The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic #13)

She pushed the thought aside. “What do you suggest I do?”

Sergeant Miles looked back at her. “You cannot carry Frieda on your shoulders indefinitely,” he said, flatly. “You have to let her work her way through this herself.”

“She can’t,” Emily said.

“Then perhaps she shouldn’t be here.” He tapped his lips before Emily could say a word. “Frieda could learn a great deal from failure, Emily. And right now, she’s setting herself up for failure.”

“She might have to retake the year,” Emily said. “Or even go back two years.”

“Hopefully with the memory of her failure to sharpen her mind,” Sergeant Miles said. “Her project isn’t just about coming up with a great idea, Emily. It’s about learning to work together, learning how to use one partner’s skills to aid the other. Frieda will do better next time.”

Emily sagged. “Are you suggesting that I just ... give up?”

“I’m suggesting that you let her learn from her own failures,” Sergeant Miles said. He held up a hand, calmly. “She has a problem. She has a whole set of problems, most of which she brought on herself. And she needs to learn how to deal with them, not ... not try to get you to solve them.”

“I can’t,” Emily said.

“That’s the problem,” Sergeant Miles agreed. “You can’t save her from herself.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Emily said.

“You’ve done all you can do,” Sergeant Miles told her. “All you can really do—now—is hope for the best.”

Emily sighed. “What advice would you give her, if she came to you?”

“I’d tell her to get her head out of her ass,” Sergeant Miles said, bluntly. “She can put some of her classes aside, for the moment. She can get tutoring from older students. She can limit her other commitments until after she passes her exams, if she even gets that far. At worst, she can go to the grandmaster and ask permission to retake the year. She has options, Emily, and she knows it. Right now, she’s too prideful to back down.”

“I thought you said that backing down was a sign of weakness,” Emily said.

“It depends on where you are,” Sergeant Miles said. “Showing weakness to the wrong person can be disastrous. But overestimating yourself can be equally bad.”

He looked up as someone rapped on the door. “She has promise. But she’s not taking the time to develop it properly.”

“They said that of me,” Emily reminded him.

“Yes,” Sergeant Miles said. “And didn’t you have problems too?”

Emily made a face as she headed for the door. The sergeant could be right. She knew he could be right. But she didn’t want to believe it.

And yet, she didn’t know what to do.





Chapter Twenty-Nine


“YOU LOOK LIKE SOMEONE IN NEED of a favor,” Cirroc said, as Emily approached his chair. He was sitting in the common room, reading a book. “What can I do for you?”

Emily frowned, inwardly. Did she look like she needed a favor? Imaiqah had always insisted that she had no bargaining face. It was why Imaiqah regularly managed to convince storekeepers to lower their price, while Emily was forced to either pay the original price or walk away. But then, she hadn’t grown up in a country where bargaining was expected, let alone necessary. She doubted a Wal-Mart salesman would be impressed if she tried to haggle over the price of a box of chocolates.

And he probably wouldn’t have the authority to offer a reduction anyway, she thought. The person manning a fish stall, on the other hand ...

She pushed the thought aside as she surveyed the common room. Jacqui and Cerise were seated at a table, working their way through a large pile of books; Mathis and Pandora were sitting on a love-seat, looking unbearably lovey-dovey. Emily was tempted to tell them to get a room, but the common room was really for everyone. And there were too many listening ears for her peace of mind.

“I do need a favor,” she said. Cirroc would want to bargain, of course. “Perhaps we could talk about it in your room.”

Cirroc gave her a long look, then rose and led the way out of the common room. His bedroom was nearby, the door crawling with hexes that would take another student several hours to dismantle safely. Emily wondered, as Cirroc opened the door, precisely what Madame Rosalinda and her male counterpart made of it. They’d need to call on a wardcrafter if they wanted to open the door in less than twenty minutes. But then, Gordian could probably tear the wards down in a moment if he wished. The school’s wards reigned supreme.

She found herself looking around with interest as they walked into the room. It was slightly smaller than hers, dominated by a large bed and a bookshelf groaning with textbooks. It wasn’t what she’d expected from a young man who was far too close to being a jock, but being good at sports wasn’t enough to get a student through Whitehall. Even the jocks had to study. A small basket of dirty laundry sat in the corner, waiting for someone to deliver it to the maids. The remainder of the room was surprisingly neat. She couldn’t help feeling a flicker of amusement. Every time she’d imagined a boy’s bedroom, she’d envisaged something that could have passed for a bomb site.

“Please, be seated.” Cirroc sat on the bed, leaning back on his hands. “What can I do for you?”

Emily sat on the chair, resting her hands in her lap. She was surprised at her own daring, even though cold logic told her she was being silly. Five years ago, she wouldn’t have willingly walked into a boy’s bedroom ... even if she knew and trusted him completely. And there hadn’t been anyone she knew and trusted completely. She hadn’t even spent much time in Caleb’s room after they’d started dating. Her room had seemed much safer.

And you walked into a necromancer’s den, she reminded herself. What terrors does a bedroom hold in comparison to that?

She leaned forward. “I read your permanent record. You spent part of last year tutoring younger students.”

“I did,” Cirroc said. He grinned at her, mischievously. His white teeth flashed against his dark face. “I was suitably rewarded, of course.”

“Of course,” Emily agreed. She’d been surprised when she found out, although she did have to admit that Aloha had helped her out a lot in her first year. Cirroc wasn’t the type of boy she expected to host a tutoring session. “The tutors were quite impressed.”

Cirroc shrugged. “I wanted some pocket money. And tutoring seemed an expedient way to make it.”

“I know,” Emily said. She’d never considered trying to sell tutoring services. In hindsight, it was something she’d overlooked. But then, she’d never had to make money after her first few months. “I was wondering if I could hire your services.”

“I’m not allowed to tutor students in my year,” Cirroc said. “And you ...”

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