Someone had slapped her.
“You lost yourself,” Samra said. “A few minutes more and you might have been lost forever.”
Emily touched her cheek. “You slapped me?”
“I had to get you back,” Samra said. She didn’t sound repentant. “Believe me, the alternatives were worse.”
“She slapped me too, once or twice,” Melissa said. She sounded tired. “I’m sorry you had to see everything.”
Emily cringed, mentally. She’d seen ... too much. Even now, even after being yanked out of Melissa’s mind, it was hard to escape the sense that it had been her who’d made love to Markus. Or had been hexed by Fulvia ... she shuddered, knowing she could no longer dislike Melissa. She’d been through her own particular brand of hell.
“I won’t tell anyone,” she said. She wondered just how much strength it must have taken for Melissa to sit there and let Emily ransack her mind. There hadn’t been any attempt to drive Emily out, let alone engage in mind-to-mind combat. Emily wasn’t sure she could have done it, even knowing that her secrets would go no further. “You have my word.”
“Markus and I are married,” Melissa said. “People do understand we’re not playing with wands.”
Emily nodded. She didn’t know what the saying meant—something akin to playing doctor, she assumed—but she understood. And yet, she’d learnt far more about Markus and Melissa’s sex life than she’d ever wanted to learn. Everyone would know they were sleeping together, but ... but they wouldn’t know the details. And they didn’t need to know the details.
“You’ll have to do it again,” Samra said. “You didn’t manage to even start looking for that particular thought.”
Emily gave her a sharp look. “You could have told me what thought.”
Samra smiled, mischievously. “And you didn’t think of trying to extract it from Melissa’s mind?”
“No,” Emily said.
She looked down at the floor, feeling guilty. She’d been told what she’d had to do, but nothing she’d been told had come close to the truth. Perhaps there was no way to prepare her for soul magic, save by experimenting under controlled conditions. Nothing Samra could have said would have conveyed the true intensity of the experience. Her words might just have made Emily a little complacent. That would have been disastrous.
“I don’t want to do this again,” she said.
Samra slapped her hand against the chair. “You don’t have a choice,” she snarled. Her sudden anger made Emily recoil in shock. “You’ve been given these classes, over my strong objections, even though you refused to take the oaths! You don’t get to withdraw now you’ve discovered that it isn’t as easy as it looks!”
Melissa touched Emily’s arm. “It’s alright,” she said. “I really don’t mind.”
Madness, Emily thought.
“You’ll be back here in two days for our next session,” Samra said, firmly. “And I shall expect a much better performance.”
She rose. “Pull yourself together, then get out,” she ordered. “Melissa, see me in an hour. I need to discuss your research paper with you.”
Melissa winced. “Yes, Mistress.”
Emily wilted. Her bones suddenly seemed to be made of jelly. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, quietly. “I ...”
“I knew what I was agreeing to.” Melissa made a face. “Just wait until you try to touch minds with a boy.”
“I don’t want to,” Emily said. She knew she sounded petulant, but she didn’t really care. “I saw too much of you ...”
“You’ll see worse,” Melissa said. “They had me on walkabout during the hols, Emily. I saw ... I saw nightmares.”
Emily believed her. She’d seen all sorts of unpleasant sights on her walkabout. Men who’d been injured, but unable to afford medical attention; women and children who’d been beaten or abused by their husbands or parents, yet unable to run. A genuine healer-in-training would probably see worse. No, there was no probably about it. She touched the bracelet on her wrist, remembering the horrors Mother Holly had unleashed. Maybe Melissa hadn’t encountered a necromancer. She would still have seen far too much of man’s inhumanity to man.
“Thank you,” she said. She knew she should be grateful. It just felt far too much like having someone thank her for hurting them. “What ... what was that ceremony I saw?”
Melissa frowned. She didn’t seem to wonder which ceremony. “Didn’t your mother ever arrange one for you?”
Emily shook her head, wordlessly.
“It was the moment I became a woman.” Melissa smiled, ruefully. “My mother and the other women held a ceremony, welcoming me to womanhood. I was no longer a child, but a young woman of House Ashworth. I was seated at the adult table and ...”
Her face darkened. “Fulvia wasn’t pleased, I think. She should have been delighted, but she wasn’t. She was brooding all through the ceremony she was supposed to lead. I never understood why.”
Emily frowned. She didn’t pretend to understand how the complex ties of blood and magic bound magical families together—or what had happened to allow House Ashfall to break off from House Ashworth—but she thought she understood some of the implications. Melissa’s rise to womanhood meant that she was in line to inherit the family—or she had been, before she’d been disowned. Given time, Melissa might have challenged Fulvia’s control. Perhaps that was why Fulvia had sought to marry her off as soon as possible.
And then dispose of Melissa, once she produced an heir, Emily thought. Gaius had betrayed the Allied Lands. She had no doubt he would have betrayed Melissa too. Fulvia’s position would be secure.
“Just be glad she’s out of your life,” Emily said. It was unlikely Melissa and Fulvia would cross paths again, now that Melissa had been disowned. “Have you heard anything about her?”
“No one talks to me, these days.” Melissa looked wistful, just for a second. “I don’t hear much from home. The last I heard, the witch had vanished. Maybe she dropped dead in a ditch somewhere.”
Too much to hope for, Emily thought. Fulvia was old, but she was also powerful. She certainly had enough magic to rejuvenate herself, if she wished. A change in face, a change in name ... it wasn’t as if Fulvia would have any trouble earning money, if she didn’t have something stashed away for a rainy day. Someone like that wouldn’t die so easily.
Melissa rose. “I would suggest, if I were a healer, that you use the mirror again before you leave. If not ... well, most of my memories should fade from your mind fairly quickly, before they really take root. The handful that remain shouldn’t stand up to examination. You weren’t making love to Markus and you know it.”
Emily covered her face. “I’m sorry ...”
“A couple of years ago, I would have been utterly humiliated,” Melissa said. “Now ... well, I understood what I was agreeing to when I volunteered. And ... well, I have been inside other minds too, when I was being trained. You’ll see others too.”
She winked. “Just remember not to pry too much. Some memories are very disconcerting.”
“They’re all disconcerting,” Emily said.
“You and I have a lot in common,” Melissa said, briskly. She winked. “Wait until you try to read someone who has something different between his legs.”
Emily flushed, helplessly.
Chapter Twenty
“MY FAMILY WROTE TO ME TO ask if the rumors were true,” Cabiria said. “I assured them that you were not in the habit of using dark magic.”
“Thank you,” Emily said. She’d been reluctant to accept Cabiria and the Gorgon’s offer of a study date in the library, but she had to admit it was a welcome change. The study room was private, yet roomy enough to allow all three of them to work without getting in each other’s way. She looked at the Gorgon. “Did you hear any rumors?”
“My people do not pay attention to rumors,” the Gorgon said, primly. Her snakes hissed in unison. “And nor should yours.”
“My people do pay attention to rumors.
” Cabiria shot Emily a reassuring look. “But I like to think that my family listened to me.”
Emily sighed. She’d heard too much over the last few days. Rumors spreading through the school, passed from student to student with no discernible origin point. She’d even confiscated a handful of printed pamphlets that made a whole series of unsubstantiated and thoroughly unpleasant allegations concerning her and her friends. One had outright accused her of plotting to declare herself the empress of mankind. No one with any common sense should have believed them, but most of the charges were maddeningly difficult to disprove.
If I had time, she thought. And I don’t.
She’d never really cared about popularity, even at Whitehall. Her early life had left her with no taste for being part of the in-crowd. And yet, the constant rumors were slowly wearing her down. No one should believe them, yet ... the stories were still spreading. Someone was throwing mud at her, hoping that some of it would stick. It was frustrating. She was starting to wonder if she should take the whole matter to Gordian and ask for help. He might not like her, but she was Head Girl. It wouldn’t do Whitehall any good if her reputation was tarnished so badly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Cabiria said. “Do you think you’re the first person to become the focus of disgusting rumors?”
“No,” Emily said. Cabiria had been the focus of rumors too, although hers hadn’t been quite so nasty. “But this feels personal.”
“It probably is,” the Gorgon said. “Who benefits from smearing you so badly?”
Emily shrugged. The necromancers gained, but ... it was unlikely they would have thought of launching a smear campaign. Most of them could barely comprehend anything above brute force, although Dua Kepala had proven himself depressingly subtle. But then, his technique for balancing madness with power was unique, as far as she knew. None of the other necromancers had shown such relative sanity.
Her lips twitched. Gaius would have thought of it, she was sure. He’d tried to spike her drink in camp, hoping to watch her making a fool—or worse—of herself. He would have been alive to the possibilities of smearing her name. But Gaius and his sworn companions were dead. Who else benefited?
She tossed the possibilities over and over in her head. King Randor might not be her greatest fan—not now—but he wouldn’t launch a smear campaign. And his enemies would be leery of slandering her. They knew Emily had been the one who’d introduced the New Learning and liberalized government in Cockatrice. Emily knew she was popular there, even if she also knew not to take it too seriously. It would have been difficult to be worse than the previous baron. He’d spent so much time deflowering young maidens, with or without their permission, that she honestly wondered when he’d found the time to plot a coup.
And someone from Zangaria wouldn’t be able to get papers and rumors into the school, she thought. Perhaps broadsheets from Zangaria would reach Dragon’s Den—she was fairly sure some of them did, even though they were probably out of date—but there would be no way to guarantee getting them to Whitehall. They’d need someone in the magical community to help.
She closed her eyes for a long moment. Gordian? It seemed unlikely. He might not like her, but ... she was Head Girl. Her disgrace would reflect badly on him. But how many enemies did she have? Aurelius was dead. Zed had ample reason to forget his petty grudge against her. He wouldn’t let Mountaintop’s staff seek revenge, either. Master Highland? She knew she had something he wanted, but smearing her name was an odd way to get it. Fulvia? No one had seen anything of her since her fall from grace. Perhaps she was the most likely suspect ...
A memory flashed across her mind, bringing with it a wave of shame and fear that wasn’t hers. Fulvia had never beaten her children and grandchildren. She’d hexed them, instead. Melissa had been hexed ... Emily swallowed, banishing the memory as best as she could. No wonder Melissa had been so determined to escape the vindictive old crone, even if it meant being disowned by the rest of her family.
Or it could be someone I don’t know, she thought. Someone who didn’t want to reveal himself, someone who didn’t want to confront her directly ... perhaps someone who wanted to weaken or discredit her. I’ve put a lot of noses out of joint.
Cabiria cleared her throat. “My family asked if I’d like to invite you to the estate,” she said, seriously. “What are your summer plans?”
Emily shrugged. Void had offered her an apprenticeship. She’d always assumed she’d go straight to him after graduation, although she hadn’t thought about it that much. Merely getting to graduation was starting to look difficult. Maybe she’d visit her friends in Zangaria, if she could clear it with King Randor. Or maybe just go to bed for a week.
Matters in Zangaria are far from settled, she thought, recalling Alassa’s last letter. King Randor won’t want me to visit until things have calmed down a little.
“I have no solid plans,” she said. “Aren’t you aiming for an apprenticeship?”
“It depends on my marks.” Cabiria sighed. “I don’t know if any master will take me, not after ...”
“You’d think they’d be curious,” Emily said. “How many children are born without magic?”
“Millions,” Cabiria said. Her face was suddenly very cold. “But they’re never born to magical families.”
Emily nodded. Magic was strong. The child of a magician would be a magician himself. It was one of the reasons so many people had assumed that Void had fathered her. The magic might weaken, but it didn’t vanish. And yet, Cabiria had been born without magic. She’d been a freak until—somehow—she’d developed magic. No one was quite sure why. Cabiria’s uncle had done something to help her, but what? No one knew that either.
“I’ll think about coming,” she said. “But I don’t know what will happen after graduation.”
“You’ll be fine.” the Gorgon smiled, wanly. “You could always visit the Gorgon Lands.”
“I thought they discouraged outsiders,” Emily said.
“My clan would welcome you,” the Gorgon said. “And the other clans would be painfully polite.”
Cabiria giggled. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse,” the Gorgon said. “They’d be very painfully polite.”
Emily smiled, despite herself. Painful politeness was a way of saying that someone wasn’t welcome, without actually coming out and saying that someone wasn’t welcome. There was no room, on the face of it, for someone on the receiving end to take offense, although she doubted it worked out quite so well in practice. The aristocracy of Zangaria had turned politeness into a weapon of social war.
“Perhaps,” she said. She was curious. She’d never been to the Gorgon Lands. She had always planned to explore more of the Nameless World—there was no reason she had to stay still, even if most people rarely went beyond the next village or two—and it was something she could do over the summer, if Void didn’t want her immediately. “But we’ll have to talk about it after graduation.”
“Come see us first,” Cabiria said. “My cousins would like to meet you.”
“Would these be your handsome and unattached cousins?” The Gorgon winked at Emily. “I thought they were already engaged to be married.”
Cabiria had the grace to blush. “I’ve got five cousins,” she clarified. “Only two of them are currently engaged.”
“And the other three want to meet Emily,” the Gorgon teased. “My, oh my. Whatever could they want?”
Emily blushed. “I can’t imagine.”
She shook her head as Cabiria giggled. There was a part of her that would like a new relationship, but one with fewer strings attached. Things wouldn’t have grown so ... sticky ... with Caleb if he hadn’t opened a formal courtship. Meeting Cabiria’s cousins, after graduation, wouldn’t be quite the same as dating someone in Whitehall. She didn’t think they’d be allowed to date in peace ...
Particularly as I haven’t met them, she thought, wryly. She was not rushing into another courtship. They might be sweet on the outs
ide, but monstrous on the inside.
“My parents also want to meet you,” Cabiria said. “They want to discuss magical theory and other matters.”
Emily frowned. “What sort of magical theory?”
“They didn’t say,” Cabiria told her.
“Oh,” Emily said.
Her thoughts raced. What did Cabiria’s parents know? Did they know anything? Her innovations, as far as anyone knew, were strictly mundane. She’d never told anyone, save for Lady Barb, about the batteries or the nuke-spell. Unless ... had they caught wind of the virtual spellware? It was possible they had obtained a copy of Caleb’s original proposal, written while Emily had been in Second Year. Gordian might even have sent them a copy of the updated proposal ...
Or maybe they just want to introduce me to their nephews, she thought. Who knows what ...?
She looked up as someone tapped on the door, sharply. Cabiria made an odd noise. They were Sixth Years, senior students ... no one could turf them out of a study room. The door opened a minute later, revealing Jacqui. She seemed oddly amused.
“I caught an older student pranking younger students,” she said, her eyes alight with malice. “I thought the Head Girl should take care of it personally.”
Emily rose, slowly. No one played pranks in the library. The librarians took a dim view of anything that interfered with studies. Even speaking too loudly could result in punishment—or, at worst, a ban that made it impossible for a student to complete the year. Whatever had happened, it had happened outside the library. And that meant ...
Her eyes narrowed. Jacqui wasn’t a tattletale. Whitehall disapproved of tattletales, not when students were expected to overcome their problems on their own. And Jacqui probably wouldn’t give a damn if younger students were pranking each other, even if it was technically forbidden. It wasn’t her job to keep the younger students in line.
The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13) Page 19