She stopped. There was one place Frieda might go. And no one would think to look for her there.
Except me, Emily thought. She was certain she was right. Because I’m the only one who knows she can get into my house.
Chapter Thirty-Six
GORDIAN WOULD NOT BE PLEASED, EMILY knew, if she walked straight out of Whitehall without bothering to ask for permission. Not, she suspected, that he’d give her permission if she bothered to ask. Celadon’s family would demand answers and there would be more than enough blame to go around. Frieda would be expelled and convicted of mutilation and attempted murder, but that wouldn’t be enough. Gordian might lose his job over the whole affair, if his political opponents tried to drag him down.
They’ll say he should have expelled Frieda after Adana was injured, Emily thought. And hindsight will suggest they were right.
She walked down the stairs and headed for the door, reaching out with her mind to commune with the school’s wards. Gordian would be monitoring her, of course. He’d want to be sure she’d gone to the Warden before going back to her suite and ... and then what? Emily touched the badge on her breast, feeling unwilling to simply give it up. She’d never wanted to be Head Girl, but she thought she hadn’t been doing a bad job ...
And one failure is enough to erase a hundred successes, she reminded herself as she altered the wards. Gordian would think she was still in the school until she was well away from the building. He wouldn’t be happy about that either, although it was a minor matter compared to everything else. Her lips twitched in bitter amusement. He’s going to have some problems deciding what to put on the expulsion paperwork.
Outside, the sun beat down on the grounds. The students lying on the grass or kicking a ball around the field didn’t seem to know that anything was wrong. Emily could hear cheers drifting from the arena, where the duelists were still competing to go into the third round. Gordian must not have alerted anyone apart from the tutors that there had been yet another incident. She felt a stab of bitter resignation as she walked down the path towards the edge of the wards. Some of the students must have seen Frieda as she ran past, but hadn’t thought anything of it. Frieda would hardly be the first student to make a run for the outside world after leaving class.
She looked back at Whitehall’s towers, then resolutely turned her back. Gordian would definitely try to have her expelled for this, which would set off a power struggle she might lose. She didn’t know what he’d been trying to do to the wards, let alone how they’d react if she tried to push him out of the school. Or if he tried to evict her. Perhaps he would have expelled her by now, if he hadn’t known she could influence the wards. He’d certainly done his best to discourage her from returning last year.
And Frieda ... Emily sighed, bitterly. She was still no closer to understanding what was wrong with her friend. She’d done everything in her power—perhaps too much—to help Frieda overcome her problems. What else could she have done? Threatened Celadon to force him to go back to the original concept? Bullied him into treating Frieda with a little more respect? Or maybe even just banged their heads together, hard. It would hardly have hurt as much as a cauldron of scalding liquid. But that hadn’t been her responsibility. They’d been meant to carry out the project on their own.
She wondered, suddenly, if she should send a note to Caleb. Or to the Gorgon. Or someone—anyone—else who might be trustworthy. Caleb would guess where she’d gone, wouldn’t he?
No time, she thought. I have to get there before her.
She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as she stepped through the outer edge of the wards. She’d half expected them to try to deny her passage, but they didn’t even flicker as they brushed against her magic. Gordian hadn’t realized she’d left then, not yet. She took a long breath, then carefully tested her magic. She should have enough to teleport, but she wasn’t sure ...
There’s no time to find a horse or a coach, she told herself. She’d never liked riding, even though Alassa had seen to it that she’d learnt to ride. Horses took one look at her and started plotting to act up. And besides, she might get there first.
Concentrating, she closed her eyes and cast the spell. The world lurched around her, the teleport striking her with all the force of a punch in the belly. She staggered, landing on the tiny patch of grass outside the house. Her legs buckled a second later and she fell to her knees, half stunned. She’d pushed too much magic into the teleport for safety.
She forced herself to reach out with her mind, testing the household wards. They were depressingly simple—and stupid—compared to Whitehall’s, but at least they were easy to operate. Her eyes went wide as she realized that someone—Frieda—was already inside the house. It was impossible. If Frieda had stolen the fastest horse in the stables, and ridden him without regard for her or anyone else’s safety, there was still no way she should have reached the house ahead of time. Had she teleported? She had the raw power—after what Frieda had done to the workroom, Emily had no doubt Frieda had the power—but not the skill.
Maybe she was desperate enough to make it work, Emily mused. She’d heard stories of magicians who somehow managed to teleport by accident, although most of those stories had ended badly. Or ... did she bribe an older student into helping?
She tested the wards, carefully. Frieda had access rights, but Emily had admin rights. There wasn’t anyone else in the house, certainly no one who registered on the wards. Maybe Frieda had talked someone into teleporting her to Dragon’s Den ... it was the only explanation that made sense. There was certainly no way she could have set up a portal. She lacked the skill to even begin such a task.
Emily walked towards the door, then stopped. She’d been right—she’d guessed where Frieda would go—but the knowledge brought her no pleasure. She didn’t want to walk into her house and confront Frieda ... again. Celadon was hurt, Frieda a wanted fugitive ... what could they say to each other? Emily was torn between a desperate desire to help her friend and a grim understanding that Frieda might have put herself beyond help. And yet ...
I have to know what happened, Emily thought. Frieda might have snapped under the workload. Or she might have been influenced by someone else. Or ... she might have just decided she no longer cared to work. I have to know before it’s too late.