“She betrayed her mother and father,” Frieda insisted. “That doesn’t deserve forgiveness.”
“I could cast a spell on you that would make you say or do or believe anything I wanted,” Emily pointed out. Sergeant Miles and Lady Barb had made her memorize a number of dominance spells, warning her only to use them in extremis. “Would that make you responsible for whatever I made you do?”
Frieda looked away. “She wasn’t controlled directly, was she?”
“She lost her way.” Emily reached out and squeezed Frieda’s shoulder. “She’s a firstie—you’re a grown-up Fourth Year. You won’t have to see her or speak to her or have anything to do with her.”
“Unless she joins the dueling club,” Frieda muttered.
Emily shrugged. That wasn’t likely to happen. Marian had looked scared of her own shadow. It was hard to understand why Sienna had allowed her daughter to leave the house, although ... perhaps Sienna’s parenting style had only made matters worse. Emily could appreciate having a mother who actually cared, but Marian might have felt differently after she’d been saved from certain death. She certainly might not have the strength to endure her mother’s care for long.
“If she does, you can cope with it,” Emily said, firmly. “And if she doesn’t ... well, you don’t have to do anything with her anyway.”
She turned right as they reached the top of the path, using a spell to push aside the concealment spell someone had placed on the bush years ago. It faded without a fight, to her private relief. The spell would have resisted more forcibly if someone had beaten them to the hollow. They made their way down a hidden path, then stopped as they reached the cliff. Below them, Whitehall shone in all its glory. Emily closed her eyes, feeling the magic spiraling around the school. The nexus point was tamed, but she could still feel it beating against her soul.
This place was drenched in magic a thousand years ago, she thought. The forest had been full of magical creatures, almost universally dangerous. Dragon’s Den hadn’t been founded for another five hundred years, after the Empire. Now ... only a magician would sense anything out of place.
She opened her eyes and sat down on the grass. Caleb had taken her to the hollow more than once, back before Whitehall had started to collapse in on itself. They’d made out on the grass, kissing and hugging and exploring each other’s bodies as the sun beat down and insects buzzed through the air. Now ... she shook her head, telling herself not to be silly. Falling in love and falling out of it was just part of life. And she didn’t really regret what she’d done.
Frieda sat next to her. “Classes start tomorrow,” she said softly, one hand toying with her necklace. “Are you looking forward to them?”
“Yeah,” Emily said. Some of her classes were new. Others ... she hoped the tutors realized how much work she’d done, between the war and retaking her exams. Whitehall wasn’t obsessed with GPA, but failing the first set of exams reflected badly on her. “I need to speak to the professors afterwards.”
“You’re Head Girl,” Frieda pointed out. “You can go see them any time you like.”
Emily nodded. She could have gone ... if she hadn’t been concerned about disturbing the tutors. They had everything from lesson plans to retaken exams to review before term actually started. Lady Barb had even told her the first week of term was always a nightmare for the tutors. And that was before a particularly stupid student could find a new and inventive way to injure or kill himself in front of the entire class.
“I’ll see them tomorrow, hopefully.” She smiled. “Master Tor has me in his Ethics of Magic and Politics class.”
“Ouch,” Frieda said. “It would probably be better just to keep your mouth shut.”
Emily shrugged. Master Tor had been quite informative, back in Second Year. Law had never really interested her, beyond trying to figure out why some of the odder—and stupider—laws on the books had ever been written in the first place. Most of them had remained in force long after their original purpose had become immaterial, if there had been a reason in the first place. But she supposed it was important to know what might be considered a crime before it was too late.
“I’ll try to pay attention,” she said. She wasn’t sure what Master Tor could tell her about ethics, but she supposed she’d find out tomorrow. “Did you catch up with Celadon?”
Frieda’s face darkened. “Yeah,” she said, as she unslung her backpack and tore it open. “He was useless, as always.”
“You didn’t say he was useless last year,” Emily reminded her, carefully. “I thought you were working well with him.”
“That was before he started trying to change everything.” Frieda produced a notebook and thrust it at Emily. “Have a look!”
Emily took the notebook, tested it for unpleasant surprises and then opened it. Students at Whitehall normally secured their notebooks, just to make it difficult for someone to steal their work, but Frieda hadn’t bothered. Emily made a mental note to remind her she was back at school now, then started to work her way through the diagrams. Celadon had been busy. He’d taken the original idea—which Frieda had copied down last year—and changed it beyond recognition.
“There are some good thoughts here,” Emily mused, as she worked her way through the notebook. “A couple of them are quite innovative.”
Frieda gave her a nasty look. “He didn’t check with me about any of them,” she snapped, angrily. “He didn’t even ask before he filed changed papers with our supervisor!”
Emily looked up. “He told them you were changing everything?”
“Yes.” Frieda looked down. “He didn’t even bother to tell me in his damned letters!”
“Oh,” Emily said. She didn’t blame Frieda for being steamed. If Caleb had done that to her, back in Fourth Year, she would have been furious too. She wouldn’t have minded if he’d found a new way to tackle the project, but she’d have wanted to check it—and make sure she understood it—first. “Weren’t you required to countersign it?”
Frieda looked blank. “I ...”
“Check that,” Emily advised. If Frieda hadn’t countersigned, she couldn’t be blamed; if she had, she might be in some trouble. No one was supposed to sign or countersign until they understood the underlying theory. Who knew what questions a suspicious supervisor might ask? “They’ll expect you to make a progress report in a couple of months.”