The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13)

by Christopher Nuttall

  No, you wouldn’t, she corrected herself. You wouldn’t want them to grow up with your stepfather.

  It was nearly an hour before Madame Kyla stepped out of the operating theatre. She didn’t look to have changed in the years since Emily had known her—she was still a middle-aged woman with prematurely grey hair—but there was a grim expression on her face that Emily didn’t like. Madame Kyla eyed her for a long moment, then shrugged. Emily hoped—prayed—that was a good sign. She didn’t think she’d be allowed to stay if Adana was dying—or dead. Her family would be summoned as quickly as possible.

  And they’d probably kick Melissa out too, she thought, sourly. Legally, she’s no longer part of the family.

  “Adana has been badly injured, but will recover,” Madame Kyla said. “She’s out of immediate danger now.”

  Emily sagged in relief. The last thing she needed—the last thing anyone needed—was House Ashworth declaring a blood feud. Frieda was in no state to fight. The magical community would find it amusing—Adana had known the dangers, when she’d stepped onto the field—but that would be no consolation. Frieda would have had no choice but to run.

  Melissa sighed in relief. “How bad is it?”

  “Her ribs were shattered by a powerful blow,” Madame Kyla said. “It was sheer luck that one or more of the splinters didn’t penetrate her heart. One of her lungs was punctured and started to fill with fluid. Thankfully, she was put into stasis before the damage grew out of control.”

  Thank God, Emily thought.

  “We’re going to put her back in stasis until we can fix the remaining damage, then slowly bring her out of it,” Madame Kyla added. She looked at Melissa. “Do you want to see her now?”

  “Yes, please,” Melissa said.

  “Inform the Grandmaster that Adana is out of danger,” Madame Kyla said to Emily. “And she should be returning to classes in a couple of weeks.”

  Emily nodded, unable to hide her relief. Adana would recover! Frieda hadn’t killed her, accidentally or otherwise. She rose and headed for the door. She’d take a moment to collect herself, then go straight to the Grandmaster’s office. And then ...

  She sighed as she stepped through the door. Gordian wouldn’t be pleased, even though someone getting injured was predictable. Emily herself had killed in a duel. She wasn’t sure if Frieda had broken the rules or not—the spell she’d cast wasn’t designed to be lethal—but she had done considerable damage to her opponent. It wasn’t going to reflect well on anyone.

  Jacqui was waiting outside, looking smug. “Emily,” she said. “Perhaps we could walk for a little bit.”

  Emily eyed her, sourly. “Why aren’t you at the arena?”

  “Cirroc is throwing his weight around and I got tired of it.” Jacqui gave Emily a sidelong smile as they started to walk, then cast a privacy ward. “You really should choose your friends better.”

  Emily’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Jacqui smirked. “A princess, a commoner, a ... creature ... a freak ... and another commoner who happens to be an itty bitty child.”

  “Frieda is not a child,” Emily said. She was too tired for word games. “What do you want?”

  “Frieda has already managed to get you in trouble ... how many times?” Jacqui made a show of brushing the hair back from her face. “You really shouldn’t hang out with her any longer.”

  Emily felt a flash of hot anger. “And why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because she can’t do anything for you,” Jacqui said, in tones that suggested she was explaining things to a child. “Frieda’s friendship is not advantageous to you.”

  Her smirk grew wider. “Unless you enjoy having someone around to feel superior to.”

  Emily resisted—barely—the urge to say she felt superior to Jacqui. She’d never thought much of the other girl, but then ... she hadn’t paid too much attention to her either. Jacqui had always seemed a hanger-on, a crony rather than a person in her own right. And yet, Jacqui was no longer Melissa’s satellite. She had a mind and a will of her own.

  “It isn’t about advantage,” she said, finally. “Frieda is a friend ...”

  “Who just managed to land you in hot water, again,” Jacqui pointed out. “I don’t think I’d stay friends with someone who did that to me, repeatedly.”

  “Melissa managed to get you in trouble from time to time,” Emily snapped. She was definitely in no mood for verbal fencing. “How many times did you get caned because of her? Or wound up spending hours as a toad?”

  “Melissa could do great things for me, once upon a time,” Jacqui said. “What can Frieda do for you?”

  “It isn’t about what she can do for me,” Emily said.

  “It is,” Jacqui insisted. “You choose your friends because of what they can do for you. I can help my friends, just as they would help me. Being here, Emily, is all about making contacts, about meeting the people who can help you get along. But you seem to have missed the boat.”

  Emily raised her eyebrows. “You don’t think the Crown Princess of Zangaria can help me get along?”

  “Not for those who matter.” Jacqui clicked her fingers. Emily braced herself, half expecting to be hexed. “If we who wield power wanted to take her kingdom, we could take her kingdom. We choose not to control the mundane world, Emily. We are not incapable of controlling it.”

  “Alassa and Jade would give you one hell of a fight,” Emily said, stiffly. “Or do you think he’s overrated?”

  “He could certainly have married better,” Jacqui said. “A year and a half and still no sign of children.”

  Emily felt her temper begin to fray. “Is there a point to this?”

  Jacqui stopped and turned to face her. “It’s time you learnt to choose your friends better,” she said. “Join us.”

  “What?”

  “Join us,” Jacqui repeated. “You need help from people who can help you, not a little brat who acts like a complete idiot. How old is she? Six? Seven?”

  “Nineteen,” Emily said, flatly.

  “That’s not an improvement,” Jacqui said. “She’s old enough to take responsibility for herself, isn’t she?”

  She looked down the long corridor. “Frieda is going down. And when she finally hits rock bottom, she’ll take you with her. There is nothing she can do for you, while we have power and influence you cannot even begin to comprehend. Your father has not taught you even the basics of building up a patronage network. Let us teach you.”

  Emily took a long breath. “And if I choose to say no?”

  “That will be your choice,” Jacqui said. “Like I said, you should choose your friends better.”

  “I don’t think my friends would have dumped me if I’d been disowned,” Emily said, sardonically. “Alassa didn’t stop writing to me because her father banned me from his kingdom.”

  “Politics.” Jacqui shrugged. “Sometimes, you have to cut someone out of your circle for the circle to flourish.”

  Something clicked in Emily’s mind. “For the quarrel to flourish.”

  Jacqui didn’t seem surprised that Emily knew the term. But then, it probably wasn’t a surprise. She knew Emily had been to Mountaintop, where the quarrels were far more prominent. Someone might even have told her that Emily had been offered membership in several different quarrels. She’d declined, at the time.

  “Quite,” Jacqui said. “You’ll be leaving Whitehall at the end of the year, if Frieda doesn’t get you kicked out first. What then? You will need help and support as you enter the community and it’s pretty clear that your father isn’t going to provide it. Even if he did, how could he understand your needs? It’s been decades since he was your age. You need people who are loyal to you.”

  “And how loyal were you to Melissa?” Emily asked. “You didn’t stick with her when she was disowned.”

  “That was necessary,” Jacqui said, stiffly. “Her family had already disowned her. We were pressured into abandoning her.”

  “
How ... loyal,” Emily said.

  Jacqui eyed her for a long moment. “And you expect Frieda to remain loyal to you?”

  Emily hesitated. A year ago, she would have said yes. Now ... Frieda had changed. Emily didn’t understand why her friend was changing, but she couldn’t deny it. Frieda was growing dangerously unpredictable. It was hard to escape the feeling that Frieda was careening towards disaster.

  “I choose to remain loyal to her,” she said, finally. “Does that answer your question?”

  Jacqui shook her head, disdainfully. “You are willing to throw away your own future for her?”

  “There’s no guarantee I will lose my future,” Emily said. “And I can’t just abandon someone because they’re going through a bad patch.”

  “That’s a foolish attitude,” Jacqui said. “You could lose everything.”

  “But at least it’s mine to lose,” Emily said. She met Jacqui’s eyes, silently challenging her. “What do you want?”

  “A more ... even ... relationship,” Jacqui said. “You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.”

  “Really,” Emily said. She forced herself to think. Jacqui had stayed at Whitehall over the half-term, hadn’t she? She could have carried the pamphlets into school, if she wished ... hell, she could have spread the rumors too. But she had no proof, nothing she could take to the Grandmaster. “I think I prefer Frieda to you.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” Jacqui said.

  “Maybe I am,” Emily said.

  Emily shrugged. “Seeing you have nothing to do tonight, you can supervise detentions in Room 101,” she ordered. It was petty, but she wanted to shut Jacqui up. “I’m sure the younger students will be grateful.”

  Jacqui curtseyed. “Enjoy that badge while you have it,” she said. “I’m sure Frieda will ensure you lose it soon.”

  She turned and walked down the corridor. Emily stared after her, gloomily sure she’d missed something important. But what? If Jacqui was spreading the rumors, what did she have to gain? Or was she jumping to the wrong conclusion, again? She’d have to be careful if she wanted proof. Making the accusation—even a correct accusation—without any real proof would be disastrous.

  Something will turn up, she told herself firmly. And when it does, I’ll be ready.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “TAKE A SEAT AND WAIT,” Madame Griselda ordered, when Emily stepped into the antechamber. “The Grandmaster is currently busy.”

  Probably telling Frieda off, Emily thought, as she sat on the hard bench. There’s no point in playing power games now.

  She tried to force herself to relax, despite the disturbing conversation with Jacqui, but it wasn’t easy. The bench seemed designed to make her uncomfortable. Gordian could have easily put a more comfortable sofa—or a set of armchairs—into the antechamber, if he’d wished. She couldn’t help wondering if he subjected outside visitors to the bench or if he had a second office for non-students. Perhaps the latter. She’d met people who would take mortal offense if a single one of their titles was left out when they were announced. The ugly bench made it clear that anyone who visited wasn’t welcome.

  It’s probably grounds to start a feud, she reflected. The thought wasn’t really funny, but she was desperate for relief. A death-match fought over a particularly uncomfortable piece of wood.

  Madame Griselda sniffed loudly, then returned to her work. Emily kept a wary eye on her—she’d often wondered if Gordian’s aide was more than she seemed—but the secretary just kept working her way through the files. Someone had to keep the bureaucracy moving, even in Whitehall. Secretary or not, Madame Griselda was in a position of considerable influence and power. Stalin had been a secretary too, if Emily recalled correctly. Being able to alter the minutes and set the agenda had probably made his takeover considerably easier.

  The inner door opened. Frieda emerged, looking weepy. She glanced at Emily, then hurried through the outer door before Emily could say a word. Emily stared after her, wondering just what Gordian had said. Had he expelled her? Or beaten her himself? It was within his authority, just unusual. Emily rose, unsure if she should go after Frieda or not. If nothing else, Frieda needed to know that Alana would recover ...

  “Emily.” Gordian stood in the inner door, arms crossed over his chest. “Come.”

  Emily sighed and followed him into his office. It looked as cold and unwelcoming as ever, she noted as the door closed behind her. A dozen wards hung in the air, pressing against her magic. Half of them seemed designed to monitor flares of power within the room; the other half had no purpose at all, as far as she could tell. But that might just mean they weren’t active, yet. She resisted the urge to poke and prod at them as Gordian took his seat behind the desk. That would have been very rude.

  So what? her thoughts asked. Not bothering to give you a chair, let alone a chance to sit down, is rude too.

  She pushed the thought aside as she clasped her hands behind her back. Sergeant Miles would have been proud of her, the irreverent part of her mind noted. Standing at parade rest, ready to accept praise or blame or whatever she was offered without complaint ... it was something she thought he would have understood. She wondered, absently, where Sergeant Miles actually was. There had been no sign of him on the way to the office ...

  “Emily,” Gordian said. “I trust Adana will recover?”

  “She’s out of danger, sir,” Emily said. “I was told she’ll be back to classes in two weeks.”

  “Good,” Gordian said. For an instant, she saw naked relief on his face. She didn’t really blame him. Frieda wouldn’t have made a suitable scapegoat if Alana had died and her family had demanded vengeance. Gordian’s own head would be on the chopping block, perhaps literally. “Being in Second Year, losing so much time will not make that much of a difference.”

  “No, sir,” Emily said. She’d lost more time than that, thanks to Nanette. “I believe she will not have trouble catching up.”

  “Good, good.” Gordian shifted, uncomfortably. “I had a very unpleasant conversation with your friend.”

  Emily nodded, slowly. “Can I ask what happened?”

  “If you wish,” Gordian said.

  He paused. Emily frowned, wondering if he wanted to make her ask. It would have been a petty power game, not something anyone would do when the stakes were so high. Unless ... it dawned on her that Gordian didn’t want to talk about it. But he didn’t really have a choice.

  She took a breath. “What did you say to her?”

  “Frieda was completely unable to account for her behavior,” Gordian said, flatly. “She insists that the creepers panicked her, making her lash out. I did not find the explanation satisfactory.”

  “Grown adults have been known to panic too,” Emily said evenly, choosing not to mention the fact that most societies would consider Frieda a grown adult. “The creepers were not a conventional attack.”

  “But one that could be handled by a lowly firstie.” He tapped the table, firmly. “Worse, this is merely the latest in a string of incidents involving your friend. It is clear that standard punishments have failed to curb her behavior. There comes a time when more ... stringent methods are necessary.”

  Emily felt cold. There was no pretense that the principal was your pal, not at Whitehall. The Grandmaster and his staff were in charge. No one was allowed to doubt it. Their authority was enforced by everything from unpleasant detentions to corporal punishment. And if those methods failed ... what then?

  “I have suspended Frieda for two weeks,” Gordian said. “During that time, she will not attend classes, nor will she be permitted to take part in any organized out-of-class activities such as the dueling club. She will take her meals with the servants; she will be permitted to make use of the library, but otherwise she will be expected to remain in her bedroom.”

  Emily stared at him for a long moment. “That ... that will force her to retake the year.”

  “Perhaps,” Gordian said. “She will have acces
s to the library and study notes, even if she doesn’t attend classes. An able student will be able to lay the groundwork for catching up with the rest of the class, when she is permitted to return.”

  “She will also need to work on her joint project,” Emily said. “She’ll need access to a spellchamber and a workroom.”

  Gordian quirked an eyebrow. “And you believe she should be allowed to work on her project?”

  “Yes,” Emily said. “I understand that Frieda needs to be punished. But if the joint project fails, Celadon will fail too. That would hardly be fair.”

  “The world is not fair,” Gordian said.

  “That doesn’t mean you have to make it even less fair,” Emily pointed out. She pushed the issue as hard as she dared. “Celadon did not take part in the dueling contest. There is no logical reason to punish him for Frieda’s mistakes. And it will look very bad if someone decides to challenge his marks on the grounds that someone refused to allow his partner to work.”

  Gordian gave her a sharp look. “Do you think that’s a valid argument?”

  “I think you don’t need the hassle, sir,” Emily said. She felt her head starting to pound. “He is dependent on Frieda’s contribution. If he doesn’t get it, the best he can hope for is a bare pass. And that will look very bad to his family.”

  “Whoever taught you to argue should be thrashed,” Gordian muttered. He glared down at the table for a long, chilling moment. “Do you think his parents would have a case?”

  Emily took a breath. The Nameless World didn’t believe in helicopter parents. A student who got bad marks could expect to face the wrath of his parents, rather than watch the parents descending on the school like angry gods. No one would complain if Celadon was marked down for not doing the work. But they would complain, she thought, if Celadon had been deliberately deprived of his partner. That would make him suffer for Frieda’s faults.