Graduation Day (Schooled in Magic Book 14)

by Christopher Nuttall

  The thought ran through her head, time and time again. If no one changed their vote, she’d have five jurors to Fulvia’s four. But if one voter switched sides, Fulvia would have the advantage. And if one voter abstained ... she had no idea what would happen if there was a tie. More attempts to convince one juror to change his mind, she assumed. Gordian wouldn’t be keen on holding a second inquest in Whitehall, but he might not have a choice. Fulvia didn’t wield quite so much influence in the school as she did elsewhere.

  “I’ll wait outside,” Lady Barb said. “Behave yourself.”

  Emily nodded and stepped through the door. Melissa sat inside, reading a book. There was no sign of Madame Samra or anyone else. Emily reached out with her senses, just to make sure they were truly alone, then closed the door. If nothing else, she’d have a chance to talk to Melissa before someone else intervened. She didn’t know if they could patch things up, but she had to try.

  “Melissa,” she said, as she walked over to the table. “Can we talk?”

  The redhead looked up. “I suppose,” she said, sounding sullen. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I want to apologize.” Emily sat down, facing Melissa. “I pushed past you and I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No, you shouldn’t,” Melissa agreed, flatly. “Madame Kyla was not pleased.”

  “I know,” Emily said. “I was just worried about Frieda and ...”

  “I know,” Melissa echoed. She met Emily’s eyes. “But you could have caused me any number of problems.”

  Emily winced. She would have done her best to make up for any problems Melissa had suffered, but ... if Melissa had been kicked out of healer training, it would have been impossible to truly make her whole. In hindsight, she was surprised Melissa hadn’t tried to use force to keep her from entering the room. She’d had too much at stake to just stand aside and let Emily walk past her. And yet ... Melissa knew she couldn’t match Emily for raw power.

  “I wasn’t thinking,” Emily said. Memories rose up inside her mind. There was an apology ritual that involved going down on one’s knees ... she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that, yet. But should she? What did her dignity matter when Frieda’s life was at stake? “It was my fault and I take full responsibility.”

  She slipped forward and knelt, trying to project sincerity through the mindlink. “I humbly beg your pardon for my transgressions against you. And I beg your forgiveness.”

  Melissa reached out and tapped Emily’s forehead. “I’ll want something from you later,” she said, wryly. “Believe me, you will pay for this.”

  Ouch, Emily thought. I suppose I deserve it.

  Melissa’s lips quirked. “I trust the Warden was suitably vigorous?”

  Emily flushed. It wasn’t usual for a Sixth Year student to be caned. And everyone knew she’d gone to the Warden ... it had added spice to the rumors as students fought to make sense of events they only saw through a dark glass. Thankfully, most of the rumors weren’t anywhere near the truth. They were so extreme that no one would place any real credence in them.

  “I’m still sore, when I sit down,” Emily said. She shifted, uncomfortably. Being on her knees was humiliating, but she couldn’t get up until Melissa released her. And she couldn’t blame Melissa for wanting to stretch the moment out a little. “I’ll help with your essay, if you like.”

  Melissa flushed. “Unless you spent most of your holidays reading medical textbooks, I don’t think you’ll be any help. I’ll just remind you of this when I need a favor.”

  “And I will do my best to give you what you want,” Emily promised. She wondered, morbidly, just how many favors she owed now. Some of them were ones that couldn’t be deferred, when they were called in. “Did anyone give you a hard time?”

  Melissa smirked. “Lots of people asked me what happened to Jacqui. But otherwise ... no.”

  Emily allowed herself a moment of relief. “How is she?”

  “Madame Kyla insisted on keeping Jacqui under observation,” Melissa said. Her face darkened as one hand played with her red curls. “You banged the hell out of her, you know.”

  “I know,” Emily said.

  She looked down at her hands. Jacqui had deserved punishment, yet Emily had acted like a bully. She’d acted like one of the entitled noblemen she’d come to despise, throwing her weight and power around until she got what she wanted. She couldn’t help wondering just how long it would be until she was bullying students for her own amusement, rather than anything more serious. Guilt gnawed at her mind. She’d had a cause, but she’d done the wrong thing.

  “Physically, she’s already recovered,” Melissa added. “Mentally ...”

  Her voice trailed off. Emily understood, even though she didn’t know how to put it into words. There was always a time when someone encountered someone else who was so much stronger than them that they could do anything to them. Emily had never had any illusions about how easily her stepfather could beat her to a pulp, if he wanted, or force her down and have his way with her. She’d always been aware of his strength, even if he’d never touched her. And even now she had magic, there were magicians who were stronger and more capable than her. If Cat had come close to beating her, she dreaded to think what Sergeant Miles could do.

  And Jacqui didn’t realize how strong I was until I showed her, Emily said, feeling sick. I could have done anything to her, and she knows it.

  “She’ll probably have to retake the year,” Melissa said. “If she doesn’t go somewhere else, of course.”

  Emily nodded. Rumors - nastier rumors - would follow Jacqui for the rest of her time at Whitehall, even if she didn’t leave the school. And all the younger students would be hell-bent on revenge for how she’d treated them. Jacqui could defend herself - that was allowed - but she wasn’t allowed to start something. And a fight could begin and end with a single, perfectly placed hex.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, although she wasn’t sure who she was apologizing to. “I ...”

  Melissa gave her an odd look. “I don’t know if she meant to drive Frieda to suicide or not,” she said. “But she certainly deserved a kick up the backside.”

  “I gave her a bit more than a kick up the backside,” Emily pointed out, waspishly.

  “People who play with fire shouldn’t be surprised when they get burnt,” Melissa said. She reached out and helped Emily to her feet. “And, before you ask, Markus hasn’t changed his vote.”

  Emily sighed in relief, then blushed. “Am I that obvious?”

  “I’d have wondered that myself, if I was in your shoes,” Melissa said. “That said, I think you owing me a favor will be better - in the long run - than condemning your friend to death.”

  Thank God, Emily thought.

  The door opened. Madame Samra stepped into the room. “Good to see you both here,” she said, casting a disapproving look at Emily. “I’ve got some work to do in the next room, so I want you to practice reading each other’s mind through the link. If the link is still present ...”

  Emily reached out with her mind, feeling for the link. The connection was still there, she thought, but it was tenuous. Melissa had closed her end of the link after she’d used it to call Emily back from Dragon’s Den. It was surrounded by so many odd feelings - the remnants of the long-distance mental call - that she wasn’t sure she wanted to touch it. But she didn’t have a choice.

  “We can handle it,” Melissa assured her. “And there shouldn’t be any danger through the link.”

  “Call me the instant you suspect something is wrong,” Madame Samra ordered. “And don’t play pranks on each other.”

  Emily glanced at Melissa as Samra walked into the next room, closing the door with a loud bang. “Pranks?”

  “A couple of students inserted commands into their partner’s heads,” Melissa said. “Nothing too dangerous, thankfully, but enough to be a little embarrassing. Madame Samra was so mad I thought she was going to blast them to ashes on the spot. I think they’r
e still on punishment duties.”

  “Ouch,” Emily said. She didn’t blame Samra for being mad. A standard compulsion hex could be resisted, but soul magic? It was hard for the victim to tell there was anything wrong, let alone resist it. Frieda had gone off the slippery slope, at least in part, because she hadn’t been able to judge herself objectively any longer. “Should I start by reading your mind?”

  “I think I’ll go first,” Melissa said. Her voice brooked no argument. “Shall we begin?”

  Emily closed her eyes and concentrated on the link. A wash of memories and painful sensations assailed her as she reached through the connection, as if she was trying to gingerly pull off a scab. She gritted her teeth as the sensations grew worse, then snapped out of existence altogether. The link itself was fainter than ever before - she couldn’t help thinking that Melissa was crossing a very rickety bridge - but it was there. She strengthened it as much as she could. There were all sorts of horror stories about what would happen if the link vanished while Melissa was inside Emily’s mind.

  But it’s all a matter of perception, Emily reminded herself. Her lips twitched as she remembered a rather weak joke from one of the textbooks. Mind-to-mind contact existed in the mind. She’ll be safer if she sees herself peering into my mind rather than actually entering it.

  She fought down the urge to draw back as Melissa’s presence reached down the link and into her mind. Melissa felt overwhelmingly powerful, as if she were holding Emily down as she moved closer. And yet ... Emily sensed sparks of fear and caution that were Melissa’s, rather than hers. Melissa was almost scared of what she was doing. Emily supposed that made sense. Even working at a distance, even with Emily’s cooperation, Melissa was doing something dangerous. And her oaths might not draw any distinction between accident and deliberate malice.

  A wash of memories flashed in front of her mind’s eye. Jacqui being forced to her knees, magic crackling everywhere ... Melissa drew back sharply, suddenly alarmed. Emily felt a pang of guilt, mixed with bitterness. Was being alone the price of power? Six years ago, she would have been grateful just to be left alone. Now ... she had friends and she didn’t want to lose them. But would there be problems if Alassa or Imaiqah knew how powerful she’d become? Would Cat look twice at her if he knew she was so strong?

  “He’d want to have the strongest possible wife, for the strongest possible children,” Melissa said. Or thought. Their minds were so close that Emily honestly wasn’t sure if Melissa had spoken or thought the words. She’d definitely picked up on Emily’s thoughts. “Anyone who married you would be sure of powerful children.”

  Emily felt a backwash of emotions accompanying the words and shivered. She’d scared Melissa, scared her badly. And yet, she hadn’t done anything beyond letting Melissa see her confrontation with Jacqui. Melissa had to be wondering what might have happened if she and Emily had never become friends. Would she have been swatted down too? Or ...

  “I don’t want to have everyone scared of me,” she said.

  “I don’t think you have a choice,” Melissa replied. There was an odd twinge to her emotions, an awareness that she might feel safer if everyone was scared of her. “I ...”

  A blast of pain screamed through the link. Emily fell backwards, mentally and physically, as her connection to Melissa shattered. Her eyes snapped open. She found herself on the floor with no clear memory of how she’d got there. She was screaming ... no, Melissa was screaming. Ghostly sensations plagued her throat as she struggled to roll over and stand upright. Her body felt as though it had turned into jelly ...

  “Melissa,” Samra shouted. Where had she come from? Emily’s dazed brain couldn’t comprehend her sudden appearance. Samra was bent over Melissa, chanting spells with the desperation of a woman who knew that failure would mean certain death. “What happened?”

  Melissa stopped screaming. “Markus,” she said. Her entire body convulsed. “I ...”

  She fainted. Emily forced herself to stand, even though her body felt ... weird. Someone had stabbed her. A phantom knife was resting in her side. She had to look down to be sure she hadn’t been stabbed. Her vision started to blur as her legs buckled, threatening to throw her into the darkness ... someone slapped her, hard. And yet the pain was numbed. It took several slaps to bring her back to full awareness.

  “Emily,” Lady Barb said, urgently. “What happened?”

  Emily tasted blood in her mouth. She touched her cheek, lightly. It was sore, but not sore ... Lady Barb had slapped her, repeatedly. But she still felt numb.

  “I ... I don’t know,” Emily said. She looked around. “Where’s Melissa?”

  “Samra took her to the infirmary,” Lady Barb said. She sounded concerned, as if she wasn’t quite sure what she needed to do. “You’d better come with me.”

  Emily leaned on the older woman as they made their way out of the classroom and down the stairs. Her body felt odd, as if it was having problems deciding if it was injured or not. She had to keep touching her side, just to be sure there wasn’t a knife resting in her ribs. The sensation was so strong she was starting to doubt herself. She had to dig her nails into her palms to remain focused.

  “Sit down,” Lady Barb said, as they reached the infirmary. “And ... Jade?”

  Emily looked up. Jade was standing inside the infirmary, pacing up and down like an anxious father awaiting the birth of his first child. Cat stood beside him, holding a wand in one hand and a sword in the other. Emily felt a flicker of absolute panic, remembering what Melissa had said before she’d collapsed. Markus ...

  “Emily,” Jade said. He stopped in front of her. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m ... not sure,” Emily said. The darkness howled at the back of her mind. “What happened?”

  “We were attacked,” Jade said. There was blood on his shirt. His protective charms felt off, as if they’d been warped by something. Powerful sorcery, perhaps. There was very little else that could inflict that sort of damage. “Markus was stabbed with a charmed knife. He’s in surgery now.”

  Emily stared at him, trying to comprehend his words. Markus had been stabbed? Injured? But he couldn’t be injured ... not when he had to cast a vote. That meant ...

  “We killed two of the attackers,” Cat added. He sounded as though he was trying to be reassuring, but it didn’t work. “And we captured the third. Hopefully, he’ll give us some answers.”

  Emily barely heard him. The roaring in her ears was growing louder. Her vision started to fade. If Markus was unable to cast his vote, that meant ...

  Four on four, she thought. It was too late to reach out to Master Grimhold, let alone Fulvia’s hand-picked jurors. And if Fulvia manages to sway one of my jurors ...

  Her legs buckled. If Markus couldn’t vote, she might lose. All it would take was one juror switching sides, or even abstaining. And then ... Frieda would be handled over to Fulvia. And then ... she would die. And then ...

  Emily was barely aware of someone catching her arm, calling out her name ...

  ... And then the darkness reached out and swallowed her.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “I ATTEMPTED TO ASK FOR A recess,” Sienna said, as they walked towards the courtroom. “But the jurors were against it.”

  Emily cursed under her breath. Markus was out of immediate danger, but the cursed blade had done a great deal of damage. Madame Kyla had made it clear that an inch or two to the left would have killed him. And, as Sienna had pointed out, in some ways that would have been a better outcome. A dead juror could be replaced. An injured one could not be.

  “If Markus can’t vote for us,” Emily said, “what happens?”

  “It depends on the outcome,” Sienna said. Her voice was grim. “We could lodge an appeal, on the grounds that Markus would have presumably taken your side. But it depends on the Grandmaster.”

  Emily schooled her face into a semblance of impassivity as they walked into the courtroom and took their seats. Fulvia was already there, sit
ting at her desk; she showed no obvious reaction as they entered, not even deigning to look at them. Emily felt a flash of pure hatred, mingled with the grim awareness that - once again - nothing could be proved. The sole surviving attacker hadn’t been told that much beyond the identity of their target. Emily was certain Fulvia was behind it - she had plenty of reason to target Markus and the others - but there was no actual proof. And Markus was disowned. No one was going to demand an inquest into his attempted murder.

  And Melissa’s, Emily thought. She would have died if he’d been killed.

  She forced herself to look away as the jurors entered the room. Fulvia had almost managed to kill her too, given how closely she’d been linked to Melissa at the time. Sheer dumb luck had nearly killed Fulvia’s true target. Emily reminded herself, again, that dumb luck played a greater role in history than anyone cared to admit. Jacqui had almost blown Fulvia’s plans out of the water, while Fulvia had come close to winning at a single stroke ...

  Gordian entered the room. Emily rose, trying to keep her face impassive. Eight jurors stood too. Markus’s empty seat was a mockery of everything she’d done to ensure an innocent verdict. Her deal with Master Highland was pointless now, wasn’t it? Unless someone switched his vote in her favor ... she looked at Fulvia’s voters and knew that wasn’t going to happen. None of them were going to cast a vote against their patron. The best she could hope for was a draw.

  “Be seated,” Gordian said. There was a low rustle as everyone sat down. “It has been decided that both sides will make their closing speeches, followed by the vote. Depending on the judgement, the victorious side and myself will meet to discuss the judgement afterwards.”

  He paused. “The Prosecutor may make her closing speech.”

  Fulvia stood. “Thank you, Grandmaster. It will be my honor.”

  She looked at the jury as she spoke, her voice sweet and reasonable. “You have heard a multitude of excuses from the Defender, who has had no choice but to attempt to place the Defendant’s actions in the best possible light. But all of her words are nothing more than excuses, serving to do nothing more than obscure the truth behind a tissue of lies, half-truths and decontextualized statements. I do not fault the Defender for doing her job, but I cannot accept any of her ... excuses.