Trial By Fire (Schooled in Magic Book 7) (49 page)

“That would be a relief,” Emily said. She yawned, suddenly. “Would you mind if I spoke with the others before I fall asleep again?”

“Not at all,” Caleb assured her. He gave her a long look. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Emily said, flatly. Master Grey had died at her hands. No matter what he’d done, no matter how he’d contrived to manipulate her into challenging him, she couldn’t escape what she’d done. “But I will survive.”

“My mother was impressed,” Caleb said. He looked embarrassed. “I believe she wishes to meet you. She never liked Master Grey.”

“When I’m feeling better,” Emily promised. She wasn’t sure she wanted to meet another Mediator, not now. “I...”

She swallowed, unsure of her own feelings. Caleb nodded, kissed her gently on the forehead and then hurried out of the room. Moments later, Alassa, Imaiqah, and Frieda entered, the first two looking haunted. The demon had mocked her, Emily recalled; it might have abandoned its grip on their minds, it might have faded back into the Darkness, but it had left its mark on their souls. Her friends would never be quite the same.

“You won,” Frieda crowed. “I
told
you you’d win.”

Alassa cuffed the back of her head. “Shut up,” she snapped. “I don’t think she wants to hear any of
that
!”

Imaiqah hurried over to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Headachy,” Emily said. She yawned. “And tired.”

“You saved us all, again,” Alassa said. “What...”

“The Grandmaster saved you,” Emily said. In hindsight, she realized, he’d known what they’d have to do right from the start. He would have offered himself sooner if there hadn’t been a faint chance that
Emily
would be able to banish the demon. “God alone knows where he is now.”

“Lost,” Imaiqah said, flatly. “Or so your
father
said.”

Frieda sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at Emily with bright eyes. “Your father said you weren’t allowed to use magic,” she said. “That any attempt to use magic would be its own punishment.”

Emily nodded. She’d been aware of her own magic ever since Mistress Irene had taught her how to unlock it, but now there was a haze covering the part of her brain that channeled
mana
and cast spells. Trying to use magic before she had recovered would cause blinding headaches, she was sure, if she was lucky. Void was quite right. If she pushed the limits too far, she might hamper her own recovery...or die.

“I probably need to spend time doing something - anything - else,” she said, softly. “They won’t let me go back to classes for a while.”

“Go walking in the mountains,” Frieda advised. “I could come with you. Or go swimming? Or even boating? Talia said that boating was always fun.”

“Take Caleb,” Imaiqah added, mischievously. “Go for a walk through the Forest of Flowers.”

Emily blushed. The Forest of Flowers was a popular place for couples to find some private time together. She hadn’t thought their relationship had progressed far enough to go there - Caleb had certainly never invited her - but maybe...she pushed the thought aside, angrily. It would be weeks before she was able to do more than totter around like an elderly woman.

“Rest first,” Alassa advised. She cleared her throat. “Jade...was too embarrassed to face you. He blames himself.”

“He shouldn’t,” Emily said.

“Master Grey bombarded him with questions about you,” Alassa said. She sounded quietly furious. Jade was her fiancé and he’d been manipulated, used to hurt one of her friends. “The bastard probably used what Jade told him to help lure you into a trap. And it
was
a trap.”

“I know,” Emily said.

Imaiqah snorted. “Tell Jade you won’t kiss him for a month, if he really feels he deserves punishment,” she advised. “
That
should change his mind.”

“You have a filthy mind,” Alassa countered. “And besides, who is that meant to punish?”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Emily said. She yawned, again. Jade couldn’t have known what his former master intended to do. If he had, she knew he would have warned her. “Tell him I forgive him everything, just in case he really believes it.”

“He does,” Alassa said. She shook her head in mock disbelief. “You’d better sleep now, Emily. Maybe you’ll feel better when you wake.”

“I hope so,” Emily said. She leaned back in the bed, feeling oddly comfortable. “I’ll be out of here soon.”

“Wait until you’re actually feeling better,” Imaiqah said, sternly. “I’ll tie you to the bed if necessary.”

“She would,” Alassa said. She smiled at Imaiqah before she again looked at Emily. “Sleep tight. We’ll be here until they toss us out.”

Emily opened her mouth to say something, but yawned instead.

“Lady Barb said she’d talk to you later, once...once your father was gone,” Imaiqah added, hastily. Emily barely heard her through the haze. “Something to do with an oath...”

She must have sworn not to face Void again
, Emily thought.
I...

“Good night,” Frieda said, as sleep overcame Emily. “We’ll see you soon.”

T
HE GRANDMASTER’S BODY LAY ON THE
funeral pyre, preserved by magic and wrapped in his finest robes. Emily stood next to Void and watched, from their vantage point, as countless magicians and noblemen gathered in the gardens, preparing to say farewell to a man who had ruled Whitehall for nearly thirty years. Most of the students had been refused permission to attend; Emily and a handful of Sixth Years were the only ones present. She couldn’t help noticing just how many of the visitors, powerful magicians in their own right, stared at her as they passed. They knew she’d killed a magician twenty years her senior.

Maybe I should run to Mountaintop
, she thought, numbly. It had been a week since she’d recovered, a week of slowly regaining her strength.
Somewhere I can just hide from the world
.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. There was no way she
could
hide from the world. Perhaps, just perhaps, she might have been ignored, if she’d kept her knowledge and concepts to herself, but it was too late now. The entire world knew her now; she could either play a role in their games or learn to play the game for herself.

She gritted her teeth and held her head as high as she could. The Grandmaster had died to offer her a second chance at life. She was damned if she was wasting it.

“Grandmaster Hasdrubal was a remarkable man,” Mistress Irene said. She spoke softly, but magic carried her words across the gardens. “He graduated from Whitehall with the highest scores on record, then entered a brilliant apprenticeship and qualified as a Charms Master in just under two years. His love for Whitehall was so strong that he returned to the school to serve as a tutor five years after his departure; he worked his way up the ranks until he was the only clear choice for Grandmaster. The White Council made no mistake when they offered him the role.”

They knew nothing about the demon
, Emily thought.
Or about how he lost his eyes
.

“He was a brave and brilliant man,” Mistress Irene continued, “but he was always kind and understanding to the students. Those who struggled with their coursework found help; those who tried to cause trouble ran into firm but considerate discipline that reshaped their lives for the better. He was a part of the school for so long that his absence leaves a gaping hole in our hearts, an emptiness at the heart of Whitehall.”

Emily shivered. The second demon she’d met, at Mountaintop, had shown her a vision;
there is a gaping emptiness at the heart of Whitehall
. Had it been predicting the Grandmaster’s death? Or was it something else, something that had been deflected...or was yet to materialize? The same demon had also shown her kissing someone...but it hadn’t been Caleb. Had she been likely to meet someone else? Or was that, too, something that had yet to come to pass? There was no way to know.

“He wanted me to say a few words from him, written when he knew he was going to die,” Mistress Irene said. She produced a scrap of parchment from her robes and peered down at it. “I have been good and I have been evil; I have been human. My successes and mistakes are a matter of public record, my pride and my shame are mine alone to bear. If you would learn from my mistakes, I would consider my life well lived.”

She paused, folding up the piece of parchment. Emily felt tears prickling at the corner of her eyes, even though many of the observers looked puzzled. The Grandmaster’s mistakes, she suspected, were not really part of the public record, buried - deliberately or otherwise - by his public persona and friends in high places. She couldn’t help wondering how long that would last, now that the Grandmaster was dead. History was written by the survivors, after all.

Mistress Irene cleared her throat. “We bid farewell to a great man,” she said, simply. “And we count ourselves lucky that we knew him.”

She snapped her fingers. The pyre caught fire, flames licking through the wood and rapidly consuming the Grandmaster’s body. Emily forced herself to watch as the whole edifice slowly crumbled into ash, which would be scattered over the gardens when the fire was finally extinguished. The Grandmaster, in a very real sense, would be part of Whitehall for the rest of time.

“There will be a wake for him, afterwards,” Void said, quietly. “Do you wish to attend?”

Emily shook her head, mutely. Too many older magicians were glancing at both of them, their gazes cold and calculating. Perhaps Void hadn’t been the only one quietly covering her back; the Grandmaster’s combination of magic and political power would have deterred many from trying to co-opt or simply kill her. But it hadn’t been enough to stop Master Grey from contriving a challenge...

“A wise decision,” Void said. “Mistress Irene has something for you, I believe.”

They waited until the crowds had started to move around the front of the castle, then headed over to where Mistress Irene stood beside the ashes. The older woman looked tired, almost grief-stricken; Emily couldn’t help wondering why she, rather than the Grandmaster’s sole surviving brother, had been left to manage the funeral. Tradition, she thought, dictated that the oldest member of the family handled his affairs. But if the Grandmaster’s brother was among the throng, she didn’t recognize him.

“Emily,” Mistress Irene said. She reached into her pouch, producing a role of parchment and an iron key. “He wished me to give these to you, if you won the duel.”

“Thank you,” Emily said. There was a charm on the wax seal covering the parchment and another on the key. “I...”

“We’ll discuss your future education later,” Mistress Irene said, cutting her off. She looked at Void. “There’s a coach and a pair of horses in the courtyard.”

“I thank you,” Void said, gravely.

Emily blinked in surprise. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Yes. Yes, we are,” Void said. “Come with me.”

He strode off, not looking back. Emily hesitated, then followed him, tucking the parchment and the key into her robes. It reminded her of the Key to Mountaintop, only without the charms that had bound that key into the school’s wards. And the Grandmaster had wanted her to have it? She honestly doubted it was the Key to Whitehall. That, if there
was
such a thing, would be passed to his successor. She sighed inwardly as Void rounded the corner and strode into the courtyard. As promised, a coach and driver were already waiting for them. Lady Barb stood beside the coach, arms folded under her breasts.

“Take care of her,” she said to Void. “Or we will see each other one final time.”

“I will,” Void said.

Emily looked from one to the other, unsure what to say or do. Lady Barb had spoken to her briefly, after she’d woken for the second time, but she’d been occupied with preparing the school for the Grandmaster’s successor. She’d hoped to have a chance to speak to the older woman after the funeral, yet Void was taking her away.

“Get in,” Void ordered, curtly.

Emily nodded and did as she was told. Inside, it felt surprisingly warm; the curtains were drawn, making it impossible for anyone to see in or out. Void scrambled in to join her, and tapped the wooden box. Moments later, the cart rattled to life and headed out of the courtyard. Void settled back next to her and sighed, loudly.

“You may as well read the letter,” he said. “He wrote it for you. Mistress Irene would have held onto it, ready to burn his last words to ashes if Master Grey had won the duel.”

“I know,” Emily said.

She was surprisingly reluctant to open the parchment, no matter who it had come from. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it said. But she pulled at the wax until it came free, the charm sparking over her fingertips to verify her identity before vanishing into nothingness. If it hadn’t been meant for her, she knew, she would have been frozen or cursed or even killed on the spot. Or the parchment could simply have disintegrated. The Grandmaster could have attached any number of nasty spells to his personal seal.

Emily.

Don’t weep for me, or feel regret. In truth, I suspected that the demon was the same as the one who took my eyes from the very moment you told me what it was. It would have known that we would eventually cross paths once again and allowed Shadye to bind it, confident that a necromancer would eventually lose control or simply die. Someone would have to willingly hand themselves to the demon in order to banish it. I could not let you sacrifice your soul in my place. And it would have known that too.

I was stunned when I realized the truth, too stunned to cut Master Grey off before it was too late. I had known he would push you hard, that he would have to play the stern unrelenting tutor to both you and your friend; I underestimated the degree of personal animosity he felt for you (or, perhaps, the pressure someone had brought to bear against him.) He played his role very well, maintaining deniability right up until the moment you challenged him. And, at that moment, it was too late. I could have killed him, and maybe I should have, but that would undermine your position too. All I could do was play for time and hope. But time ran out.