Love's Labor's Won (Schooled in Magic Book 6)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Yes, you did,” Emily said.

  Master Grey met her eyes. “Then why did you invite them both?”

  Emily gritted her teeth. “Because I didn’t keep a close eye on the proceedings,” she said, sharply. Had she even known? The first time she’d heard about the feud had been in Mountaintop, by which time the preparations for the Faire had been well advanced. “And because I didn’t know what I was getting into.”

  “And that was incredibly careless,” Master Grey said. “In future, I suggest you learn to look before you leap.”

  He was right, Emily knew. But it didn’t make it any easier.

  “You managed to get yourself entangled in a morass,” Master Grey said. “The Ashworth Heir will be married in five days, at the end of the Faire. I have no doubt that the Ashfalls will do what they can to make it a night to remember — and curse. If you manage to get through that night without spellfire, it will be a miracle.”

  He pointed a long finger at her. Emily couldn’t help noticing that it was covered in tiny scars.

  “Your carelessness could have cost lives today,” he added. “If you were my apprentice, or daughter, I would have dismissed you by now. Your carelessness is becoming legendary...and yet, you are at the heart of destiny itself. You cannot afford to be careless any longer, Lady Emily.”

  “I know,” Emily said.

  “Then go back to your father and tell him to give you some proper training,” Master Grey snapped. “You need a crash course in everything from etiquette to how best to judge the political implications of your works. Or ask the Grandmaster to get you a proper tutor before you make a mistake that gets people killed. Your former Shadow, for example.”

  Emily glowered at him. “Where is she?”

  “I sent her back to the castle,” Master Grey said. “It was the safest place.”

  He dismissed the privacy ward and strode off. Emily watched him go, hastily casting a glamor to hide her feelings. His words had hurt her more than she cared to admit, because he was right. If she’d been paying attention, if she’d known what she was doing, she might have been able to prevent the Faire from becoming a looming disaster. But now she was committed to seeing it through to the bitter end.

  She turned as she heard someone walking up behind her. “Emily,” Jade said. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Emily lied. “Where’s Alassa?”

  “Waiting in the food tent,” Jade said. “I came as soon as I could.”

  His eyes narrowed. He could sense the glamor, even if he couldn’t look past it.

  “You’re not all right, are you?”

  Emily scowled, inwardly, as they started to walk towards the tent. Jade — and Travis and Cat — had seen her in Martial Magic. They knew her reputation was vastly overblown, even though she had killed two necromancers. Jade had come to care for her, in a way; Travis had just been a nasty bastard, while Cat had been hugely competitive. But the nastiest thing Travis had ever said to her had been after he’d been replaced by the Mimic.

  And Jade could tell when she was upset.

  Lucky Alassa, she thought. He’ll be there for her when she needs him.

  “Your former master just tore a strip off me,” she said, bitterly. What was wrong with her, she asked herself, that she practically froze when someone was chewing her out? “And he was right.”

  “He yelled at me more times than I care to recall,” Jade said. “There were times when I hated him. But he was always right.”

  He shrugged. “There’s no room for weakness in a combat sorcerer. Or, really, in any kind of sorcerer.”

  “Lady Barb said the same,” Emily said.

  “She was right,” Jade told her. “At the end of Fourth Year, you and Caleb will be expected to defend your project to a group of supervisors. They will tear you apart, examine every aspect of your project, force you to repeat yourself over and over again...you’ll hate it. I did.”

  They stepped into the tent. It was larger on the inside than Emily had realized, although it didn’t seem to be a pocket dimension. Alassa was sitting at a table, wearing a dark green dress that seemed to draw attention to her long golden hair. A faint glamor surrounded her, hiding her identity from anyone who didn’t already know her; she looked up as Emily approached and smiled. Emily smiled back and sagged into a chair.

  “I’ll get the drinks,” Jade said, firmly. “You sit down and relax.”

  “You’re a lucky woman,” Emily said, as Alassa reached out and took her hand. “Really, you are.”

  “Thank you,” Alassa said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired and weak,” Emily said. “Yourself?”

  “Trying to plan the wedding,” Alassa said. “Would you be interested in being my Maid of Honor?”

  Emily held up a hand. “Let me see what the job actually involves before I agree,” she said, quickly. “I’ve managed to get into trouble that way already.”

  Alassa smirked. “You’re learning.”

  She shrugged. “Basically, your job is to keep me from getting into trouble, organizing the bridesmaids and standing beside me when I give my vows,” she added. “There isn’t much else to do.”

  Emily smiled, tiredly. “Let’s see,” she said. “Turn you into something immobile, so you can’t get into trouble; cast compulsion spells on the bridesmaids, so they can’t get into trouble...”

  “I have to ask every noble-born girl in the kingdom,” Alassa said. “And casting compulsion spells on them would get you into trouble.”

  She paused. “Although you might want to consider it anyway. Half of them will be brats, and the other half stuck-up bitches.”

  “All of them?” Emily asked, choosing not to remind Alassa that she’d been a brat only three years ago. “How many is that?”

  Alassa frowned. “Not all of them will be able to come,” she said. “And I may have to prune their numbers if too many do come. But you’d have at least fifty to handle.”

  Emily blinked. “Fifty? Just fifty?”

  “Bridesmaids have to be younger than the bride, by tradition,” Alassa said. “And they can’t be married themselves. They’re also meant to be virgin, but no one asks for fear of the answer.”

  “I see,” Emily said. “Let me think about it, please.”

  Jade returned, carrying a tray of drinks. “Three chocolates,” he said, as he sat down. “And some biscuits.”

  “Thank you,” Alassa said. She took one of the mugs and took a sip. “No alcohol, I assume?”

  “I checked all three,” Jade said. “Drunkenness at the Faire would not be appreciated.”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” Emily said. She took a sip of her own drink and tasted warm melted chocolate mixed with milk. Somehow, it helped her to relax. “My family taught me the dangers of drunkenness.”

  “Prig,” Alassa said, without heat. “There’s some amusement to be had when a pair of barons try to drink each other under the table.”

  “The apprentices drank themselves senseless last year, after the Faire,” Jade added, thoughtfully. “Master Grey was not amused.”

  “I bet he wasn’t,” Emily said. “What did he say?”

  “He started out by calling me a stupid idiot, and it went downhill from there,” Jade said. “I had the impression he didn’t forbid me to go, purely so he could tell me off while I had a hangover.”

  “Maybe he just wanted you to make your own mistakes,” Emily said. “Lady Barb said the same thing to me, once.”

  “You learn by doing,” Jade said. “Or was it different for you?”

  Emily shrugged. “I didn’t have the chance to learn anything useful until I came here.”

  Sure you did, her own thoughts mocked. History. Basic science. Everything else you’ve used to make money here.

  They drank the rest of their chocolate in companionable silence, then Jade rose. “I need to get Alassa back to the castle before nightfall,” he said. “Emily?”

  “Tell Bryon we’re cancelling the
formal dinner and dance,” Emily said. “The guests can be served in the Great Hall, if they don’t want to eat down here.”

  Alassa lifted her eyebrows. “And yourself?”

  “I’ll stay here for a bit,” Emily said. “I need to think.”

  “A terrible habit,” Jade said, dryly. He helped Alassa to her feet, and smiled at Emily. “Good luck.”

  Emily watched them go, feeling an odd twinge of envy. She didn’t want Jade — that had been settled a long time ago — but she would have liked someone to be with her. And yet...who would put up with her?

  She glanced up as someone loomed over her. “Lady Emily,” he said. “Please, could I join you?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  EMILY STUDIED THE NEWCOMER FOR A long moment, before nodding and motioning to the stool facing her. He was tall, but fat, easily the fattest man she’d ever seen. Indeed, he was so large that she couldn’t help wondering if the stool could take his weight. His face was almost entirely hidden behind a bushy ginger moustache, which waggled invitingly as he sat down and smiled at her. She’d seen hundreds of strange outfits on magicians in the past, ranging from dark robes to chainmail bikinis, but she had to admit the newcomer wore the strangest outfit she could recall. He wore a golden hat, a pink shirt, orange trousers and strange, frilly shoes.

  Maybe he’s color blind, she thought, as the newcomer settled down. Or maybe he’s trying to make people underestimate him.

  “Lady Emily,” the newcomer said. “I knew your father when we were young.”

  Emily had to smile. “What would you like to be called?”

  “You may call me...oh, most people call me Fatty,” the man said, without any trace of the horror someone from Earth would have felt at the word. “It’s as good a name as any.”

  Emily frowned. “Just Fatty?”

  “If you like,” Fatty said. He slapped his chest, which wobbled like a plate of jelly. “Your father is a gaping emptiness, while I am pleasantly plump.”

  “My father never mentioned you to me,” Emily said. “I don’t know anything about his life before I was born.”

  “He never talks about his past,” Fatty said. “But I didn’t really come to talk about him, either.”

  Emily nodded, and reached out with her mind, trying to sense the magic surrounding Fatty. He was masking very well, she had to admit, but she could still sense the magic rolling and seething behind his wards. It reminded her of Void, or — perhaps — the Grandmaster. Fat as he was, Fatty was also very powerful.

  And there are few fat magicians, Emily thought, puzzled. Is he unable to burn fat while performing magic or...is he building up reserves for a battle?

  “You’re a Lone Power,” she said, out loud. “Aren’t you?”

  “Something of the sort,” Fatty said. “I could never quite grasp the importance of being alone, you see, but yes, I am powerful enough to be counted as one.”

  He shrugged. “I enjoy magical society too much to exclude myself from it,” he added. “But your father prefers his own company.”

  “I know,” Emily said.

  “But I came to talk to you,” Fatty said. “I wanted to thank you.”

  Emily blinked. “Thank me? For what?”

  “For keeping the Ashworths and Ashfalls busy,” Fatty said. “It was a surprise to have them both attend the Faire, but you’ve kept them under firm control. I thank you.”

  He lifted his hat, revealing that he was going bald on top.

  “You’re welcome,” Emily said, although she couldn’t help being surprised. “Have you been making good use of the time?”

  Fatty nodded. “The usual deal—making is going on in various tents,” he said. “Of course” — he winked at her — “having to keep the problem children under control prevents you from attending the meetings. I don’t blame you for wanting to skip them. Your father would not be pleased if you accidentally made the wrong deal.”

  And if I had planned it that way, Emily thought, it might have been brilliant.

  “I thank you,” she said, keeping her face straight. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “You can ask any question you like, as long as it’s a sensible question,” Fatty said. “Or one that lets me show off how brilliant I am.”

  Emily sighed inwardly. “The feud,” she said. If Fatty was as old as Void, he’d been around long enough to witness the separation between the two families. “How did it start?”

  “A very good question,” Fatty said. “But I could not give you a definite answer. Fulvia is, I think, the only survivor from those years. Far too many people on both sides have been killed before they could have children or even pick their own path in life. All I could tell you are rumors.”

  “Oh,” Emily said. “Does anyone know?”

  “Ask Fulvia,” Fatty advised. “But you might want to do it from a safe distance. She might not be a Lone Power, but anyone who’s lived so long as Matriarch will be hellishly powerful.”

  “Her family seems to be scared of her,” Emily observed.

  “She’s had plenty of time to learn the tricks of the trade,” Fatty pointed out. “I dare say she’ll outlive them all.”

  He rose to his feet with ponderous grace. “I would like to advise you to attend a meeting tonight, but your father would be unhappy,” he added. “Next time, perhaps, you will be able to attend with him. It would be nice to see him again.”

  “I’ll pass on your words,” Emily said. “And thank you.”

  “Thank you,” Fatty said.

  He lumbered off, steering his way through the tables with deceptive ease. Emily shook her head in droll amusement, wondering why he chose to remain so bulky, then rose and walked out of the tent. Outside, night was starting to fall over Cockatrice, but the Faire was still illuminated by glowing balls of light, casting an eerie radiance over the scene. Emily smiled as a gang of young children ran past, pausing as she heard the sound of someone singing in the distance. It was sweet enough to almost bring a tear to her eye, but there was no time to listen. She needed to find Yodel before he closed his stall for the night.

  She had never been very sensitive to emotions, but even she could sense the tension in the air as she walked through the Faire. People exchanged glances with one another, while magicians were wrapping even more protective wards around their stalls, as if they feared another fight. They might have a point, Emily suspected; Gaius and Markus had both been reluctant to back down, even when their superiors had arrived. The next time, she might not be there to stop them before they started hurling curses at each other.

  “Lady Emily,” one of the apprentices called, as she approached. “You’re just in time.”

  Emily nodded to him, pushed aside the flap, and stepped into the workroom. Yodel stood in front of a table, using a wand to fiddle with the interior of a trunk. Emily waited patiently for him to finish, her eyes sweeping the tables for objects of interest. But the only thing that caught her eye was a wooden frame, one that looked like it had been designed to hold a painting. A spell she didn’t recognize glowed around it, working its way in and out of the wood.

  “Someone wants to have an updating portrait,” Yodel commented, as he looked up. “She wants everyone to know what she looks like at all times.”

  Emily frowned. “Does that include when she’s in the bath?”

  “It could,” Yodel said. “She wants it fixed on her face, just in case.”

  “As long as she isn’t pouring her darker feelings into the portrait,” Emily said. How long had it been since she’d read The Picture of Dorian Grey? “Everyone can make a fool of themselves if they wish.”

  “You are too tolerant, Lady Emily,” Yodel said. “People who make fools of themselves tend to lash out when they realize how stupid they’ve been.”

  He put the wand down and stepped away from the trunk. “This is your commission,” he said, as he walked towards a table. “I actually designed two: the first one matches your request, while the second should be c
onsiderably more efficient. However, I do not advise you to use either of them as a wand. The magic would become dispersed before it entered the wood.”

  Emily picked up the first device and peered at it. It was smaller than she’d expected, little larger than a pencil, but tipped with enough wood to serve as a very basic wand. There was no way to guide the magic, save by pointing it at the target, yet she knew it shouldn’t be a problem. If she was right.... She touched the wood, embedding a spell in the material, and smiled to herself as it took root and waited. Wandcraft was hardly her forte — she’d been taught never to use a wand unless it was absolutely necessary — but she knew enough to make it work.

  Nanette taught me more, by accident, she thought, as she inspected the second valve. And so did Shadye.

  “I trust they are suitable?” Yodel asked. “I was really quite intrigued by the task.”

  “They should be,” Emily said.

  “But I don’t understand them,” Yodel protested. “Even a Lone Power would have difficulty using them without wasting magic. Or do you plan to try to power them from a nexus point?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Emily said.

  “Please let me know when you work it out,” Yodel said. “I would be curious to see just what you have in mind.”

  Emily nodded — it was clear he was frantic to know what she was doing, just from the way he kept looking at the valve — but kept her thoughts to herself. He was right, in a sense; no single magician could channel enough power to make the devices — she would have to come up with a proper name — workable. But combined with her batteries, it would give her the ability to cast a single spell with terrifying power. Unless it exploded in her pocket, of course...

  Or someone hexes you, and the battery comes apart, she thought, grimly. What would happen if so much raw magic poured into the world?

  “I thank you,” she said. She placed both of the devices into her pocket, casting a handful of anti-theft spells over them. “I may ask you to make others, in the future.”