If I had time, she thought. And I don’t.
She’d never really cared about popularity, even at Whitehall. Her early life had left her with no taste for being part of the in-crowd. And yet, the constant rumors were slowly wearing her down. No one should believe them, yet ... the stories were still spreading. Someone was throwing mud at her, hoping that some of it would stick. It was frustrating. She was starting to wonder if she should take the whole matter to Gordian and ask for help. He might not like her, but she was Head Girl. It wouldn’t do Whitehall any good if her reputation was tarnished so badly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Cabiria said. “Do you think you’re the first person to become the focus of disgusting rumors?”
“No,” Emily said. Cabiria had been the focus of rumors too, although hers hadn’t been quite so nasty. “But this feels personal.”
“It probably is,” the Gorgon said. “Who benefits from smearing you so badly?”
Emily shrugged. The necromancers gained, but ... it was unlikely they would have thought of launching a smear campaign. Most of them could barely comprehend anything above brute force, although Dua Kepala had proven himself depressingly subtle. But then, his technique for balancing madness with power was unique, as far as she knew. None of the other necromancers had shown such relative sanity.
Her lips twitched. Gaius would have thought of it, she was sure. He’d tried to spike her drink in camp, hoping to watch her making a fool—or worse—of herself. He would have been alive to the possibilities of smearing her name. But Gaius and his sworn companions were dead. Who else benefited?
She tossed the possibilities over and over in her head. King Randor might not be her greatest fan—not now—but he wouldn’t launch a smear campaign. And his enemies would be leery of slandering her. They knew Emily had been the one who’d introduced the New Learning and liberalized government in Cockatrice. Emily knew she was popular there, even if she also knew not to take it too seriously. It would have been difficult to be worse than the previous baron. He’d spent so much time deflowering young maidens, with or without their permission, that she honestly wondered when he’d found the time to plot a coup.
And someone from Zangaria wouldn’t be able to get papers and rumors into the school, she thought. Perhaps broadsheets from Zangaria would reach Dragon’s Den—she was fairly sure some of them did, even though they were probably out of date—but there would be no way to guarantee getting them to Whitehall. They’d need someone in the magical community to help.
She closed her eyes for a long moment. Gordian? It seemed unlikely. He might not like her, but ... she was Head Girl. Her disgrace would reflect badly on him. But how many enemies did she have? Aurelius was dead. Zed had ample reason to forget his petty grudge against her. He wouldn’t let Mountaintop’s staff seek revenge, either. Master Highland? She knew she had something he wanted, but smearing her name was an odd way to get it. Fulvia? No one had seen anything of her since her fall from grace. Perhaps she was the most likely suspect ...
A memory flashed across her mind, bringing with it a wave of shame and fear that wasn’t hers. Fulvia had never beaten her children and grandchildren. She’d hexed them, instead. Melissa had been hexed ... Emily swallowed, banishing the memory as best as she could. No wonder Melissa had been so determined to escape the vindictive old crone, even if it meant being disowned by the rest of her family.
Or it could be someone I don’t know, she thought. Someone who didn’t want to reveal himself, someone who didn’t want to confront her directly ... perhaps someone who wanted to weaken or discredit her. I’ve put a lot of noses out of joint.
Cabiria cleared her throat. “My family asked if I’d like to invite you to the estate,” she said, seriously. “What are your summer plans?”
Emily shrugged. Void had offered her an apprenticeship. She’d always assumed she’d go straight to him after graduation, although she hadn’t thought about it that much. Merely getting to graduation was starting to look difficult. Maybe she’d visit her friends in Zangaria, if she could clear it with King Randor. Or maybe just go to bed for a week.
Matters in Zangaria are far from settled, she thought, recalling Alassa’s last letter. King Randor won’t want me to visit until things have calmed down a little.
“I have no solid plans,” she said. “Aren’t you aiming for an apprenticeship?”
“It depends on my marks.” Cabiria sighed. “I don’t know if any master will take me, not after ...”
“You’d think they’d be curious,” Emily said. “How many children are born without magic?”
“Millions,” Cabiria said. Her face was suddenly very cold. “But they’re never born to magical families.”
Emily nodded. Magic was strong. The child of a magician would be a magician himself. It was one of the reasons so many people had assumed that Void had fathered her. The magic might weaken, but it didn’t vanish. And yet, Cabiria had been born without magic. She’d been a freak until—somehow—she’d developed magic. No one was quite sure why. Cabiria’s uncle had done something to help her, but what? No one knew that either.
“I’ll think about coming,” she said. “But I don’t know what will happen after graduation.”
“You’ll be fine.” the Gorgon smiled, wanly. “You could always visit the Gorgon Lands.”
“I thought they discouraged outsiders,” Emily said.
“My clan would welcome you,” the Gorgon said. “And the other clans would be painfully polite.”
Cabiria giggled. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse,” the Gorgon said. “They’d be very painfully polite.”
Emily smiled, despite herself. Painful politeness was a way of saying that someone wasn’t welcome, without actually coming out and saying that someone wasn’t welcome. There was no room, on the face of it, for someone on the receiving end to take offense, although she doubted it worked out quite so well in practice. The aristocracy of Zangaria had turned politeness into a weapon of social war.
“Perhaps,” she said. She was curious. She’d never been to the Gorgon Lands. She had always planned to explore more of the Nameless World—there was no reason she had to stay still, even if most people rarely went beyond the next village or two—and it was something she could do over the summer, if Void didn’t want her immediately. “But we’ll have to talk about it after graduation.”
“Come see us first,” Cabiria said. “My cousins would like to meet you.”
“Would these be your handsome and unattached cousins?” The Gorgon winked at Emily. “I thought they were already engaged to be married.”
Cabiria had the grace to blush. “I’ve got five cousins,” she clarified. “Only two of them are currently engaged.”
“And the other three want to meet Emily,” the Gorgon teased. “My, oh my. Whatever could they want?”