“If he can get the spell to work,” Emily said. It would have been easier to talk to a girl she didn’t know personally. She and Frieda had shared too much for Emily to speak sharply to her younger friend. “If he can, you need to learn it too ...”
Frieda clenched her fists. “Are you saying he’s right?”
“I’m saying you have to find out if he’s right,” Emily said. “I ...”
“You mean he’s right,” Frieda said. The betrayal in her voice was almost a physical blow. “You think he’s right ...”
She turned and stalked towards the door. “Leave me alone,” she snapped. Magic flared through her words, brushing against the wards. “Just ... leave me alone!”
And then she was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
EMILY STARED AT THE CLOSED DOOR in shock.
She could have stopped Frieda. Even without the wards, she knew a dozen spells that could have stopped Frieda in her tracks. And yet ... she had been too shocked to muster them. She’d expected argument, she’d expected ... she hadn’t expected Frieda to shout, or to storm out like a teenage girl.
She is a teenage girl, Emily thought. She reached out to touch the wards, then stopped herself. She ...
Emily looked down at her hands. She didn’t know what to do. Nothing she could think of seemed appropriate, not after Frieda had stormed out. She could do anything from summoning Frieda back to giving her a few days to get over it, yet none of her ideas seemed useful. Frieda had changed over the last year. Emily had no idea how to make it better.
You can’t do the work for her, she told herself. Perhaps she should seek out Sergeant Miles and ask for advice. Or write to Lady Barb. They were listed as Frieda’s other guardians, weren’t they? Perhaps they should step in ... although it was rare for parents to be directly involved in Whitehall. Students were expected to sort out their problems for themselves. But what can you do?
She groaned, tiredly. She’d hoped to either prove that Celadon was wrong or convince Frieda to listen to him. But she hadn’t had the chance. Celadon might not even be able to turn his theory into reality ... if he couldn’t, Frieda and Celadon were running out of time. They’d have to go back to their original plan and make it work before they faced their supervisors. And even if he could, Frieda would need to understand the spellwork to pass the exam. No one would condemn her for not coming up with the idea herself, but they’d certainly object if she couldn’t explain or build upon Celadon’s work.
Fuck, she thought. She rubbed her eyes, trying to think. But no magical solution came to mind. What the hell do I do?
There was a knock on the door, sharp and authoritative. Gordian, then. Or maybe one of the male tutors ... she waved a hand in the air, opening the door. Gordian had probably come to check on progress or ... or something. He didn’t know she’d been down to the catacombs, as far as she knew, but he might suspect something. Or maybe he just wanted to nag her about starting the second round of the dueling contest.
“Emily,” Caleb said.
Emily looked up, surprised. Caleb—not Gordian—stepped into the room. She smiled, feeling a wave of relief. Caleb had sisters. He could advise her ... if she asked him. And she could ask him. They might no longer be lovers—and their friendship was more than a little strained—but she didn’t think he’d deliberately sabotage her. He’d never been that kind of person.
Caleb raised his eyebrows. “Are you alright?”
“No,” Emily said. She wondered, vaguely, what she looked like. There was a mirror in the washroom ... she pushed the thought aside, sharply. She didn’t have time to worry about her appearance. “Frieda and I just had a fight.”
“Ouch.” Caleb sat down on the chair Celadon had vacated and gazed at her. “What happened?”
Emily gathered herself, then ran through the entire story. She wasn’t sure she believed her own words. Frieda had always been ... emotional ... but she’d never expected the younger girl to lose her composure so badly. Or to shout at her. Frieda had had her differences with other students—and Caleb—but she’d always been friendly with Emily. Emily had valued her uncomplicated friendship more than she cared to admit.
Caleb winced when she’d finished. “Did you check for any outside influence?”
“Yeah,” Emily said. Casting those spells without Frieda noticing hadn’t been easy. “No spells or potions to make her more ... aggressive.”
“Nothing that showed up, at least.” Caleb stroked his chin. Emily couldn’t help thinking that he looked like a younger, clean-shaven version of his father. “Did you check her room?”
Emily sucked in her breath. Nanette—Lin—had used subtle magic to keep people from noticing her, way back in Emily’s Second Year at Whitehall. It had worked, too. And yet ... she’d heard that Grandmaster Hasdrubal had modified the wards to sound the alert if someone else tried to use subtle magic outside the classroom. Gordian wouldn’t have cancelled that, would he?
Except subtle magic helps keep the school together, she thought, darkly. The detection spells might be completely useless.
She closed her eyes for a long moment. It went against the grain to walk into Frieda’s room without permission. She would have felt like a trespasser. And yet, she was Head Girl. She had authority to enter the dorms at will, even the male dorms. No one would question her looking for Frieda in her bedroom. The rune on her chest would respond to subtle magic, even if it wasn’t aimed at her. And then ...
It might have escaped detection, she thought. Or the spells might have been jiggered to let it work without sounding the alert.
She thought, fast. The only person who could have ordered the wards not to sound the alert was Gordian. He was the only person—save for her, perhaps—who could have ensured the housemothers didn’t catch a whiff of subtle magic. And yet, she found it hard to imagine him taking such a risk. He’d be in deep trouble if the truth got out. Frieda might be a nobody, as far as the magical community was concerned, but she was hardly the only student at risk.
Better check, she thought. And then decide what to do.
Caleb was speaking. She dragged her attention back to him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I missed that.”
He gave her a long-suffering look. “What about her time of the month?”
Emily snorted. “It hasn’t been her time of the month for two months straight!”
She shook her head. Frieda would have been given potions to help her cope, like all of the other girls in Whitehall. She’d have a little discomfort every month, but nothing that would interfere with her schooling. Whoever had invented those potions, Emily had decided long ago, couldn’t possibly be honored enough. The magical community should have come up with a whole new series of awards, just so they could be presented to her.
“Then she might simply be cracking under the workload,” Caleb offered. “She’d hardly be the first student to have problems in Fourth Year.”
“I know.” Emily shook her head. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Mother would give her some time to calm down, then force her to go over everything piece by piece,” Caleb said. “But Frieda has to come to grips with this herself.”
Emily felt a sudden stab of envy, mingled with bitter resentment. How nice it would have been to have a mother who cared! Sienna was strict, but at least she cared about her children. And she’d worked hard to help her youngest daughter recover after the ... incident ... in Beneficence.
“I know,” she said. “But at this rate, she’s going to fail.”
She’s going to be expelled, her thoughts added. How much trouble could a student get into before the tutors decided to expel her? Master Tor had clearly thought Emily should be expelled, way back in Second Year. Gordian won’t let her retake the year—he won’t let her retake the Fourth Year—when she’s caused so much trouble.
“Then you have to make her get over herself,” Caleb said. “Or let her fail.”
Emily shrugged, then rose. �
��We’ll check her room,” she said. Taking Caleb along would raise eyebrows, but she had the feeling she’d need a witness. And besides, she trusted his instincts. “And then we’ll decide what to do.”
The corridors felt oddly empty as they walked through them and down the stairs. A number of portraits had been removed for cleaning, leaving blank spaces on the walls. Others had been replaced with older portraits, paintings of magicians who’d lived and died hundreds of years ago. She couldn’t help thinking, as she caught sight of a particularly shifty looking magician, that the portrait had been painted after its subject’s death.
That wouldn’t be a surprise, she thought, bitterly. None of the portraits of me look anything like me.
She heard a number of students playing in the distance as she led the way into the fourth year dorms. Someone—probably Madame Beauregard—had fiddled with the wards, allowing the students to mingle. It was half-term, Emily recalled. The handful of younger students who’d remained in Whitehall could play with their elders, even if their elders wouldn’t be seen dead with their juniors during term-time. True friendships that crossed the year-line were rare. Emily couldn’t help thinking that the age gap between Frieda and herself was actually greater than almost any other friendship in Whitehall.
Her eyes narrowed as she stopped outside Frieda’s door. Someone had stuck a copy of one of the pamphlets outside, fixing it to the wood with a sticking charm. Emily cancelled the charm, glanced at the parchment and then crumpled it in her hand. Another set of lies and libels ... she promised herself, if she ever found out who was carrying them into Whitehall, she would not be gentle.
It has to be someone who stayed over, Emily thought. She tapped on Frieda’s door and waited, counting the seconds under her breath. Frieda had roommates, but Emily couldn’t recall if they’d stayed in Whitehall for half-term. And there aren’t that many suspects.
No one opened the door. Emily motioned for Caleb to stay back, then pushed the door open gently. The wards parted at her touch, allowing her to step inside. She peered forward, half- expecting to be caught by a hex, and looked into the room. It was deserted. Frieda’s bed was a mess, clothes and blankets hurled in all directions; the other two beds looked strikingly neat, as if they’d been made up before their occupants went home. They probably had. Madame Beauregard had been known to carry out surprise inspections, just to make sure the rooms were clean and tidy.
Good thing she didn’t check this room, Emily thought. Being forced to make and remake her bed a hundred times wouldn’t do anything for Frieda’s state of mind.
She took a long look around the room, making sure there wasn’t anything embarrassing in plain sight, then beckoned Caleb inside. It was a risk—Madame Beauregard would not be pleased if she caught them—but there was no choice. Emily touched the rune on her chest, feeling nothing, as Caleb closed the door behind him. There was no subtle magic at all.
“They warded their beds thoroughly,” Caleb said. “That’s not a good sign.”
Emily nodded. All three beds bristled with wards and protective hexes, ready to sting or freeze or transform any unwary intruders. Emily had long-since developed the habit of warding her bed, even in Whitehall, but Frieda and her roommates had been excessively paranoid. There were so many protective hexes that an unwary caster might wind up being caught in his own trap. Emily turned her attention to their trunks and sucked in her breath, tightly. The trunks had been heavily warded too.
And that means they’re fighting all the time, she thought, grimly. She’d never warded her bed so thoroughly, even when she’d had disagreements with her roommates. The implications weren’t good. They don’t trust Frieda to leave their stuff alone while they’re on holiday.
She shivered. Frieda was many things, but she was no thief. God knew a real thief would be beaten to death in the Cairngorms, or mutilated and then sent out to die in the cold. Emily couldn’t imagine Frieda stealing anything ... but she could imagine the younger girl setting a booby-trap on someone’s trunk. A moment of carelessness was all it would take for the trap to spring. And then ...
“We could unlock some of the wards,” Caleb said. “But rebuilding them afterwards would be a challenge.”
“Or impossible,” Emily said. There were so many hexes built into the protective wards that she didn’t think she could rebuild them, not without leaving something out. It would be a great improvement, but it would also be a red flag to whoever had crafted the wards in the first place. “I think they cast far too many spells to protect their bed.”
Caleb snickered. “Getting out of bed in the middle of the night to go to the toilet would pose a challenge.”
Emily nodded. The occupants could use a chamberpot, she supposed, yet they’d still be risking accidental contact with their own wards. An advanced student could key the wards to allow them to pass unmolested—it was what she’d done, back in her suite—but she doubted Frieda was at that level. It only added to her sense that something was badly wrong. No one would make life so inconvenient for themselves without feeling they needed the additional security.
She stepped around the beds, careful not to brush the wards, and walked into the bathroom. It was identical to the rooms she’d used for the last five years: a shower, a toilet, a washbasin and a towel rail. A handful of spells glittered in the air as she entered, but a quick check revealed that they, too, were standard. Frieda would have thought it was heaven, Emily reflected, as she tested for subtle magic. The bathroom was sheer luxury compared to the toilets in her village. And yet, it was the bare minimum as far as Earth was concerned.
Nothing, Emily thought.
She gritted her teeth as she walked back into the bedroom, reaching out with her mind to touch the wards. She’d expected to find that Gordian—or someone—had tampered with them, but there was nothing beyond a basic sensing ward. The staff would know if someone used magic, yet they weren’t supervising the room. Emily couldn’t help finding that ominous. If Frieda was in real trouble, surely the staff would be keeping a closer eye on her.
But they’d have to be careful, she thought. Keeping an eye on the students is one thing, but spying on them in their bedrooms and bathrooms was quite another.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Whitehall didn’t have camera-like wards in every room, but it could. And that would drive students away faster than a murderous necromancer with bad intentions. Emily wouldn’t have stayed if it had meant living in a goldfish bowl. She had no doubt that magical students needed to be monitored, but there were limits. It was perversely reassuring that Gordian seemed to be honoring them.
She sat on the carpeted floor and closed her eyes, reaching out with her mind. Frieda’s wards—and her roommates’—were clearly visible to her magic, but there was nothing else apart from a handful of protective charms on the bookshelves. The room was almost completely clean. Emily tested the protective charms anyway, just in case one of the books was spelled to corrupt its reader, but found nothing particularly dangerous. A student who damaged one of the library’s books would be frozen solid until one of the librarians arrived, not turned evil.
“Nothing,” she said, opening her eyes. “Let’s go.”
She checked the wards outside, then led the way into the corridor. There was no sign of anyone, much to her relief, but the sound of younger students playing further into the dorms was growing louder. She wondered, absently, if Frieda was among them. Playing a game—even something as simple as freeze tag—would put her in a better mood.
“We should go to the library,” Caleb said. He gave her a sidelong look. “Or would you prefer to go up the hill?”
Emily was tempted, more tempted than she cared to admit. It wasn’t that late in the day. She could go for a walk, breathe the fresh air, gather her thoughts ...
... And yet, going with Caleb made her feel uneasy. Not because she thought he’d do something stupid, but because she feared she would. Relaxing into his arms would be easy ...
“I think I ne
ed to find Sergeant Miles,” she said. One of the sergeants had taken a group of students on a forced march. She couldn’t recall which one. Sergeant Harkin had told his class that it built character, back in first year. “And then ...”
The wards screamed in her ear. She spun around, her body moving instinctively. Something was wrong at the far end of the corridor ... badly wrong. She heard a scream, followed by another ... the wards pressed against her mind, forcing her down the corridor. Her legs wobbled, as if they were no longer under her control. It was all she could do to keep herself from falling over.
She rounded the corner and froze. Frieda was standing there, angry magic crackling around her. She spun around, her plaits flying through the air. Her eyes went wide—with shock, with anger, with something Emily didn’t care to recognize—when she saw Emily and Caleb. The wards were still sounding the alert, a noise thrumming in her ear that was threatening to drive Emily out of her mind. She honestly wasn’t sure if it was in her mind or in her ears. The sound was so loud it was making it hard to focus on anything.
Caleb gasped. “What have you done?”
And then Emily saw Marian. “Frieda,” she said. It was suddenly very hard to speak. “What have you done now?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I SHUT HER UP,” FRIEDA SAID. There was an odd tone to her voice, a mixture of anger and self-righteousness that made her sound like a different person. “She wouldn’t shut up until I made her ...”
“Be quiet,” Emily snapped.
She forced her shaken legs to carry her forward. Marian was sitting against the far wall, blood trickling from her nose. Her face was marred with twisted flesh—a pair of particularly unpleasant prank hexes, Emily realized—and her arm was warped into a misshapen lump that made Emily want to throw up. Marian was sobbing quietly, as if she was utterly unaware of her surroundings. She’d been hexed so badly, she’d need a healer to recover.
The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13) Page 25