Emily shrugged. She didn’t know who’d carved the tunnels, let alone warded them. They’d been in existence, partly, before Lord Whitehall had arrived. That secret had definitely been lost in the mists of time. And then someone else had turned the school into a pocket dimension, years after Whitehall. Who knew what had happened then?
They reached the top of the tunnel and entered the school. Emily unfroze the wards, taking a moment to check them before hurrying Frieda to the showers. They weren’t covered in dust—she still shuddered when she recalled the dusty chambers from last year—but there was no point in taking chances. It was better that Gordian believe they’d gone for a walk in the mountains—and come back hot and sweaty—than work out where they’d actually gone before she was ready to confront him. Or ... she didn’t know what she’d do. And there was no one she could ask for advice.
“Don’t tell anyone what we saw down there,” Emily warned, as they stepped into the changing room. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was deserted. She’d never liked changing and showering in front of others, even girls. “If anyone asks, we went walking.”
“Of course.” Frieda undressed rapidly, dropping her shirt and trousers on the bench before hurrying to the shower. “I know better.”
Emily smiled, then frowned as she saw the marks on Frieda’s bare back. “What happened to you?”
Frieda froze. “I had a ... disagreement ... in martial magic,” she said, finally. She started moving again, heading into the shower. Emily couldn’t help noticing that there were fainter marks on her buttocks and the back of her legs. “The other students weren’t pleased with me.”
“Oh,” Emily managed. She was no expert, but the bruises looked relatively new. Patches of her skin had clearly been broken, then healed. “What happened?”
“We had a frank exchange of views.” Frieda rubbed a red mark on her leg. “I lost.”
Emily stared at her back. She’d heard that some martial magic classes took matters into their own hands if a student was dragging the rest of the class down, but she’d never believed it was real. God knew she’d dragged down her class’s marks, back in first year ... the sergeants wouldn’t have intervened if the rest of the class had decided to give her a beating. Barrack room lawyers had no place in the military, she’d been told. Maybe Jade had intimidated the others into leaving her alone ...
Or maybe Frieda is having even worse troubles, she thought. Some of the bruises looked nasty. Emily hated to think of what would happen if they got infected. What happens if she doesn’t improve?
“I think we’ll start going over your work,” Emily said firmly, as she removed her own clothes and stepped into the shower. The warm water felt good, even though the changing room showers were deliberately underpowered. “And then you and I will sit down with Celadon.”
“You don’t have to,” Frieda said. She sounded desperate. “Really ...”
“I think this has gone on long enough,” Emily said, flatly. “And it really needs to stop.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
EMILY HAD HOPED, AS THE HALF-TERM wore on, that some kind of solution to one or both of her problems would present itself. Perhaps she could figure out just what Gordian was doing—she’d watched the historians and several others make their way down into the tunnels, now she knew what to look for—or help Frieda solve her problems. But neither one seemed willing to be solved. Gordian kept himself to himself, while Frieda seemed to veer wildly from being the playful girl Emily had befriended to a trigger-happy witch. The changes were so striking—and so sudden—that Emily found herself considering the possibility of outside interference, but—when she checked—she found nothing.
She couldn’t help being grateful that her Head Girl duties shrunk with most of the students on holiday, as she’d had so little time to herself. Her studies were suffering too, even though the Gorgon and Cabiria were trying to help her. There was only so much their notes could do. Between her own work and trying to help Frieda, she felt as though she was running out of time. She was honestly tempted to take Void up on his offer and leave Whitehall, without bothering to sit the exams. But it would feel like giving up.
And Gordian might be trying to drive me out of the school, she thought, as she sat in her office and worked her way through yet another set of notes. She needed to finish them before Frieda and Celadon arrived for their appointment. Professor Lombardi had given her two sets of detentions to supervise the following day, leaving her wondering just what she’d done to upset him. Who is actually being punished?
She sighed, remembering Alassa and Jade’s last letter. There was trouble in Zangaria, real trouble. And yet it was so maddeningly imprecise! Rumors of rebellious peasants, rumors of civil war ... barons and aristocrats arming while King Randor worked to build up his army ... nothing seemed to have come out into the open yet, but it was just a matter of time. Emily was starting to wonder if she was seeing a joint offensive—one aimed at her, one aimed at her friends—although she had to admit it might just be coincidence. The problems in Zangaria had started a long time before anyone had heard of her.
I probably just made them worse, Emily thought.
She sighed. She probably had. The broadsheets alone—and reading and writing—allowed rumormongers to spread the word much further than they could by word of mouth alone. She wasn’t blind to the irony. Frieda had shown her a handful of papers containing the most scurrilous rumors about her relationship with four young men she barely knew. She wasn’t sure if she should be impressed by the unknown writer’s imagination or horrified. A couple of the sexual positions he described were probably impossible without strong magic or grievous bodily harm.
There was a knock on the door. She pushed a handful of her papers into the drawer—cleaning up was something else that had taken a backseat to her work—and waved a hand in the air, casting an opening charm. It was something that would have awed her five years ago, even though it was a very simple spell. She couldn’t help wondering what Alassa or her other friends would make of Earth. Technology had made life so much easier that most of the inhabitants didn’t know how lucky they were.
The grass is always greener on the other side of the hill, she thought, as Frieda and Celadon entered the office. Celadon was carrying a leather folder under one arm. And no one realizes what they have until they lose it.
She rose as the door closed behind them, nodding politely to Celadon. He bowed in return, a formal bow that told her everything she needed to know about his origins. Someone who’d been taught magical etiquette had either grown up in a magical household or had been given a great deal of tuition. The former seemed more likely. His magic was clearly present—she could sense it, even at a distance—but carefully controlled.