Emily nodded as she checked the door. The wardspell was simple enough, keyed to bar men – and only men – from touching the handle and opening the door. The maid would have no trouble entering the room, if she dared. Emily wouldn’t have cared to work in a magician’s house, particularly when the magician’s older children would be using their magic to keep intruders out of their domain. Touching the wrong thing, even in perfect innocence, could get the maid turned into a frog. She grimaced at the thought. The games students played at Whitehall were less amusing when played outside school.
She undressed rapidly, then climbed into bed and closed her eyes. It felt odd to lie in an unmoving bed, after five days on a sailing ship. She told herself she would get over it and concentrated on her mental discipline. She didn’t expect sleep would come easily – she’d never found it easy to sleep in a new place, at least for the first few days – but it would come. She heard Frieda opening her trunk just as the darkness rose up and overwhelmed her…
A hand touched her shoulder. She jerked up, one hand raised to cast a spell. Frieda jumped back, raising both of her hands in surrender. Emily caught herself, and sat upright in bed, shaking her head in annoyance. The light pouring in through the window was dimmer, somehow. It had to be dusk.
“It’s dinnertime,” Frieda said. “Did you sleep well?”
Emily shook her head. She hadn’t dreamed, and she felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. Her body felt tired and grimy. She swung her legs over the side and stood, her legs wobbling as if they expected the floor to shift under her weight. It took her a long moment to remember that she was no longer on the boat, that the floor wasn’t going to be rolling back and forth…she rubbed her eyes, tiredly. The sooner she got over the last few days, the better.
Frieda bit off a curse. “What happened to you?”
Emily looked down at herself. “I fought a traitor and a necromancer,” she said, as she studied the bumps and bruises. Most of them had healed, but enough remained to remind her that she’d been in a fight. She rubbed at a particularly nasty bruise on her upper arm, silently grateful that it was no longer sore. The fight had been so vicious that she honestly didn’t know when she’d been struck. “I’ll heal soon.”
“You should go find a Healer,” Frieda said. She glanced towards the window. “We could go now…”
“There’s no pain,” Emily assured her. She touched one of the scars, remembering the moment when white flames had lashed out at her. The pain had been so excruciating that her memories were jumbled. “I’ll recover in time.”
“Make sure Caleb knows you’re not quite recovered,” Frieda said. “And I’ll hex him if he tries to make you do anything too energetic.”
Emily sighed, torn between embarrassment and irritation. She knew Frieda didn’t like Caleb.
“I’m sure he’ll respect his mother’s wishes,” she said, reluctantly. A low chanting sound echoed through the window. She turned to peer through the glass, watching as a number of worshippers hurried out of their homes and headed to the temples. There were a dozen religions, she recalled, that prayed at sunrise and sunset. “Is there a toilet here?”
After Frieda pointed them out, Emily used the surprisingly modern facilities, then changed into a long blue dress and inspected herself in the mirror. Her hair was still a mess, but the rest of her looked reasonably presentable. She should be grateful, she supposed, that Lady Barb had packed her trunk instead of Queen Marlena. Alassa’s mother would have sent along enough dresses to outfit every girl in Whitehall, along with gifts and other largess intended to forge a bond between them. She glanced at her bag, wondering if she had time to write a brief message to Alassa and her other friends. She really should have done it as soon as she arrived, but she’d been too wrapped up in other matters.
Later, she told herself firmly.
“Come on,” Frieda said. “Being late for dinner would be insulting.”
Emily nodded as they walked down the stairs. There was no sign of General Pollack or his youngest son when they reached the dining room. Caleb sat at the table, reading a book, while his mother quizzed him relentlessly on his studies. Emily winked at him as the two girls entered, carrying more bowls of stew. She had the feeling they were going to be eating fish for the foreseeable future.
“I trust you slept comfortably,” Sienna said, once the food was served. “I’m afraid we don’t have any better rooms.”
“It’s better than sleeping in a tent,” Emily said. It helped that she wasn’t sharing close quarters with five other magicians – all men. “Or on a boat, for that matter.”
Sienna gave her an understanding glance. “Your legs still wobbly?”
“Just a little.” Emily rested her palm on the table. “I keep feeling as though the room is going to heel over.”
“You get over it,” Sienna said. She smiled, rather dryly. “I used to love boating when I was a child.”
“Perhaps we could take a fishing boat out through the gap,” Caleb said. “Fish tastes better if you catch it yourself.”
“But not if you cook it.” Marian stuck out her tongue. “Don’t marry my brother for his cooking, Lady Emily. He can’t boil water without ruining it.”
“My cooking is worse,” Emily said. It was true. On Earth, she’d had no time to learn any more than the basics. Her mother had never been particularly interested in cooking anything more complicated than scrambled eggs. “I throw perfectly good ingredients together and wind up with a mess.”
“I dare say that qualifies you to become an army cook.” Sienna’s lips twitched. “I’ve yet to meet a military cook who couldn’t turn a silk purse into a sow’s ear.”
Emily had to smile. “Is that why so many aristocrats brought along their own cooks?”
“Naturally,” Sienna said. “And I imagine they brought their own food too.”
She cocked her head. “The official excuse is that poor food puts the men in a fighting mood,” she added. “But the truth is that hardly anyone can be bothered to organize proper food for anyone who doesn’t have a title.”