She paused. “That isn’t true for all of you. You were raised in isolated households or non-magical households, where you were not taught anything you might need to fit into magical society. My father”—she paused to allow them to remember who her father was supposed to be—“certainly didn’t teach me the fundamentals, let alone how to behave in school. I had some trouble because of it.”
A low rumble of surprise ran through the room at her frank admission. It was true, but she wouldn’t have hesitated to make it up if necessary. There wasn’t a stigma against newborn magicians—like Imaiqah and Frieda—yet they were at something of a disadvantage until they learned the basics. Alassa, at least, had been given some tutoring in etiquette, even if she’d chosen to ignore it. And while Emily normally paid as little attention to the social graces as she could get away with, she had to admit that some of the formal etiquette was rooted in cold practicality. A student who failed to master it would always be at a disadvantage.
“The purpose of the mentoring scheme is to ensure that all of our new students are prepared as quickly as possible for magical life,” she continued. “You are required to assist them in learning everything from the magical basics to etiquette, at least for the first couple of months. The vast majority of your mentees won’t need you after that, although we hope you will continue to listen to them and assist when necessary. If nothing else, you’ll have the basics of a patronage network of your own when you leave Whitehall.”
She glanced down at her notes as she heard a rustle running around the room. It wasn’t that likely to be a useful patronage network, but there was no way to know for sure. Emily would bet good money that Tiega and Jasmine—two of the students she’d mentored last year—would become something spectacular, if they survived their education. And two more of her mentees had powerful family connections. Who knew what they’d become in the next couple of decades?
“We are aware that this will mean taking time out from your studies,” she added. “Last year, we discovered that the demands on our time were minimal past the first three months—I only had a handful of requests for assistance after I returned to Whitehall. If you do find that you are spending more of your time assisting the younger students than you can afford, come find me and we’ll sort it out. We don’t want the students becoming dependent on you.”
“Her door is always open,” Gordian said.
Emily swallowed several nasty responses that came to mind. So far, she hadn’t had any interruptions, but she knew it was just a matter of time. The remaining students would return to Whitehall tomorrow and classes would resume. After that ... she suspected she’d be very busy. She’d already planned interviews with Professor Armstrong and Professor Lombardi to begin work on the arena. She honestly wasn’t sure how she’d manage to balance all of her new responsibilities with her studies.
Perhaps I should have taken Void up on his offer, she thought. The apprenticeship offer—an unconditional offer—was at the bottom of her trunk, hidden behind a series of obscurification charms. But I didn’t want to leave Whitehall.
She looked from face to face. “Do you have any questions?”
A young man with a shaved head eyed her challengingly. “Why is this even necessary?”
Emily stared at him, evenly. I just answered that question, you idiot.
She controlled her annoyance. “Apart from students raised in magical households, who are taught the basics from a very early age, far too many students come to Whitehall with only a very sketchy idea of everything from the rules and regulations to the reasons for their existence,” she said with icy patience. Master Tor had said the same thing, word for word. She’d used a memory charm to make sure she recalled it correctly. “Some students understand the dangers from the start, others have to learn the rules as they go along—and sometimes they only learn a rule when they get in trouble for breaking it.”
She paused. “Does that answer your question?”
The young man gazed at her for a long moment. Emily looked back at him, knowing better than to back down. Sergeant Miles and Lady Barb had told her, time and time again, that she would be tested, her authority challenged. Showing weakness would be held against her. It wouldn’t make any difference, she’d been assured, if she was male or female. Anyone who wanted to push the boundaries would challenge her.
“Yeah,” he said. “But can’t they learn on their own?”
Emily smiled. “And what sort of results would they get if they tried?”
Grandmaster Hasdrubal had argued that students should learn on their own. Emily understood the logic, but she didn’t agree with it. Gordian, whatever else could be said about him, had a point. She’d been hellishly ignorant when she’d been sent to Whitehall, even though her discoverer was supposed to ensure she received a full briefing on how to handle the school before sending her there. Void, for whatever reason, had barely told her anything before summoning a dragon to fly her to Whitehall.
And I didn’t even get whatever allowances are made for newborn magicians, she thought, sourly. Everyone thought I was his daughter.
“It might be fun to throw ingredients into a caldron and see what happens,” a young girl said.
“You might be lucky if you were only sent to see the Warden,” Emily said. Professor Thande took a lax view of health and safety, but even he would be appalled if someone threw ingredients into a caldron at random. The prospect of an explosion would be alarmingly high. “I’m sure the healers would enjoy fixing the damage—if they could.”
She looked from face to face, silently trying to gauge who understood and who would be a problem. The newborns would probably understand better, she thought, although it was hard to pick them out from the rest. Four years in Whitehall had eroded all the tells. Even the ones who didn’t have a family name might have had magical contacts and training before they came to Whitehall. She’d just have to hope most of them at least tried to take care of their charges.
“There are two other things I need to make clear,” she said, “before I give you the paperwork and assign you to your students. First, you are not being given servants or pets. You are expected to treat your mentees like little brothers and sisters, but you are not allowed to get so close to them that you don’t let them flourish into decent magicians. You will assist them in growing. You will not do the work for them. Nor will you put them to work on your behalf.”
She allowed her voice to harden. “If any of you abuse your charges, I will make sure you regret it. You will be severely punished—at best—if you mistreat them. I will do everything in my power to make sure you are expelled.”
“And I will back her up,” Gordian said, quietly.