Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) (8 page)

Smiling to herself, Emily walked into one of the smaller rooms and inspected the graduation rolls. Whitehall kept very detailed records of its students, allowing newcomers to look up the grades of famous sorcerers…although they weren’t as useful as Emily had expected before she’d actually started to use them. Sorcerers often changed their names once they graduated, ensuring that their enemies couldn’t use their true names against them; it still bugged her that she had never managed to identify Void’s records. Or, for that matter, the grandmaster’s records. The only staff member she’d been able to find had been Professor Thande…and
his
record had included a handwritten note from his tutor suggesting that he be dispatched to a deserted mountaintop where he could practice his experiments without risking anyone else’s life.

And she’d never located anything that might have belonged to Shadye…

Pushing the thought aside, Emily found the set of records that were sorted by name and looked up Lady Barb. It was easier than she’d expected; Barb was apparently short for Barbara, rather than an assumed name like Shadye or Void. But the record was of minimal use; Barb had been an excellent student, with very high marks for Healing, then she’d gone into Martial Magic in her sixth year, like Jade. And then she’d graduated and apprenticed under an unnamed sorcerer.

Void
? Emily asked herself. Back when she’d first met him, Void had admitted that his history of taking apprentices wasn’t very good. Indeed, he’d told her that she was safer going to Whitehall than learning from him. Could Lady Barb have been Void’s apprentice at one point? But surely Void would have told her if that were the case.

Thoughtfully, Emily reread the record, trying to draw out any hidden clues. But there was almost nothing beyond the bare facts, certainly very little about Lady Barb’s background or post-Whitehall life. It didn’t surprise her–Alassa’s records left out plenty of details, including the fact that she was a crown princess–but it was frustrating. Whitehall was primarily concerned with educating young magicians, rather than keeping tabs on them afterwards. That was someone else’s problem.

Putting the graduation record back on the shelves–taking it out of the room would have triggered the wards–Emily stepped back into the main library and walked down to the genealogy section. On Earth, genealogy covered family trees; here, it seemed to include people who worked for the principle family, as well as plenty of other details that Emily wouldn’t have thought needed to be included. Pulling out the first tome describing Zangaria, Emily looked for any records that might touch on Lady Barb. Unsurprisingly, she was listed as a combat sorceress, hired to defend the queen.
That
made a certain kind of sense, Emily decided. The king wouldn’t want a male sorcerer looming over his wife when he was gone.

On impulse, she pulled out the blood rankings for the kingdom and studied them carefully. Alassa was right at the top; her father just below her, although a rather droll note suggested that he was no longer capable of fathering children. Reading between the lines, Emily decided that it meant he’d been having affairs and none of them had led to illegitimate children. Quite what they would have done if the only possible heir had been a bastard child was open to question. Maybe the queen would go into seclusion and then take the child as her own.

Returning the book to the shelves, she stood up and wandered through the library, glancing from book to book. She’d loved libraries back home and she loved this one; indeed, it had a more authentic attitude than many of the ones she remembered from her childhood. There were no computers, no video games, just books…and powerful spells intended to ensure that users actually kept quiet. She caught sight of a row of books that were chained to the shelves and smiled, remembering many happy hours of standing there and studying the charms. They couldn’t be taken out of the library, but she’d memorized the spells and copied them into her personal grimoire.

Absently, she picked one of the books off the shelves and glanced at it. Mentalism magic was complex and it was rare for anyone below fourth-year to try to learn it, but she’d had no choice. Shadye had invaded her mind and used her as a weapon against Whitehall. She needed a defense in case someone else managed to secure some of her blood. The memory of being moved like a puppet provided all the incentive she required. And yet there was no way to test it without actually convincing someone to try to control her, which posed dangers of its own. Who did she trust far enough to let them take some of her blood?

Catching herself, she glanced at her watch. It was almost ten bells.

Emily straightened up, returned the book to the shelf and then left the library. It was time to pick up her chest, meet up with Alassa and leave the school. And, she reminded herself, to meet Lady Barb. God alone knew how
that
was going to go.

L
ADY BARB WAS EASILY THE MOST
striking
woman that Emily had met.

She was tall, taller than Emily, with blonde hair cropped close to her head. Her body was incredibly muscular, reminding Emily of Sergeant Harkin; her face was not classically beautiful, but one look told Emily that this was not a person to take lightly. She wore a silver breastplate, dark trousers and a sword, even though she was clearly a powerful sorceress. Emily could feel the magic surrounding her as soon as she walked into the entrance hall.

Lady Barb was talking to the grandmaster, their voices hidden behind a privacy ward. She looked like a giant compared to his diminutive form, although Emily suspected that the grandmaster probably had the edge in raw power. Lady Barb threw Emily a sharp glance as soon as she saw her, before shifting her gaze to Alassa. She must have seen something she liked, because she nodded before returning her attention to the grandmaster. Emily wondered if they were talking about
her
, or Alassa. Lady Barb didn’t seem to be the kind of person who would put up with a royal brat.

“Oh, joy,” Alassa muttered. “Here comes the twisting tongue.”

Emily blinked. She hadn’t spotted the other man standing by the main door–Lady Barb had taken all of her attention–until he started to step forward. There was something about his movement that made her think of
crawling
, at least partly because he kept bowing in Alassa’s direction, almost as if he were dancing towards her. His face, when he straightened up briefly, looked remarkably unformed, almost as if he had no character at all. And his eyes glinted oddly when he looked at Emily.

“Princess,” the man said, in a breathy voice. “You are the light that knows no borders, the joy that grows in hearts, the…”

Emily’s first impulse was to snicker. The man seemed to be exaggerating every movement, as well as bombarding Alassa with absurdly flattering praise…and then she realized that he
meant
every word. He seriously believed that she would be impressed by such praise, even though she had to
know
that it was absurd. Emily glanced at her friend, saw a half-bitter expression on Alassa’s face and realized that she must have grown up hearing it every day. No
wonder
she had turned into such a brat. A child couldn’t have known the difference between honest praise and someone flattering her because of her birth.

What a crawler
, she thought, as the praise turned ever more fulsome.
I wonder how much they have to pay him for that…

“Thank you,” Alassa said gravely, cutting him off in mid-flatter. “Emily, this is Viscount Nightingale, the Master of the Princess’s Bedchamber. Viscount, this is my friend the Lady Emily, the Necromancer’s Bane. Treat her with respect.”

The Viscount stepped forward, bowed deeply in front of Emily, then managed to look surprised and offended–and yet unbothered–in the same instant. Emily realized that she was supposed to present him with her hand to kiss and hesitated, before gritting her teeth and holding out her palm. The Viscount kissed her hand lightly and then stepped back, bowing again. Emily had to fight down the urge to wipe her hand on her trousers.

Alassa cleared her throat. “I trust that the horses and carriages are ready,” she said, in her regal voice. “We have a long trip ahead of us and I wish it to be comfortable.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Nightingale said. “I have organized the trip to be as comfortable as possible. We will be visiting many people who wish to admire your regal beauty.”

“Good,” Alassa said. Her voice didn’t sound very pleased, but Nightingale didn’t seem to notice. “Bring the horses to the main entrance. Now.”

Nightingale bowed and backed out of the room. Emily shook her head in disbelief as he somehow navigated his way out of the door without turning his back, as turning his back on Alassa would have been a deadly insult. The princess winked at Emily, then leaned closer to whisper in her ear.

“He’s very minor nobility,” she said. “If he happened to displease my father in any way, he would be exposed to all of his enemies instantly.”

Emily nodded, tartly. It hadn’t been uncommon for medieval kings to choose to uplift men from the lower ranks, men who had no choice but to be loyal–for the moment they lost their usefulness, they could be handed over to their enemies. And if they happened to be tax collectors or lawgivers, they wouldn’t have many friends
anywhere
. Maybe Nightingale had more qualifications than being able to ladle on the flattery at a moment’s notice, but she hadn’t been able to see them.

“Emily,” the grandmaster said. He’d dispelled the privacy ward. “This is Lady Barb. She will be joining us next year as Head of Healing.”

Lady Barb didn’t blink, Emily realized, as she held out her hand. The sorceress just stared at her, her blue eyes unreadable. Her hand, when she took Emily’s hand and shook it firmly, felt strong enough to crush Emily’s to powder with ease. And she could feel the magic crackling around her, a presence more daunting than most of the other tutors.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, finally. She couldn’t help feeling disconcerted; Void had been right, Lady Barb didn’t seem to like her. “I hope you will enjoy working here.”

Lady Barb’s eyes glittered. “And you are the girl who defeated a necromancer,” she said, without letting go of Emily’s hand. Her voice was cold, dispassionate, almost completely stripped of femininity. Was that the price for being a combat sorceress? But Mistress Irene didn’t seem so dispassionate. “How did you manage to defeat Shadye?”

“We agreed that the knowledge would remain restricted,” the grandmaster said, hastily. “It is far better for the necromancers to wonder what happened than to confirm their theories.”

Lady Barb looked at him, then turned her gaze back to Emily. “And you are the closest friend of the princess,” she said, nodding to Alassa. “Are you capable of defending her?”

“She is,” Alassa said, before Emily could say a word. “And you shouldn’t question her competence…”

“It is my job, Your Highness,” Lady Barb said. There was no hint of sycophancy in her voice at all. She let go of Emily’s hand and stepped backwards. “Your protection from all threats is my prime concern.”

There was something in her voice that made Emily start in anger. She knew all of the rumors about what had happened when she’d faced Shadye for the final time–and one of them, the most damning, was that she’d become a necromancer herself. Emily knew that she’d shown no sign of necromantic madness, the insanity that overwhelmed anyone who tried to drain the mana and life force from a sacrifice, but it could take time for the madness to become noticeable. And if someone was deeply worried, they might assume that Emily was simply more capable of keeping the madness under control for years.

But if that were possible
, she thought sourly,
there would be no necromantic threat
.

Lady Barb didn’t move, but Emily sensed the sudden spike in the magic field, an instant before a flickering orb of green light flashed towards her. She recognized the hex from Martial Magic, a spell that weakened personal protective wards rather than trying to break through them outright. The spell could be an absolute nightmare to dispel, simply because it was designed to be immune to standard dispelling charms. Emily reacted on instinct, reshaping her wards and deflecting the green light away from her. It flashed over the hallway and struck the stone wall, vanishing in a shower of sparks.

“Not too shabby,” Lady Barb said, finally. Her eyes betrayed her irritation. “Perhaps you can protect the princess after all.”

Emily scowled at her, unable to avoid the feeling that she would have
liked
Lady Barb if the older woman hadn’t taken such an instant dislike to her. And the test could easily have been worse. If the hex had a chance to get enmeshed in her wards, the only other thing she could have done would have been to drop the wards completely, rendering her vulnerable to all kinds of jinxes, hexes and curses. Sergeant Miles had tested them by including a nasty transfiguration charm in the hex; anyone stupid enough to drop their wards found themselves croaking on the floor before they realized their mistake.

And then she realized the
true
purpose of the test. A necromancer might not have had the skill–or the patience–to deflect the hex. Instead, a necromancer would simply have swamped the hex with so much magic that it would have evaporated before it could do serious damage. If Emily had done that…it would have exposed her as a necromancer for sure. Few magicians her age would have had the power reserves to risk using so much magic. Emily was fairly sure that she couldn’t have done it.