The betrayal in his voice stung. He was wrong—Emily knew he was wrong. But it still stung. He had gone out on a limb for her, she knew all too well, and he had good reason to be angry at her. By his standards, if nothing else, she had betrayed him.
“I don’t believe I have,” she said, keeping her voice low. It would be easy to puff up and shout at him, but somehow she knew that would be disastrous. “Master, please will you let me explain?”
Whitehall eyed her for a long moment, then took a step backwards with visible effort, crossing his arms in front of him. “Explain.”
Emily took a moment to gather her thoughts. “The spells you use—the spells most of you use—are very poorly designed,” she said. “I believe Master Wolfe said as much.”
“He did,” Whitehall confirmed. “Continue.”
“Every time you cast one of those spells,” Emily added, “you get ... you get slop, magic spilling out from the spell in all directions. Many of the spells are actually designed to encourage slop. You’re ... you’re always doing things the hard way.”
Whitehall didn’t look pleased, but he nodded curtly for her to continue.
“That magic has an unfortunate effect on the human mind and body,” Emily continued, hoping desperately that he believed her. She knew it, but it was hard to explain. “Mentally, using such spells has an unfortunate effect on the caster’s mind. Magicians like Master Gila start going insane because they’re constantly using the same spells and damaging their minds. They may snap completely, one day, when they can no longer handle the magic.”
And when they try to take too much power at once, she added, silently. She had no idea what had happened to Master Wolfe’s necromantic rite, but she knew—all too well—that it wouldn’t remain buried forever. A single touch of necromancy is enough to drive anyone insane.
“At first, it has a lesser effect on the body,” Emily added. “For men and women, the effects are seemingly minimal. But for both sexes, the magic damages their reproductive systems ...”
Julianne cleared her throat. “Emily, my father has a daughter,” she said. “Me.”
“Yes,” Emily said. She tried hard to be clinical. “But the male reproductive system is less fragile than the female system.”
Whitehall met her eyes. “In what way?”
Emily winced, inwardly. Just how much did they know already? Master Gila had never given the impression that he knew much about how the human body, male or female, actually worked. She might accidentally tell them something that altered history ...
She shook her head. She was well past the point where it mattered.
“The male ... constantly refreshes his supply of sperm,” she said. Lady Barb had told her that she might be called upon to explain the facts of life—despite her lack of experience—but she’d never envisaged explaining them to the founder of Whitehall School. “The damage may be quite considerable, yet the male may still be capable of fathering children.”
She took a breath. Julianne jumped in.
“I only know one magician who has more than two children,” she said. “Father ...”
“Be quiet,” Whitehall snapped. “Emily? Continue.”
“The female only has a limited supply of eggs,” Emily said. She forced her voice to stay even, despite Julianne’s incredulous look. She’d probably never realized that she laid eggs like a chicken. “Once they’re gone, they’re gone. And the sloppy magic is damaging them, rendering the woman infertile.”
“I see,” Whitehall said. His voice was deadly cold. “And you have rendered my daughter infertile?”
“No, Master,” Emily said. “The spells I taught her have no slop.”
Whitehall met her eyes. She felt the mental pressure a second later and concentrated on projecting impressions of sincerity at him. He would want to believe her, she was sure, yet he wouldn’t be too trusting. She had betrayed him, even if she didn’t want to admit it. It wouldn’t have been that difficult to go to him and ask, before she started.
But he might have said no, she thought.
“I was taught how to build up my magic from the moment it developed,” Emily said. She was fairly sure that only very strong magicians, at least by her standards, ever learned how to use their powers without proper training. “There was never any slop, therefore there was no danger to ... to my ability to have children.”
Whitehall looked her up and down. “You have had no children,” he stated, bluntly.
Emily colored. “No,” she said. “But I could have children.”
“It will be true of Bernard too, Father,” Julianne said. “He might not be able to sire children.”
Whitehall rounded on her. “And are you sure,” he asked sharply, “that he will still want you if you have magic?”
“She’s been using magic for a long time,” Emily said, as Julianne’s face crumpled. Whitehall turned back to glower at her. “Many of those potions she makes require a trickle of magic to get them to work.”
Whitehall rubbed his forehead. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Master,” Emily said.
“I see,” Whitehall said. He glanced at Julianne. “Go back to your bedroom and wait for me there.”
Julianne shot Emily an unreadable look as she hurried to the door and vanished into the corridor, closing the door behind her. Emily met Whitehall’s eyes as best as she could, trying to calm herself. Whitehall had every right to be angry at her—and so did Bernard, perhaps—and if he wanted to punish her, she supposed he had that right. But at the same time ...
“You should have brought it to me,” Whitehall said, quietly. And yet she could hear an edge in his tone that told her he was keeping himself under strict control. “You are an apprentice. You had no right to teach anyone without my permission. And yet ...”
He sighed. “You’re no ordinary apprentice, are you?”
“No, Master,” Emily said.
She tasted a hint of despondency in his voice and shivered. Whitehall ... she thought Whitehall wanted to believe her. He needed to believe her, perhaps, if he wanted to cling to the idea of having grandchildren. But it wouldn’t be easy for him to acknowledge that the shortage of magical children might have something to do with the men, as well as the women.
“I think you’d better explain,” Whitehall said.
Emily swallowed hard. She didn’t dare tell him the truth. But what should she tell him?
“My tutor believed in following more than one branch of magic,” she said, finally. “He insisted on me learning everything he had to teach, ranging from spells like yours to potions and even runic alphabets. I used what he taught me to combine the different disciplines and keep my magic under control.”
Whitehall lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed?”
“Yes, Master,” Emily said. It was true enough. “Brewing potions is excellent practice for using magic. Potions—the more advanced potions—simply don’t work unless you control the magic perfectly.”
“Getting male students to learn potions might be difficult,” Whitehall observed. He gave her a brilliant smile. “They see them as women’s work.”
“Then the students who do learn will have an advantage over those who don’t,” Emily said.
She took a breath. Did she dare? She’d already laid the groundwork ...
“Your problem, right now, is that you have only eight masters to service fifty apprentices,” she continued.
“Nine masters,” Whitehall corrected.
Emily nodded, acknowledging the mistake. “It can take five to ten years to tutor an apprentice properly,” she said. “In the time it will take for Bernard to gain his mastery, some of the other apprentices will have lost their powers or grown desperate enough to turn to demons and ask for help. And even if they don’t, they will have a great deal to unlearn before you can make something of them.”
She paused, just for a moment. “Matters aren’t helped by the fact that not all masters are equal,” she added. “Sake is already dealing wi
th several apprentices because he can teach healing, but Master Wolfe and Master Bones have fewer candidates because most apprentices want to learn something useful—something they see as useful. Realistically speaking, you only have six masters because the remaining two have no apprentices.”
Whitehall frowned. “And you have a better idea?”
“I was taught the basics of several disciplines,” Emily said. “Do the same here—you have enough room, in this castle, to house an entire school. Name it after yourself! Get five or six apprentice students studying the same discipline, then move them to the next class and let them study a different discipline. Those who want to study healing have to spend an hour or so a day studying runic alphabets and spell circles too. It should give them a way to use one discipline to assist them in others.”
“I could see a number of masters refusing to teach several students at once,” Whitehall mused, thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t want to teach more than two or three apprentices at once.”
“You’d have to keep demons out,” Emily added. She rather suspected that would appeal to him. “They couldn’t be allowed into the school.”
Whitehall scowled. “And why not?”
“Robin summoned a demon and asked for a light-spell,” Emily said. “The demon gave him a spell he didn’t understand—couldn’t understand, because he didn’t study spellwork—and let him use it, unaware that it was slopping magic everywhere. Robin ... is likely to go mad sooner rather than later because he’s been using that damned spell.”
“Master Wolfe rewrote it,” Whitehall said.
Emily met his eyes. “Is the rewritten version the one Robin is using?”
“... No,” Whitehall said.
Emily nodded. “Demons offer shortcuts to power,” she reminded him. “But their gifts come with a terrible price.”
Whitehall held up his hand. “I will take your words under advisement,” he said. “They will certainly need to be discussed with the other masters. Not all of them will want to share their secrets.”
Master Chambers, Emily thought. He won’t want to share anything.
“I’m sure you can talk them into it,” Emily said.
“We will see,” Whitehall said. His voice hardened. “There is, however, a different matter to discuss. You taught my daughter magic.”
“It won’t harm her,” Emily protested.
“That’s not the point,” Whitehall said. “You are an apprentice. You should not be teaching anyone magic. There are rules, Lady Emily, and those rules exist for a reason. My master would not have forgiven me if I had taken on an apprentice myself, certainly not before I was granted my mastery. It doesn’t matter who you were trying to teach. All that matters is that you were teaching magic.”
Emily nodded. “I understand.”
“Glad to hear it,” Whitehall said. “You—and Julianne, once I have spoken to her—will spend the rest of the afternoon harvesting herbs and other ingredients from the forest. I’ll be sending Bernard and Robin with you. And I don’t want to see you back in the castle before twilight.”
Emily blinked. She’d expected something worse. Masters had complete power over their apprentices. Whitehall could have beaten her to a bloody pulp and no one would have given a damn, let alone tried to stop him. And maybe he should have. It was the second time she’d done something that could—that should—have gotten her in real trouble. The other masters would give him a hard time ...
... And sending her out of his sight would give him some time to think.
“I expect to see four full baskets of supplies by the time you come back,” Whitehall added, darkly. There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “I’m sure the boys will be happy to assist you.”
“I’m sure they will too,” Emily lied. Whitehall snorted, rudely. Apprentices—attached apprentices—were excused from chores. Bernard and Robin would be furious when they realized what they’d been signed up to do. “And thank you ...”
Whitehall scowled. “I hope you’re right about this, Lady Emily,” he said. “Because, if you’re wrong, it isn’t you who is going to pay the price.”
Chapter Nineteen
“I’M SORRY I GOT YOU IN trouble,” Julianne said, as they walked down to the courtyard. “I ... I just wanted to learn.”
Emily shrugged. She’d had to wait outside while Whitehall spoke to his wayward daughter, but Julianne looked fine. “What did he say to you?”
“Just said I should be very careful,” Julianne said. “And that I should tell Bernard before he hears it from someone else.”
“Rumors have a tendency to grow,” Emily agreed. Whitehall had taken it remarkably calmly, she thought. Had he been delighted to hear of something that could end the curse—or had he merely realized that there was no point in being angry? “You do have to tell him the truth.”
“They’re going to be annoyed enough at coming into the forest with us,” Julianne warned, ruefully. “And to think it would be enjoyable without them.”
Emily hid her amusement as they reached the courtyard. Bernard and Robin were standing in the open, looking up at the bright blue sky. Four large wooden baskets rested by their feet; a small knapsack, open to reveal a gourd of water, reminded her that they’d been ordered to remain out of the castle until twilight. Judging by the position of the sun, they wouldn’t be allowed back for at least seven hours, perhaps longer. She sighed, inwardly, as the boys noticed them. It was going to be a long day.
It could be worse, she told herself, firmly.
“Lady Emily,” Robin said. His demon didn’t seem to be nearby, much to Emily’s relief. “I hear we’re meant to be sticking to you like a weasel that’s just ...”
“Thank you,” Bernard said, cutting him off. “Julianne ... are you all right?”
“Yes,” Julianne said. She sounded oddly exuberant—but then, Emily knew, she had reason to be. Her father might have been furious, yet he hadn’t outright banned her from using magic ... yet. “I’ll tell you the rest once we’re in the forest, if you don’t mind?”
Bernard shrugged, picked up two of the baskets and started towards the open gates. Robin smiled at Emily, made a show of picking up the remaining two baskets, then motioned for Emily to follow Bernard and Julianne. Emily sighed—she wasn’t sure she wanted Robin behind her—but followed the other two anyway. The air grew warmer—and sweeter—as they walked down towards the forest; she couldn’t help noticing that there didn’t seem to be a path leading away from the castle. But then, Whitehall had admitted that they’d hacked and slashed their way to the castle when they’d first arrived.
No Dragon’s Den here yet, Emily thought. She looked back towards the Craggy Mountains and smiled. And no Blighted Lands, either.
The forest was ... odd, she discovered, as they walked into the trees. She’d expected darkness, but instead enough light burned through the overhead canopy to illuminate their path. Flowers—many unrecognizable to her—grew everywhere; she could hear birds and insects buzzing through the trees, the sound rising and falling from a faint background note to an almost overpowering racket. And magic ... magic was everywhere. She could feel it tingling along her skin, see flickers of blue light at the corner of her eyes ...
She found herself smiling as the sensation grew stronger and glanced at Robin. He was smiling too, an open, honest smile that set off an odd flutter within her heart. Robin was ... sardonic, sharp-edged, when he wasn’t trying to flirt with her; now, there was something gentle and relaxed about him that she found far more likeable. He reminded her, just a little, of Caleb. And, up ahead, Bernard and Julianne were holding hands. Emily couldn’t help being touched by the way they held one another. They walked in silence, the magic humming around them. Butterflies flew beside them for a long moment before vanishing into the distance.
Robin cleared his throat. The spell was broken. “So,” he said. “To what do we owe the pleasure of our afternoon walk?”
“I was studying magic,” Julianne said. She turned
to face Robin and Emily, still holding Bernard’s hand. “I ... I convinced Emily to teach me.”
Bernard’s eyes went wide. “And your father didn’t disown you?”
“He didn’t,” Julianne said. “But he wasn’t too pleased.”
“He’s secretly pleased,” Bernard said. He sounded as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. “If he wasn’t pleased, you would have been severely punished—or disowned.”
“This is a severe punishment,” Robin said. He held up the baskets. “Do you realize how long it will take to fill these?”
“It could be worse,” Bernard pointed out.
Emily nodded. Julianne could have been beaten—or disowned. And being disowned would be a fate worse than death. Julianne would have to leave the castle and make her way to the nearest settlement—wherever that was—and hopefully find a place there. She had magic—and her potions—but would it be enough to keep her alive? Emily wouldn’t have cared to try it in this time period and she had far more magic at her disposal than Julianne.
“Yeah,” Julianne said. “It could have been.”
She looked at Bernard. “I’m going to keep studying magic,” she said, softly. “Is that a problem?”
Bernard shook his head. “I promised to teach you magic,” he said. “And I don’t mind if you learn from someone else.”
“But what about children?” Robin asked. The look Julianne gave him, by rights, should have blasted him into ashes. “You want someone to carry on the family name, don’t you?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Emily said. “Julianne has been doing magic for a long time.”
Robin gave her a disbelieving look, so Emily explained what she’d discovered about potions and how they tied into elemental magic and alchemy. Bernard seemed to believe her when she explained the dangers of using overpowered spells—although he wasn’t happy with the suggestion he might be sterile—but Robin seemed much less inclined to accept it. Emily wasn’t too surprised. Robin had moved ahead by leaps and bounds, at least in part, because he’d used demons. The idea that he might have made a terrible mistake was unacceptable to him.
Past Tense (Schooled in Magic Book 10) Page 18