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.