The Gordian Knot
	
	(Schooled in Magic XIII)

	Christopher G. Nuttall

	

	

	

The Gordian Knot
This is a work of fiction. All concepts, characters and events portrayed in this book are used fictitiously and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Christopher G. Nuttall
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

Cover art by Brad Fraunfelter

Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Afterword
About the author

Prologue

“And finally, I’m glad to announce that both of our picks for replacement Charms and Healing tutors have accepted their offers,” Grandmaster Gordian said. He allowed himself a thin smile at the whisper of relief that ran around the table. It had been a long meeting, even though they’d had a break for lunch. No one wanted to prolong it further. “They’ll arrive tomorrow and take the oaths in the Great Hall.”
He leaned back in his chair, silently enjoying the moment. Too many of the senior tutors were not bound to him, either through loyalty to Gordian’s predecessor or through ambitions of their own. He could count on them not to do anything that would actively harm Whitehall itself—their oaths would see to that—but he knew better than to expect them to follow him unquestioningly. And it was difficult, even for an experienced political warrior like himself, to edge them out of their positions. They couldn’t be dismissed for anything other than gross misconduct.
“You’ll be invited to watch and bear witness, of course,” he added. “Now, before we break up for the evening, is there any more business?”
Professor Lombardi cleared his throat. “The election of a Head Pupil. I believe we are running short of time to nominate one.”
Gordian nodded, keeping his face expressionless. The senior tutors had the right to elect the Head Pupil for the year, if they wished to use it. He’d refrained from raising the issue, half-hoping they’d choose to leave the matter in his hands. There were pupils—several pupils—he would prefer not to see elected. 
“Very well,” he said. “Nominations?”
“Emily,” Sergeant Miles said, immediately. “I believe her record speaks for itself.”
“She had to retake four of her exams,” Gordian said. It was hard to keep the annoyance out of his voice. His feelings about his most troublesome student were decidedly mixed. “That does not suggest a sterling academic record.”
“She failed the exams because she was summoned to war,” Sergeant Miles countered, his voice unyielding. “And because she was ... involved ... in that mess in Beneficence.”
Gordian tried not to groan. No two accounts of what had happened in Beneficence seemed to agree on everything, save for one detail. Emily had saved the city, somehow. If the more extreme reports were to be believed, she’d battled a god. Gordian wouldn’t have believed it himself, if he hadn’t read the reports that hadn’t been made public. He hoped the full story—or at least the version he’d heard—never leaked out to the rest of the world. Too many sorcerers—and religious sects—would see it as a challenge.
“There are others,” Professor Gaunt said. “Melissa has very definite potential.”
“But she’s politically unacceptable,” Gordian said. “She was disowned by her family.”
“She does have the talent,” Gaunt insisted. “And she is ... more aware of social situations than Emily.”
“Cabiria has talent,” Professor Thande said.
“She was suspended for a year,” Gordian pointed out. “What about Caleb or Cirroc?”
Sergeant Miles snorted. “And how many students have actually saved the school?”
Gordian met his eyes. The hell of it was that Sergeant Miles was correct. Emily was the only student who had saved the school once let alone twice. By any reasonable standard—certainly in terms of achievement—she stood head and shoulders above the rest of the students in her year. There had never been any sign that Emily wanted, let alone expected, to be Head Girl, but everyone else probably expected her to walk into the post. And she deserved it.
And yet, she was a menace too. He’d wanted to expel her last year, when he’d become Grandmaster. Putting her on probation—and forcing her to work with Professor Locke—had been done in the hopes of keeping her out of trouble—or convincing her to quit. It wasn’t as if she would have had problems finding a place at another school, somewhere well away from Whitehall. Gordian certainly wouldn’t have stood in her way. 
She’s not evil, he admitted, privately. Technically, she was a probationary student too, although he’d decided to ignore that as much as possible. But she is disruptive.
He kept his face impassive as he contemplated his options. Nothing had happened openly—not yet—but he knew that more and more important figures were growing ... concerned about Emily. Child of Destiny, Necromancer’s Bane ... she was a knife that could cut both ways, something that could reshape the world or damage it beyond repair. A sorceress who’d bested two—no, three—necromancers would be alarming enough, but her ... innovations had started a chain reaction she might not be able to control. And she didn’t seem able or willing even to try.
And she owns the school, Gordian reminded himself. 
Gordian wouldn’t have believed that, either, if Emily hadn’t shown an astonishing prowess at manipulating and duplicating Whitehall’s wards. Even now, a year after she’d told him the full story, he still found it hard to come to terms with it. The Founders of Whitehall had been lost in the mists of time, known only by a handful of contradictory stories. And Emily had gone back in time, taught Lord Whitehall and his fellows the secret to controlling a nexus point, then returned to the present. It was unbelievable. 
It was also intolerable. He was Grandmaster, not her. He’d worked hard to secure a position of boundless power and influence, only to see it turn to ashes. He couldn’t have a student in a position to overrule him, perhaps even remove him from the school. He’d already started a very quiet program to do something about the whole situation, but he doubted he’d have time to complete it. Too many people wanted something done, now. And they were pressuring him to force her to divulge her secrets.
He cleared his throat. “Emily has earned her reputation. I do not dispute that. But would she be a good Head Girl? She is not the most ... sociable of students.”
“She has a gift for making friends in high and low places,” Sergeant Miles reminded him, dryly. “And that has saved her life, more than once.”
“She’d be required to do more than make friends,” Gordian countered. “The Head Pupil has to do everything from organizing the mentorship program to carrying out a project of their own. She would be distracted from her work.”
“The same could be said of almost anyone else,” Madame Rosalinda said. The Housemother smiled at him. “And while she is not that friendly with anyone outside her circle, she doesn’t have many enemies either.”
Not in the school, perhaps, Gordian thought.
Madame Rosalinda tapped the table, meaningfully. “Melissa has been disowned from her family. Cabiria is seen as ... as something of a freak. Pandora’s marks are too low to justify promoting her into the Head Girl role. Jacqui and Cerise are ... are too power-hungry to take on the role without causing problems. And The Gorgon is ...”
“The Gorgon,” Gordian finished. What, in the name of all the gods, had Hasdrubal been thinking? Allowing a Gorgon to study at Whitehall? “Are there no promising prospects amongst the boys?”
“None who match Emily,” Sergeant Miles said. “Cirroc and Johan are both working on Martial Magic, while Caleb ... has shown evidence of moral weakness. And those three are the best of the bunch.”
Gordian pressed his fingers together, hiding his irritation. Jacqui had been his choice for Head Pupil, although Cirroc would have been a close second. The Head Pupil would find a multitude of doors opening for her, when she left Whitehall. It would give Emily the skills she needed—and probably keep her out of trouble—but it would also paint an even larger target on her back. Her enemies didn’t need more reasons to step up their plans.
She might decline the nomination, he thought. Does she understand that that would be held against her?
“Let us vote,” he said, instead. In hindsight, maybe he should have raised the issue with a handful of tutors privately. If nothing else, he might have been able to get Jacqui or Cirroc nominated before he held the final meeting. “All those in favor of Lady Emily, raise your hands.”
He counted, slowly. “Ten in favor,” he said. Five tutors hadn’t voted, although that didn’t prove anything. Professor Thande wasn’t known for caring that much about the position—or anything beyond his alchemical experiments. Gordian was surprised he’d even bestirred himself to put Cabiria’s name forward. “The motion passes.”
“As it should,” Sergeant Miles said.
Gordian shot him a sharp look. If he were forced to be honest, one of the reasons he’d allowed Sergeant Miles to take Emily to the war was an unexpressed hope she wouldn’t come back. The war could have lasted months, if not years. She might have been killed or moved straight to a more regular apprenticeship. Instead, she’d bested her third necromancer and returned to Whitehall.
“She’s due to re-sit her exams tomorrow,” Gordian said, calmly. There was one last card to play. “They’ll be marked immediately afterwards. If she passes—if she can enter Sixth Year—I will inform her of her nomination.”
There were no objections. He hadn’t expected any.
“I’ll see you all at the Last Feast,” he added. “Until then ... dismissed.”
He kept his face impassive as his senior tutors filed out of the room, some clearly intending to head down to Dragon’s Den for a drink before the students started arriving to re-sit their exams. When they were gone, he sealed the wards and sat back in his chair, forcing himself to think. He was caught in a knot of conflicting obligations, of promises he’d made and rules he could not break ...
And others are already moving against her, he thought. He’d heard rumors. Some of them had been nightmarish. What will happen when their plans come to term?
Chapter One

Emily placed the bracelet on the table, closed her eyes and undid the spell.
There was a surge of feeling as Aurelius came to life, a wave of strange animalistic emotions that ran down the familiar link and through her mind. The Death Viper wasn’t hungry—she’d fed him weeks ago, before changing him back to the bracelet—but he was a little confused. Emily steadied her mind, forcing herself to peer through the snake’s eyes. Her head ached as Aurelius looked around, tongue flickering in and out of his mouth. It was hard to reconcile her vision of the room with his. To her, the room was tiny; to him, it was vast and cold.
She shivered, despite the warm air. The Death Viper wanted something warmer. His head moved from side to side, hunting for a warmer part of the room. Emily smiled, wanly, as the Death Viper looked at her, then she reached out and picked up the snake. Aurelius curled into her hands, enjoying the warmth. She looked warm to her familiar’s eyes.
He sees into the infrared, she reminded herself. And he wants to be warm. 
She felt an odd flicker of affection as she cradled the snake in her arms. It wasn’t something she could do very often. The familiar bond kept the viper’s poisonous skin—the rotting touch—from harming her, but the poison would be terrifyingly dangerous to anyone else. She’d have to make very sure she cleaned herself—and the room—before she left. Even a drop could do someone a serious injury. The handful of people who knew about Aurelius had been horrified, knowing—all too well—that accidents could happen. She simply didn’t dare take the snake out to play too often.
The snake brushed against her fingertips, another wave of warm sensations washing down the bond. Emily opened her eyes and peered at the snake, admiring the blue-gold scales running along its back. Death Vipers hadn’t evolved to remain unnoticed amongst the greenery. There was certainly no way they could hide from hawks, eagles and other predators. But they were so dangerous, so poisonous, that almost every other living creature gave them a wide berth. A hawk foolish enough to snatch a Death Viper off the ground would be dead before it could claw its way back into the sky.
Emily shook her head, slowly, as Aurelius started to climb into her sleeve and up her arm. It was a shame, really, that she couldn’t keep the snake with her—other magicians had far stronger bonds with their familiars—but the danger was just too great. And besides, Aurelius was a secret weapon. The fewer people who knew about him, the better. She caught the snake as he poked his head out of her collar, then put him back on the table. Aurelius shot her a wave of betrayed emotions, silently pleading for her to pick him back up again. The familiar bond drove him to remain close to her at all times.
“Sorry,” Emily muttered.
She worked the spell quickly, before she could talk herself into spending an hour playing with the snake. Aurelius shimmered, then became a silver bracelet. Emily felt her head spin, just for a second, as the familiar vanished from her mind. She picked it up and played with it for a long moment, then placed it back on the table and closed her eyes for a second, centering herself. It had been a long day. 
And it isn’t over yet, she thought, as she turned to the bathroom. Lady Barb said she’d return in an hour.
Her reflection looked back at her as she walked into the bathroom and closed the door. She looked pale, her face almost drained of color. The summer should have been a time to rest and relax, but she’d spent the last two months desperately cramming before retaking her exams. Lady Barb and Sergeant Miles had been merciless tutors, drilling her in everything from advanced charms to fiendishly complex potion brewing. And then she’d returned to the school to retake the exams.
She ran her hands through her brown hair, feeling drained. The exams had been harder than she’d expected, even though Lady Barb had told her—time and time again—that retaking the exams was always harder. She’d been expected to display a breadth of knowledge and comprehension that had been lacking from the original exams, something that irritated her even though she understood the logic behind it. A person who failed the exams might have failed because they hadn’t been paying attention, rather than going to war. She’d lost weeks of study during the fighting—and another week in Beneficence—and it had cost her. She hadn’t managed to catch up in time to pass the exams.
I suppose I should be relieved I didn’t fail them all, she thought, as she removed her dress and stepped into the shower. It was a very near thing.
The warm water was almost hypnotic, cascading over her body and washing away the dirt and grime. She wanted to stay in the shower for hours—or perhaps years—but she knew she didn’t have the time. Lady Barb had promised her she’d have her exam results today, even if that meant having the papers marked in a hurry. Emily wasn’t sure she wanted to know, not after spending the summer desperately reviewing everything she’d learnt over the past year. If she failed—again—she’d have to retake Fifth Year from the start.
Which is a serious problem, she told herself. She climbed out of the shower, using a spell to dry her body. I’d have to find a way to tackle the joint project without Caleb.
The thought cost her a pang. Breaking up with Caleb had hurt, but she hadn’t been able to cut him out of her life completely. They’d needed to finish their project—or at least show they’d moved forward over the past year—or they would both have been threatened with being forced to retake the year. The hell of it was that she didn’t want to cut him out of her life, despite everything. And yet ... Her emotions were a jumbled mess. There were times, when she’d been lying alone in bed, when she’d wanted to call him ... and times when she’d wanted to make sure she never saw him again.
She walked back into the room, dug through her bag to find a new dress and pulled it over her head. It wasn’t anything fancy—a blue gown designed more for comfort and practicality than anything else—but she felt it suited her. Alassa’s mother had sent her a whole collection of dresses over the summer, each one expensive enough to feed an entire village for the year, yet Emily hadn’t been able to wear them. They’d just been too bright and colorful for her tastes.
And I didn’t have time to go out anyway, she thought. I had to study.
Emily couldn’t help feeling another pang at the thought. She was still—technically—banned from Zangaria, but there was nothing stopping her from meeting Alassa and Imaiqah somewhere along the border. Or she could just cross the border and dare Alassa’s father to do something about it. Or ... she shook her head, grimly. She knew she hadn’t had time to visit anyone, even her two oldest friends. There had been a time when she’d shared everything with Alassa and Imaiqah. And yet, she couldn’t help feeling as though they were drawing apart.
And Alassa’s last letters spoke of trouble in Zangaria, Emily thought. And of her failure to conceive a child.
There was a knock on the door. Emily glanced down at herself, making sure she looked reasonably presentable, then opened the door. Lady Barb stepped into the chamber, carrying a parchment scroll in one hand. She held it out to Emily without speaking. The charm on the seal glowed for a moment, reading Emily’s magical signature, then faded away into nothingness. She could open the parchment at will.
Emily hesitated as she closed the door. She really wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She thought she’d done well, but she’d thought that before. And that had ended badly. If she’d failed ... she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Accept Void’s offer of an apprenticeship? Or swallow her pride and retake Fifth Year? She’d hardly be the first student to retake an entire year.
Lady Barb snorted. “It won’t go away.”
“I know,” Emily said. Her fingers refused to open the scroll. “I don’t want to know.”
“I could read it for you,” Lady Barb offered. “But you will have to find out eventually.”
Emily looked up at her. Lady Barb had been up for hours, longer than Emily herself, but there was no trace of it on her face. Her blonde hair framed a patrician face that made her look striking—and timeless. Emily felt a sudden rush of affection for the older woman, mingled with a faint dismay that she would never have a presence rivaling her mentor. Lady Barb was formidable and everyone knew it.
“Yeah,” Emily said, finally. “If I faint ...”
“I’ll catch you before you hit the ground,” Lady Barb promised.
The wax seal broke under her fingers. She unfurled the scroll, feeling her heart starting to pound in her chest. If she’d failed ... she forced her doubts aside as she searched for the summary. The tutors would provide a great deal of feedback—she’d been promised entire books of feedback—but that didn’t matter, not now. All that mattered ...
“I passed,” she said.
She felt her face twisting into a smile. “I passed!”
“Very good,” Lady Barb said. “Can I ...?”
Emily wrapped her arms around the older woman, hugging her tightly. “I passed!”
Lady Barb took the scroll. “Four exams ... good marks on all four, plus the joint project ... I dare say you did very well.”
“Thank you.” Emily let go of Lady Barb. “I ...”
“You won’t get the highest of marks,” Lady Barb added. “Retaking the exams will cost you, no matter how well you do. But you did well enough to pass into Sixth Year. Unless you’ve changed your mind ...”
Emily shook her head, hastily. She didn’t really want to leave Whitehall, but she didn’t want to repeat a year either. It would have meant going over spells and rituals she’d already mastered, time and time again. And everyone she knew would graduate a year ahead of her, leaving her alone. 
Frieda wouldn’t, she reminded herself. But she’d still be a year below me.
She took back the scroll and skimmed through the detailed feedback. Professor Lombardi and Master Tor had attached a series of comments; Professor Thande had written a short note, asking her to pay him a visit after term restarted. She promised herself that she’d sit down, when she returned to her house, and go through the comments carefully. There was still a week to go before term formally restarted.
“Thank you.” Emily felt her vision go blurry and hastily blinked away the tears. “I wouldn’t have passed if you hadn’t helped me.”
“Don’t forget, Miles helped too.” Lady Barb winked, mischievously. “You owe him a thank you too.”
“I will,” Emily promised. Lady Barb and Sergeant Miles had driven her mercilessly. She sometimes thought she’d learnt more practical magic over the last couple of months than she’d mastered in the last five years. It made her wonder just how far she would have progressed if she’d hired private tutors during the summer holidays. “Do I get to rest now?”
“Not quite,” Lady Barb said. “As you’re staying for Sixth Year, the Grandmaster wishes a word with you.”
Emily frowned. “Now?”
“Soon,” Lady Barb said. “I advise you to go now, then ... then you can decide if you want to go back to Dragon’s Den or stay here.”
“Oh,” Emily said. She’d always had the impression that Grandmaster Gordian didn’t like her. He’d certainly tried to make it clear he hadn’t wanted her to return to Whitehall after Grandmaster Hasdrubal’s death. Their relationship was frostily polite. “Did he say what he wants to talk about?”
“No,” Lady Barb said. “It might be nothing more than a formal acceptance to Sixth Year.”
She glanced at the clock. “If you go now, I’ll be in the Armory until dinnertime. I’ll see you there.”
Emily turned and walked back to the table, picking up the bracelet and slipping it over her wrist. Gordian wanted to see her ... why? To ask her to—finally—take the oaths? She couldn’t still be on probation, could she? Or to ... suggest ... that she left the school and went elsewhere? Or ... she sighed, inwardly. Unannounced meetings—in her experience—were always bad news.
“I’ll meet you afterwards.” Emily brushed her hair back as she headed for the door. “And have fun with Sergeant Miles.”
Lady Barb snorted. “Mind your mouth,” she said, warningly. “I can still beat you for cheek.”
Emily concealed her amusement as she walked into the corridor and headed towards the stairs. Whitehall hummed around her, the wards welcoming her home. She could feel the complex network of spellwork that made up the wards growing stronger and stronger as charm masters and wardcrafters struggled to prepare the school for the next intake of students. There was so much spellwork running through the system that even she had trouble working out what had evolved over the years and what was new. It was the most complex set of wards in the Allied Lands.
Heart’s Eye will grow to match it, one day, she thought. She had plans for Heart’s Eye. A university, for starters. Caleb and she had talked about a lot of possibilities, back when they’d been lovers. She intended to go ahead anyway, with or without him. And who knows what will happen then?
She passed a handful of younger students chatting at the bottom of the stairs—they’d retaken their own exams over the last few days—and walked up, nodding politely to Master Kay as he walked down. He nodded back, clearly distracted with a greater thought. Emily smiled to herself as she reached the top of the stairs and walked along to the Grandmaster’s office. A middle-aged couple was just coming out, looking annoyed. Emily stood to one side to allow them to pass, then stepped into the antechamber. Madame Griselda, Gordian’s secretary, was sitting behind her desk, writing something on a newfangled typewriter. Emily couldn’t help wondering if it had come out of Cockatrice or Beneficence.
“Emily,” Madame Griselda said, flatly. She was a stern-faced older woman with a gimlet stare. Emily had heard she’d once turned an imprudent student into a toad and eaten him, although she was fairly sure that was just another unfounded rumor. “Wait here. The Grandmaster will see you shortly.”
Emily nodded and sat down, resting her hands on her lap. Madame Griselda’s office was bare, save for a bookshelf, a heavily-warded wooden cupboard and a large painting of Whitehall that someone had hung on the far wall. A handful of faces at the bottom were marked as Lord Whitehall and company, but none of them looked anything like the people Emily recalled meeting. Lord Whitehall had never been so handsome in his life.
He might have been, in his youth, Emily thought. But they grew old quickly, back then.
The inner door opened. “Emily.” Grandmaster Gordian stood in the doorway, giving her a searching look. “Come in, if you please?”
Emily rose and followed Gordian into his office. It hadn’t changed. The room was bare, save for a large wooden desk and a pair of chairs. A handful of scrolls rested on the desk, but otherwise it was empty. The bookshelves and paintings had been removed, leaving the walls completely barren of anything that might catch the eye. There was nothing to draw her attention away from him, nothing to distract her ... 
“Take a seat,” Gordian said. 
Emily sat, studying Gordian as he looked at her. He hadn’t changed either, as far as she could tell. He was a tall, powerfully-built man, with long dark hair drawn back in a ponytail. His face seemed somehow ageless, yet lined enough to make it clear he was no longer young; his dark eyes peered at her, as if they could see into her very soul. She could sense the magic humming around him, a grim reminder of his power. Whatever else he was, Gordian was a formidable magician. 
His voice was very calm. “Congratulations on passing your exams.”
“Thank you, sir,” Emily said, carefully. She didn’t think Gordian actually wanted to congratulate her. There was ... something ... in his voice. “I look forward to going into Sixth Year.”
Gordian’s lips twitched. “You worked hard.” He didn’t sound pleased about that either. “I have been told that you deserved to pass.”
Emily frowned. Who’d told him that? And why?
“You’ll join the rest of your classmates in a week, when term restarts for you,” Gordian said, curtly. “However, there is something that has to be addressed immediately.”
The oaths, Emily thought, grimly. She’d anticipated a demand that she swear the oaths months ago. In some ways, it had almost slipped her mind. Do you want me to swear them here and now?
“There was a staff meeting yesterday,” Gordian said, sounding vaguely displeased. “My staff saw fit to nominate you for Head Girl.”
Emily blinked. “What?”
“You were elected Head Girl,” Gordian said, patiently. “Do you wish to accept the nomination?” 
Chapter Two

Emily stared at Gordian in shock.
“They nominated me for Head Girl?”
“You were the prime candidate by a considerable margin,” Gordian informed her. He seemed to be enjoying her surprise. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Emily managed. She tried to force herself to think. She’d known there would be a new Head Pupil, of course, but she’d never imagined she would be in the running. She doubted Gordian had put her name forward. Technically, she was still on probation. Who had voted for her? And why? “Who ... who nominated me?”
“The deliberations are private, I’m afraid,” Gordian said. “Suffice it to say that ten out of fifteen Senior Tutors cast their votes for you.”
“Oh,” Emily said. Ten out of fifteen? She knew enough about the post to realize that it would be hard to decline the nomination, particularly when she’d been elected by such a considerable margin. It had just never crossed her mind that she would be nominated. She’d certainly never expressed interest in the role. “I ...”
She looked down at her hands, trying to think of a proper response. She didn’t want the post, not when she had so little free time. Her studies—and her private research projects—came first. And she doubted she’d be the most capable candidate. Being Head Girl required skills she knew she didn’t possess. Aloha had made it look easy, but Aloha had been sociable as well as smart.
And yet, with so many tutors having voted for her, she couldn’t decline the nomination.
Twenty-five possible candidates, she thought. She didn’t think any of her peers were disqualified, certainly if she wasn’t disqualified. And I received ten out of fifteen votes.
“I’m sure you will bring credit to the school.” Gordian picked a scroll off his desk and held it out to her. “I look forward to working with you.”
Emily took the scroll automatically. She felt as though she was still in shock. Head Girl wasn’t a meaningless position, not in Whitehall. She’d be expected to do everything from supervising detentions to policing the corridors after dark and mentoring the younger students. She wasn’t sure she had time to do everything, even with assistance from the other older students. God knew she had to work hard to pass the next set of exams. 
She kept her face as impassive as possible as she unfurled the scroll. If she declined the nomination ... she sighed, inwardly. It wasn’t possible, not without offending everyone who’d voted for her. Lady Barb had once told her, years ago, that anyone who declined such an honor was unlikely to receive another one, even if they had good reasons to refuse it. And it was an honor. There was only one Head Pupil per year. She’d be in good company.
Assuming I don’t mess it up, she thought, wryly. She’d read horror stories about Head Boys and Girls who’d accidentally created all sorts of problems. They’ll forgot I ever held the post if I make a real mess of it.
“I look forward to working with you too,” she lied, finally. She was fairly sure that Gordian wasn’t looking forward to working with her. He’d done his level best to ignore her since she’d returned from Beneficence. “When do I have to accept the nomination?”
Gordian lifted a single eyebrow. “You were elected to the post. It is generally assumed that the person elected will serve.”
And no one bothered to ask me if I wanted the post, Emily thought, sourly. Who had nominated her? And why? She knew she couldn’t ask. I wouldn’t have put my hat in the ring if I’d been asked.
“I see,” she said.
She considered—briefly—declining the nomination anyway. There were good reasons to want to decline it. They couldn’t force her to serve, could they? But it would cost her later on, she was sure. The Senior Tutors wouldn’t be too pleased with her ... she wondered, grimly, if Gordian had deliberately created the whole situation. Either she accepted the post and ran the risk of messing up or she declined, offending the other tutors. Or maybe she was just being paranoid. Gordian didn’t like her. That didn’t mean he was out to get her.
He knows I can control the wards, she reminded herself. That can’t sit well with him.
“You’ll be familiar with most of the Head Girl’s duties,” Gordian said. He nodded to the scroll in her hand. “However, there are two issues that I need to discuss with you.”
Emily nodded, slowly. “Yes, sir.”
“First, we will be continuing the mentorship program from last year,” Gordian said. “You will be responsible for assigning the Fifth Year students to mentor First Year students, then supervising their progress over the first three months. I expect you to ensure that the newcomers get the sort of mentoring they need.”
Without making life too easy for them, Emily thought. It was a fine balancing act and she suspected she’d fallen off, last year. She’d wound up helping her mentees more than she thought she should. But then, the entire school had nearly collapsed in on itself. The new students had endured a baptism of fire. It won’t be easy to supervise the older students without being far too intrusive.
She pushed the thought aside and forced herself to think. Aloha had just assigned people at random, as far as she knew. She’d have to check the records to be sure. That wouldn’t take too long. There were roughly two hundred new pupils every year. She could simply parcel them out to the Fifth Years, then watch progress from a distance. Aloha hadn’t watched her that closely, had she? She’d have to check that too.
“I’ll do my best,” she said. The mentoring program was important. She knew she would have avoided a number of missteps if she’d had a mentor, back when she’d first entered Whitehall. “Did Aloha leave behind any records?”
“They’ll be made available to you.” Gordian held up a hand. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that they’re confidential. You are not to discuss them with anyone outside the staff without permission from myself.”
Emily nodded. “Yes, sir.”
She looked down at the stone floor, thinking hard. She’d have to read through the records carefully, then decide how to proceed. It wasn’t going to be easy. Perhaps Aloha had put more thought into the whole process than Emily assumed. Pairing up the wrong students and mentors would be disastrous. It was something to discuss with Lady Barb, then perhaps Aloha herself. But the former Head Girl would be busy with her mastery ...
And she’d expect me to stand on my own two feet, Emily reminded herself. She won’t come back long enough to hold my hand.
“The second matter is considerably more important,” Gordian added. 
Emily straightened up and looked at him. 
“You are aware, of course, that the Head Pupil is supposed to undertake a special project?”
“Yes,” Emily said. “The mentoring program ...”
Gordian smiled. “The mentoring program was Aloha’s idea,” he said. “You will need something different.”
Emily’s confusion must have shown on her face, for Gordian started to explain.
“The Head Pupil is required to design and implement a special project of their own,” Gordian said. “The project can—and will—be maintained after the Head Pupil has left, provided it proves itself beneficial. I believe the mentoring program was beneficial, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are required to come up with something of your own, along the same lines,” Gordian said. “Something that actually benefits the school.”
Emily looked down at the floor. She couldn’t think of anything—offhand—that might actually benefit the school. The mentoring program was a good thing, but ... what could she do? More importantly, what could she organize that wouldn’t cut too much into her limited time? Everything she knew she’d needed, over the last five years, would be too difficult to implement for the entire school. And she doubted Gordian would let her implement some of her more radical ideas.
More experience outside the castle would be a good thing, she thought. She’d found herself hampered by a lack of proper experience. The Nameless World was nothing like Earth. And while she was the only student from another world, the upper-class students had little comprehension of the lives led by the lower-classes. But students already go out on work experience over the summer months.
“I understand that you might not have the time to find something suitable,” Gordian said, after a moment. “Fortunately, there is a project that you could implement without much additional work.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. Gordian was unlikely to be doing her any favors out of the goodness of his heart. He might be pushing her to implement something he wanted, rather than something she’d devised for herself. Or he might be trying to ensure that she’d fail—or at least do something harmless. Or maybe he was just trying to keep her busy. He’d certainly tried to keep her busy last year. 
“Whitehall has not competed in any of the dueling contests over the past two decades,” Gordian added. “Our failure to send contestants has ... weakened ... our position amongst the other schools. Many questions have been asked about our reluctance to take part in the noble sport. I believe that establishing a dueling club and running an in-house dueling contest would lay the foundations for a return to the dueling league. Ideally, we’d be sending an official dueling team next year and—perhaps—hosting a contest the year after.”
“I was under the impression that dueling had little in common with real warfare,” Emily said, carefully. She had dueled at Mountaintop—and fought both Master Grey and Casper—but both contests had been formalized. There were no rules in actual war. “I believe that was why Grandmaster Hasdrubal banned dueling circles.”
“There is some truth in that,” Gordian conceded. “But do we not play Ken even though it has nothing in common with actual life?”
He smiled, rather thinly. “No one would mistake a dueling circle for an actual war. But dueling is a game, not training for war.”
Emily nodded. Dueling—at least, the dueling she’d been taught at Mountaintop—was one-on-one. There were no teams, not in a formal duel. Each contestant won or lost by his own abilities. There were rules, strict limits on what spells could be used ... rules that had no place in war. Necromancers certainly didn’t bother to restrict themselves when they invaded new countries, not when there was nothing to be gained by holding back. She couldn’t help thinking that Grandmaster Hasdrubal had a point. Dueling taught bad habits for magicians who actually had to go to war.
Sergeant Miles is not going to be pleased, she thought, grimly. He’ll spend months teaching his students to forget everything they learnt in dueling club.
“You’ll be responsible for setting up the club and supervising the first set of contests,” Gordian told her. “You may request assistance from the staff, of course, but it may be held against you if it is something you should be capable of doing yourself. I suggest you model the club on what you saw at Mountaintop ...”
“If I can’t think of anything else,” Emily interrupted.
Gordian looked displeased. “If you can’t think of anything else.”
Emily shook her head, ruefully. She couldn’t think of anything else. And she had to admit that a dueling club—and contest—might be fun, at least for the younger students. She’d never cared for team sports, but that made her fairly unusual in Whitehall. They’d have a lot of fun drawing up dueling rosters and preparing for the interschool championships. But it was going to be a great deal of work for very little reward ...
Unless I can put it on my resume, she thought. It might work in my favor.
Her thoughts raced from point to point. She wanted to be a teacher, although she knew she needed to complete her mastery and gain more experience before anyone would consider her for a teaching position. This was a chance to gain experience, even if it was dueling rather than a more serious subject. Hell, it would be easier to teach dueling than charms or alchemy. She wouldn’t have to worry about screwing up the basics, ensuring her students couldn’t progress to the upper levels. Failing to master the fundamentals of charms, she knew from bitter experience, made it impossible to pass on to the more interesting levels. 
“I’ll try and think of something,” she said, slowly. “How long do I have to decide?”
“You have a week to give me a proposal.” Gordian cocked his head. “If I accept it, you may proceed; if not, you’ll have less time to come up with something new.”
Or just accept the dueling club, Emily thought. It wouldn’t be that hard, she admitted privately. She could just copy the setup at Mountaintop for the club, then model the contest on the standard league rules. It might just work in my favor.
“I’ll let you know,” she said. She wished, suddenly, that someone had told her she might be elected Head Girl. A few weeks to think about it might have let her come up with something more interesting. “Do I still have to come up with a proposal for the dueling club?”
“You have to sketch out an outline,” Gordian told her. “But you don’t have to come up with a formal proposal.”
Good, Emily thought.
A thought struck her. Would it be cheating if I hired someone from the outside world to handle the club?
She shook her head, mentally. It probably would be. 
Gordian cleared his throat. “There are a handful of other matters that we will discuss over the next few weeks.” He picked up another scroll and held it out to her. “Right now, your father has ... requested ... that we include you in Soul Magic classes. I have reluctantly granted this, as I believe you already have some basic training in Soul Magic.”
“Very basic,” Emily said. Aurelius—the original Aurelius—had shown her the basics, but he hadn’t taught her anything more. She’d assumed it was something she was going to have to study later, after she graduated. “I thought that only Healers studied Soul Magic.”
“Your father was very insistent,” Gordian informed her. “He appears to believe it would be useful.”
Emily frowned. Void—her father, as far as anyone outside a select group knew—wouldn’t have found it easy to convince Gordian to let her study Soul Magic. Soul Magic was extremely dangerous, even in the hands of a trained Healer. It was normally hedged around with all sorts of warnings and oaths, just to prevent accidents. She wasn’t even sure she could keep up with the other students in the class. Prospective Healers would have been studying it last year.
He thinks it might be useful, she thought. Why? She’d have to write to him, soon. 
“Understood,” she said, finally. She was going to be very busy. Perhaps she could work her way through her schedule, then put some of her classes off until she had a grip on everything else. Or perhaps that was a little optimistic. “Is that the only major addition to my schedule?”
“For the moment.” Gordian shrugged. “You’ll have quite a bit of free time on your schedule, but ... you’re expected to actually use it for study. Running down to Dragon’s Den every day will cost you.”
“I know,” Emily said. She hadn’t had much free time over the past year, not since she’d returned to Whitehall. It had been easy to decline the handful of invitations to visit Dragon’s Den or go walking up the hillside. She supposed it would have been harder if she’d still been dating Caleb. “I’ll be spending most of my free time in the library.”
“And running the dueling contest.” Gordian’s lips twitched. “And doing everything else a Head Girl is supposed to do.”
Emily groaned. “Is sleep included on the list?”
“I believe it’s an optional extra,” Gordian said, deadpan. “Pencil a nap in for some time next week.”
Emily had to smile. “Is there no spell that allows someone to go without sleep for a full year?”
“Only if you don’t mind seeing things after the first few days,” Gordian said. “I believe the hallucinations can be quite unpleasant.”
“I know,” Emily said. They’d been warned, time and time again, not to abuse wakefulness potions. One or two doses might be tolerable, but after that the side-effects turned nasty. It was better to sleep than risk stumbling around in a daze. Cabiria had taken five doses last year and wound up sleeping for a week when they’d caught up with her. “I won’t risk it.”
“Very good.” Gordian glanced at his watch. “We’ll discuss the other matters later, when we have time. Make sure you bring your proposal to me before term starts.”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said.
“And one other thing,” Gordian added. His voice was suddenly very hard. “Do you recall what you were told, last year, about punishments for younger students?”
Emily had to force herself to recall. “We were told that if we issued unjust punishments to our mentees, we would share them.”
“Correct.” He pointed a finger at her. “That is also true—perhaps more true—of being Head Pupil. You have significant authority over your fellow pupils, even the ones your age. Abusing it will not be tolerated.”
Emily nodded. “I understand.”
“Very good,” Gordian said. “You may go now.”
Chapter Three

As soon as she was outside Gordian’s office—and antechamber—Emily leaned against the stone wall and closed her eyes. It was hard, so hard, to think clearly. Head Girl? She had never expected to be Head Girl. No one had even suggested she might be in the running for the nomination! Hell, if anyone had suggested it, she would have assumed that failing four of her eight exams would have disqualified her. God knew she wasn’t going to get full marks for the exams she’d retaken ...
She took a deep breath, centering herself as she clutched the two scrolls to her breast. Head Girl ... she could cope. She’d have to cope. It wasn’t something she’d wanted—she’d always assumed that her feelings would be taken into account—but there didn’t seem to be any way to get out of it. The election wouldn’t even have been a close-run thing, not if ten out of fifteen senior tutors had supported her. That was enough of a majority to ensure that Gordian couldn’t simply veto her election.
And that would be great, if I wanted the post, she thought. There were too many things she had to do to welcome more work. This is going to keep me very busy.
She opened her eyes and looked down at the first scroll. It was a list of duties, ranging from the simple to the complex. She would have to do all of them, while somehow keeping pace with the rest of her classmates. She’d assumed she’d have plenty of time to catch up and move ahead, now that she was single again. Instead, she was going to be wasting valuable time trying to handle the Head Girl’s responsibilities as well as her schoolwork. Patrolling the corridors, supervising trips to Dragon’s Den ... offering advice to younger students ... she had no idea how she was going to cope. She wasn’t even sure what she’d be asked. She’d never bombarded the Head Pupil with questions.
The second scroll was an updated timetable. Emily glanced at it, wondering just why nearly all of her classes were in the morning. It looked as though sleeping in was going to be impossible, even though—as a Sixth Year—she wouldn’t have the bed tipping her onto the floor if she didn’t get up before classes began. She wondered, absently, why the tutors were punishing themselves too. They could sleep in too ...
She put both of the scrolls in her pocket and walked back to the stairs, heading down towards the lower levels. The school was surprisingly quiet. She didn’t see anyone as she reached the bottom of the stairs, not even a handful of cleaning staff. No doubt the students she’d seen earlier had headed back to their bedrooms, if they’d finished their exams. The library wouldn’t be open until classes resumed, unfortunately. Emily had considered trying to sneak in herself, but she knew that would be far too revealing. Besides, she had no idea what protections Lady Aliya and her staff might have added over the last few months. They wouldn’t be connected to Whitehall’s wards.
They were trying to upgrade the whole system, after the entire school nearly collapsed, she reminded herself. The library had been a ghastly mess. Hundreds of students had worked hard just to put the books back on the shelves. They didn’t want to rely on the school’s wards again.
She frowned as she heard the sound of raised voices, dead ahead of her. Lady Barb was arguing with Sergeant Miles, their voices echoing down the corridor. Emily froze, unsure what to do. She couldn’t quite make out the words, but they sounded angry ... she shivered, remembering the one time she’d seen Sergeant Miles mad. He was so calm—normally—that his anger had been frightening. 
The sound cut off, abruptly. A moment later, Lady Barb strode out of the office.
“Emily.” She looked like an angry cat. Her voice was so tightly controlled that Emily knew she was furious. “Come with me.”
She swept past Emily and headed down the corridor. Emily hesitated, then followed her into a small workroom. It was clean and tidy, the tools placed on the workbench or hanging from the walls. She wasn’t surprised. Anyone who was allowed to use the workroom would know that it had to be kept clean, that they had to tidy up after themselves. Sergeant Miles would not be pleased with anyone who didn’t take care of the school’s tools. They’d spend weeks on punishment duties. 
“Have a seat,” Lady Barb said. Her voice softened, just slightly. “Just let me put up a privacy ward and I’ll be right with you.”
Emily eyed her, worriedly. Lady Barb didn’t seem to be angry at her, but it was clear the older woman was pissed. She strode up and down, her fingers curling into fists as she cast a trio of privacy wards into the air. Emily watched her, sensing the wards falling into place one by one. Lady Barb wasn’t just trying to keep their conversation private, Emily realized grimly. She was using the spellcasting to calm herself.
“That should do it,” Lady Barb said, finally.
Emily braced herself. “Are you all right?”
“No,” Lady Barb said, curtly. She shot Emily a look that warned her not to ask any more questions. “What did the Grandmaster want?”
“I’m Head Girl.” Emily looked up at her mentor. “Is there any way of getting out of it?”
Lady Barb rolled her eyes. “Only you would try to get out of it,” she said, her voice sour, as if she was still distracted. “Everyone else schemes to get in.”
“I didn’t want it,” Emily said.
“I suppose it wouldn’t look quite so good on your particular resume,” Lady Barb said, with a grimace. “Necromancer’s Bane, Baroness of Cockatrice, Savior of Farrakhan, Savior of Beneficence ... Head Girl.”
Emily had to smile. “It does look a little small,” she said. “But ... is there any way to get out of it?”
“Not without paying a price,” Lady Barb told her. “If nothing else, they’d have to meet and elect a new Head Pupil.”
“Ouch.” Emily met Lady Barb’s eyes. “He also wants me to set up a dueling club and run a contest.”
Lady Barb looked irked. “As your special project?”
Emily nodded. “I can’t think of anything better ...”
“It’s never easy to come up with something that hasn’t already been done,” Lady Barb admitted. “Finding something that will succeed is even harder.”
She sighed. “There has been a push to reopen a dueling club for several years,” she added, tiredly. “But it was never a possibility until a new Grandmaster took up his office.”
“I was told it isn’t good training for war,” Emily said. “That’s true, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Lady Barb shrugged. “To be fair, it does teach some of the skills combat sorcerers need. Thinking on one’s feet, snapping off curses and hexes at speed ... they’re skills that are desperately required in combat. But duelists are also taught to hold back, something that can be disastrous in a real fight.”
Emily made a face. She knew hundreds of spells that couldn’t be used in a duel without—at best—forfeiting the match. The risk of maiming—or killing—her opponent would be far too high. And yet, in a real fight, she’d use those spells without a second thought. Training herself not to use them would hamper her in later life. 
“It will be fun, for everyone who wants to take part,” Lady Barb added. “But not everyone will want to take part.”
“They’ll want to keep their skills a mystery,” Emily said. She’d been cautioned not to show everything she could do. “What happens when younger students want to go up against older students?”
“The younger ones will get their butts kicked,” Lady Barb said, dryly. “Or you’ll have the perfect excuse to humiliate the older pupils.”
Emily sighed. “I don’t want to do this. But I just can’t think of anything else.”
She looked up. “What about reorganizing the library?”
“That wouldn’t be quite so spectacular,” Lady Barb said. “You’d get more credit for something that lasted.”
“Like the mentorship program,” Emily mused. “But how much work did Aloha actually do after it got started?”
“Probably quite a bit,” Lady Barb said.
She held up a hand. “You shouldn’t have any trouble setting up a basic roster, perhaps selecting a few older students to serve as additional supervisors. That won’t take much work. Then you can run the club one day each week. I don’t think you’ll have to do that much work, once you get started. It’ll probably wind up running itself.”
“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 bigger. 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.
“There was a girl who could make the most beautiful toys,” Frieda said, sounding rather impressed. “She hadn’t had any formal training—she’d never been to school—but she was still a skilled enchanter. Her parents have been making toys and tools for years. I was hoping to talk her into making something for me, but she didn’t have time. She really should move to Beneficence, if the city has recovered by now. She’s got a handful of siblings who can take over the family business.”
She smiled. “And then there was a boy who kept talking me into taking long walks ...”
Emily grinned. “A boyfriend?”
“We just fooled around.” Frieda’s fingers touched her cheek, gently. “I ...”
She paused, just for a second. “You’re Head Girl,” she said. An unpleasant smile spread across her face. “You can send Caleb to be caned.”
Emily flushed. “I don’t think that’s allowed ...”
“Of course it is,” Frieda said, briskly. Her face darkened. “He deserves it, doesn’t he?”
“No,” Emily said. She wasn’t sure if she meant it or not. There were times when she wanted to be angry, really angry, at her former boyfriend. “We are talking again, now.”
“Hah,” Frieda said.
Emily opened her mouth to point out that she could send Frieda to be caned too, then stopped herself firmly. She had no intention of abusing her power, unlike Master Tor or Master Gray. And besides, she could handle her problems herself. She and Caleb would just have to work together long enough to pass their exams, then ... if they still had problems, they could part on good terms.
“It sounds like you had a great time,” she said. “But you do realize that Fourth Year is going to be hard.”
“The hardest,” Frieda agreed. “But I’m looking forward to it.”
She produced a pile of books from her trunk and dumped them on the bookshelves. Most of them were freshly-printed magical textbooks, but a couple were blue books. Emily groaned inwardly, knowing Frieda had just placed her in an invidious position. Blue books were banned at Whitehall, no exceptions. If she confiscated them, Frieda would be mad at her; if she ignored them, Gordian would point out she wasn’t doing her job. Either way, she’d lose something ...
“Take those books out of here before term starts,” she said, pointing to the blue books. “Or you’ll get us both in trouble.”
Frieda looked embarrassed. “... Sorry.”
Emily sighed. She’d read a handful of blue books, but none of them had been particularly decent. They’d read more like bad fan fiction, crammed with IKEA erotica, than anything else. There were only so many times one could read them without feeling they’d read the exact same story a dozen times over. She’d known they were poorly written and staggeringly unrealistic even before losing her virginity.
“Just keep them out of sight,” she said. “Take them to the house, if you want.”
“I’ll keep them out of your sight,” Frieda promised. 
Emily sighed, again. “I don’t think you’ll have time for reading them,” she added. “You’ll have to do a joint project ...”
She saw a flash of hot anger cross Frieda’s face. “Celadon is useless. I should never have paired up with him!”
Emily blinked, alarmed. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Oh, we had a plan to go on work experience to get the training we needed to complete the project,” Frieda said. “And then he started coming up with new ideas of his own.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” Emily pointed out. “You don’t want to do all the work ...”
“He wants to change everything, even after we spent the summer working on our skills,” Frieda snapped. “And he didn’t listen to a single word from me!”
Emily looked up. “Frieda, what’s wrong?”
“He won’t listen to me,” Frieda said. Her face darkened. “He just won’t listen!”
Emily sucked in a breath. “What are you actually trying to do?”
Frieda hesitated. “Are we allowed to tell you?”
“I think so,” Emily said. She hadn’t talked about her joint project, but it had wider implications than anyone apart from her and Caleb had realized. “I’m just not allowed to actually help you.”
“We were working on using rare materials to design a whole new generation of alchemical tools,” Frieda said. “It was something that grew out of the New Learning, a concept that might ...” she trailed off and knelt down beside the trunk, then started to dig through it. “I’ll see if I can find you the papers.”
“Leave that for the moment,” Emily said. “What does he want to change?”
“We had a plan for crafting the tools,” Frieda said. “And now he wants to change it!”
Emily cocked her head. “How do you know his way isn’t better?”
“Because he didn’t suggest it to me,” Frieda, sounding furious. Magic crackled over her fingertips. “He told me. Just ... wrote and said we were going to be changing everything. I don’t even know everything he wants to do!”
“I see,” Emily said. “When he gets here, why don’t you sit down with him and work through it, piece by piece? If his idea is truly better, you can use it.”
“And then he gets all the credit,” Frieda pointed out.
“No, he doesn’t,” Emily said. She could see Frieda’s point, but it didn’t work like that. “He would only get all the credit if he did all the work. He’s not talking about dumping you, is he?”
“He doesn’t seem to need me,” Frieda muttered. “Emily, what happens if he does shove me out of the project?”
“I don’t think he can,” Emily said. The joint project was meant to be joint. Neither Celadon nor Frieda would get high marks if their partnership failed, even if their work was pure genius. And, somehow, they’d managed to get through the first stage without going down in flames. “You have to work together to complete the project.”
Frieda scowled. “And what stops him from doing all the work?”
“You,” Emily said. “At the very least, you have to know what’s going on.”
“I don’t know if I do.” Frieda’s face twisted as she closed the trunk and stood. “I don’t think he listens to a single thing I say.”
“You were exchanging letters and chat notes, right?” Emily asked. “You’ll probably get on better face to face. Sit down with him, go through what he wants to do, run a few basic experiments and then ... and then, decide how you want to proceed. If things really fall apart, you can probably talk to your tutor.”
“He’ll probably blame me,” Frieda said, sourly. “Professor Thande doesn’t like me.”
“You don’t blow up enough cauldrons.” Emily stood and nodded to the door. “It’ll be several hours until dinner, so come for a swim. Or a walk. It’ll make us both feel better.”
She smiled. “And you can help me think of something we can do instead of a dueling club.”
Frieda blinked. “What?”
Emily explained, quickly. 
“But that would be fun,” Frieda said, when Emily finished the explanation. “I’d love to duel.”
“I fought in two real duels,” Emily pointed out. “They weren’t fun.”
“You’re also a champion,” Frieda said. “Aren’t you?”
Emily shrugged. Casper had beaten her in a duel before his death. She assumed the title had fallen to the next person in line, rather than returning to her. No one had tried to challenge her since Casper’s death, if nothing else. That meant she’d probably fallen a long way down the league table. But it wasn’t something that bothered her.
“Come on,” she said, instead. “Let’s go for a swim.”
Chapter Five

Emily had hoped—despite Frieda’s enthusiasm—to find something that would serve as an alternative to the dueling club, but a week of brainstorming and research turned up nothing remotely practical. Some of her ideas had been tried before, while others would have required too much effort to make them work. She simply hadn’t been able to find anything that would satisfy the requirements without demanding too much from her.
“At least this way you can be sure of getting willing helpers,” Frieda pointed out, as they waited outside Gordian’s office. “A homework club wouldn’t raise quite so much enthusiasm.”
“I suppose,” Emily said. She wished, not for the first time, that someone else had been elected Head Girl. It wasn’t as if she’d wanted the post. There had been class presidents back home, but the role had been purely ceremonial. The schoolchildren certainly hadn’t had any real authority. “You’d think they’d want help with their homework.”
“No one wants to do homework,” Frieda said.
Emily had to agree. She’d never met a student who liked doing homework, even if they considered the subject to be fascinating. And, on Earth, she’d had problems finding a place to do homework without encountering her stepfather. Having an older student help her with her homework—at Whitehall—might have made life easier, but it wouldn’t have made it any more enjoyable. Besides, students were supposed to learn to manage their own time. A homework club—even one that wasn’t compulsory—wouldn’t teach them skills they’d need for future life.
But it might have made sure they actually got their homework done, she thought. But then, anyone who didn’t get it done would be in real trouble.
Her lips quirked—she’d heard students argue, earnestly, that their homework had eaten the dog. The door opened. Madame Griselda stood there, eying Emily and Frieda as if they were something unpleasant she’d scraped off the sole of her boot. Emily looked back at her, wondering what Gordian’s secretary had against her. But then, Madame Griselda seemed to be unpleasant to all the students. Perhaps she felt the school could be organized perfectly if all the pesky students went elsewhere.
“Lady Emily,” Madame Griselda said. “The Grandmaster will see you now.”
“Thank you,” Emily said.
She sighed. She’d had the morning free—insofar as she’d spent it doing more research than schoolwork—but she had an orientation meeting with the rest of the Sixth Year students in an hour. She wasn’t even sure which tutor would serve as their Year Head. The note she’d received when classes resumed, detailing her first week, hadn’t said. She was fairly sure it wouldn’t be Master Tor, but there were too many other possible candidates.
“I’ll see you this evening,” she said to Frieda. “Have fun.”
Frieda looked downcast. “I have to read through his latest set of proposals.” A flicker of anger crossed her face. “Is it too much to ask that he makes up his mind?”
“Probably,” Emily said. She and Caleb hadn’t had so many problems, had they? But then, students were expected to show they could think for themselves, not single-handedly solve magical conundrums that had baffled older and wiser minds. Even drawing out a new line of enquiry would be more than anyone was expected to do. “You don’t have to stick with him after the project is completed.”
“You did,” Frieda said.
Emily felt her cheeks heat. She’d been confident enough in the joint project that she’d agreed to apply for extra credit, rather than putting the whole concept aside until after she and Caleb graduated. It had been a risk, but she’d had faith in her ability to turn the project into something viable. And besides, it would have allowed her—it had allowed her—to spend more time with Caleb. It was clear that Frieda wouldn’t be dating Celadon anytime soon.
“I didn’t have to,” Emily said. “Nor do you.”
Madame Griselda cleared her throat, meaningfully. Emily winked at Frieda, then turned and walked into Gordian’s office. It was empty, but a door was open at the far end, a door she was sure hadn’t been there before. Was Gordian experimenting with manipulating the school’s interior dimensions? Or had it merely been concealed behind a haze of powerful charms? After everything that had happened last year, it would be a long time before anyone—Emily included—wanted to meddle with the school’s interior. The risk of triggering another collapse was too great.
“Emily,” Gordian called. “Come on in.”
Emily walked to the new door and peered through. The compartment looked like a comfortable study, complete with armchairs, a small wooden table, a pot of Kava on the sideboard and a warm fire burning merrily in the grate. A handful of portraits hung from the walls, one marked as Master Whitehall. Emily smiled when she saw it. Lord and Master Whitehall—most history books didn’t seem to realize that Lord and Master were combined—hadn’t looked anything like that. The man in the painting looked like someone had crossed Dumbledore with Gandalf and added robes at least five hundred years out of time. The next picture—Grandmaster Bernard—might have been more authentic. She had no idea what Bernard had looked like as an older man.
No sign of Julianne, of course, she thought cynically. Whitehall’s daughter—and Bernard’s wife—had practically fallen out of the history books. And no mention of me either.
Gordian followed her gaze. “I was meaning to ask you how close they were to reality.” He sounded friendlier, for once. “Is that really him?”
“That isn’t Lord Whitehall.” Emily studied the portrait for a long moment. “I don’t think he would have aged into that.”
“Times change, people change,” Gordian said, his voice oddly reflective. “Others stay the same.”
He cocked his head. “I was hoping to discuss history with you at some later date,” he added, after a moment. “And there are a handful of historians who would be very interested in your story.”
Emily frowned. Gordian was the only one who knew she’d gone back in time and played a vital role in the founding of Whitehall School. She hadn’t told anyone else, not even her closest friends. The last thing she wanted was to encourage magicians to start experimenting with time travel, despite the fact that her equations insisted it wouldn’t be easy to navigate without a nexus point and a checkpoint. Random jumping through time would be incredibly dangerous.
And Gordian has his own reasons to keep it quiet, she thought. He wouldn’t want to admit that I can take control of the school’s wards. It would undermine his position as Grandmaster if everyone knew I could overrule him.
“I thought you wanted to keep it quiet,” she said. Professor Locke’s dream of long-lost spells had never materialized, but there were secrets in the past that should be left there. Demons and DemonMasters, for one. And Manavores, whatever they’d been. She’d seen signs of their presence at Heart’s Eye too, back when she and Casper had sneaked into the fallen school. “It would give people ideas.”
“The historians would be under oath not to disclose anything without clearing it with me first,” Gordian assured her. “Your name would never be mentioned.”
Emily wasn’t so sure. It was hard to tell just what clue would allow someone to untangle the whole story, even though time travel wasn’t even a concept in the Nameless World. Or perhaps it was, in a sense. Going forward in time wasn’t impossible, as long as one had the power. It was getting backwards that was impossible.
Without a nexus point, she reminded herself. And even if they had a nexus point, they’d find it hard to navigate ...
“Perhaps I could talk to them later,” she said. She understood the urge to dig up the past, even though there were some secrets definitely better left buried. “But it would be hard to prove anything.”
“We will see,” Gordian said. “We haven’t even begun to explore all the tunnels below Whitehall.”
“That would be dangerous,” Emily warned. “We don’t know what we might do.”
“Or what else might be on the verge of going wrong,” Gordian said. “I can’t even use the wards to scan below the school. Can you?”
Emily shook her head. The lower levels hadn’t quite been excluded from the wards, but the spellware that monitored the school didn’t work down there. She suspected the surveillance spells had been designed and implemented after the lower levels had been sealed off and forgotten. Whoever had designed them hadn’t known to look below the open levels. 
“We’ll be very careful,” Gordian said. “But we do have to know what might be under us.”
Emily nodded, reluctantly. Whitehall’s spellwork had lasted for nearly a thousand years, but she could understand Gordian’s concern. Something might have been steadily going wrong—or falling out of alignment—for all that time. Or Lord Whitehall might have buried a basilisk under the school. She didn’t think that was likely—he’d have had more sense—but it was a possibility.
“Just be careful,” she said. “And leave the wards alone.”
“We will,” Gordian assured her. “Who knows how many more books and records are hidden below, just waiting for us to find them?”
Emily shrugged. As far as she knew, there had only been one cache of books. But if Master Wolfe had somehow been active after his presumed death, there might be more. He—or someone—had left a cache in Beneficence, after all. Why wouldn’t he have hidden one in Whitehall?
Because it would be the first place anyone would look, if they knew who’d written the books, her own thoughts answered her. He’d certainly have fewer problems hiding them here.
“It might come to nothing,” Gordian said. “But we have to search the lower levels thoroughly.”
He motioned for her to sit down. “Please, be seated. Would you like a mug of Kava?”
Emily hesitated. She’d really drunk too much caffeine over the last few hours. But etiquette demanded that he offer and she accept. It was a way of saying she was welcome, even if she wasn’t.
“Yes, please,” she said, finally. It wasn’t as though it was that late. “Milk, no sugar.”
Gordian rose and poured her a mug. “I trust you spent the week productively,” he said, as he passed it to her. “Did you find an alternative to the dueling club?”
“No, sir,” Emily said. It galled her to admit it, but all of the practical ideas had been done before. A couple of failed ideas had been reasonably promising, yet she doubted Gordian would have let her try to make them work. He’d say they’d already failed once and he would be right. “Nothing I found would be workable in the time I have.”
Gordian’s lips twitched, as if he’d scored a point. Emily silently conceded he had.
“Very good,” Gordian said. “And you have drawn up the rules?”
Emily reached into her pocket and produced a small notebook. “For the club itself, I modeled the structure on the kingmaker and fencing clubs. Members will be ranked according to wins, losses and draws ... insofar as there are draws. I’ve copied the rules from the dueling league, with the principle exception of no lethal combat. Ideally, the members will not be seriously injured in dueling.”
“That might be tricky to enforce,” Gordian said. “The monitors might not catch any illicit moves.”
Emily nodded. No one—apart from Sergeant Miles—had realized she’d deliberately given Casper an opening, when she’d dueled with him. Unless the others had realized and kept their mouths shut ... no, she couldn’t imagine Master Grave letting Casper prance about in celebration if he hadn’t won fairly. The man was a stickler for the rules. Casper himself certainly hadn’t known.
“The arena will be spelled to keep combat as safe as possible.” She knew that wasn’t going to be easy. Small injuries happened all the time, no matter what the tutors said or did. Whitehall certainly wasn’t at risk of being sued if a student cut his finger or scraped her knee. “I was thinking that preparing the arena would make a useful project for some of the older students.”
“And give you some practical experience,” Gordian said, slowly. He nodded in apparent approval. “I believe Professor Armstrong would be happy to assist you. You’re still with him this year, aren’t you?”
Emily nodded. She’d passed her wardcrafting exam, somewhat to her surprise. Professor Armstrong wasn’t known for letting his students get away with anything. The theoretical part of the exam had been bad enough, but the practical side had been worse. She’d had to stand in the center of her own wards and watch, helplessly, as the examiners blasted away at them with powerful spells. She was honestly surprised they’d lasted long enough for her to pass the exam.
“I have another year with him,” she confirmed.
“I’m sure he will assist you.” Gordian cocked his head. “You may also wish to work with Professor Lombardi. The arena must come up to the league’s standards.”
“I will.” Emily sighed, inwardly. That was going to be a great deal of work, even if she could shovel some of it onto her fellow pupils. Coming to think of it, she’d definitely have to get Professor Lombardi involved ... perhaps even Sergeant Miles. The Dueling League’s rules were very specific. “I wasn’t planning to have students join the league.”
“They’ll want to join the league,” Gordian said. “And the less they have to unlearn, the better.”
Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The Dueling League had never struck her as particularly logical. She’d fought two formal duels in her life, one of which had catapulted her to the top while the other had knocked her all the way down to the bottom. And yet, no one had questioned her right to the championship. They’d merely started making plans to challenge her after she left Whitehall.
They won’t be doing that now, she thought. My ranking is no longer worth taking.
She pushed that thought aside. “The contest will consist of three rounds. For the first one, everyone who wins their duel will proceed; for the second, we’ll keep dueling until we end up with a handful of candidates. And then they’ll battle it out for the championship.”
“You’ll be knocking anyone who has a bad day out of the running,” Gordian pointed out, dryly. “There’ll be complaints.”
“It depends on how many people want to duel,” Emily said. Frieda had been enthusiastic, but she didn’t know how many others wanted to compete. The Sixth Years were going to be very busy over the coming year. Caleb and the Gorgon certainly wouldn’t want to waste time ... Melissa might want to take part, but she had a lot of work to do. “If we only have a handful, we won’t really need to run three separate rounds after all.”
“Magicians will want to compete,” Gordian said. “Don’t you?”
Emily shook her head. She hadn’t wanted to compete. Nor had Lady Barb. Casper had, she supposed, but he was the only one she’d met who’d been genuinely enthusiastic. Even Master Grey had soured on dueling, though he’d been too prideful to give up his ranking without a fight. She wondered, absently, if Jade or Cat had ever been interested in dueling. It was something she’d have to ask Alassa, the next time they talked. Jade certainly had the skill to be a good duelist.
“Others will want to compete,” Gordian said.
He leaned back in his chair. “I’ll expect you to have the club organized within a month of term starting. You can set the contest dates as you see fit, but I advise you to wrap the third round up well before the final exams. Your classmates will probably try to lynch you if they have to choose between the duel and their exams.”
Emily nodded. She wouldn’t want to take part in a contest while she was preparing desperately for her final exams either. She certainly wouldn’t have chosen to take part in a contest instead of her exams, but she could understand—she supposed—why some of her classmates would feel differently. Backing down—or out—was often seen as worse than standing up against insurmountable odds. It explained some of the odder moments of military and magical history. Better to die bravely, they reasoned, than be branded a coward.
“I’ll try to wrap it up midway through the second term,” she said. Hopefully, she could abandon the whole concept afterwards and concentrate on her exams. “By then, the club should be running on its own.”
“Very good.” Gordian gave her a look that suggested he knew precisely what she was thinking. “I’ll be announcing your election as Head Girl this afternoon. After that, you’ll be speaking to the Fifth Years tomorrow ...”
Emily sighed. She wasn’t looking forward to that, either.
“You defeated Shadye,” Gordian said. “I’m sure speaking to younger students won’t be that bad.”
“Hah,” Emily muttered. She was already dreading speaking in public. Alassa could do it, easily. She couldn’t. “Shadye didn’t want me to speak to him.”
Gordian nodded. “How did you beat him, anyway?”
Emily refused to allow the question to throw her. Gordian was hardly the first person to ask, although she’d always suspected Grandmaster Hasdrubal knew more of the truth than he’d bothered to admit. She’d always hidden behind the Sorcerer’s Rule and refused to answer, even though she feared that was coming to an end. Dua Kepala had guessed too much of the truth.
But she wasn’t going to tell Gordian. Not yet.
“I harnessed the power of a dying star,” she said. It was true. Technically. “And I crushed him with it.”
Gordian’s eyes darkened. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes. Do try not to be late.”
Emily rose. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter Six

Emily spotted a handful of unfamiliar faces as she walked into the Sixth Year common room and took a seat on the sofa. Most of the students were known to her—by name, if nothing else—but there were a couple of newcomers who had to repeat their final year at Whitehall before graduating. A couple of others she knew were missing, having failed too many of their exams to be given a chance to retake them. They’d be back in Fifth Year ...
At least they’d know how to mentor students, she thought. And they’d be aware of the pitfalls from last year.
She leaned back and looked around the room. Caleb was standing by the bookshelf, reading a book so intently that she knew he wasn’t taking in a single word. Cirroc stood beside him, his eyes flickering from face to face. He shot Emily a sharp look when their eyes met, as if he blamed Emily for Caleb’s silence. Emily groaned inwardly, then ignored him. There had been too many rumors about her breakup with Caleb for her peace of mind, even if it had been almost a year ago. The whole story had been blurred into rumors about whatever had happened in Beneficence, emerging—as always—as something that bore very little resemblance to the truth. She supposed she should be grateful. Given time, anyone who knew the truth could probably devise a god-spell of their own.
“Emily,” a soft voice said. Emily looked up as the Gorgon sat down next to her, the snakes on her head hissing softly. Cabiria leaned against the armrest, looking as pale as ever. She and the Gorgon had become friends, Emily recalled. They had quite a bit in common. “I hope you had a good holiday.”
“It could have been worse,” Emily said. 
It was true, she supposed. Compared to some of her earlier summer holidays, spending weeks revising before retaking her exams was almost restful. And besides, having Lady Barb and Sergeant Miles all to herself had done wonders for her comprehension. “Yours?”
“I was back in the Gorgon Lands,” the Gorgon said. “My parents kept me busy all summer.”
Emily nodded. “You’d be quite close to the Desert of Death,” she recalled. “Did you have any trouble with roving orcs?”
“Not really,” the Gorgon said. “But we did have some trouble with military patrols.”
“They probably thought you were hiding the orcs,” Cabiria said. “Bastards.”
“Yes,” Emily agreed.
She frowned as Melissa entered, followed by Jacqui and Cerise. Melissa’s former cronies glanced around the room, their eyes lingering on Emily for a long moment, then headed straight for the sideboard to pour themselves drinks. Emily wondered, absently, how they’d managed to pass their exams, although she had to admit they were both formidable magicians. They’d kept their distance from Melissa—and Emily—since Melissa had been disowned by her family, seemingly concerned about how their families would react if they continued the friendship. Emily couldn’t help wondering what it meant that they’d accompanied Melissa to the common room.
Perhaps nothing, she thought, ruefully. We were all invited here, weren’t we?
They made a striking couple, she had to admit as she watched them leaning against the wall. Jacqui was black, with dark eyes and white hair; Cerise was blonde, her hair curled into ringlets that fell around her shoulders. They’d both had their black robes tailored to show off their figures, even though it was technically forbidden. Emily couldn’t help wondering if they’d be ordered to change the first day they walked into a classroom. Wearing revealing clothes wasn’t permitted in class. No doubt they’d try to argue that they weren’t actually revealing any bare skin below their necklines.
Melissa took a chair and nodded, politely, to Emily. She’d spent the summer with her husband, Emily recalled. She hoped Markus had had time to spend with his wife. His last set of letters had spoken of chaos in Beneficence, of savings wiped out and riots on the streets despite the best efforts of the bankers and councillors. It might be years, he’d warned, before the city recovered from Vesperian’s Folly and the Fists of Justice. The only upside was that the rules had been updated to ensure no one else could start a Ponzi scheme.
Which probably won’t stop someone smart enough to find the loopholes and ruthless enough to exploit them, Emily thought, crossly. They can’t close everything without making it very hard to establish a business and turn a profit.
She nodded back to Melissa, then resumed her survey of the room. Caleb was still pretending to read, but most of the others were chatting amongst themselves. She felt a twinge of the old regret—she’d never been good at socializing, not in large groups—and pushed it aside, sharply. Being isolated wasn’t that bad, was it? It wasn’t as if she wanted to chat about pointless social pleasantries.
The wards shifted as Gordian strode into the room, followed by Master Tor. Emily sat upright, momentarily confused. Master Tor couldn’t be their Year Head, surely? He’d been their last Year Head. Coming to think of it, he’d been her Year Head back in Second Year too. She’d never really liked him and she was fairly sure the feeling was mutual.
Her lips twitched as the chatter died away. He must be pretty sick of us by now.
“Welcome back to Whitehall,” Gordian said, without preamble. His voice echoed in the quiet room. “You’ll be pleased to know that I won’t keep you long.”
Emily kept her face expressionless with an effort. She’d heard that before—they’d all heard that before—and she’d believe it when she saw it. Gordian might not be as fond of the sound of his own voice as some of the others she’d met, but she was sure he’d taken the opportunity to pontificate as much as possible. If nothing else, he wanted—he needed—to stamp his authority on the school.
“First, the staff met last week to elect a Head Pupil.” Gordian looked directly at Emily. “It was decided that Emily would serve as Head Girl for the year.”
Emily felt herself flush as everyone looked at her. She forced herself to look back at Gordian, even though she wanted to hide. Caleb and Cabiria looked pleased, at least; Jacqui and Cerise didn’t look particularly happy. Melissa and the others didn’t seem to want to reveal their feelings. Emily might not have wanted to be Head Girl, but she was grimly aware that it made her practically unique. 
“As such, Emily will also serve as Head of Sixth Year,” Gordian continued. “I trust you will show her the same level of respect you’d show to any of your other Year Heads.”
Emily felt her blood run cold. She hadn’t anticipated that. It certainly hadn’t been included on the list of official duties. Aloha hadn’t mentioned it to her either, although they hadn’t really had time to sit down and talk about being Head Girl. Perhaps Gordian was trying to do her a backhanded favor. She’d told him she wanted to be a teacher, after all. Serving as a Year Head would look good on her resume. It wouldn’t be a purely ceremonial post either.
They won’t need that much help, she told herself, firmly. They’re not firsties.
Gordian paused long enough to allow that to sink in, then continued.
“Sixth Year is the hardest year, as some of you are already aware,” he added. “I expect each and every one of you to concentrate on your studies as much as possible. Those of you who spend time partying instead of studying will not impress your future masters, if you want apprenticeships. Nor will you pass your exams. You will be required to demonstrate a grasp of the material far in excess of what you have done over the past five years—yes, even last year. There are very few masters who will willingly take on an apprentice who has not shown a willingness to learn and master the material.
“I advise you to put your studies first. Those of you who have personal concerns should put them aside for the year. Those of you who like partying should wait until you have passed your exams before returning to self-indulgence. And those of you who cannot act like adults should leave the school now. This is your last year of schooling. If you fail to take full advantage of it, you will fail.
“In the outside world, you would already be considered adults. Here—now—you will also be considered adults. You will be held to account for mistakes—and malice—in a way you may find strange and even unbelievable. Those of you who act badly will not be caned, nor will you be given detentions. You will be suspended, perhaps even expelled. And if you are expelled, in this year, you will not be permitted to return. You will have great difficulty finding a place at another school of magic.”
Emily swallowed, hard. She wasn’t the only one. Several students looked pale, as if they were hastily rethinking their plans. They’d grown used, perhaps, to being treated as overgrown children, in a world where a child of ten could be hanged as an adult. Now ... now they would be treated as adults. 
Then act like an adult, she told herself, firmly. And they can act like adults too.
She sighed, inwardly. How the hell was she supposed to be Head Girl—and run the dueling club—when she was also supposed to be keeping up with her studies? She could shuffle some of the work onto other students, if she got volunteers, but she didn’t think she could put enough of it onto others to make a difference. Passing her exams was going to be a nightmare. What could she do, she asked herself silently, to get out of the post? Nothing came to mind.
And there are others who would have loved the job, she thought. I didn’t want it.
“I could go on for hours,” Gordian said. She dragged her attention back to him. “I could list entire volumes of things you shouldn’t do, things that will get you kicked out of school. But I won’t, because I—we—expect you to use common sense. Those of you who think it’s funny to play puerile pranks on your fellow students can either rethink your approach or waste all your hard work over the last five years at school. You will face, for the first time, long-term consequences for your actions. Think carefully before you act.”
Emily nodded. That, at least, she understood, even approved. Students at Whitehall were fond of playing terrible pranks on each other, pranks that were rarely punished. She’d been told, more than once, that it was better for students to learn to defend themselves than have the teachers protect them, but she’d never approved of it. Now, at least, the Sixth Years would think twice before pranking each other.
Not that we’ll have the time, she thought. We’ll be far too busy to play games.
“There are some other matters that require attention,” Gordian said, calmly. “One of them is that our Head Girl”—he nodded at Emily—“will be setting up a dueling club and running a contest. You are all welcome to take part, if you wish, both as duelists and assistants. I believe the Head Girl will handle registrations after the first week. Emily?”
Emily took a breath. She hated speaking in public. Gordian hadn’t even warned her she would be speaking in public. She’d met people who had a talent for off-the-cuff remarks, but she wasn’t one of them. And the twenty-four people looking at her—twenty-six, counting the tutors—wouldn’t hesitate to remind her of any missteps or mistakes.
“I need at least three assistants,” she said, slowly. She’d planned to approach a handful of students privately, but it seemed that was no longer an option. “I’ll also be passing sign-up sheets around later in the week. If any of you wish to duel, you’ll be welcome to sign up; if any of you want to assist, please let me know in the next couple of days.”
There was a pause. “Very good,” Gordian said, his voice artfully bland. “Are there any questions?”
Cirroc waved, cheerfully. “What happens if you get too many assistants?”
“I will spread the workload out as much as possible,” Emily said. It was hard to keep the irritation out of her voice. Sergeant Miles wouldn’t be pleased if Cirroc—or Johan or Mathis—joined the dueling club. They’d have too much to unlearn. “I’ll need to recruit some assistants from the lower years, just to ensure some continuity.”
“I’d like to assist,” Cirroc said. “Anyone else?”
Jacqui gave Emily a sweet smile. “I’d like to assist too,” she said. “I do have a dueling badge, if you’re interested.”
“Emily beat Master Grey,” Melissa said, her voice edged. “I was there.”
“And she lost to a mere apprentice,” Jacqui pointed out, snidely.
Caleb shifted, uncomfortably. “There was nothing mere about my brother.”
Emily looked down at the ground. Casper’s death had weakened her relationship with Caleb, even before it had been destroyed. She wished Casper hadn’t died, she wished ... she pushed the thought aside, sharply. There was no point in wishing for things she knew she couldn’t have. Casper had died bravely and well. She knew that would have made him happy.
And Casper had graduated from Stronghold and become an apprentice, she thought. And that marked him as a competent magician.
Gordian smiled. “Can we have a third volunteer?”
“I’ll do it,” Cerise said. “I may not know much about dueling, but I am a good wardcrafter.”
Emily looked from Cerise to Jacqui. She had the uncomfortable feeling that she’d been outmaneuvered, somehow. She didn’t trust either of them very far, if only because they’d hexed Emily and her friends while Melissa and Alassa had had their stupid little feud. But they were competent magicians and she needed them. If there were no other volunteers, she wouldn’t have a choice. She couldn’t do everything herself.
They didn’t know I’d be elected, she thought. Did they?
It didn’t seem likely, she decided, as Gordian ran through a list of rules and regulations for older students. The nomination and election had been held at the end of the holiday, with everyone involved sworn to secrecy until the prospective candidate had been notified. It was possible Jacqui and Cerise had guessed, she thought, but how could they have been certain? 
They would have known I failed my exams, she reminded herself. And they know I’m not the most popular student in my year.
She gathered herself. Maybe she was just being paranoid. Jacqui and Cerise had every reason to want to be involved, if only because it would look good on their resumes. They’d be able to talk it up, when they were interviewed by prospective masters. And if they sabotaged the club, she could handle it. It wasn’t as if she cared that much about it.
“The first year students will arrive in two days,” Gordian said. “Classes will restart the following morning. You will have access to the library from today, so I advise you to brush up on your studies and make sure you’re ready to hit the ground running. This is your final year. You must not waste it.”
He smiled. “If you have any further questions, you may address them to the Head Girl,” he added. “I believe her door is always open.”
Emily ground her teeth, silently. She was obliged to have office hours—and post them on notice boards all over the school—but she knew they would just cut into her spare time, such as it was. If no one came, she supposed, she could sit there and get on with her own work, yet ... she had a feeling it wasn’t going to be that easy. She’d never approached the Head Girl for help, not in her office, but other students might have a different view.
“I’ll post office hours in the next few days,” she said, finally. Her face flushed as a handful of snickers ran around the room. She had no idea what she was going to do, if she was faced with a problem she didn’t know how to solve. Perhaps she could just dump it in Master’s Tor’s lap. “But I am going to be very busy.”
“Very good.” Gordian looked from face to face. “Thank you for listening.”
He turned and walked out of the room, Master Tor following like a duckling hurrying after its mother. Emily’s fingers played with the bracelet on her wrist for a long moment as chatter broke out again, her mind torn between staying in the common room and hurrying to the library. There would be new books there, freshly printed ...
She rose and headed out of the room. Caleb followed her.
“Emily,” he said, sounding nervous. “Can we talk?”
Emily glanced at her watch. She didn’t want to talk to him, not now. Things were just too awkward. The only good thing was that she was fairly sure Caleb hadn’t wanted to be Head Boy. He’d certainly never expressed interest in the post.
“Perhaps later,” she said. “Frieda and I were going to go up the hill this evening.”
“Tomorrow afternoon, then?” Caleb said. “It’s important.”
Emily honestly wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone with him. She knew it wasn’t wise, but her body was reminding her just how much she’d enjoyed everything they’d done together ... once they’d gotten over the fumbling, of course. Part of her wanted to drag him into her bedroom, even though she knew it was a bad idea.
“Tomorrow,” she said, finally. Perhaps they could meet in the library. “Is it private?”
“Yes.” Caleb’s face reddened. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Emily said. “I’ll see you in my office, after lunch.”
“Thank you,” Caleb said. “And congratulations.”
“Hah,” Emily muttered.
Purchase from Amazon US, UK, CAN, AU