Love's Labor's Won Read online

  “We begin,” Aloha said, as she produced a silver wand and used it to mix the blood together. “Let the magic flow...”

  Emily nearly took a step backwards as spells — complex spells — flared up around the parchment, shimmering into life. There was a moment when she thought everything had failed, but then the magic sank into the parchments and faded from her awareness. Aloha returned the wand to her belt — it was rare for any Whitehall student to use a wand, unless one needed to cast a series of complex spells — and then picked up the first sheet of parchment. It looked indistinguishable from the others.

  “This would be yours, I think,” she said to Jade. She passed it to him. “How does it feel?”

  “Like magic,” Jade said. “It’s tingling.”

  Aloha nodded, passing Emily a second sheet. It felt like a normal piece of parchment to her, so Aloha took it back and gave her another. This one tingled with magic as soon as she touched it with her bare hands. The remaining pieces of parchment were rapidly exchanged until everyone had a piece that tingled for them, bound — literally — to their blood. Anyone else who happened to look at the parchment would see nothing but just another piece of blank parchment.

  “Right,” Aloha said. She reached into her robes and produced a pencil. “Let me see if this works.”

  She wrote a brief sentence on her parchment. There was a tingle of magic, then the sentence appeared on Emily’s parchment. Emily scanned it, then produced a pencil of her own and wrote a response. Chuckles from the others told her that they’d all seen her words; they hurried to write comments of their own. Emily giggled as their words all appeared in front of her, shown in their handwriting. They all had neater handwriting than she did.

  But that isn’t surprising, she thought. They were all taught to write precisely, because missing a line in one place could completely change the meaning of a sentence. I was taught to write in English.

  “We could do with a way to say who’s writing,” Alassa said, as she wrote another comment on her parchment. “And a way to send private remarks.”

  Imaiqah snickered. “You want to send a message to your boyfriend?”

  Alassa flushed. “It would be a useful thing to do,” she said.

  Emily concealed her amusement. Alassa was the Crown Princess of Zangaria, Heir to the Throne, Duchess of Iron...as well as the holder of several dozen other titles, all of which were solemnly recited every time she stepped into her father’s throne room. Whatever she might want, she couldn’t have a boyfriend. Hell, it had only been two years ago when a number of princes had sought her hand in marriage. If the Iron Duchess — the former Iron Duchess — and her co-conspirators hadn’t launched their coup attempt, it was possible she would already be married. The thought of her having a boyfriend was laughable.

  “That’s not possible,” Aloha admitted. “These six sheets of parchment are bonded together. What is written on one of them, by the designated user, will appear on all of them. Anyone who isn’t included in the original charm won’t be able to see the words, no matter what revealing spells they cast.”

  “So don’t go writing sweet nothings to your small army of boyfriends,” Alassa said. Imaiqah flushed. “Can you add someone else to the list?”

  “No, sadly,” Aloha said. “If you wanted to include someone else, you’d have to have the entire spell redone.”

  “Which wouldn’t be easy,” the Gorgon said. As always, there was a very faint hiss underlying her words. “No one would want to leave their blood anywhere, no matter how secure, just so someone new could be added.”

  “Yeah,” Aloha said. “That’s the problem.”

  Emily shrugged. “But it’s miles better than anything we had before,” she said, reassuringly. “I think you will have passed with honors.”

  “It still wouldn’t have been possible without you,” Aloha muttered.

  “But you made it work,” Emily said, again.

  Aloha was right, she had to admit. Emily had remembered the concept of Internet chat programs and tried to devise a way to make one work, magically. But it had been more — much more — than merely finding a way to link six sheets of parchment together. If she hadn’t introduced English letters, it would have been hard for anyone to use the parchments without wasting a great deal of space. Old Script might be precise to the point of being thoroughly anal, but it was also far too complex for simple conversation.

  “I have a question,” Imaiqah said. “How do you wipe the sheet?”

  “A simple erasing spell would suffice,” Aloha said. “I did try to get the sheet to remember everything written, but it didn’t last. If someone’s parchment runs out of space, it will automatically start erasing the older messages.”

  So no scrolling up or down, Emily thought. If someone writes something embarrassing, they can keep writing in the hopes of making it vanish.

  She shook her head as she placed her parchment on the table, then folded it up and placed it in her pocket. Everyone on Earth seemed to like the idea of instant gratification, but the Allied Lands knew better. The chat parchments were so much better than anything they’d had before, like the English letters, stirrups and several other minor ideas from Earth, that everyone would be delighted when they saw them. Aloha would probably become rich, just marketing the chat parchments to her fellow students. It probably wouldn’t be long before they were unceremoniously banned from class.

  It may be years before someone comes up with something as functional as a computer, she thought. But I can wait.

  “Thank you,” she said, sincerely.

  “You’re welcome,” Aloha said. She ran her hand through her dark hair. “I had the idea of making the parchments tingle slightly when someone writes a message, so you can keep it in your pocket and look at it when someone writes you a message. You can alter the overlapping charms, if you wish, to make it sound a bell instead. But that would be rather noticeable.”

  They’ll be banned from class for sure, Emily thought, amused. Her old teachers on Earth had always banned cell phones from their classes, which hadn’t stopped a number of students from smuggling them in anyway and using them when the teacher wasn’t looking. But someone could always turn off the noise.

  Alassa frowned. “What would happen if someone burned the parchment?”

  “You’d lose your link to the network,” Aloha said. She’d learned that word from Emily, back when they’d been discussing the concept. “It might bring down the entire network, depending on precisely what happens. I’ve tried with a couple of linked parchments in the past, but never with six separate groups of interlinked charms. Try not to do it.”

  “We won’t,” Emily said. “How do you feel about your exams?”

  “I should have the results in a week,” Aloha said. Fourth Years were always marked first, Emily had been told; they were either leaving the school, with basic qualifications, or returning for Fifth Year. “And then...Fifth Year. I hear tell they’re going to have someone special come to teach you and me.”

  “Martial Magic,” Emily guessed.

  “Yes,” Aloha said. “We’re outside the standard course now.”

  Emily shrugged. There was something to be said for repeating the standard course time and time again. She’d failed Second Year Martial Magic, after all, and even picking up on it again after returning from Mountaintop had still left her in limbo. She was expecting to have to repeat the entire year during Fourth Year. It would be a shame, in many ways, but she had to admit she needed the practice.

  She looked up as the door opened and Frieda stepped into the room. Her former Shadow had blossomed in Whitehall, although Emily still felt a little responsible for her. It was almost like having a little sister.

  “The Grandmaster wants to see you,” Frieda said. “He didn’t sound pleased when he spoke to me.”

  “Maybe that was because you were playing Freeze Tag again,” Aloha said, not unkindly. “I thought you and the rest of the new bugs had already got in trouble for i
t.”

  “That was an accident,” Frieda protested. “And they didn’t say we shouldn’t play!”

  Emily smiled, and rose to her feet. “Do you mind the others staying here?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jade said. “I have to go back to the sergeant, anyway. He probably wants me to do more hard work. Character-forming, he calls it.”

  “We will see you afterwards,” Alassa said, with narrowed eyes. “You have to try on a dress or two.”

  Emily groaned, then smoothed down her robes. “If we must,” she said, with a sigh. “But nothing too revealing.”

  Alassa grinned. “Just you wait,” she said. “Wait and see.”

  Chapter Two

  ONCE, EMILY RECALLED, NAVIGATING THE HALLWAYS and corridors of Whitehall had been immensely difficult. They changed frequently, in unpredictable ways; a corridor that had once led to the library might, the following day, lead directly to the Great Hall. Now, finding her way was merely a matter of listening to the magic running through the school. She walked up three flights of stairs and down a long stone corridor, lined with portraits of famous people from the past, then stopped as she saw the new portrait hanging from the wall. It was yet another painting of her.

  She groaned, inwardly, as she took in the sight. The artist had never laid eyes on her and it showed; she would have been surprised if he’d even had a first-hand description or a look at another, more accurate, painting of herself. He’d painted her with long brown hair, which was about the only detail that resembled Emily herself, but the portrait’s hair hung down to the ground and pooled on the floor. The portrait, too, was stunningly beautiful. Indeed, if her name hadn’t been written at the bottom, she would have doubted the evidence of her own senses.

  On the plus side, she told herself, anyone looking for me using this as their guide won’t find me.

  She took one last look at her doppelgänger, then walked past the portrait and down towards the grandmaster’s office. Here, the walls were lined with suits of armor, carrying everything from sharp spears to broadswords too heavy for Emily to lift. They were part of the school’s defenses, she knew; they’d come to life, when Shadye had invaded Whitehall, and attacked his forces until they were battered into nothingness. Magic crackled around them as she looked into their blank helms, then walked onwards. The grandmaster’s office lay open in front of her. She stepped into the room...

  ...And stopped, dead.

  A tall girl, with hair as black as coal, was standing in front of the grandmaster’s desk. The Grandmaster himself, seated behind his desk, looked coldly furious. His eyes, as always, were covered with a dirty cloth, but Emily had no trouble reading his mood. She hoped — prayed — he would never be that furious at her, ever. The girl, whoever she was, seemed to be in deep trouble.

  The girl whirled around to face Emily. Her face was so pale that her lips, no redder than Emily’s own, seemed to stand out against her skin. She was striking, rather than pretty, yet there was a grim determination in her face that mirrored Emily’s own. The white dress she wore showed off her hair and drew attention to her face, rather than her body.

  “Get out,” she snarled.

  “Ah, yes, Lady Emily,” the Grandmaster said. He sounded annoyed, although not at Emily personally. “Wait outside. Shut the door behind you.”

  Emily hastily turned and walked outside, making sure to pull the door closed. She’d thought the door was open for her, not someone else! But she hadn’t thought to knock...kicking herself for her mistake, she leaned against the wall and waited, trying to think of something — anything — else. There had been something in the girl’s dark eyes that had scared her at a very primal level, yet she wasn’t sure why. She’d seen so many unpleasant people since coming to the Nameless World that one more didn’t seem much of a problem.

  It was nearly half an hour, by her watch, when the door opened and the girl stomped out, closing the door sharply behind her. Her cheeks were still pale, but Emily could see two spots of color as the girl turned to face her. For a long moment, they stared at each other — Emily silently readied a spell to defend herself — and then the girl turned and strode off down the corridor. Her back was ramrod straight as she walked away, suggesting a desperate attempt to remain dignified. Emily watched her go, fighting down the childish impulse to fire a spell at the girl’s retreating back, then turned and knocked on the door. The door opened and she stepped into the room.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, as the Grandmaster looked up at her. “I didn’t realize you had a guest.”

  “Knock in future,” the Grandmaster advised, “even if the door is open. You don’t really want to intrude on a magician’s private space without his permission.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said, feeling her cheeks heat. “Why...why was she here?”

  The Grandmaster’s eyebrows twitched behind the cloth. “I am not in the habit of discussing your discipline or the reasons for it with other students,” he said. “Should I not grant them the same privacy?”

  Emily looked down at the bare stone floor, embarrassed. “Yes, sir,” she said. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Glad to hear it,” the Grandmaster said, dryly. “Now, if you will give me a minute...”

  He picked a piece of paper off his desk, and wrote a long series of Old Script letters. Emily looked away, her eyes skimming the office; for once, instead of bare stone walls, there were a handful of decorations. A large painting hung on one wall, while — below it — there was a small table, covered with artefacts and strange magical devices. There was something about the painting that caught and held her attention, reminding her of images she’d seen on Earth. The figure looked like Charles I, a tall aristocratic man with long dark hair, a goatee and expensive clothes. But there was something about the thin smile on the man’s face that sent chills down her spine. He seemed to be permanently laughing at the universe.

  “There’s an interesting story about that painting,” the Grandmaster said. Emily turned back to look at him. “There was a wealthy magician who had it commissioned, years ago. The artist was a powerful magician in his own right and infused a great deal of magic into the canvas. Once it was completed, it was hung in the magician’s studio...and then, one night, when no one was watching, the figure crawled out of the painting and killed the original.”

  Emily frowned. “If there were no witnesses,” she said, “how do they know?”

  The Grandmaster snorted. “Stories have a habit of growing in the telling,” he said. “But as you can see, the painting is surrounded by powerful magic.”

  Emily turned back...and started. The figure had changed. Instead of smiling, his face looked disapproving, as if he’d smelled something foul. The eyes were fixed on Emily’s face...she took a step closer, wondering if she’d see the figure move again. But there was nothing until she looked away for a split second, then back at the portrait. This time, the figure seemed to be winking at her.

  “It changes,” she said. “Why are you keeping it here?”

  “Certain parties would like to lay the legend to rest, once and for all,” the Grandmaster said. She heard him rise to his feet, then walk around the desk to stand next to her. “Or have it confirmed, if it is real.”

  He pointed to the items on the desk below the painting. “These were pulled from the house of a magician who was killed in a duel,” he explained. “Most of them are junk, without the owner, but a handful shouldn’t have been in anyone’s possession. Finding that” — he pointed to a gold heart-shaped artefact that looked scorched and pitted — “was worrying enough.”

  Emily knew better than to touch it, but she peered closely at the scarred metal. “What is it?”

  “A corruptor,” the Grandmaster said. “Certain kinds of magic, as you know, bring emotional resonances in their wake. These...devices...amplify the effects of casting such spells. A magician under their influence will rapidly become addicted to using dark magic, ensuring an eventual collapse into madness. Even the m
ost stable of magicians, a very rare beast indeed, would be threatened by their magic.”

  “If one’s mind was changing,” Emily said slowly, “and all the tools one used to measure it were changing too, how would one know one’s mind was changing?”

  “Precisely,” the Grandmaster said. He waved a hand at the space in front of his desk and a chair shimmered into existence. “Take a seat, Lady Emily. We have much to discuss.”

  Emily sat, resting her hands on her lap.

  “Your exams were marked ahead of everyone else, including the Fourth Years,” the Grandmaster said. “We needed to know if you were ready to move into Fourth Year yourself or if you needed to retake Third Year. Our general conclusion was that you were ready to move forward, as you did manage to close the gap quite nicely with the other students.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Emily said. Mountaintop used the same basic exams as Whitehall, she’d discovered, but the educational pathway was different. She’d mastered some tricks that were only taught to Fourth Years, yet she’d lacked others that had left her ill-prepared for Third Year at Whitehall. “I worked hard.”

  “Indeed you did,” the Grandmaster agreed. “No one would have blamed you for choosing to wait out the year, then redoing the Third Year from scratch. You can justly be proud of your achievements. However, they do tend to cause us problems too.”

  He took a breath. “The one thing you don’t have is a proposal for a joint project,” he continued. “Your classmates had already teamed up, so we had no one for you to work with on your joint project, particularly as there was no guarantee you would go directly into Fourth Year.”