The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I hope you’re right,” Emily said. She’d never liked dueling, even before she’d killed Master Grey. But then, she’d never liked team sports either. Just because she didn’t like something didn’t mean everyone else detested it too. “If I do as little work as possible ...”

  “Do enough to give the club a reasonable chance of success,” Lady Barb advised. “It does have a great deal of potential. If nothing else, it will give dozens of other students—the ones who haven’t been able to get onto sports teams—the chance to compete. It will certainly be more fun than Martial Magic.”

  Emily nodded, ruefully. Martial Magic wasn’t fun. She had to admit she’d put on a great deal of muscle over the last five years—as well as learning countless spells and techniques—but it hadn’t been fun. She’d ached every day until her body had grown used to heavy exercise, then crawled through mud and sneaked through woods ... she’d never liked it. She wasn’t surprised that only a handful of pupils took the course every year.

  “And do the same for the rest of your duties as Head Girl,” Lady Barb added. “You have to show willingness to reap the full reward.”

  Emily rubbed her forehead. “Why didn’t they ask me first?”

  “Probably because most people would leap at the chance to prove themselves,” Lady Barb answered. “Being Head Girl here, Emily, is something that will add breadth to your resume. It will definitely count in your favor when you start looking for an apprenticeship.”

  I already have an offer from Void, Emily thought. And that comes without conditions.

  She frowned. Void had already made her the offer. He wouldn’t care if she was Head Girl or not. Or would he? Aloha had had masters clamoring to take her as an apprentice ... had they been impressed by her conduct as Head Girl? No one could deny that Aloha had been brave as well as clever, risking everything on a mentoring program that could easily have gone bad. Failure would have tarnished her future.

  “I’ll see if I can think of anything else,” she said. “But if not ...”

  “Good thinking,” Lady Barb said. “Gordian wants this to succeed. I daresay he’ll be more inclined to help you if you’re doing something he chose.”

  “And it saves me the job of coming up with something else,” Emily said.

  She looked down at her hands. “Which way did you vote?”

  “I wasn’t there,” Lady Barb reminded her.

  Emily scowled. It had been easy to forget, over the past three months, that Lady Barb was no longer a tutor. She’d hoped Lady Barb would return to Whitehall, even though Lady Barb herself hadn’t been keen on the idea. If nothing else, she’d be near Sergeant Miles. But they had just been arguing ...

  “I don’t know which way I would have voted,” Lady Barb added. “You’re not the only student with a heavy workload. And I would have wondered about your ability to handle the more ... social ... aspects of the job. And yet ... you did save the school more than once. You deserve some kind of reward for your services.”

  I would have preferred permanent access to the library, Emily thought. Or a place at the school for the rest of my life.

  She pushed the thought out of her head. She wanted to stay at Whitehall, but she knew that wouldn’t be possible. There was too much else she had to do. Besides, Gordian wouldn’t hire her as a tutor until she had her mastery and a great deal more experience. Merely having a certificate wasn’t enough, not at Whitehall. A tutor who didn’t know what he was talking about wouldn’t last long at a school of magic.

  “I’ll do my best,” she promised. “I ...”

  “I’ll be leaving tonight,” Lady Barb said, cutting her off. “I have to head back to the border. There might be more trouble to the south, near the Inner Sea.”

  Emily felt a stab of dismay. “So soon?”

  “Work doesn’t stop, not for us.” Lady Barb reached out and squeezed Emily’s shoulder. “I’ll keep the chat parchment with me. You can write whenever you like.”

  “I wish you could stay longer.” Emily swallowed, hard. “Why were you fighting with Sergeant Miles?”

  “None of your business,” Lady Barb said, her voice suddenly very cold. “Suffice it to say that we had a small disagreement.”

  Emily winced. “I ...”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Lady Barb said. Her lips twisted. “He managed to blindside me and ... things went downhill from there. I’ll speak to him before I go.”

  “Oh,” Emily said. “I ... was it my fault?”

  “Not everything is your fault, Emily,” Lady Barb said. She smiled, suddenly. “Although, if you want to accept the blame, I’m sure Miles will be happy to give you a truly appalling detention.”

  “I don’t have time for detention,” Emily said, quickly. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

  “I think so,” Lady Barb said.

  She rose. “I believe Madame Rosalinda wishes to see you in the dorms,” she added. “Go there. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Emily nodded, wondering just what had actually happened between Lady Barb and Sergeant Miles. They’d been lovers for the past two—perhaps three—years. She’d never heard them argue before, certainly not like that. They’d been so angry they’d forgotten to put up a privacy ward before starting to shout at each other. It didn’t bode well for their future.

  She hurried out of the door and up the stairs. The Sixth Year dorms were in the upper levels, isolated from the lower dorms by a layer of study rooms and spellchambers. Gordian had put a small army of wardcrafters to work updating the protections over the summer, according to Lady Barb. In hindsight, Emily suspected he’d been planning the dueling club for the last year or two. The duelists would need dozens of spellchambers to practice their arts before entering the dueling circle.

  And I still can’t think of anything else, Emily thought, as she stepped through the door and into the corridor. The wards shimmered around her, checking her identity before they allowed her to proceed. There’s nothing that will appeal to most of the school.

  “Emily,” Madame Rosalinda said. She hadn’t changed either. She still looked like an old gypsy woman, wearing a long dress and a headscarf that concealed her hair. “Come with me.”

  Emily looked around with interest as Madame Rosalinda led her down the corridor. She’d never been allowed into the Sixth Year dorms, not even to see Aloha. The Sixth Years guarded their privacy, she’d been told. Younger students tried to sneak in, of course—it was an old tradition—but most of them wound up being turned into frogs or kicked out by the Sixth Years. It was vanishingly rare for anyone to get an invitation into the dorms.

  They looked very similar to the Fifth Year dorms, she noted, but the common room and study chambers looked larger. Magic hung in the air, including a handful of protective charms she didn’t recognize. Emily felt them inspecting her as Madame Rosalinda stopped in front of a gold-edged door at the far end of the corridor. A touch of her finger opened it, revealing a large suite. Emily followed her into the suite, shaking her head in disbelief. It looked like a luxury hotel.

  “These are the Head Pupil quarters,” Madame Rosalinda said. She jabbed a finger around the suite. “You have a large bedroom and bathroom in there, a private office there ... even a small kitchen, if you wish to cook for yourself. Draw supplies from the kitchens downstairs and bring them up. You’re the only one allowed to enter these rooms without special permission, but you can invite whoever you like. You also”—she pointed to the office—“have a private door. Students who want to see you can visit without having to walk through the dorms.”

  “It’s too much,” Emily said.

  “Every other student has a large bedroom to themselves,” Madame Rosalinda informed her. “It’s one of the perks of surviving five years in school.”

  “Thanks,” Emily said, dryly.

  She peered into the bedroom. It was easily large enough for two or three people—the bed alone was large enough for two people to share comfortably—and the bathroom was even bi
gger. She’d never had a private bathtub before, not at Whitehall. She had the sudden urge to undress and take a soak for the next few hours. It was a luxury she’d grown to love over the past five years.

  “You can also arrange for the floor to be swept and the bedding to be changed by the staff,” Madame Rosalinda added. “But you would be well advised to do it for yourself.”

  Just to keep from getting lazy, Emily thought.

  “Thank you,” she said. “But it seems too large ...”

  “You’re the Head Girl,” Madame Rosalinda said. “You are expected to work for this, you know.”

  “Yeah,” Emily said. “I know.”

  Chapter Four

  EMILY AWOKE, SLOWLY.

  The bed was comfortable, too comfortable. It tempted her to close her eyes again and go back to sleep, even though she knew she had to get up. There were no windows in the bedroom, but a glance at the clock told her it was nearly ten bells. She’d have to get up in a hurry if she wanted to get breakfast. If she didn’t make it down to the dining room in time, she’d have to beg the kitchen staff for a plate of toast and eggs.

  Or make it myself, she thought, as she sat upright and climbed out of bed. She’d stocked the small kitchen with milk, bread, eggs and a handful of other items liberated from the main kitchen. She was an indifferent cook at best—she’d never mastered the skill—but she could do scrambled eggs on toast if she wanted. I could keep myself fed up here.

  She walked into the bathroom, showered quickly and donned another long dress. It felt odd to be living in the suite, as if she was a guest in her own quarters. The wards hummed around her as she walked into the kitchen, growing stronger as she approached the walls. She made a mental note to check on them when she had a moment, if she could ever find enough time to slip down to the control center below Whitehall. She’d repaired the foundational wards last year, after their near collapse, but she was in uncharted territory now. Generations of grandmasters had added so many different pieces of spellware to the wards that she wasn’t sure what half of them did.

  Frieda is coming back today, she reminded herself. Her younger friend had been on work experience, priming herself for Fourth Year. Emily had missed her when she’d been cramming to retake the exams. They’d hoped to meet up, but it hadn’t been possible. I’ll see her later today.

  She boiled a pot of water, silently cursing the lack of any modern kitchen equipment. She’d never lived in a truly modern house, stuffed with labor-saving gadgets, but she’d had electric mixers and can openers. Here, she had nothing beyond hand-powered tools, unless she wanted to take the time to learn or design household spells. It constantly astonished her just how much work went into cooking on the Nameless World. King Randor’s chefs—and the cooks at Whitehall—worked like demons, just to keep the castles fed. They didn’t even have desiccated coffee!

  Or Kava, she thought, as she poured herself a mug. I have to grind the beans myself.

  She took a sip. It tasted foul, thick and stronger than normal. She drank it anyway as she walked into her office and sat down at the desk. The wards seemed to slide back from her mind, suggesting the office had fewer protections than the rest of the suite. No doubt trying to break into the Head Pupil’s office was also a tradition. God knew she’d tried to break into every other office in the school.

  The papers in front of her mocked her. She’d racked her brains to think of something—anything—that might be better than the dueling club and contest, but nothing had come to mind. Small projects wouldn’t interest Gordian—and wouldn’t leave a mark on the school—while bigger projects would require far too much work. She just didn’t have the time to handle them. Lady Barb had been right, she suspected. Gordian would help her with the dueling club because it was what he wanted her to do.

  And it might leave a mark on the school anyway, she thought, ruefully. Just not in the way he wants.

  She took another sip as she glanced through the files. Whitehall’s last dueling club had been closed down after a series of accidents, back when Hasdrubal had become Grandmaster. He had believed, according to one report, that the accidents hadn’t been anything of the sort, but there hadn’t been any proof one way or the other. There had been protests from some of the other tutors, yet they hadn’t been able to convince him to rethink his decision. Emily didn’t blame him. Dueling wasn’t remotely safe.

  And the sergeants have fewer accidents, she reminded herself. Hardly anyone gets killed.

  She kept reading through the reports—and outlining a set of procedures for the club and contest—until the wards vibrated, informing her that Frieda had just passed through the school’s outer protections. Emily stood and hurried out of the suite, heading down the stairs to the entrance hall. A small number of older students, mainly Fifth and Sixth Years, were already flowing into the school, preparing to start the next level. As Emily walked past them, she made a mental note to organize a meeting with the Fifth Years before the First Years arrived—she’d have to ensure they knew how to mentor their students. Frieda was just walking into the hall.

  “Frieda,” she called.

  “Emily,” Frieda called back. “I missed you!”

  Emily half-ran over to her as Frieda dropped her trunk on the floor and opened her arms for a hug. She looked different, Emily noted; her dark hair was hanging down, rather than tied up in her trademark pigtails. Her face was pale—as always—but softer, somehow. The red dress she wore was tight around her bust and hips, outlining her curves rather than revealing her bare flesh. And she wore a golden amulet around her neck and a similar bracelet on her right wrist.

  Frieda wrapped her arms around Emily, tightly. “I’ve got so much to tell you,” she said, quietly. “Did you pass your exams?”

  “Head Girl,” Emily said.

  “I knew it.” Frieda winked. “I was betting on you, you know.”

  “Good thing I didn’t turn it down,” Emily said. She hadn’t known that people were betting on her, either. “We’ll get your trunk upstairs, then we’ll have a chat.”

  Frieda grinned and picked up the trunk. “They had me working in an alchemist’s shop in Celeste for a couple of months, then assisting a charms master for two weeks,” she said, as they made their slow way up the stairs. “It was a good time, really. Better than school.”

  Emily smiled. “Really?”

  “I had to work hard, but at least I got paid.” Frieda tapped the amulet around her neck. “What do you think?”

  “Very showy,” Emily said. She’d never really been comfortable with jewelry. It had taken her far too long to get used to wearing the snake-bracelet. She’d never been able to forget she was wearing it. “Where did you get it?”

  “One of the lads I met had a brother who was apprenticed to a jeweler,” Frieda explained, cheerfully. “He was happy to give me a discount, if I helped him with a couple of his projects.”

  Emily smiled. “Do I want to know?”

  Frieda shrugged. “He had a few ideas about how magic could slide into metalwork. They came to nothing, but I was happy to help him.”

  They reached the dorm and made their way down to Frieda’s room. Madame Beauregard was standing by her office, issuing orders to students and stewards alike. She shot Emily a sharp look, then nodded as Frieda led the way into her bedroom. It was bare; the beds unmade, the bookshelves empty. Emily hurried down to the storage lockers to pick up a selection of bedding while Frieda opened her trunk. Madame Beauregard made a disapproving sound as Emily walked back, but said nothing. Emily suspected the Head Girl wasn’t meant to help younger students with their bedding.

  “I made this for you.” Frieda held out a small necklace, a white crystal dangling from a silver chain. “There’s a very basic protection spell worked into the crystal.”

  Emily took the necklace and examined it, thoughtfully. The chain was perfect, too perfect to have been made by hand. Or maybe she was wrong ... she’d seen some pretty elegant pieces of work produced without magic,
back in Zangaria. Magic was woven carefully into the chain, tiny runes channeling background magic into the crystal. The charm pulsed faintly against her bare skin, allowing her to test it. Frieda had done an excellent job. The spell would give her some additional protections against outside threats.

  “You shouldn’t have,” Emily said.

  “There’s quite a market for those,” Frieda said, ignoring her. “My master was trying to talk me into coming to apprentice with him formally, after Fourth Year. He said I had a talent.”

  “You do,” Emily said. She meant it, too. She’d never had any real skill at making pieces of art, but it was obvious Frieda did. “How long did it take you to make it?”

  “Hours.” Frieda grinned broadly as she picked up the bedding and started to make her bed. “It took a couple of weeks to master the skills to make the chain, then enchant the crystal itself. I broke three crystals before I managed to insert it properly. My master said he’d done worse when he’d been in training.”

  Emily nodded. The protective charm wasn’t that complex, but inserting it into the crystal would have been tricky. She’d had problems mastering it herself, back when she’d been learning how to cast and anchor wards. Frieda had done very well. The charm wasn’t very flexible—and someone could probably break through it, if they had enough power or skill—but it would be useful. She’d have to blend it into her own protections before she could wear it properly.

  But I will, she thought. It’s beautiful.

  Frieda chatted happily as she made her bed, then started to unpack the trunk. Emily sat on one of the other beds and listened as Frieda recounted stories about spending three months in a magical community. It sounded as though she’d had a whale of a time, Emily decided, feeling an odd flicker of envy. She’d never spent time in a magical community, unless one counted the time she’d spent in Beneficence. And she’d been a guest, not a student on work experience.