Past Tense (Schooled in Magic Book 10) (40 page)

... And Robin was dead.

She sank back to her knees and closed her eyes as all the energy started to fade away into the ether. Her eyes
hurt
, power pulsing behind them; her entire body felt tired and drained. Only the grim certainty that she didn’t dare fall into the darkness, that she didn’t dare let herself be rendered helpless, kept her awake and aware. She hadn’t felt so vulnerable, even after facing Master Grey for the final time. Even
Whitehall
might choose to slit her throat while she was helpless.

There was a dull ringing in her ears, as if someone was whispering to her from a far distance; she gritted her teeth, then forced herself to open her eyes. A demon, a faintly-translucent demon, was standing in front of her, the form too indistinct for her to make it out clearly. It shimmered a moment later and was gone, but she could still feel its presence at the back of her mind. And yet, Robin was dead. Surely his demon should have returned to the darkness by now. Unless it was still tied to his Book of Pacts ...

It was hard, so hard, to think clearly. Where
was
Robin’s Book of Pacts?

He couldn’t have been carrying it
, she thought, numbly.
There was no room for a book
.

She looked up, suddenly very aware of just how much damage she’d done to the castle. The room had practically been shattered, the rear walls smashed and broken ... she was privately surprised she hadn’t brought the roof down. She looked up and winced at the cracks and scars in the stonework. Whoever had designed the castle had designed it to channel raw magic, she was sure, but they hadn’t expected a magician to start lashing out at the wards ...

“Emily,” Whitehall called. Emily realized, in her dazed state, that the door was gone and the doorway was nothing more than a pile of stone. “Emily, what happened?”

They’ll all have sensed the surge of magic
, Emily thought, numbly.
They’ll know it was me
.

She tried, desperately, to think of a convincing story. But there was nothing, nothing that wouldn’t be exposed as a lie within seconds. She’d tried to hide her true power ...

... But that was now nothing more than a waste of time.

“Robin,” she managed. She wanted to be sick. He’d intended to dominate her, humiliate her, rape her ... and he would have, if she’d not broken his control. And it had been sheer luck that she’d managed to escape his spell. “Robin ...he tried ...”

She stumbled, the world spinning mercilessly around her. Whitehall put out a hand to help her regain her balance, but she shook him off angrily. Her eyes were still hurting, as if she’d stared right into a bright light for an instant too long. She was suddenly
very
aware that everyone who’d been on the dance floor had probably sensed the surge of magic. No, there was no
probably
about it. They
would
have sensed the surge of magic. She wondered, as she fought down the urge to giggle, just what Tama was thinking now. He’d never imagined she might be able to do real damage to the
castle
, let alone a young man on the verge of mastery.

“Julianne, take Emily back to her bedroom,” Whitehall ordered. Where had Julianne come from? Emily wanted to argue—she’d interrupted Julianne’s wedding night—but she knew there was no point. “Everyone else, clear off. The party is over.”

“Yes, Father,” Julianne said.

“Sorry,” Emily murmured, through the haze. Julianne didn’t deserve to lose her wedding night. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Julianne said, briskly. “Just come with me.”

Emily did as she was told, feeling her head starting to pound. The demon was still there. She could
feel
it. Whitehall could probably feel it too ... he wasn’t going to be pleased. What was it
doing
? She hadn’t summoned it ...
Robin
had summoned it. And it should be gone.

“Go back to Bernard,” she managed, when they stumbled into the bedroom. Julianne should have been sharing a room with her husband. “Go ...”

“I’m staying,” Julianne said, firmly.

Emily nodded, then—with the last of her strength—warded the room as thoroughly as she could. It was hard to make the spells work through the pain, but she had no choice. Julianne would be trapped until she awoke, she knew, yet there was nothing she could do about that, not without weakening the wards ...

And then the darkness reached up and pulled her into blessed, merciful, sleep.

“E
MILY,” A VOICE SAID.
“A
RE YOU
all right?”

Emily fought her way back to awareness. Her memories were jagged, her head was pounding like a drum, her body felt dehydrated ... she pleaded for water, honestly unsure if she was thinking or speaking until someone held a glass of cool liquid to her lips. It crossed her mind, a second later, that she should be careful what she drank, but it was already too late. She
needed
the water.

Her eyes sprang open. Julianne was kneeling beside her, holding a glass of water in one hand and a potions gourd in the other. And there was something at the corner of her eye ... something sitting on her shoulder. She turned her head, despite the throbbing pain, but saw nothing. And yet there was something there, just out of sight ...

Shit
, she thought, numbly. It was hard, so hard, to form a coherent thought.
What happened?

Memory returned in fits and starts as she drank the remaining water, too thirsty to care about the possible risks. Robin had ... Robin had ... she felt the remains of his spell surrounding her, too complex and powerful to fade quickly even though she’d torn it to ribbons when she’d broken free. It was an order of magnitude more complex than anything she’d seen in the past, more powerful than any compulsion spell she’d studied in the future. She wasn’t quite sure how it had managed to get though her defenses—she didn’t
think
Robin had managed to get a sample of her blood—but it had clearly succeeded. If Void’s protections hadn’t been in place, she would have ...

She gagged, her stomach heaving, as she remembered what he’d wanted her to do. Hodge had merely wanted to rape her; Robin would have turned her into a helpless slave, a helpless observer trapped in her own body as he did what he willed with her. And the spell he’d used would have bound her permanently. Even if someone else had come to her aid, freeing her would have been beyond their abilities. She honestly wasn’t sure if the spell could have been undone, if she could have been freed to live a normal life, in her own era. Robin would have crippled her.

He’s dead
, she told herself.

“I think Father will want to talk to you,” Julianne said, nervously. “Are you fit to walk?”

Emily frowned. Julianne was acting skittish ... she felt a stab of guilt as she remembered that it should have been Julianne’s wedding night. But instead of consummating her marriage to Bernard, she’d been trapped in a warded room with Emily. And she might not know what had actually happened. She might have wondered, deep inside, if Emily was a murderess ... or if she was trapped permanently, if Emily died. Whitehall
might
have been able to muster the raw power to tear down Emily’s wards, but the surge of power might well kill Julianne as the wards collapsed.

“I don’t know,” Emily managed, finally.

She waved off Julianne’s attempt to help as she stumbled to her feet. Her body
ached
, pains everywhere, but nothing actually seemed to be broken. Julianne held out a gourd; Emily took a sniff, then declined the offer of painkilling potion. It would make the pain go away, if only for a few hours, but it would also make her sleepy. And she needed water desperately. Her legs felt wobbly and pains ran up and down her arms, but nothing seemed to be broken. She could move.

“I’m sorry,” she managed, as she dismantled her wards.
Someone
had probed the edges of them, she noted; thankfully, they hadn’t been able to break the wards down. “This should have been your night.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Julianne said, shortly. There was an edge in her voice that told Emily she
should
worry about it. “We were taking it slowly.”

Emily felt another stab of guilt as they opened the door and walked out into the corridor. If Julianne and Bernard didn’t consummate their marriage within a few days, it wouldn’t be legal or binding. Or, at least, that would be true in Zangaria. She had no idea if that was true in the past. But then, Julianne and Bernard could simply lie. No one would know if they consummated their marriage immediately or had waited a couple of days.

There was no one outside when they emerged, much to her relief; they made it down to the kitchens without incident. Julianne asked Emily to remain outside as she hurried into the kitchens and picked up a large gourd of water and some bread and ham. Emily ate and drank quickly, feeling ravenous; Julianne, standing beside her, ate more delicately. They had just finished when Bernard appeared, striding along the corridor towards them. The look he bestowed on Emily was far from friendly.

I interrupted his wedding night
, she thought, morbidly.
And I killed his best friend
.

“Lord Whitehall wants to see you,” he said, curtly. Emily couldn’t help noticing that he was keeping one hand on the pommel of his sword, although he shouldn’t have needed it to defend himself. “Come with me.”

Emily exchanged glances with Julianne, then followed Bernard down the corridor. The ...
thing
... at the corner of her eye seemed to twitch in and out of view, although she couldn’t get a good look at it. Two other apprentices—two of the newer apprentices—were standing outside the office doors, looking nervous. Their eyes went wide when they saw Emily and they started to sidle backwards, as if they were terrified of her. Emily groaned inwardly at their expressions, wondering if people would
always
be scared of her. She didn’t
want
everyone to be scared of her.

Let them hate, as long as they fear
, the cynical side of her mind noted.
You keep turning their world upside down
.

“Julianne, wait here,” Bernard ordered. “Emily, come with me.”

Emily clenched her teeth at his tone—he’d barely been married a day and he was already bossing his wife around—but Julianne showed no reaction. Emily hoped—prayed—that she’d make Bernard pay for his tone later, then followed Bernard through the door and into the chamber. Whitehall, Master Chambers, Master Wolfe, Master Keldor and Master Reaper were sitting behind a stone desk, their expressionless faces chilling her to the bone. She could feel the wards growing stronger, pressing down on the magic in the room. Master Wolfe had been busy, Emily thought, as she fought to keep her own expression under control. She doubted she could summon enough magic to do real damage.

“Emily,” Whitehall said. For a second, his eyes went very wide; a moment later, the expressionless mask snapped back over his face. He indicated a stool placed in front of the desk. “Please, be seated.”

“Yes, Master,” Emily said.

She sat, gingerly. The stool was barely large enough for a child half her age. It forced her to look up at them, as if she came as a supplicant. She supposed they wanted to use it to put her in her place. Lady Barb had discussed such tricks time and time again, pointing out that one didn’t need to use magic to make an impression. It was why King Randor had such a magnificent—and crowded—throne room. The chamber was
designed
to make the man on the throne the center of attention.

“Emily,” Whitehall said. There was a note of cool disapproval in his voice, although it didn’t seem to be directed at her. “Please could you tell us what happened?”

Emily took a breath. Master Wolfe looked friendly—he’d relaxed after she sat down—but Master Chambers, Master Keldor and Master Reaper were eying her nastily. She could sense a demon sitting on Master Chambers’ shoulder, the sense of cool malice making her jittery as she hastily pulled her senses back. The ...
thing
... at the corner of her eye seemed to respond to the other demon, although she could never have put the feelings into words. Panic threatened to overwhelm her as she realized she might just have picked up a demon herself. And yet, she’d never tried an unsupervised summoning rite ...

“Robin tried to rape me,” she said, bluntly. Her skin felt dirty, even though he hadn’t actually touched her. She wanted to fill a bathtub, then scrub herself until her skin was raw. “He used a spell to try to
control
me.”

She outlined the entire story, starting with Robin luring her out of the hall and ending with his death. Master Whitehall listened, his face expressionless, as she described the spell Robin had used, but neither Chambers nor Reaper seemed to believe her, even though the fragments of the spell were still present. Wolfe showed no visible reaction, although she had the feeling he was quietly analyzing the remains. She hoped—prayed—that the spell wouldn’t go any further. If Wolfe put it together, if it got out of his hands ...

Robin won’t be the last person to use it
, she thought, grimly.
And its next victim will not have hidden protections
.

“Absurd,” Chambers said, when she finished. “Apprentice Robin could
not
have cast such a spell.”

“His magical signature is all around her,” Master Wolfe pointed out, coolly. “Who
else
could have cast the spell?”

“There isn’t enough of the spell
left
to tell what it was designed to do,” Chambers countered, sharply. “Have you ever heard of a spell that controlled someone so completely?”

“No,” Wolfe said. “And until I came to this castle, I hadn’t heard of a transmutation spell I could use either.”

Chambers ignored him. “Your apprentice,” he said, addressing Whitehall, “killed
my
apprentice. I demand the Rite of Blood.”