Wedding Hells (Schooled in Magic Book 8) (8 page)

“But at least you passed,” Song said. “I was stuck as a goat for the remainder of the exam period.”

Emily shook her head, stumbled back to bed and closed her eyes. It felt as if she hadn’t slept at all when she awoke the following morning and headed into the examination chamber for the second time. The Healing exam was, if anything, far harder than the Charms exam; she answered a whole series of practical questions, then healed a couple of volunteers from Dragon’s Den. Emily wasn’t sure who had thought it was a good idea to keep several people injured or unwell for some considerable time, just so they could be healed by trainee magicians, but she made a mental note to give that person a piece of her mind if she ever found out. One of her volunteers was a young boy who’d broken his leg...and it could have been healed instantly, if a magician had been nearby. Leaving it broken for hours, let alone days, was just cruel.

They could have broken someone’s leg specifically to let me mend it
, she thought, crossly. It was cruel too, but with the right spells it would be painless and Whitehall could certainly afford to pay any volunteers handsomely.
But they couldn’t infect someone with a disease, could they
?

She finished the exam, checked her written answers again and headed back to the dorm for the second time. Alassa joined her a moment later, looking as tired as Emily felt, but she insisted that Emily eat something before they went to bed. Imaiqah had been held back for some reason; she didn’t join them until they’d almost finished eating.

“There was a problem with one of my patients,” she said, shortly. “The supervisor said I could have extra time, if I wanted.”

Emily nodded slowly. Lady Barb had told them, right from the start, that every patient was different. Some of them could be healed quickly - broken bones could be mended by almost any magician - while others would require hours of patient work. She wasn’t surprised that Imaiqah had been given extra time, even though they hadn’t been told it was a possibility. In hindsight, it was obvious. It might take longer than they thought they had to cure a particularly difficult patient.

And if we’d tried to hurry
, she thought,
we might have been marked down
.

She smiled wanly at the thought as they walked back to their beds. Lady Barb would have been furious if they’d tried to rush their work, particularly if there was an innocent life at stake. She’d hammered it into their heads, time and time again, that they were to be careful and take their time when they healed a patient. Emily wouldn’t have cared to face her after a patient had died, if her carelessness and haste had caused the death. She’d have been lucky not to be summarily booted from the class.

The next exam, Subtle Magic, was just as difficult, although she was starting to get used to the pace. Subtle Magic was tricky because of the rune in her chest, which started to burn the moment she stepped into the pre-prepared examination chamber; it wasn’t easy to find and neutralize the runes carved into the room with her chest feeling as if it were going to catch fire at any moment. But it would have been harder still, she suspected, if the subtle magic had been messing with her mind from the start. She removed the final runes, answered the theoretical questions and then headed back to the dormitory, where she discovered she was the first to finish. The others had taken longer to find and remove the runes.

“Alchemy today,” Alassa said, the next day. “Good luck.”

Emily shivered. Alchemy had never been her favorite subject, although she
had
managed to pass the classroom tests by strict attention to detail and extreme care. She wasn’t reassured when she stepped into the examination chamber and discovered that it was surrounded by heavy-duty wards, ready to contain an explosion. The supervisor nodded to a large workbench supporting three caldrons and a small pile of ingredients, and told her to sit down at a smaller desk.

“There are three practical tests, following your theoretical exam,” he told her. “For the first test, you have to pick a potion from a list and brew it to an acceptable standard. For the second, you have to salvage an alchemical brew that is on the verge of exploding; for the third, you have to analyze a brewed potion and determine both its ingredients and its function.”

He paused. “Do you have any questions?”

Emily hesitated. “Do I get told what the second alchemical brew was meant to be?”

“Clear Sight Potion,” the supervisor said. “You’ll find a list of ingredients and instructions beside the caldron.”

Emily closed her eyes in pain. She’d tried to brew Clear Sight Potion herself, in class, and it had rarely worked. Stopping an explosion wouldn’t be hard - she’d just have to add something that would nullify the magic - but that would put the potion completely beyond repair. She’d have to work out what had gone wrong very quickly and then apply corrective measures....

And be ready to dive under the table if it boils out of control
, she thought. She’d seen a string of nasty accidents in Alchemy, including at least one student who’d been blinded for a week following an explosion.
This could get very bad
.

She took the paper when it was offered and worked her way through the questions. They looked to be reasonably simple, easier than she’d expected, but they weren’t the true meat of the exam. It was the practicals that would determine her final grade. She finished writing out the answers, rose to her feet and walked over to the workbench. The first caldron was empty; the other two were held in stasis. They’d be released the moment she touched them with her fingertip. Gritting her teeth, she picked up the list of recommended potions, selected the easiest and went to work. An hour later, she bottled up the brew and turned her attention to the third caldron. She’d have to leave the second caldron until last, just in case it blew up in her face.

And I might end up as scarred as Caleb
, she thought, as she prepared a handful of diagnostic spells.
Would he still be interested in me if my face looked like Emperor Palpatine’s
?

She pushed the morbid thought aside as she went to work, releasing the stasis field and studying the blue-green liquid in the caldron. The analysis spell showed her some of the ingredients, allowing her to mentally add several more; she knew, from experience, that several ingredients wouldn’t mix with others without exploding or turning the liquid into useless sludge. In fact, the more she saw of the ingredients, the more she believed it was a modified strengthening potion. It wasn’t a recommended recipe - unless she was very wrong, it would be dangerously addictive - but she was sure she knew what it was meant to do.

Just as long as no one tries to drink it more than once
, she thought, as she wrote down her conclusions. Professor Thande - she was certain he’d brewed the potion -
loved
varying the recipes, just to see what would happen.
They’d become addicted within two or three doses
.

She pushed the thought aside as she turned her attention to the second caldron and read through the list of instructions carefully. It was hard to be sure, as there were three separate parts where the tiniest mistake might have led to an explosion, but she had a feeling - going by the colorcolor - that the mistake was in the final section. The brewer had added too much of one ingredient, overbalancing the potion. She gritted her teeth, prepared a handful of countering agents and released the stasis field. The smell made her gag - she had to fight to keep from diving under the table at once - but she poured the first countering agent in, watching carefully to make sure it wasn’t about to explode. It bubbled unpleasantly; she hastily added the remaining agents, praying desperately that she hadn’t unbalanced the recipe in a different direction. There was a long pause, then the brew settled down. Emily breathed a sigh of relief, bottled four samples and turned away from the workbench. It was done.

“You may leave,” the supervisor said.

Emily nodded and walked back to the dorm. Alassa and Imaiqah were already gone - Alchemy was their last exam - but Melissa and the Gorgon were still waiting for the second Healing exam. She nodded to them both, then settled down on the bed to go to sleep. No one had told her anything about the Military Magic exam, but she had a feeling she should wait until she knew what was happening. But she wanted to leave...

She was woken, four hours later, by the supervisor. “You
have
been entered for the Military Magic exam by Sergeant Miles,” she said. “You’ll only get half credit, because you’ve only been entered for the theoretical side...”

Emily rubbed her forehead, but nodded reluctantly. Sergeant Miles presumably knew what he was doing. She’d ask him when she left the examination halls. Until then...she ate, slept and followed the supervisor into the examination chamber for the final exam. Behind her, the handful of girls taking the second Healing exam waited for their supervisors to arrive.

The Military Magic supervisor looked her up and down as soon as she arrived, then pointed to a desk and waited for her to sit down. “It is irregular for a person to take half of the exam,” he said, “but apparently it has to be tolerated. You have two hours to answer as many questions as you can. Do not leave the room...”

“I understand,” Emily interrupted. She just wanted to get it over with. “Can I begin?”

“Of course,” the supervisor said. He made a show of turning a giant hourglass over to mark the start of the exam. “Off you go.”

Emily scowled at the paper as she opened it. Like the other exams, it contained a list of questions that forced her to think rather than merely scribble answers down by rote. Some of them were easy enough - Sergeant Miles had talked her through the basics of military affairs in Martial Magic - but others were too complex for her to answer. She did the best she could - she pulled one solution directly from Earth - and finished the paper just in time for the last of the sand to run out. The supervisor took it, opened the door for her and pointed to the exit. Emily glanced back at the dorm, hurried down the corridor and out of the exam complex.

And I won’t see it again until the end of Sixth Year
, she thought, as she passed through the door. The wards resealed themselves behind her.
If they let me stay
...

“Emily,” Lady Barb said. She was standing at the far end of the corridor. “I trust you’re ready for a nap?”

Emily ignored the question. “Why did Sergeant Miles put me in for the final exam?”

“Because you might need it,” Lady Barb said. “And because it will be a useful thing to have.”

And, no matter how many times Emily asked, Lady Barb refused to be drawn any further.

“Y
OU MIGHT WELL ALREADY HAVE SUFFICIENT
credit to win a pass in Military Magic,” Alassa mused, four hours later. “Master Grey would certainly give you a pass.”

“I don’t think he would have wanted to give me anything other than a knife in the back,” Emily muttered. Her head hurt, even though she’d managed several hours of sleep before her friends had returned. “He wanted me dead.”

“That might explain it,” Alassa said. “You
did
kill a combat sorcerer in a duel. That, combined with a high score on your papers, might be enough to win you a pass.”

She shrugged. “Or they may think you’d have a use for the paper qualification in the future,” she added. “You’d better see if you can get a straight answer out of the sergeant.”

“The paper qualification won’t be enough,” Imaiqah pointed out. “If she hasn’t done the practical...”

Emily held up a hand. “Does it really matter, right now?”

“Probably not,” Alassa said. She turned and picked up a letter from her trunk. “My father sent you a letter. Do you want the crib notes from me or do you want to unpick the letter for yourself?”

“Just the crib notes,” Emily said. She’d grown used to Alassa reading
all
official communications from Zangaria, now that she was her father’s confirmed heir. “What does he want?”

“You’re going to Beneficence in a couple of days,” Alassa said. “On the way to Alexis, he’d like you to visit Swanhaven and give him your impression of the competing would-be rulers.”

Emily frowned. “Would-be rulers?”

“Baron Swanhaven was beheaded after the coup,” Alassa said. She closed her eyes, reciting from memory. “His son, who was up to his eyebrows in the plotting, was also killed. He’d wiped out most of his remaining family after his late wife gave him an heir, so the only two claimants to the Barony are Lord Hans and Lady Regina. Lady Regina has the closest claim, by blood, but Lord Hans has a penis. My father told them to share power - he appointed a regent to keep an eye on them - until he decided which one of them would inherit the position permanently.”

“I suppose they can’t get married,” Emily muttered.

“My father would probably not approve,” Alassa said. “Merging their competing claims would cause...
problems
with some of the other baronial bloodlines.”

“So right now they’re doing everything they can to win the favor of the king,” Imaiqah put in. “They’ll be trying to win your favor too.”

“Regina was one of the girls my mother thought would make a good companion for me when I was a child,” Alassa said. “She’s ambitious,
very
ambitious. I think she would have been purged too if she hadn’t been six years old when the heir was born. Baron Swanhaven might have considered her an ultimate fallback position for his line.”

Emily shrugged. “And what’s Lord Hans’s excuse?”

“I’ve never met him,” Alassa said. “He’s a couple of years older than Lady Regina, but I don’t think he ever spent time at court, toadying to my father. I have no idea
why
he was allowed to remain alive.”

“Maybe he just looked harmless,” Imaiqah suggested.

“There’s no such thing as a
harmless
nobleman, particularly one with a tenuous claim to a powerful position,” Alassa said. “Just being one of the few survivors would make him a potential threat to the baron.”