Emily swallowed. “And then you’ll be leaving?”
“I have to talk to the Grandmaster, one last time,” Lady Barb said. “And then I’ll be gone.”
She gave Emily a smile. “You can always write to me, you know.”
“It isn’t the same,” Emily muttered.
She couldn’t help feeling down as she followed Lady Barb out of the common room and up a long flight of stairs. She’d come to think of the older woman as a mother, of sorts; someone who would advise and help her when necessary. The thought of being separated from her was unbearable. And yet, Lady Barb had a life of her own. Emily told herself not to be selfish as they reached the dormitory entrance and stopped. The entrance to the fifth year dorms looked surprisingly elaborate, compared to the fourth. A large golden eagle hung above the door, strikingly detailed. It took her a moment to realize that a real bird had been transfigured into gold, then locked in that form. She hoped, for its sake, that it had been dead before the spell had been cast. The idea of being trapped in an immobile form for days was terrifying, let alone months or years. She’d go mad quickly.
“I’ll see you around,” Lady Barb said, awkwardly. “And don’t forget to write.”
Emily nodded. Lady Barb had taught her how to write a letter, then charm it so only the intended recipient could open the envelope without destroying the message inside. They’d created a chat parchment to allow them to talk privately, but Lady Barb preferred letters even though the parchment was more convenient. Emily gave the older woman a tight hug, not trusting herself to speak. She’d see Lady Barb around—if nothing else, she’d come to visit Sergeant Miles—but it wouldn’t be the same.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Frieda said, quietly.
“Goodbye,” Lady Barb said.
The wards covering the door parted at Emily’s touch, allowing her to push the door open and step into an ornate corridor. She shook her head in disbelief as she saw the fancy decorations on each of the doors—it looked as if every last centimeter had been covered with ornate gold runes—and then slowly walked down the corridor. A handful of wards brushed against her magic as she checked the doors, looking for her name. But there was no sign of it.
She looked up as she heard a woman bustle out of the door at the end of the corridor and turn down to face her. “Ah, you must be our new prisoner,” she said. “Welcome, welcome!”
Emily blinked in disbelief. The woman was a powerful sorceress—she was making no attempt to mask her magic—but she looked like an old gypsy woman. She looked almost East Indian, with dark skin, darker eyes and a multicolored headscarf covering her hair, wearing a sari that shimmered from red to yellow as she moved. Looking more closely, Emily thought she appeared around fifty years old, although it was impossible to be certain. Mundanes aged quickly on the Nameless World, while sorcerers could retard aging indefinitely. The woman could easily be in her second century.
She blinked as the woman’s words caught up with her. “Prisoner?”
“Just my little joke,” the woman said. She looked Emily up and down, then nodded to herself cheerfully. “I am Madame Rosalinda, child. Your housemother for the next two years, unless you actually manage to get yourself expelled. I assume you’ve had a chance to review the notes on life in fifth year?”
Emily shook her head. It was hard not to stare at the housemother. Anyone less like a Rosalinda was hard to imagine. But she hadn’t had time to review anything, not when she hadn’t even been given her exam results until she’d faced Grandmaster Gordian. She assumed the details were in the sheaf of papers she’d been given, along with everything else she’d need to know before term officially started. She’d have to read them as soon as possible.
“You have a common room at each end of the corridor, four private study rooms and two private spellchambers,” Madame Rosalinda informed her, as she turned to lead Emily further down the corridor. “If you need to use any of them in the middle of the night, you may do so; there’s no set bedtime inside the dorms. You may also order snacks in the common rooms, which will be brought up from the kitchens for you.”
Emily had to smile. There had never been a set bedtime at Whitehall, but anyone caught outside their bedroom after Lights Out could expect to get into trouble. Sneaking out, she recalled, was fun as long as no one was caught. The idea of being able to leave her room without getting into trouble was a great deal less thrilling, although she could see the value of a spellchamber she could use at any hour she liked. Her magic was under better control now, but she needed to keep expending it until she returned to classes. She wouldn’t have to worry about expending magic then.
“The rules concerning visitors remain the same,” Madame Rosalinda added, as they stopped outside a cupboard. “You’re not allowed to invite anyone from a lower year into the dorms, nor are you allowed to invite anyone into your bedroom without your roommate’s permission. I suggest that you do your best to be friends with your roommate, as your tutors will not accept being turned into a frog as an excuse for being late with your homework.”
“Of course not,” Emily agreed.
She felt a flicker of déjà vu as Madame Rosalinda opened the cupboard and produced a handful of robes, undergarments and a handful of small potions. Emily felt herself blush as the latter were pushed into her hands, even though she knew how to make the potions for herself now. She wasn’t sure if she should be embarrassed or horrified that Whitehall was handing out contraceptive potions as well as everything else.
“You may be a probationary student, but you have the same rights and responsibilities as the rest of the students,” Madame Rosalinda said. “I will not be inspecting your room. You and your roommate are solely responsible for keeping it clean and tidy, so if you want to live in a pigsty you may do so. Indeed, I will not be entering your room unless it is vitally important or the wards are sounding the alarm. You’re expected to be an adult now.”
Emily nodded. Magicians traditionally came of age after completing their first set of studies, according to Void; she’d been considered a child until she’d passed her exams, even though she’d been sixteen when she’d started at Whitehall. Many of her fellow students had chafed against the rules and restraints, but Emily had been relieved—in some ways—that there had finally been someone looking out for her. Now, she would be treated as an adult. The only upside was that Gordian would have less authority over her than he would have had last year.
“I understand,” she said.
“Very good,” Madame Rosalinda said. She dumped the robes into Emily’s arms, then led the way back down the corridor. Emily followed, staggering slightly under the weight. “And here we have the prison cell.”
Emily winced. The door looked just like every other bedroom door, but it was right next to Madame Rosalinda’s office. There would be no sneaking in or out of the chamber without alerting the housemother. It was a little pointless, now she could use the common room or spellchambers in the middle of the night, but it still felt oppressive. The probation would have to be lifted eventually, Lady Barb had said, if she didn’t give Gordian an excuse to expel her, yet she’d still be right next to the housemother. It was a warning—to her and her mystery roommate—to behave themselves.
Something must have shown on her face when the housemother glanced at her. “Don’t worry,” she said. There was a hint of mischief in her voice. “We only fitted the stocks yesterday. Before then, we had to chain people to the beds every night to keep them from sneaking out. And then there were regular whippings, every hour on the hour...”
She giggled. “I kid, I kid,” she added. “It’s just the same as every other room.”
Emily scowled as the housemother turned back to the door. She was already on edge and feeling alone, despite Frieda staying at Whitehall, too. The joke didn’t strike her as very funny at all.
“Now, there’re only two of you here,” Madame Rosalinda said, as she started to make passes in front of the door. “Once you’re a registered occupant, you can com
e and go as you please; anyone else will not be able to enter without your permission. Should the room be empty, the wards will not allow anyone to enter.”
“Same as before, then,” Emily said.
“Correct,” Madame Rosalinda said.
Emily nodded. She was surprised that Gordian hadn’t insisted on the right to inspect her room and search her possessions at any moment he chose. She’d taken the precaution of leaving her notebooks in her house, just in case. But then, searching her possessions would be a gross breach of magical etiquette. Searching her trunk without permission would be a major scandal, even if he had extremely good cause. If Lady Barb was right and Gordian’s position was hardly secure, he probably wouldn’t take the risk.
“Touch the door,” Madame Rosalinda ordered.
The wards tingled when Emily touched them, allowing them to taste her magical signature and record it for later use. They were powerful, she noted; she thought she could break them down, one by one, but there would be no way to hide what she’d done. Moments later, the door clicked open.
“Your trunk is already inside,” Madame Rosalinda told her. “Dinner will be served at seventeen bells precisely in the Great Hall, but as there are so few of us in the building you may ask the kitchens for a snack at any time you like. If you have any questions, you can find me in my office.”
Emily nodded. “Thank you,” she said. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of Madame Rosalinda. The housemother didn’t appear to be anything like as strict as her two predecessors, but Madame Rosalinda definitely seemed eccentric. “I will.”
She hesitated, unsure what she’d find inside. A roommate who was also a probationary student? She had no idea who it could be. Her friends would have told her if they were on probation, surely? Indeed, she didn’t think that any of her classmates from last year were in trouble, unless it was the Gorgon. Grandmaster Gordian might not have liked the idea of a gorgon studying at Whitehall and put her on probation too.
Possibly, she thought. She found it hard to reconcile the career advisor she’d met last year with the grim-faced Grandmaster. But then, that man hadn’t had to worry about an entire school. It would be just the sort of thing he would do.
Bracing herself, she pushed open the door.
Chapter Three
THE ROOM WAS MUCH NICER THAN any of her previous bedrooms, Emily noticed, as the door latched noisily behind her. A large window looked over the grounds, allowing brilliant sunlight to stream in and illuminate the chamber. One of the walls was lined with bookshelves, already half-filled; there were two desks, two chairs, and two beds, the room clearly divided into two sections. The wall beside one of the beds was bare, but the wall beside the other was covered with posters, each one showing the anatomy of the human body. She’d seen similar diagrams in Lady Barb’s classroom, when she’d been teaching, yet the ones on the walls looked remarkably more detailed. A small portrait of a kind-looking man hung at the foot of the bed, placed to allow it to smile down at the pillow. But the bed was empty...
The bare side of the room must be mine, she thought.
Emily dropped the blue robes and undergarments on the bed, then carefully placed the tiny potions bottles in the bedside cabinet. They were probably charmed to be unbreakable, save by magic, but there was no point in taking chances. The idea of going back to the housemother and asking for more already was embarrassing. She would be given them, she was sure, yet she would also be given a lecture on the proper care of potion bottles.
She looked up as a side door opened—the bathroom, she guessed—to reveal a tall girl wearing a long dark dress. Emily started as she realized she recognized her roommate; she’d seen her once before, being told off by Grandmaster Hasdrubal. Cabiria, she recalled; Cabiria of House Fellini. She’d been in trouble for something, according to Lady Barb, and had been lucky not to have been expelled outright. Lady Barb hadn’t gone into details, but if Gordian had been annoyed at Emily escaping expulsion for her actions, he had to be outraged at Cabiria doing the same. Oddly, the realization made Emily feel a little better...
“Emily,” Cabiria said. Her voice was stronger than Emily had expected, reminding her a little of Lady Barb. “I was wondering who it would be.”
Emily tensed, one hand reaching down to touch the snake-bracelet on her wrist. Cabiria and she had only met once, but it had been awkward; Emily had honestly feared Cabiria intended to hex her right in front of the Grandmaster’s office. Now... now they were roommates. If they couldn’t get along, they would probably both be expelled.
“I think we’ve both managed to displease the Grandmaster,” she said, carefully. “I should have realized it would be you.”
Cabiria nodded, then smiled. “I think I can get along with you,” she said. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
Emily studied her carefully, aware that Cabiria was studying her as well. Cabiria was tall and willowy, taller than Emily, with long black hair that hung down to her waist. Her skin was inhumanly pale, as if she’d never seen the sun; her eyes were so dark they were like pools of darkness set against the light. Emily wondered, for a moment, if Cabiria had some vampire blood in her before dismissing the idea as impossible. Vampires couldn’t breed with humans, mundane or magical. Cabiria was as human as Emily herself.
“I know,” Emily said, glumly. “Everyone’s heard of me.”
“Better that than being obscure,” Cabiria said. She shrugged as she walked over to the bed and sat down, never taking her eyes off Emily. “Why are you in trouble? Everyone said you were the Grandmaster’s golden girl.”
Emily sighed. “What are you in for?”
“Apparently I was sold to Professor Locke,” Cabiria said, cheerfully. “I don’t think he’s going to get his money’s worth.”
Emily’s mouth dropped open. “They sold you to him?”
“Oh, not literally,” Cabiria said, reassuringly. “But the price of my remaining at Whitehall was being his apprentice—one of his apprentices. And I don’t think I’m actually going to be of much help, either. I dumped history as soon as I could.”
“Ouch,” Emily said. “Why were you suspended?”
Cabiria smirked. “They caught me in the Black Room one too many times.”
“Oh,” Emily said. She’d never tried to break into the Black Room, the restricted section of the library. It was hard to get permission to look at any of the books, certainly not without a convincing case to present to a tutor. She’d been told that anyone who tried would be lucky not to be expelled. “How many times did you break in?”
“Only once,” Cabiria admitted. Her smirk grew wider. “But I was actually reading the books when they dragged me out by the hair.”
Emily lifted her eyebrows. She’d sensed the wards surrounding the darker parts of the library, the collections of books regarded as dubious or dangerous; she couldn’t imagine the Black Room having any lesser protections. And yet Cabiria had managed to break in and start reading the books before she’d been caught? It was an impressive achievement, even if it was forbidden. No wonder she hadn’t been expelled, even if she had been suspended. The Grandmaster would have been reluctant to let her talent go to waste.
“That’s impressive,” she said, honestly.
“Thanks,” Cabiria said, wryly. “But being sent home for a year was not fun.”
Emily nodded and turned to study the bare side of the room. “I suppose it wouldn’t have been,” she said. She had no idea where she would have gone, if she’d been suspended midway through second year. “What were you looking for?”
She turned back to her trunk and opened it, removing the handful of clothes she’d brought with her and dumping them on the bed. Cabiria smiled and lay back on her bed, watching Emily through mischievous eyes. Despite their first meeting, Emily found herself almost liking Cabiria. She would have been expelled, no matter her potential, if she had been studying something as dark as necromancy or demonology. But then, any halfway competent sorcerer could reinvent
the necromantic rite with ease.
And a smart one would know better, she thought, as she opened the underside drawer and started to pack her clothes away. Necromancy leads to madness.
“Healing texts,” Cabiria said, softly. “I wanted to read books that were marked forbidden.”
Emily felt a flicker of guilt. She’d been shown some of those books at Mountaintop, books that were normally only available to those who had sworn the Healer’s Oath. And she remembered some of what she’d read too. She’d even used one of the spells to save Alassa’s life after her near-death in Zangaria. Cabiria, without such private training, would have to take the oaths if she wanted to read the books.
She glanced at the older girl. “You wanted to study Healing?”
“Not at all,” Cabiria said. “I wanted to know how to use magic to... improve... animals. The Grandmaster didn’t like the idea.”
Emily frowned. “I thought there were animals bred for greater intelligence and suchlike.”
“Oh, there are,” Cabiria said. “But they don’t use magic!”
She smiled as she sat up and paced over to the bookshelves. “If one can use magic to modify the human form,” she said, “why can’t one do the same to animals?”
Emily considered the problem for a long moment. “Someone must have thought of it long ago,” she said, finally.
“Yes, of course,” Cabiria said. “But why aren’t such practices normal?”
“The techniques must be secret,” Emily guessed. “If someone had come up with a way to enhance horses, they might not want to share their techniques.”
“Precisely my conclusion,” Cabiria agreed. She pulled a book off the shelves, flicked through the pages until she found what she was looking for and held it out to Emily. “But if they’re publishing pieces of information like this, why aren’t they doing the same for animals?”
Emily took the book and read the page quickly. The alchemical potion, combined with a handful of spells, claimed to be able to grant perfect eyesight, both to the drinker and his children up to the next four generations. It looked workable, but she had her doubts about its value—or about its safety. She knew more than she wanted to know about the Royal Bloodline of Zangaria, the alchemical breeding program that had produced Alassa—and, perhaps, rendered her infertile. It was quite possible that the potion had its own drawbacks, drawbacks that might only emerge one or two generations down the line.
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