Graduation Day (Schooled in Magic Book 14) Read online

  She sat down, resting her hands in her lap. “Will you be genuinely neutral?”

  “Yes,” Gordian said, flatly. “I don’t like you, Lady Emily. But I will uphold my commitments to Whitehall.”

  Emily winced. She’d known Gordian wasn’t fond of her, but ... she sighed, inwardly. She wouldn’t have liked it either, if she’d been in his place. Her control over the school’s wards gave her a reasonable chance of overriding anything he did, despite his modifications to the spellware. And to him, she might as well be a child. She wasn’t even an underage prince or princess elevated to the throne before coming of age.

  “Frieda will be held at Whitehall until formal judgement has been passed,” Gordian said. “If she recovers before the inquest is completed, she may resume her studies ... although probably not return to classes. I must warn you” - he met her eyes - “that any attempt to flee will be taken as a de facto confession of guilt.”

  Emily scowled. “And what if the Ashworths attempt to remove her without permission?”

  “They won’t,” Gordian said. “The consequences would be severe.”

  Hah, Emily thought.

  But she had to admit he had a point. The Great Families wanted - needed - to uphold the law, such as it was. Frieda had to be proven guilty before she could be punished. And besides, Fulvia had every reason to prolong the inquest as much as possible. She’d want to tighten the screws before she started haggling for Frieda’s life.

  “You will be informed once the arrangements for the inquest have been made,” Gordian added, curtly. “The details have yet to be sorted out, but” - he shook his head, slowly - “I advise you to look up the procedures and read them carefully. You do not want to be caught unprepared.”

  Emily felt a hot flash of anger. “Aren’t you breaching your neutrality by telling me that?”

  Gordian looked back at her, evenly. “Fulvia has taken part in five inquests, Lady Emily. She has played all of the roles, at one time or another. She has enough experience to swing uncommitted jurors onto her side, if you are unable to make a convincing case for Frieda’s innocence. I tell you this to balance the scales.”

  “Oh,” Emily said. She took a breath. “In my first year, I ... I almost killed Alassa. There was no inquest.”

  “No,” Gordian agreed, flatly. “But King Randor could have pressed for an inquest, if he’d wished. I believe that Hasdrubal pulled strings to ... convince ... him to let the matter go. I do not have that sort of influence.”

  And you wouldn’t waste it on Frieda, Emily finished, silently.

  Gordian was still speaking. “The Ashworths are one of the most powerful families in the Allied Lands,” he added. “They cannot let this matter go, Emily. Their enemies will see it as a sign of weakness, one they can ill afford. Melissa’s ... defection ... weakened them quite badly, at least until one of her younger siblings takes her place as heir. They have to press for an inquest unless you can find ironclad proof of Frieda’s innocence.”

  “Which may be impossible,” Emily said. She shook her head. “How did Fulvia climb back to the top?”

  Gordian’s face darkened. It struck Emily, suddenly, that he didn’t like Fulvia. Oddly, the thought cheered her. Gordian could easily have said nothing, citing his neutrality. But he was helping her, just a little. Perhaps, just perhaps, she could convince him to help more.

  “I’m not privy to their inner circle,” he said, slowly. “But I would wager that she still knows where all the bodies are buried. It’s been over two years since she was disgraced. She might just have managed to convince enough of the senior members to allow her to resume her position. Or she might have blackmailed them. Or ... she might just have been allowed to take the lead here, in the hopes she will also take the blame if it blows up in her face.”

  Emily groaned. “There’s no way to know?”

  “Not without being privy to their discussions,” Gordian said. “But, no matter who is in charge, the Ashworths have to demand an inquest.”

  “Unless we can find a face-saving way for them to back down,” Emily mused.

  Gordian gave her a surprised look. “Correct.”

  But that won’t be easy, Emily thought. Melissa’s granddad might negotiate in good faith, but Fulvia won’t.

  She thought for a long moment. “If the inquest does find Frieda innocent, will they press the matter further?”

  “They’ll accept the outcome,” Gordian assured her. “They won’t be happy, of course, but they’ll accept it. The alternative is chaos.”

  Emily nodded, silently blessing Master Tor for his description of magical law. It was harsh and cold and made no pretense at being fair, but it was better than the alternative. The Great Families would uphold the law because they had no choice, even when it didn’t work in their favor. If they didn’t, the Allied Lands would tear themselves apart. And then the necromancers would walk in and take over.

  They would drain the land dry, Emily thought. She’d seen the Blighted Lands. And that would be the end.

  She ran her fingers through her hair. She needed a shower - no, a bath. And then sleep. But there were too many things to do.

  “How long do we have?”

  “It depends,” Gordian said. “I can stall for a week or two, in the hopes that Frieda will recover enough to speak in her own defense, but probably not much longer. I advise you to look up the procedures, because you do not want Fulvia to dictate everything. Thankfully, as one of Frieda’s guardians-of-record, you can speak for her or arrange for someone else to speak for her. You will be informed when the time comes to take the stand.”

  “Thank you,” Emily managed.

  “You’re welcome,” Gordian said.

  He tapped his desk, sharply. “Two other matters, then. You left the school yesterday, even though I told you not to do so. Worse, you didn’t report to the Warden as ordered. Normally, that would be a serious offense. Under the circumstances—” he shrugged “—I’m prepared to let it pass without comment. Do not do it again.”

  Emily fought to hide a smile. She had left the school without permission, hadn’t she? She’d forgotten, after everything else that had happened. And failing to report to the Warden ... that wasn’t a harmless little prank. But she’d forgotten that too.

  “Second,” Gordian added. “You are no longer Head Girl. The new Head Pupil will be chosen by me within the next day or so. Tonight, I want you to clear your possessions out of your suite. Madame Rosalinda will arrange another room for you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said.

  “Once the next Head Pupil is appointed, you can hand over the office and your files to them,” Gordian added. “Cirroc is already handling the dueling club, so there shouldn’t be any problems there, but everything else ... make sure your successor hits the ground running. If there are matters that need to be brought to their attention, bring them to their attention. And, afterwards, if a pupil approaches you and asks for help, direct them to your successor.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily repeated.

  She looked down at her pale hands, tiredly. She’d never wanted to be Head Girl. It had been a headache, one she would have declined if she’d been offered the choice. But now ... it hurt to lose the post, no matter how much she hated it. It was clear proof that she’d failed - and she had failed. Gordian was right. She’d allowed Frieda to get out of hand. And then she’d compounded that mistake with blatant disobedience.

  Stop moaning about it, she told herself, firmly. You never wanted the bloody job.

  “You may also find that your successor bosses you around a little, just to show they’re in charge now,” Gordian warned. “Just grin and bear it.”

  Emily snorted. Who would succeed her? Cirroc was the best choice, she thought, but he was already busy with the dueling club? Melissa? Or Pandora? Or Jacqui or Cerise? They’d want it, at least. The others - Caleb, the Gorgon - wouldn’t want the job, if it was offered to them. She hoped it wouldn’t be Jacqui or Cerise. They already disl
iked her and loathed Melissa.

  “I’ll go to the infirmary now,” she said. The clock on the wall insisted it was almost dinnertime. She found it hard to believe that so much had happened in less than a day. “I want to check on Frieda before going back to my room.”

  “Your former room,” Gordian corrected. “Report to Madame Rosalinda when you get upstairs.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said. She felt a flicker of relief. At least he wasn’t ordering her to empty the suite first. “And thank you.”

  Gordian looked displeased. “I’m just doing my duty,” he said, stiffly. “But if you want a word of advice ...?”

  Emily blinked. “Yes, please.”

  “Be very careful,” Gordian warned. “Fulvia is known to be extremely clever - and dangerous. That she has regained the matriarchy is clear proof of her power and her willingness to use it. I find it hard to believe that she would expend so much effort to punish Frieda.”

  But she would to get at me, Emily finished. She’d already come to the same conclusion, but ... it was good to hear that Gordian had the same concerns. I’m the real target, not Frieda.

  She rose. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “For everything.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Gordian said. He gave her an unreadable look. “Ever.”

  Chapter Two

  THERE WAS STILL NO SIGN OF Madame Griselda, Emily noted, as she stepped out of Gordian’s office and shut the door behind her. The outer office was dark and cold, as if its owner had left for the night. She glanced around, reaching out with her senses to make sure she was truly alone, then sat down on the bench. She wanted, she needed, to think.

  It was hard to focus. Too much had happened in too short a space of time. How had everything — from Celadon’s near-death to Fulvia’s reappearance — happened in less than a day? Normally, she would be eating dinner with her friends, or perhaps heading to the library to catch up with her studies. She wondered, as she forced her mind to focus, just how events would play out over the next few days. It was sheer luck that it was the weekend. Classes wouldn’t be cancelled - or disrupted - because of everything.

  No one will thank us for that, she thought, sourly. Sunday will probably be a wasted day.

  Emily looked down at her hands. She’d already concluded that Fulvia wasn’t interested in Frieda. The younger girl was nothing to her. Emily found it hard to believe that Fulvia had any real concerns for Celadon - or Adana, for that matter. Fulvia had been prepared to force Melissa into an unwanted marriage just to strengthen her control over the family. It was unlikely that she saw either Celadon or Adana as anything other than pawns. Hell, Celadon wasn’t even part of the main family. He belonged to a cadet house.

  But she wants me, Emily told herself, numbly. And if she can get Frieda handed over to her ...

  She shuddered. There was no impartial authority in the Nameless World, nothing that would impose the Rule of Law. Fulvia would have every right to take and punish Frieda, if she was proved guilty ... and proving her innocence would be hard. Gordian was right. There was very little evidence to suggest that Frieda was anything other than a murderous bitch who’d tried to kill her partner. The bracelet wasn’t proof of anything - it wouldn’t have been even if it were still active. It was Frieda’s magical signature on the wretched device.

  Her thoughts ran in circles. She couldn’t let Fulvia take Frieda. And yet, how could she stop her?

  I could take Frieda out of Whitehall myself, she thought. And then run to Heart’s Eye ...

  She shook her head. It might work - it would work, if she used her control over the wards to subvert Gordian’s precautions. But it would get them both branded as outlaws. Fulvia might even be hoping for that outcome. It would undo all of Emily’s work in a manner that nothing else, not even her death, would accomplish. Emily could take Frieda to Heart’s Eye and then ... and then what? She would be trapped, unable to leave the ruined school. They’d run out of food in fairly short order.

  A dozen ideas ran through her head, each one born of desperation. Nothing seemed even remotely workable, short of trying to bargain. But Fulvia would drive a very hard bargain indeed. Emily couldn’t imagine what Fulvia would want from her, after everything that had happened in Cockatrice, but she knew it wouldn’t be pleasant. Would she give up her life - or her freedom - for Frieda? And could someone as old and canny as Fulvia be trusted to keep her side of the bargain? A skilled magician could easily build a loophole or two into any magical oath.

  Despair washed over her as she rested her head in her hands. There didn’t seem to be any way out, save perhaps for surrender. And that would come with a high price. She needed help. And advice, and ...

  You have time, she told herself, firmly. And you can think about it when you’re not so tired and worn.

  She rose and walked to the door, stepping into the corridor. The school was eerily quiet, so quiet that her footsteps seemed unnaturally loud. Normally, students would be running through the corridors, perhaps going to the library or playing games with their friends. It was a weekend, after all. Lights Out wasn’t so strictly enforced when there were no classes the following day. But she saw no one, not even a tutor, as she made her way to the stairs and headed downwards. It made her feel truly alone.

  The portraits on the wall seemed to glower at her as she walked to the infirmary. Emily did her best to ignore them, even though she could feel sparks of raw magic dancing through the air. The portraits weren’t magical, unless someone had charmed them, turning them into spies. She knew the spells, but she also knew that most magicians regarded such enchantments as impractical. There were easier and safer ways to keep an eye on the students. Unless, of course, the charmers wanted the students to know they were being watched.

  She reached the infirmary door and stopped, unsure if she wanted to go inside. She had no idea what was waiting for her, no idea what she’d see ... part of her just wanted to turn around and go back to her room. Her former room. But she knew she had no choice. She pushed the door open, her eyes widening with surprise as she saw Sergeant Miles standing guard. It shouldn’t have surprised her, she told herself crossly. Frieda wasn’t exactly a prisoner, if Gordian was to be believed, but she wasn’t going to be allowed to leave either.

  “Emily.” Sergeant Miles didn’t sound happy. His voice was hard, promising trouble. It hadn’t been a good term for him, even before all hell had broken loose. “She’s in there, sleeping.”

  Emily nodded as he pointed to a door. If the sergeant was angry with her ... she knew she’d have to deal with it, sooner or later. Sergeant Miles might understand why she’d run off after Frieda, but he could never condone it. Or maybe he would, in private. A tutor couldn’t be seen to publicly support a student who’d defied the grandmaster to his face.

  She tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. Instead, she pressed her fingers against the door, testing the wards. It opened easily, revealing a private room. Frieda lay on the bed, her eyes closed. Someone had stripped off her clothes, probably for testing; the only thing preserving her modesty was a thin sheet that hid very little. The rise and fall of her chest was so regular that Emily knew Frieda was in an enchanted sleep.

  “She had a panic attack,” a quiet voice said. Madame Kyla emerged from a side room, carrying a tray of potions. “I had to put her to sleep.”

  Emily nodded, curtly. “When will she wake up?”

  “Probably in two days,” the healer said. She put the potions down on the table and turned to face Emily. “She was not in a good state.”

  Emily closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to gather herself. “How so?”

  Madame Kyla snorted. “Where would you like me to begin? She has a number of bruises that really should have been treated - that would have been, if she’d come to me. I found traces of a dozen hexes that weren’t cancelled properly, risking serious damage to her body and mind. And she simply wasn’t eating properly over the last few weeks. I’d like to keep her a
sleep long enough for her body to mend itself, but ...”

  She sighed. “Under the circumstances, I doubt I’ll be allowed to keep her asleep for long.”

  Emily met her eyes. “Because of the inquest.”

  Madame Kyla nodded, curtly.

  “She was influenced by soul magic,” Emily said. “Can you prove it?”

  “Samra will need to inspect her, once she awakes,” Madame Kyla said. “But it may not be easy.”

  Emily sighed. “Soul magic is never easy.”

  “No,” Madame Kyla agreed. “I can prove what happened to someone who turns up with a broken arm or a particularly persistent hex. But I can’t prove soul magic.”

  Madame Kyla looked at Frieda. “You should prepare yourself for the worst. Soul magic is dangerously unpredictable. Frieda may never be the same again. I’ve seen everything from depression and suicide to screaming fits, temper tantrums and panic attacks - worse panic attacks. There may come a time when she’ll have to be moved to the Halfway House, if we can’t help her here.”

  Emily shook her head, firmly. She’d seen the Halfway House. It was the closest thing to a mental hospital she’d seen on the Nameless World, a place for people who had been hexed or cursed beyond the point of conventional help. The thought of Frieda going there ... she felt sick. Frieda would waste away if she was committed to the Halfway House. Lady Barb had hinted, none too gently, that far too many of the patients were doing nothing beyond waiting to die.

  “I won’t let that happen,” she said.

  “Then you have to prepare yourself to look after her, perhaps for the rest of your life,” Madame Kyla stated, bluntly. “Frieda may never be the same again.”

  Emily followed her gaze. Frieda looked ... smaller, somehow. She’d always been slight - she’d never had enough to eat until she’d moved to Whitehall - but now ... she seemed tiny, almost child-like. Her unkempt black hair fanned out around a narrow face, too sallow to be conventionally pretty and yet striking ... Emily sighed, inwardly. Frieda had a crush on her. Emily had known that for years, but she hadn’t realized just how strong it was until she’d seen inside Frieda’s mind. Daze had not had any trouble turning the crush into a burning obsession.