Graduation Day (Schooled in Magic Book 14)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Sergeant Miles,” Sienna said, as she rose. “Do you believe that Frieda intended to deliberately harm Adana?”

  “I believe she intended to knock Adana out of the fight,” Sergeant Miles said. “I don’t know if she deliberately intended to do harm.”

  “I see,” Sienna said. “And do you believe she made a deliberate decision to cross the line?”

  Sergeant Miles hesitated. “Yes and no. Frieda had bare seconds to react to what, I believe, was a completely unexpected threat. In such a situation, she had no time to weigh up the pros and cons of any given course of action. She reacted instinctively and Adana got hurt.”

  “Understood,” Sienna said. “And what would have happened to Frieda if Adana had dodged the blow?”

  “The duel would have been ended, with Frieda declared to have forfeited the match,” Sergeant Miles said. “The proceedings were laid down by the Head Girl, before the dueling club opened. Frieda would probably have been banned from the club as well as the contest.”

  “One final question,” Sienna said. “As a combat sorcerer with extensive experience, both in actual combat and in training, do you believe that the accident was anything out of the ordinary?”

  “No,” Sergeant Miles said. “One of the blunt truths is that accidents happen, no matter how many precautions are taken to prevent them. I’ve known students to be injured - even killed - because they made mistakes during training. I was, in all honesty, anticipating far more injuries from the dueling club.”

  “Thank you,” Sienna said. “An accident, gentlemen of the jury. A regrettable accident, but an accident all the same.”

  She sat. Fulvia rose.

  “Sergeant Miles,” she said. “In your official disposition regarding the founding of the dueling club, made to the Dueling League shortly before it was officially inaugurated, you stated that you wanted your students to remain outside the club. May I ask why?”

  “The Dueling League rules teach bad habits, when it comes to actual combat,” Sergeant Miles said. “There are no rules in war and soldiers who expect their enemies to play fair rarely have a chance to regret it.”

  “Quite,” Fulvia agreed. “And one of those bad habits, I assume, is restricting themselves to a limited number of spells?”

  Sergeant Miles nodded, curtly.

  “I see,” Fulvia said. “In short, the prospect of one of your students accidentally harming another student was predictable. And yet, Frieda was allowed to join the dueling club. In hindsight, this was clearly a mistake. As you say, she was trained to end a fight as quickly as possible.”

  She paused. “And why was she allowed to join the dueling club?”

  “I was unable to convince the Grandmaster to ban my students from the club,” Sergeant Miles said. His voice was flat, utterly toneless. “All I could do was urge them not to go and outline my reasoning.”

  “And Frieda, knowing there was a risk, joined anyway,” Fulvia said. “She knew there was a danger and she joined the club anyway. Not, I should say, a very responsible attitude.”

  She sat down. Sienna looked annoyed, just for a second, but made no move to rise again.

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Gordian said. He didn’t seem pleased either. It dawned on Emily that he might get some of the blame too. “Please wait in the antechamber.”

  “I have one final witness to call,” Fulvia said. “I call Celadon of House Sunrise, a cadet branch of House Ashworth.”

  Celadon looked jaunty as he strode into the room, despite a very slight limp. Emily eyed it, suspiciously. Frieda had hurt him badly, but he shouldn’t have been limping. The healers certainly shouldn’t have had any problems fixing it. Was he playacting? Or was it just the last traces of nerve damage? She hoped it was the former, but feared it was the latter. Sienna wouldn’t have any trouble requesting Celadon’s medical records if there was any doubt over his injuries.

  “Celadon,” Fulvia said. “Please outline your relationship with Frieda for us.”

  “I first met her when she entered Whitehall, three years ago,” Celadon said. “She was shy at first, but she rapidly came out of her shell. I wouldn’t say we were friends, yet we were definitely acquaintances. We shared a number of classes, so when the time came to devise a joint project we seemed like natural partners.”

  And did you come to that conclusion on your own, Emily asked silently, or did someone push you into it?

  “At first, it went well,” Celadon said. “We wrote out the proposal and submitted it before the end of Third Year, whereupon it was accepted. However, matters went downhill shortly afterwards. I continued to work on the project over the summer, eventually devising a far better way to tackle the problem. Frieda did not take this calmly. She refused to consider my ideas, she refused to listen ... she insisted we go back to the original, far inferior version. And when I proved that my ideas worked, she attacked me.”

  Fulvia leaned forward. “And did you do anything to deserve it?”

  “No,” Celadon said. “We would both have profited from the improved version.”

  “I see,” Fulvia said. “And what is your impression of Frieda?”

  Celadon hesitated, just for a second. “She can be funny, even charming. But when she doesn’t get her way, she flies off the handle. When challenged, her behavior rapidly grows worse. She mouthed off to Professor Lombardi when he tried to advise her to be more reasonable. I don’t believe she made any effort to understand my suggestions. Instead, she demanded that I listen to her.”

  “And then she lashed out at you,” Fulvia said. She looked at the jury, then nodded to Sienna. “Your witness.”

  “Celadon,” Sienna said. “How much do you know about Frieda’s background?”

  Celadon blinked. “Nothing. I mean ... I know she arrived late, but she’s hardly the first student to arrive during term-time. I don’t know anything else about her early life.”

  “You were raised by a family that taught you the basics from a very early age,” Sienna said, coolly. “Frieda was brought up by a family that knew nothing of magic and practically sold her to Mountaintop when her powers began to surface. Your grasp of magical theory is far superior to hers. Do you believe that to be true?”

  “Yes,” Celadon said. He looked ... as though it was the first time he’d ever considered that that might be true. “I do.”

  “And do you then realize,” Sienna added, “that your attempts to suggest a new way to handle the joint project might have sounded very different to her?”

  Celadon shifted, uncomfortably. “I never believed she had any trouble with the original project outline.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Sienna said. “But that outline was worked out over ... what? Six months, more or less? Now, she came back from her work experience to discover that you had created a whole new project outline and that she had a very short space of time to comprehend it before having to actually start the project.”

  “I explained it to her,” Celadon said.

  “And do you not realize that your explanations might only have made matters worse?” Sienna leaned forward. “I’ve had children, young man. It isn’t easy to force explanations down their throats, not when you want them to comprehend something. I think your explanations made matters worse. She thought you were talking down to her and reacted accordingly.”

  “I was trying to do a good project,” Celadon protested.

  “But she didn’t see it that way,” Sienna said. “Tell me ... why didn’t you write to her, over the summer, and explain what you wanted to do?”

  Celadon flushed. “I was busy.”

  Fulvia coughed. “Objection,” she snapped. “The Defender is berating the witness.”

  “Sustained,” Gordian said, after checking with the jury. “Lady Sienna, please moderate your line of questioning.”

  Sienna looked at the jury. “A joint project is meant to be a partnership of two equals. In such circumstances, where one partner disregards the other’s feelings, the relationshi
p can go downhill rapidly. It is clear, from the reports submitted by a dozen witnesses, that Frieda and Celadon’s relationship was steadily tearing itself apart.”

  “That may be true,” Fulvia said, quickly. “But that doesn’t mean Frieda was justified in attacking Celadon.”

  “No,” Sienna agreed. “But it does put it in context.”

  She sat down. Emily looked at her, then at Celadon. His face was red. He hadn’t lied, perhaps, but he’d painted himself in the best possible light. And that meant ... what? She wasn’t sure who’d won that engagement.

  Emily sighed. In truth, she wasn’t sure who was winning at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “WE’LL MEET TOMORROW TO DISCUSS THE proceedings,” Sienna said, when the inquest was finally closed for the day. “And then we need to consider how best to tackle the next few days.”

  Emily nodded. Fulvia had called two more witnesses to testify to Frieda’s behavior, then turned the floor over to Sienna. Sienna had called Madame Samra to detail what she’d seen in Emily’s mind, then Professor Lombardi to testify about the charm diagrams Frieda had drawn out in Celeste. It hadn’t been conclusive, Emily had to admit, but it might just have tipped the balance in their favor. If nothing else, it would give Fulvia cover if she decided to abort the proceeding and concede defeat.

  Which isn’t likely to happen, Emily thought. It might cost her the matriarchy.

  She stood and headed for the door, resisting the urge to rub her tired eyes. The jury was already heading out of the room, Zed hurrying down to the main entrance while the others made their way to the dining hall. Sienna lingered behind, keeping a wary eye on Fulvia and her unnamed companion. She’d warned Emily that Fulvia might decide to offer a private deal, Prosecutor to Defender. But it depended on just how desperate Fulvia considered them to be.

  Jade fell into step beside her. “Coming to join us for dinner?”

  Emily looked up. Cat stood next to Jade, looking taller than ever. “I have to meet Frieda,” she said. Gordian had made it clear that Frieda would be kept informed of proceedings, after all. “I’ll talk to you both later.”

  “We do need to catch up,” Cat agreed. “Can you imagine how much has happened since we last met?”

  Jade elbowed him. “You’re meant to be subtle when you try to arrange a private meeting, you jackass.”

  “Says the Prince Consort,” Cat needled. “Do you have to go on one knee when your wife approaches?”

  Emily looked from one to the other, then shook her head. “Are you going to be cross-examining any of the witnesses?”

  “I’m not sure,” Cat said. “It does look a right mess, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Emily said.

  Jade cleared his throat. “We’ll see you later,” he said, firmly. “Alassa sent some private letters for you, which are in my bag.”

  “I’ll pick them up when I can,” Emily promised. She wasn’t sure if she’d be back in time to join them for dinner. Besides, it would probably look bad if she dined with one of the neutral jurors. “And thank you.”

  “Our pleasure,” Jade said. “Alassa was very insistent that I go.”

  Cat snorted. “Sick of you already, is she?”

  Emily sighed and walked faster, leaving them behind. She’d never really understood Jade and Cat’s friendship, particularly as Jade was a year older. Perhaps it had been forged in Martial Magic, although the way they ragged off each other suggested they’d become friends sooner. They might spend half their time sniping at each other, but they’d fought together too ...

  She passed Markus and Melissa, kissing in a corridor. A wash of feelings rushed down the link, powerful enough to make her flush. She hurried away, wondering what - if anything - Melissa had told Markus. The link wasn’t a threat to their marriage bond, she thought, but it was still distressingly intimate. She concentrated her mind as she walked down the stairs, passing a pair of grim-faced boys moving as slowly as they could while still heading in the right direction. She guessed they’d been sent to the Warden.

  At least he isn’t in the infirmary any longer, Emily thought wryly, as she stepped through the door. That must have been awkward.

  “The Grandmaster is with her now,” Madame Kyla said, intercepting Emily before she could enter Frieda’s room. “Please wait.”

  “All right,” Emily said, grudgingly. She wanted to be in the room with them, just to support her friend. But it looked impossible. “How is she?”

  “Physically, she’s healed,” Madame Kyla said. “Mentally ... she’s getting better, but it may take some time before she’s ready to return to class.”

  “She’ll have to retake the year,” Emily said. She wondered, with a flash of vindictive glee, if Celadon would have to retake the year too. But even if he did, he wouldn’t be working with Frieda. They’d have to find new partners amongst the current Third Years. “What about her magic?”

  “Flowing back,” Madame Kyla said. “I haven’t been able to trace any damage to her ability to generate and channel magic, thankfully. But as long as her mind isn’t fully recovered, there is the prospect of accidentally losing control ... with disastrous consequences.”

  Emily opened her mouth, but then closed it again as Frieda’s door opened. Gordian stepped out, looking as tired as Emily felt. He couldn’t be blind to Fulvia’s games, let alone be pleased with her decision to call one of his tutors to the stand. And Fulvia’s cross-examination of Samra had been borderline offensive. Fulvia was lucky Samra was a healer, Emily reflected. Anyone else might challenge her after the inquest was over.

  “Emily,” Gordian said. He sounded tired too. “You may go inside now, if you wish. I’ll speak to you later.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said.

  She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Frieda was sitting in an armchair, reading the transcript of the inquest. She looked smaller, somehow. The blue dressing gown hung oddly on her figure. Emily would have pegged her at twelve or thirteen if she hadn’t known Frieda was nineteen.

  “It’s not good, is it?” Frieda asked, without looking up. “They’re going to kill me.”

  “No, they’re not,” Emily said, firmly. She walked over to Frieda and sat down on the bed, studying her younger friend closely. “I won’t let that happen.”

  Frieda shook her head. “You should,” she said, grimly. “Just let me go and ...”

  “I won’t let you die,” Emily said. “Not like that. Not because of her.”

  She frowned. Frieda was talking, but ... she sounded depressed, if not suicidal. That wasn’t good, not after she had tried to kill herself after Daze’s death. Emily had wrestled with suicidal thoughts herself, but ... she didn’t know what to say to Frieda. There was nothing she could say that would make it all better. She couldn’t just make it go away.

  Frieda held up the transcript. “They keep asking if I knew what I was doing,” she said, slowly. “And I don’t know if I knew what I was doing.”

  Emily leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  “I was angry at Marian,” Frieda confessed. “And everyone else. And ... yet, I don’t know if I knew what I was doing. I acted on instinct.”

  Which is how the taint got you, Emily thought. The magic boosted your feelings and you didn’t have time to think about them, to consider that they might be misleading.

  “I shouldn’t have joined the club,” Frieda added, after a moment. “Sergeant Miles was right. I did come to regret it.”

  “You didn’t know you’d come to regret it,” Emily said. She’d considered the club a waste of time, right from the start. But that didn’t stop her considering that others might find the club to be fun and games. “You can’t second-guess yourself in hindsight.”

  Frieda looked up, listlessly. Her dark eyes were weepy. “But I could have done better,” she protested. “And I could have ...”

  Her eyes fell. “Where do I stop and ... and his manipulations begin?”

  “It will
all come out, in time,” Emily promised. “Samra is helping you, isn’t she?”

  Frieda winced. “We’re going through everything I did over the last year,” she said, slowly. “Did Lady Barb track down any of my friends in Celeste?”

  “Not as many as we’d hoped,” Emily said. Lady Barb had kept her informed, but there had been very little to report. She’d warned that Daze might have influenced Frieda’s memories too, just to make it harder to track him down. And then she’d suggested that Daze might have been the young man who’d taken Frieda out for walks. Emily didn’t want to think of the implications of that. “The ones we did find couldn’t shed any light on Daze.”

  And their stories didn’t match Frieda’s, Emily thought.

  She shivered. If one couldn’t count on one’s memory ... there was no way to know if one was right or wrong. Some of the horror stories Samra had forced her to read had been truly terrifying. A man had had his memory adjusted until he believed he was a member of a powerful family, which had lasted until he’d gone to meet his kin ... and discovered, to his horror, that they didn’t know anything about him. His mind had snapped under the strain and he’d spent the rest of his life in the Halfway House.

  “At least he’s dead,” Frieda said, sharply. “He won’t hurt anyone again.”

  “No,” Emily agreed. She changed the subject before it could get any more morbid. “How are you getting along with your studies?”

  “I’m catching up on my reading,” Frieda said. “And Professor Thande was kind enough to bring me a selection of additional books. They’ll have me writing essays for them soon.”

  “It builds character,” Emily said, dryly. “And it also helps to calm the mind.”

  Frieda cocked her head. For a second, her old personality shone through. “Really? Lots of students get panicky when deadlines are approaching.”

  Emily had to smile. “That’s why they should start early,” she said. “By the time the deadline rolls around, the essay has been written, checked, rewritten and then finalized. Slamming out some crap five minutes before the deadline isn’t going to get anyone very far.”