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?