“If she can,” Caleb said.
Emily shrugged. Marian was sixteen. There were places on the Nameless World where she would be married by now, perhaps even raising her first child. She was certainly not a child herself, as far as the outside world was concerned. And if she wanted to be a magician, she would have to learn the basics herself. There was no way to cheat on the exams, not in Whitehall. Anyone who hadn’t mastered the material was unlikely to get very far.
“Keep an eye on her,” she said. “But she won’t be able to advance if an overprotective big brother keeps jumping in whenever she has a problem.”
“Casper never did that for me,” Caleb said. “He ... preferred to rub my nose in my own mistakes.”
“Which probably didn’t help,” Emily said. That explained a great deal about Caleb, coming to think of it. “But you don’t have to do the opposite.”
“Thanks,” Caleb said.
Emily relaxed, slightly. “I’ve got to write a short speech for the firsties,” she said. Gordian had dropped it on her, as well as a hundred other tasks. “What do you think I should tell them?”
“Don’t tell them the truth,” Caleb advised. “They’ll run for their lives.”
“Hah,” Emily said. She’d been nervous when she’d walked into Whitehall for the first time, even though a whole new world had been opening up in front of her. “Should I tell them the school was nearly destroyed three times in the past five years?”
“Four times, if you count the Mimic.” He smiled. “It would probably not be a good idea to tell them that.”
“Probably,” Emily agreed. “But what should I tell them?”
“Work hard, do well; party hard, fail spectacularly,” Caleb said. “Short, succinct and completely true.”
Emily giggled. She had to admit he had a point.
“And you’ll be loved for giving a short speech,” Caleb added. “The Commander at Stronghold was very much in love with the sound of his own voice. We stood for hours while he babbled on and on and on and ...”
“Oh,” Emily said. “What did he say?”
“I don’t know.” Caleb winked. “I wasn’t listening.”
Chapter Nine
THE FIRSTIES LOOKED ... YOUNG.
Emily had thought the same last year, when she’d watched the First Years make their way into Whitehall’s Great Hall for the first time, but this time the effect was far more pronounced. Eighty-two students, the youngest being sixteen ... they shuffled into the hall, too nervous to speak a single word. Emily’s eyes flickered over them, silently picking out the ones who’d grown up in magical families or had learnt something about magic before they went to school. They were the ones who didn’t seem that daunted by their surroundings.
She stood on the raised stage, next to Gordian and Master Tor, and waited while the room slowly filled. Some of the students were already using levitation spells to maneuver their trunks to the stairs or—perhaps more practically—ordering servants to transport their trunks to their room, while others were struggling to move their trunks into the hall. It didn’t seem to occur to them to use magic, or to ask others to cast the spells, or even to order one of the servants to do the heavy lifting. That, if nothing else, suggested they came from poorer households. People who grew up without being waited on hand and foot found servants a little creepy.
Alassa can issue orders as she pleases, Emily thought. But I still find it strange.
She shook her head. Alassa had a small army of servants, ranging from the young girl who brushed her hair to the manservant who carried her bags everywhere. None of them seemed to find anything odd about the whole setup. Hell, there were people who expected Emily to have an even bigger army of servants. Having servants was a sign of wealth and power ...
Emily sucked in her breath, grimly. Some of the younger students were too thin, suggesting that they’d grown up in peasant households. Others had scars and other wounds that had been allowed to heal naturally, rather than by magic. They’d have nothing in common with the rest of their families, she knew all too well. By the time they left Whitehall, they’d probably have lost touch. Frieda had certainly lost contact with her family.
Imaiqah didn’t, Emily thought, as she sought out Marian. But she was a special case.
Caleb’s sister stood alone, a little apart from the remainder of the students. Marian had always been healthy—Sienna would never have underfed her children—but Marian looked thin and scrawny, somehow. Her long blonde hair fell around her shoulders, thinner than Emily remembered. There were no visible marks on Marian’s face, but there was something in her expression telling anyone who cared to look that she’d seen terrible things. Her blue eyes were haunted by the past.
She looks like she came from a village, Emily thought. She shivered, remembering the first time she’d met Frieda. She looks as though she doesn’t know what to do.
Marian looked up. Emily looked away, half-hoping Marian didn’t see her stare as a challenge. But the girl standing apart from her future classmates didn’t look as though she had the energy to shout and scream, let alone throw wild accusations. Emily would almost have been relieved if Marian had shouted at her. Gordian would not have been pleased—there was no way Emily could have covered it—but it would have showed that Marian still had spirit. Instead, she seemed to have withdrawn completely.
She needs help, Emily thought. But there’s no one here who can give it to her.
Gordian stepped up to the podium and tapped it, once. A wave of magic fanned out through the air, silencing the handful of firsties who’d begun to whisper to their friends. Emily smiled as she tried to assess their reaction to the simple spell, noting the ones who seemed alarmed by the casual use of magic. They were probably unused to magic, she told herself firmly. They’d have to learn to use it as casually as breathing. Brute force might solve some problems, but it wouldn’t find favor at Whitehall.
Nor would asking someone else to do the work, she reminded herself. Even older students are expected to do their own work.