowing her to form a link between her mind and Frieda’s. Samra would not have approved, Emily thought as she pushed her mind forward, but she couldn’t think of an alternative. She had to remove the curse before it was too late.

  Frieda’s body jerked, violently. Emily wrapped her legs around Frieda, silently thanking Melissa for staying still while Emily probed her mind. Breaking contact might snap her back into her own body, according to Samra, or it might leave her consciousness trapped in Frieda forever. Magicians hadn’t really wanted to experiment, Emily had been told. She didn’t blame them for being wary of the dangers.

  The maelstrom rose up and tore at her as she pushed her way into Frieda’s mind. Emily braced herself as she was assailed by a dizzying array of memories and emotions, some close enough to hers to be confusing, then held herself steady. Frieda wouldn’t welcome the intrusion, even from Emily. Her mind would fight to defend itself against what it would see as rape. Emily hesitated, repulsed by the thought, then pushed on. If Frieda decided to hate her afterwards ... well, at least it would be her decision.

  Melissa’s mind had been a nightmare, but Frieda’s was far worse. Emily peered through the hailstorm of thoughts and memories and saw... a dark lattice, woven through Frieda’s subconscious mind. Merely looking at it made Emily’s skin crawl. Daze had planted a seed in her mind, one that had steadily grown into a monster. Frieda hadn’t known her thoughts and feelings weren’t hers ... in a sense, they had been hers. Daze had used her own magic against her. Emily swallowed as she realized just how hard it was likely to be to prove that it had been outside interference. The bracelet might not be enough proof to satisfy Gordian.

  Because she made it, Emily thought. She gathered herself, then pushed onwards. Daze might have told her how to make it, but it was Frieda who carved the runes.

  A voice boomed through Frieda’s mind. “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!”

  Emily cringed as the voice tore into her very being, burning through her thoughts. It was powerful, yet ... she could hear a hint of desperation underneath it. She thrust herself onwards, remembering—again—that mental combat was all in the mind. Frieda could drive her out, she thought, but she couldn’t do any real harm as long as Emily kept a tight grip on herself.

  Samra should be here, Emily thought, numbly. Or someone who knows what they’re doing.

&nbs
p; She reached out, mentally, for the first part of the lattice. It was glued to Frieda’s thoughts ... no, it was part of Frieda’s thoughts. Emily couldn’t help thinking of it as malware, exploiting gaps in Frieda’s defenses until it seemed part of her defenses. And yet, she reminded herself, again, to concentrate on visualizing the lattice as something that could be removed. If she believed it couldn’t be removed, she wouldn’t have a hope of removing it.

  Frieda’s thoughts raged around her, a razor-blade storm that threatened to dig into Emily’s soul. She saw ... creatures ... running towards her, strange entities that flickered from shape to shape as they tried to lock onto her thoughts. They would be formless, she reminded herself, as long as her mind didn’t give them form. She couldn’t close her eyes, not in Frieda’s mind, but she could ignore them. And telling herself—convincing herself—that they were harmless would make them harmless.

  She touched the lattice ...

  ... The father is angry, storming around the room. The girl recoils from his shouts. She tries to speak, to try to promise that she won’t do it again if only he’ll tell her what she did wrong, but the words refuse to form. He grabs her by the arm, throws her over the chair and lashes her until her back is bruised and bleeding. She tries to ask, again, what she did wrong, but there is no answer. It isn’t until much later that it dawns on her that she didn’t do anything wrong ...

  ... And recoiled in shock. A memory, overwhelmingly strong. Emily gritted her teeth as phantom pain burned her back and legs, telling herself—firmly—that the pain wasn’t real. And yet, it had been real. Frieda had grown up with that man, her father ...

  Emily didn’t want to press on, but she had no choice. She took hold of the lattice and pulled, hard. It resisted, shifting from form to form as it tried to find something that would give it a chance to remain embedded in Frieda’s mind, but Emily refused to let go. She heard someone—or something—howl in pain as she tightened her grip, imagining that her hands were superhumanly strong. The lattice shimmered ...

  ... The little girl stands in the square with her family and watches as the taxmen inspect the village. They go into every house, searching for hidden crops and livestock, then check the barns and other potential hiding places. The little girl feels the sullen anger and bitter helplessness pervading the villagers and wonders why her father does nothing, even when his oldest daughter is insulted, but she knows the soldiers will kill anyone who resists. And, afterwards, her father takes his rage out on her ...

  ... The young girl is running, hiding. She can hear giggling behind her, a mockery of a hunting horn ... she runs faster, only to trip and fall. Her pursuers are on her before she can rise, beating her with their fists and tearing at her clothes. She tries to kick out as they roll her over and over until she is covered in mud, but she cannot resist ...

  ... The winter is cold. The little girl watches as Granny is marched out of the house by her son. She wants to cry, to scream, but she knows her father will merely beat her again. Granny is old and frail. She must die so the rest of the family can live. And when her brother tells her she will be the next one out the door, she believes it ...

  ... The girl has just started to bleed, a day before the Harvest Festival. A sign of luck, perhaps ...

  Emily staggered under the wave of emotion, of self-disgust and bitter sickness and naked hatred. The memory seemed to laugh at her, taunting her ... the lattice had found something that almost made her let go. She tried to concentrate, but the emotions pressed onwards, tearing into her mind. Frieda had been through hell. And now, if Emily wanted to free her, she had to face her friend’s memories.

  She braced herself, feeling a sudden flash of relief. She’d thought she’d had it bad, years ago. She had no doubt that neither her mother nor her stepfather were suited to bringing up a child. But her stepfather had never beaten her for fun, or to relieve his feelings ... he’d certainly never put a grandma out into the cold to die. And if he had, he would have been arrested for murder, instead of being feted as someone who’d made the right decision. Frieda would have killed to have Emily’s problems. She would have traded places in a heartbeat.

  The lattice snapped and snarled, growing teeth and claws. Emily smiled, challengingly, and reached for it ...

  ... The hunt is serious, this time. The boy is a few years older than her, on the verge of getting married. His father is a headsman; his mother the dame of the village. The girl knows better than to let him get too close, but he is too fast and strong and catches her away from the village. And then his hands are everywhere, pulling up her skirt and ...

  Emily felt sick, but she forced her way through the memory. The impressions grew stronger and stronger—a young man molesting her, a father who didn’t care, a mother who couldn’t defend her daughter—capped with a memory of the first time Frieda had shown magic. Even Mountaintop had seemed an improvement, at first. She certainly didn’t want to go home again.

  The lattice grew stronger, clawing at Emily’s mind. Emily concentrated, then took hold and pulled as hard as she could. Frieda screamed—Emily couldn’t tell if it was a real scream or just something in her mind—but Emily refused to be distracted. The lattice snapped and snarled at her, throwing memory after memory into Emily’s mind, yet it was losing. And she knew it was losing. The knowledge gave her power, even as the last memory struck out at her ...

  ... There is a girl. No, a young woman. Beautiful and clever and brave and ... and a savior ... HER savior. She wants to be with her. She hates it when she is with others. She wants her all to herself ...

  Emily blinked in shock. Frieda had a crush on her. She’d known Frieda had a crush on her, after Mountaintop, but she hadn’t realized how intense it had been ... It still was. She’d thought Frieda had got over it, yet Frieda had been jealous of Caleb and ...

  And how many of her feelings are real? Emily asked herself. And how many are due to Daze playing games with her mind?

  She pushed the thought aside, sharply. It was something they would have to deal with, afterwards. She’d never thought of Frieda as anything other than a little sister ... she’d never been interested in girls, not in that way. And even if she had been, Frieda was in no state to do anything. It was quite possible that the lattice had boosted her crush too.

  Gritting her teeth, she took a tighter hold on the lattice and pulled as hard as she could. It struggled for a long moment, then came free ... pulling a whole string of thoughts and feelings in its wake. Emily cursed as they assaulted her mind, trying to weaken her defenses so the lattice could worm its way into her thoughts. But they had started to fade the moment they came free. She concentrated on her defenses, watching coolly as the lattice and its companions started to vanish. Deprived of their connection to Frieda, unable to snag hold of Emily’s mind, it was only a matter of time.

  Emily wanted to pull back, as soon as the last one faded away, but she knew she had to be sure the curse was gone. She moved forward, feeling Frieda’s thoughts pulsing around her. Wave after wave of sensation brushed against her thoughts—shame, guilt, fear, surrender—but they all seemed to be Frieda’s. She knew someone more experienced would have to inspect Frieda’s mind, just to be sure, yet ...

  She isn’t trying to kill herself any longer, she told herself. That is an improvement, isn’t it?

  She snapped back into her body, instantly aware of a weight on her chest and liquid dripping onto her face. Frieda was crying silently, tears falling from her eyes and splashing on Emily’s cheeks. She’d never cried loudly, Emily recalled. It had always earned her a beating, when she’d been a child. Now ... now she could no longer cry normally. She rarely cried at all.

  “It’s all right,” Emily said, softly. Frieda was shaking, her body shivering helplessly. “I’ve got you.”

  She gently pushed Frieda off, then rose and looked around. Daze was definitely dead, but she put his body in stasis anyway. The effort tired her more than she’d expected, yet she doubted she had a choice. Daze could
have charmed his body to reanimate after his death—or worse. She couldn’t sense any magic on the corpse, but that meant nothing. Her brain was too tired to work properly.

  Frieda sat upright. “I’m sorry ...”

  There was something mournful in her voice, something that tore at Emily’s heart. A bitter guilt, mingled with shame. Frieda hadn’t been compelled to do anything, not at first. She’d been pushed and prodded, her tiny resentments and dislikes boosted until they’d overwhelmed her ... it would be hard for an outsider to tell how much of her behavior had been hers and how much had been the result of manipulation.

  The bracelet lay on the floor, glinting under the light. Emily picked it up and studied it, thoughtfully. The tiny charm was a masterwork, she had to admit. Frieda didn’t have the skill to realize that it didn’t just provide a degree of protection. And no one else would have noticed unless they looked very closely. She felt a stab of guilt. She should have looked closely.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Emily said. She looked down at herself. Her shirt was torn and damp, stained with the remains of the durian potion. “And we’ll talk about it later.”

  She helped Frieda to her feet. “We’ll have to get a wash and a change,” she added. She didn’t want to think about Frieda having a crush on her, not now. Somehow, the idea of a girl having a crush on her had never crossed her mind. It had taken her long enough to realize that Caleb liked her. “And then we’ll have to go back to school.”

  Frieda jabbed a finger at Daze’s body. “What about him?”

  “We’ll take him with us,” Emily said. If they were lucky, Daze’s body would be enough to keep Gordian from trying to arrest them both on sight. Melissa could presumably identify him, if nothing else. Adana too, perhaps. “And then we’ll have to decide what to do next.”

  She picked up the snake and returned him to his bracelet form, then led the way up the stairs, silently grateful that she’d listened to Void’s advice about stockpiling food and drink. They’d be able to get something to eat before they returned to Whitehall, as well as cleaning up the mess before it really started to stink. She’d never liked the idea of keeping servants, particularly when the house was supposed to be closed down while she was at school, but she could see the downside now. Someone else wasn’t going to be doing the cleaning up for her.