Celadon pressed one hand to his heart. “I greet you, Lady Emily.” His voice was formal, tinged with an accent that reminded Emily of Markus. “I pledge to hold my hand in your house.”
Emily studied him for a long moment. He was handsome, she supposed, but in a vague kind of way. His face was just a little too soft, his short hair just a little too blond ... he held himself in a manner that suggested formal etiquette lessons, rather than military training. He wore a pair of black trousers and a white shirt that had probably cost him a great deal of money, but was carefully tailored to allow him to move freely. There was no sword at his belt, yet the way he held himself suggested there should be. It was hard not to feel a flicker of dislike. Celadon had never been truly tested in life.
“I thank you,” Emily said, with equal formality. She didn’t miss the resentful look Frieda shot at Celadon’s back. “Please, be seated.”
Celadon bowed again then sat, resting his folder on his lap. Frieda stood behind him, ramrod straight; her hands clasped behind her back. Sergeant Miles had been teaching her, Emily reminded herself. There was nothing technically wrong with her posture, nothing a senior officer could take exception to, but it clearly signaled her displeasure. Emily didn’t miss the message, yet ... she didn’t know if Celadon had picked up on it. Frieda wasn’t just unhappy, she was pissed. And, perhaps, reaching the end of her tether.
Emily met Frieda’s eyes, silently willing her to sit down, then sat. Celadon looked back at her, his bright blue eyes not quite meeting hers. That too was magical etiquette, she reminded herself. Forcing eye contact was a challenge, of sorts. Maybe not one that would lead to a duel, but definitely one that could lead to trouble. Frieda remained standing, her hands out of sight. Emily hoped—prayed—she wouldn’t do anything stupid.
“Frieda has requested that I go over your joint project with you,” she said, flatly. “Professor Lombardi has raised no objections.”
She kept her face under tight control. Professor Lombardi hadn’t been pleased when she’d asked permission, although he’d granted it without more than a handful of vague warnings and instructions. She could talk to them, she could attempt to meditate their disagreements, but she couldn’t do the work for them. Learning to work with other magicians was part of the point, he’d said. Emily couldn’t help feeling grateful that she and Caleb hadn’t had so many difficulties when they’d been working together.
Celadon opened his folder. “I will talk you through it,” he said. Emily felt a flicker of annoyance at the assurance in his tone. If he spoke to Frieda like that, he was lucky she hadn’t already hexed him into next week. “Our original project was to find ways to improve channeling magic into potion brews. As you know, an alchemical brew requires a certain amount of magic to work ...”
“I should know that,” Emily interrupted. His tone wasn’t winning him any friends. If nothing else, common sense should have warned him that Emily had passed all of her fourth-year exams. “Do you have a point?”
Celadon had the grace to blush. “Controlling the influx of magic is one of the hardest aspects of alchemy. A relatively simple potion might forgive you if you push in too much magic, but a far more complex potion will not. There are even some potions that will turn to sludge if you give them too little magic, yet explode violently if you give them too much.”
“A common problem,” Emily said. “I believe you managed to convince Professor Lombardi that it was worth trying ...?”
“We did,” Celadon said. “He accepted our presentation last year.”
Emily looked at Frieda, who scowled. “And then ... what?”
Celadon produced a sheet of paper. “Our original work was relatively simple: a combination of stone, iron and crystal fingers ... ah, tools. We just called them fingers. They would allow a preset amount of magic to flow through, then burn out.”
“There’d be blowback,” Emily said.
“The magic could be reabsorbed or dispelled,” Celadon said. “It would have worked, Lady Emily. The real drawback was that each finger could only be used once.”
“It would get costly,” Frieda said. There was a hint of desperation in her tone. “But they would have worked.”
Emily nodded, slowly. She doubted Frieda had been the one to have the original idea. Frieda was imaginative, but not innovative. And yet ...given an idea, she could run with it.
“I see,” she said. Cost would be a problem, although Whitehall’s budget was larger than Cockatrice’s. And she could see a handful of other problems too. Professor Lombardi might like the idea, but Professor Thande would be horrified. Magicians wouldn’t be able to learn precise control over their magic if they used tools. “So ... what happened?”
Celadon smiled, a little shyly. “I found a way to make the fingers reusable. If there was a careful charm worked into the wood, I found, the magic would cut off without destroying the finger. But ...”
“He didn’t consult me about it,” Frieda said. Her hands were out of sight, but it was clear she was flexing them. “He didn’t even bother to tell me that he’d had an idea until he’d done all the work!”
“It’s a good idea,” Celadon said. For the first time, Emily heard passion in his voice. “You know the problem, you know we need a solution and you won’t listen!”
“I do listen,” Frieda snapped. Emily sensed her magic flare. “You’re not answering ...”
Emily cleared her throat, loudly. “Celadon,” she said. “Talk me through your idea, step by step.”
Celadon blinked. “I keep trying,” he said. “And ...”
“Do it for me,” Emily said. “Keep it as simple as possible.”
“Hah,” Frieda muttered.
Emily shot her a quelling glance, then looked at Celadon. “Begin.”
Celadon took a breath. “As you know”—Emily was starting to hate that phrase—“you can use wood to store spellware and channel magic,” he said. “Wands work, put simply, because magic flows through the wood and into the embedded spell, triggering the spell. They’re seen as a bad habit because magicians can forget how to cast the spells for themselves.”
“True,” Emily said. “And, later, you can tell me how you plan to evade that problem.”
“I worked out a spell regulator that basically limits the amount of magic that flows through the wand.” Celadon produced a sheet of paper and held it out to her. “It is a fearsomely complex piece of magic, but quite understandable.”
Emily gave him a sharp look. His tone was just one step below objectionable, but she knew it would grate on Frieda. It grated on Emily and she hadn’t encountered quite so much condescension in her life. Everyone had looked down on Frieda, once upon a time. Now ...