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.
Chapter Seven
STEPPING INTO THE FIFTH YEAR COMMON room felt a little like stepping back in time. It hadn’t been that long since Emily had been a Fifth Year student herself, even though she hadn’t spent that much time in the common room. A pair of familiar faces greeted her, but the remainder were strangers. In hindsight, perhaps she should have paid more attention to the year below her. But when had she had the time?
Never, she thought. She placed the folders she was carrying on the sideboard as all eyes followed her. I never had the time.
She leaned against the wall and listened to Gordian giving the Fifth Years a short speech. It was, more or less, what he’d told Emily and her class last year, although he avoided any snide references to students on probation. Or, for that matter, to the oaths she was still meant to take. She couldn’t help wondering just how long he intended to let the matter rest. Perhaps he was still hoping for something that would allow him to summarily expel her from Whitehall.
Which would be interesting, she thought. She could feel the wards at the back of her mind, just waiting for her to reach out and make contact. He can’t make me leave if I don’t want to go.
She sighed, inwardly, as the speech came to an end. Gordian was in one hell of a spot, one he wouldn’t be keen on admitting to anyone else. He was supposed to be the supreme authority in Whitehall, yet he wasn’t. She could overrule him, if she wished. Except ... she wasn’t sure how far her command over the wards actually stretched. She was a founder, not the founder. And so much had been added, over the years, that a skilled wardcrafter could probably impede any attempt she made to take control of the wards.
“The Head Girl will now talk to you about the mentoring scheme,” Gordian finished. “Lady Emily?”
Emily resisted the urge to play with her bracelet as she stepped away from the wall. The Fifth Years turned to look at her; some admiring, some suspicious, some simply doubtful that she could be the dreaded Necromancer’s Bane. Emily couldn’t help wondering precisely what they’d expected, although she had a pretty shrewd idea. Between the statues, the paintings, and the ballads, it was a minor miracle that anyone believed she was Lady Emily.
Because everyone knows that Lady Emily is ten feet tall and breathes dragon-fire, Emily thought. And could pass for Honor Harrington on a bad day.
She cleared her throat with an effort, then glanced down at her notes. Aloha had spoken from the heart, but Emily couldn’t do that without losing track of something. It was important to cover all the right details, without confusing them or making it seem impossible. Frieda had advised her to imagine the audience naked, but it hadn’t helped. Emily felt naked as she stood in front of them.
I suppose it would get their attention, the cynical part of her mind noted. But they wouldn’t take me very seriously.
“Some of you were raised in magical households or had magical tutors,” she said. “You were taught everything from which fork to use at dinner to when and where you could use searching spells without mortally offending your host. By the time you arrived at Whitehall, you knew everything you needed to know to blend in with your new environment. You even knew enough of the fundamentals of magic to speed through the basic classes and proceed to the higher ranks.”