“It depends on how much you let people get away with.” Caleb smiled, rather thinly. “My mother never let us get away with anything.”
“Your mother would make a very good teacher,” Emily said. She swallowed the urge to point out that Sienna wasn’t a perfect mother, although she was far better than Emily’s mother. “But there’s a fine line between being authoritative and dictatorial.”
“Or being kind and being soft.” He opened his folder and held out the paperwork. “Do you want to put the project on hold, for the moment?”
Emily looked at him and felt a sudden rush of affection, mingled with concern. “Are you sure?”
Caleb looked back at her. “No,” he admitted. “We’re not dependent on completing the project—not now—but we will risk being marked down.”
“Or being called quitters,” Emily muttered. She’d thought that applying for extra credit was a good thing. The project had taught her a great deal about runic tablets and virtual spellware. She’d used what she’d learnt in Old Whitehall and, later, in Heart’s Eye. “Can your marks survive?”
“I would need to do very badly indeed to risk having to retake the year,” Caleb assured her, after a moment. “If, of course, they would let me retake the year.”
Emily nodded. Caleb had already retaken a year, although a charitable mind would probably point out that he hadn’t actually completed the year he’d had to retake. Being injured so badly he’d lost the use of his hands for several months had made it impossible to continue, after all. But Gordian might well refuse him a second chance to retake a year. It would be harder to argue for sympathy, this time.
“The project can be put aside for a year or two,” Caleb said. “Or taken elsewhere ...”
“We can work on it at Heart’s Eye,” Emily said. She still wanted to found a university, damn it. Surely, she and Caleb could put their past behind them and cooperate. “We might need it there.”
“Along with quite a few other things,” Caleb said. “Who actually owns the city near the school?”
Emily shrugged. She didn’t think the city was hers. In any case, it had been abandoned years ago. The inhabitants had either been forced to flee across the desert or sacrificed by the necromancers. As far as she knew, no one had returned to the ruined city since she’d killed the necromancer. There probably wasn’t anything there worth taking. The necromancers and their servants would have stripped the city bare long ago.
“I doubt anyone will return there in a hurry,” she said. “The desert will make it hard for them to support themselves, at least for a while.”
“I thought you said the desert would retreat,” Caleb said.
“I think it will take years,” Emily said. She’d restarted the nexus point, but she had no idea how long it would take for the land to come back to life. The Desert of Death was thoroughly unpleasant, choking the life out of any communities unlucky enough to be close to the edge and expanding in all directions. If that had changed ... she knew it might be years before anyone saw any improvement. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Caleb nodded. “Are you all right with putting the project aside, for the moment?”
Emily hesitated, unsure how to answer. It did feel like giving up, even though they’d long-since completed the compulsory requirements. Most projects weren’t that innovative, but her project ... she’d had high hopes for the future, particularly after she’d put their work to practical use. The thought of stopping—at least for a year or two—wasn’t one she wanted to contemplate. But, at the same time, she was being worked to death. She supposed she was lucky that Caleb was being reasonable about it.
“I think I don’t have the time to do it properly,” she said. Caleb could do all the work, if he wanted, but then he’d get all the credit. Frieda had the same problem, only worse. She had to complete her project. “Do you mind?”
“I can survive,” Caleb said. “And the project isn’t really something I can show to a potential master.”
“True,” Emily agreed.
Caleb reached into his folder and produced another sheet of paper. “We have to fill this in, then give it to Master Tor. I don’t think you can approve this, can you?”
“I doubt it,” Emily said. Technically, they should go to their advisers, but she’d never tried to replace Lady Barb. She hadn’t wanted to replace Lady Barb. And Grandmaster Hasdrubal had been Caleb’s adviser. Master Tor would be able to approve their request or point them to the person who could. “I just hope Gordian doesn’t cause trouble.”
“He really doesn’t like you, does he?” Caleb shook his head, slowly. “Did he even make you take the oaths?”
“No,” Emily said. She hadn’t been too displeased—she certainly wasn’t going to ask to take the oaths—but it was a curious omission. “Why?”
“They come with mutual obligations,” Caleb reminded her. “I suspect he isn’t eager to assume them himself, either.”
Emily nodded. “I suppose.” She took the sheet of paper and read it, quickly. There were no multiple-choice questions. Whitehall expected its students to demonstrate comprehension and contextualization at all times. Even now, they were expected to put forward a comprehensive reason why they should be allowed to back out of their extra credit project. “What happens if he refuses to allow us to quit?”
Caleb smiled. “We do nothing. And we get zero marks. It won’t ruin our graduations unless we fail everything else too.”
“Maybe,” Emily said.
She looked down at the paper, wondering what it would do to her grades. She wasn’t obsessed with getting the highest marks—she’d been convinced that her GPA was useless on Earth—even though high marks at Whitehall were a form of validation. Aloha had been both Head Girl and valedictorian. Emily doubted she would do so well. Melissa might have the best shot at the title, unless politics intervened. Caleb probably had a good shot at it too. Unless Gordian decided to hold the project against him ...
“It might cost you your chance to be valedictorian,” she said. “Are you sure?”
Caleb shrugged. “I don’t need it.”
Emily smiled, remembering—again—why she’d liked him. It was tempting to reach out and pull him to her, even though she knew it would be a mistake. She could kiss him and then ... and then what? After everything they’d done together, could they just have fun? She knew it wouldn’t work out ...
No, she told herself, firmly.
She kept her expression blank as she tried to figure out what to write. Blaming the whole mess on Gordian was tempting, but it was unlikely to get them very far. Citing time commitments might work ... she sighed, realizing that Gordian might hold that against her too. But he hadn’t bothered to warn her that she might be made Head Girl. The thought had never crossed her mind. If she’d known it was a possibility, she might have held back on any extra credit projects until she found out the truth.