She convulsed as her stomach heaved, then threw up violently. Sweat ran down her arms and back, a second before she retched again. She felt very ill, her legs suddenly weak ... if she hadn’t already been lying down, she knew she would have collapsed. Her stomach rumbled again. She twisted her body, desperately. The room was sound-proofed, but if Daze was lurking outside he might hear the noise. And then ...
There were alchemists who tried to make themselves allergic to certain potions, she thought, as her chest started to hurt. The taste of stomach acid flooded her mouth. But none of them could ensure a mild reaction to the potion.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but she clung to it as her stomach heaved again. She’d eaten lunch—had it really only been a few hours ago?—and now she was throwing it up, expelling all that remained from her stomach. She should be grateful, she knew, that her body hadn’t had time to metabolize more of the potion. If nothing else, it proved that she hadn’t been unconscious for very long. She forced herself to concentrate on alchemical formulas as she expelled the last of the potion from her body, wishing she was back in school. Professor Thande would have helped her, if she’d taken the potion in class. He’d have cleaned up the mess before it was too late.
Frieda must be terrified, Emily thought. The younger girl might be frozen, paralyzed by magic, but she could still hear. She’ll think I’m dying.
She pushed the thought aside as she took a long shuddering breath, trying to breathe through her mouth. Moving wasn’t easy with her arms and legs bound, but she managed to roll away from the vomit before slumping back to the ground. The durian potion fumes might just impede her magic, if she wasn’t careful. She concentrated, trying to call on her power. A tiny spark answered her.
Shit, she thought, as she fanned the spark into fire. This could take a while.
Panic yammered at the back of her mind. Daze wouldn’t underestimate her a second time. He’d knock her out, then transport her to his lair ... or straight to Fulvia, if he decided against trying to break her. Emily had no illusions about what the elderly woman would do to her, if she had Emily at her mercy. A woman who had no qualms about using magic to torture her granddaughter wouldn’t hesitate to rip Emily to shreds, atom by atom. She forced the panic back, concentrating on her power. The magic was rebuilding itself, slowly.
She focused, then cast a very basic untying spell. It struck her, a second too late, that Daze could have charmed the ropes, but the knots came untied without resistance. Emily pulled her hands free and sat up, casting a night-vision spell as she moved. Frieda was still unmoving—and Aurelius was curled up by the vent, waiting for her—but the remainder of the room was empty. Emily mentally kicked herself for not concealing emergency supplies everywhere she could. But then, she’d never anticipated being taken prisoner in her own house.
Her head started to ache as she reached out to touch the wards. They felt odd, as if someone had been trying to fiddle with them. Emily recoiled, cursing under her breath. She’d worked her own blood into the spells, but given time a skilled wardcrafter could probably subvert them. Particularly if he had a sample of her blood ... she looked down, but she couldn’t see the remains of a cut in the semi-darkness. The thought chilled her to the bone. Daze could easily have taken a sample of her blood while she’d been unconscious, then healed the wound to ensure she never knew. She’d always wonder if a sample of her blood was out there, somewhere ...
Later, she told herself, firmly. Daze wouldn’t have left the house. We’ll have time to search for it later.
Emily struggled to stand, despite her legs threatening to buckle. She hadn’t felt so ill since she’d eaten something she really shouldn’t, back when she’d been twelve. She’d thrown up repeatedly, then dry-retched when she’d finally emptied her stomach. Her stepfather, damn the man, had made sarcastic remarks for weeks afterwards. His lurking presence had forced her to go to school the day afterwards, even though she hadn’t been well. The school canteen’s barely-edible food hadn’t helped either.
She tugged at her damp clothes, pulling them back into place as she tried to think. Getting out of the room wouldn’t be a problem, but what then? Sneak back to Whitehall? Or confront Daze? She dismissed the last thought a moment later. She wasn’t in any state for a confrontation. And she had no idea how Frieda would react. Daze had done a number on her brain. She might let Emily get her back to Whitehall. But she might also turn on Emily.
Crap, Emily thought. She didn’t have the power to teleport, even if she did manage to make it out of the house. Even levitating Frieda to the nearest coachhouse would be a problem. How much control does he have over her?
She forced herself to think. Frieda couldn’t have made it to Dragon’s Den without teleporting—and that meant she’d met Daze outside Whitehall. And she’d let him into the house, something she knew Emily wouldn’t like ... Daze might not have complete control over Frieda, but he was certainly capable of manipulating her. Frieda might be able to resist, now she knew what was happening, yet ... what if she couldn’t? Emily knew just how dangerous mind magics could be. Frieda might well believe she was doing the right thing, even as she betrayed Emily to her enemies.
Frieda needs help, Emily thought. She called the snake to her. And the only place to get her that help is Whitehall.
It was a risk, she acknowledged. Gordian had presumably started the expulsion paperwork by now. Even if he hadn’t, hunting parties were probably already being formed. They’d be convinced they were looking for a rogue magician. It was quite possible, Emily had to admit, that they might be looking for her too. She didn’t dare assume Gordian hadn’t realized she’d left school. If nothing else, there would be an alert when she failed to visit the Warden.
Aurelius crawled up her arm and settled into place, just inside her sleeve. The snake didn’t like the smell—Emily recoiled at the sudden wave of sensations from Aurelius’s twitching nose—but put up with it anyway. Emily braced herself, leaning against the wall for a long moment, then made her way towards Frieda. Perhaps she could levitate Frieda out of the house before ordering the wards to attack all intruders. She didn’t think Daze could have subverted her wards to keep her from doing that.
She touched Frieda’s arm, wincing at the unnaturally stiff sensation. “We’ll get out of this somehow,” she muttered, although she knew it wasn’t true. Even if Frieda got the help she needed, even if her name was cleared, she was going to carry the mental scars for the rest of her life. “I’ll get you home.”