Love's Labor's Won (15 page)

“Better an insult than a war,” Lady Barb said. “The last time there was a fight at the Faire, between two small groups of magicians, it took years to sort out the mess. This time, two entire families will be involved.”

“It wouldn’t just be the two families,” Master Grey said. He looked at Emily, his grey eyes boring into her face. “Hundreds of carnies have already made their way here — and more are on the way. Countless sellers have paid the nominal fee to establish a stall where they can sell their wares to the visitors. Thousands of magicians have planned trips here. Many of those trips will have been planned months in advance.”

His eyes never left Emily’s face. “If you cancel the Faire now, young lady, you will put a great many noses out of joint. At the very least, you will have to pay out a great deal of gold in compensation. It will certainly damage your reputation for a very long time to come. At worst...”

“You don’t need to scare her,” Lady Barb snapped.

“I’m just pointing out the problems she would face if she wanted to cancel the Faire,” Master Grey said. There was a hint of mocking amusement in his tone. “And it
will
cause her a great many problems.”

Emily cursed him under her breath, then thought hard. She trusted Lady Barb — and if Lady Barb said she should cancel the Faire, it was certainly something to consider. But Master Grey was right. Hundreds of thousands of people, many of them powerful magicians, had already hired their stalls, booked their tickets and planned their trips to Cockatrice. None of them would be pleased at having to cancel at short notice, particularly the ones who had turned down opportunities to go elsewhere. And people like Jasmine’s family — she remembered the young singer with a touch of fondness — would be put out of pocket by the sudden change.

“This is my territory,” she said. “Wouldn’t they respect it and not start fights?”

“I imagine the grown-ups would understand the dangers of picking a fight with someone who has killed two necromancers,” Lady Barb said, her lips so thin they were practically invisible. “But the hot-headed younger generation might be so dunderheaded as to start picking fights anyway, regardless of the wisdom or lack thereof.”

Emily groaned inwardly. She had two ways to kill necromancers, neither of which could be used in Cockatrice. One required a nexus and the closest one she knew about was several days journey, the other would cause far too much damage to the surrounding countryside, if she unleashed it. And it would start magicians wondering precisely what she’d done...it had been sheer luck, in hindsight, that most people believed Mother Holly had lost control of her magic and died when it broke free. The prospect of hundreds of magicians experimenting with ways to split atoms was horrific.

“Damn it,” she said, softly. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Right?”

“I’m afraid so,” Master Grey said. He didn’t seem too upset at her dilemma. “I can have a few words with the senior leadership, if you like, but...”

“You’re tied to Ashworth, aren’t you?” Lady Barb said.

“A cadet branch of the family,” Master Grey said. He shrugged, expressively. “I would be surprised if they consider me one of them, these days. But I can have a word with both families.”

“It’s your choice, Emily,” Lady Barb said. Her voice was flat, but Emily could tell she was displeased. “But you should be prepared for the consequences.”

I should walk away from Cockatrice
, Emily thought, angrily. She hadn’t known what she was getting into...or what was going to be done in her name, merely because she hadn’t been paying attention.
Leave the lands to someone else and just go
.

But that wasn’t an option, not now.

“If we hold the Faire as planned, we risk them starting a fight,” she said. “But, if we cancel the Faire, we definitely upset hundreds of people.”

“Thousands of people,” Master Grey corrected. “Your reputation would not recover.”

“Not to mention causing problems for everyone who bought a ticket in good faith,” Emily continued. “It would not be easy to compensate them all.”

“No,” Master Grey agreed. “You wouldn’t even be able to calculate what you owed.”

Emily nodded. It would be simple enough to reimburse everyone who had bought a ticket, but what about everything else? How many profits might be lost because someone had thought they would be going to Cockatrice? Master Grey, as much as she hated to admit it, was right. The legal wrangling over who owed what could take years to resolve. And it would be far too expensive. She was a wealthy woman, by the standards of the Allied Lands, but was she wealthy enough to cover everything?

“We hold the Faire,” she said. “And you sit on anyone who feels like causing trouble.”

“That might be hard if most of the families show up,” Lady Barb said. “I hope this is the right decision, Emily.”

“Yeah,” Emily said. She had a feeling she would have regretted it no matter what choice she made. “I hope so, too.”

Chapter Twelve

T
HE NEXT FEW DAYS PASSED QUIETLY
, quietly enough for Emily to start becoming nervous. She worked with Lady Barb on the wards, watched as the older woman hired a dozen experienced magicians to assist with security and tried to study the barony’s record books. The latter were both extensively detailed and incredibly confusing, leaving her feeling as if she couldn’t make head or tail of them. Bryon, it seemed, had kept good records, but the system didn’t make sense to her.

“Everything has to be logged,” he said, as they sat together in the records room. “You can track everything by going through the records.”

Emily groaned. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to merely log the essentials?”

“If the king asks for information,” Bryon countered earnestly, “you have to give him everything, or he will think you’re hiding something.”

There was a tap on the door. Lady Barb stood there, looking amused.

“I hate to interrupt,” she said, “but you have a visitor.”

Emily blinked, then remembered. “He’s here?”

“He’s here,” Lady Barb confirmed. “Would you like me to show him into the hall?”

“No,” Emily said, suddenly flustered. It was hard enough using the Great Hall to pass judgement, when she was clearly in charge. She didn’t want to meet Caleb somewhere where they wouldn’t meet as equals. “Um...can you show him into my study? I’ll be there in a moment.”

She stood, brushed dust off her dress, then hurried back to her rooms. The maids had agreed after the first day not to enter without Emily’s permission, even early in the morning. There were spells, after all, to ensure the room remained warm and comfortable, rendering a fire unnecessary. Besides, it was easier to find things when the maids hadn’t tried to help by tidying up the room. She hastily dug out the proposal paperwork, pulled her hair back into a long ponytail, and headed down to her study. There was barely any time to sit down before there was a tap on the door. Emily rose to her feet as it opened, revealing Lady Barb and a young man.

“Lady Emily,” Lady Barb said, with tight formality. “Please allow me to introduce Caleb, of House Waterfall.”

“I thank you,” Caleb said. His voice held the same accent as King Randor’s, but lighter, as if he’d grown up in a place where several accents blurred together. “Lady Emily, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“Thank you,” Emily said. She held out a hand. “I’ve heard a great deal about you too.”

Caleb took her hand and shook it, gently. Emily found herself studying him as he released her hand, his brown eyes looking back at her. He was tall and gangly, with short brown hair, a lightly-scarred face and damaged hands. The black shirt and trousers he wore were unmarked, but she couldn’t help being reminded of a military uniform. There was something about the way he wore it that reminded her of Sergeant Harkin, who had dominated a field of magicians through sheer personality.

And yet, she was sure that he wasn’t a military man.

“Please, sit,” she said, waving to one of the chairs. “I can have food and drinks brought in, if you like.”

“Thank you,” Caleb said. He sat, resting his hands on his lap. “It was good of you to agree to work with me.”

“I think I should be thanking you,” Emily said. “You had every right to restart your project and search for someone new, from the year below.”

“Too much like hard work,” Caleb said. He gave her a smile that reminded her, suddenly, of Rory Williams. “Besides, I still qualify for Fourth Year. I didn’t want to repeat Third Year if it could be avoided.”

“I know the feeling,” Emily said.

“I will have food and drinks sent to you,” Lady Barb said. “Until then, behave.”

Emily found herself flushing as Lady Barb bowed and retreated from the room. She glanced up at Caleb and saw that he was flushing too, his cheeks a dull red. She gaped, then started to giggle, despite herself. Caleb laughed a moment later, breaking the ice. By the time Janice entered with a tray of food and drink, they were laughing together like loons.

“Thank you,” Emily said, as Janice placed the tray in front of them and retreated. “Please, feel free to eat what you want.”

“I’ve never had cakes like these before,” Caleb said, picking up a honey cake and eyeing it thoughtfully. “Do you eat them all the time?”

“Not if I can avoid it,” Emily said. She liked sweets, but she’d never had very many of them on Earth. “Tell me about yourself?”

Caleb shrugged. “There isn’t much to tell,” he said. “I was at Stronghold for the first two years of my education, then transferred to Whitehall for Third Year. My father was less than pleased when the Mimic started killing people; I think he thought I should have killed it personally. Father always was a demanding person.”

Emily winced. “It wasn’t easy to kill the creature,” she said. Very few people knew about the Mimic’s true nature and she hoped it would stay that way. “You would just have been killed.”

“That’s my father for you,” Caleb said. “Charge! Death before dishonor! Take no prisoners! Last one in is a rotten egg!”

“I know the type,” Emily said.

“And you?” Caleb said. “What was your family like?”

“There isn’t much to tell either,” Emily said. She knew he was asking about Void. “I didn’t know I had magic until I was sixteen, whereupon I was sent to Whitehall.”

Caleb frowned, but seemed to sense she didn’t want to talk about it and didn’t ask any further questions. Emily was relieved; they’d worked out a cover story shortly after she’d arrived at Whitehall, but somehow she didn’t want to lie to him. Let him believe, if he wished, that Void had been an absentee father, or one who had been ashamed of his daughter failing to develop magic early. She could always tell him the truth later.

She took a bite of her cake, then a sip of Kava. “Your project is fascinating,” she said, as she put her mug back on the table. “But can you make it work?”

“I hope so,” Caleb said.

He took a breath. “The problem with casting spells is that one has to account for all the variables,” he said. “Most magicians eventually develop the habit of casting spells without thinking through every detail, which allows them to cast the spells quickly, but not to alter the variables. And some magicians never learn how to do more than trigger spells already embedded in wands and staffs.”

Emily nodded. “I understand,” she said. She had a hundred spells memorized that she could use to turn a person into an animal, or an object, but changing any of the variables would require her to take the spells apart, then rebuild them. “And you plan to change this?”

“Spell mosaics,” Caleb said. He reached into his pocket and produced a sheet of paper, which he placed on the desk in front of her. “Every magician knows that channeling magic is like channeling water, merely a case of allowing it to flow though the spellwork and produce the defined end result. This...allows the spell to be built up piece by piece, the variables to be changed at will, and then cast with minimum effort.”

Emily studied the diagram for a long moment. “Each piece of the mosaic represents a different variable,” she said, slowly. “You could change one and the entire spell alters itself.”

“Yes,” Caleb said.

He dug into his pocket and produced a small wooden object. Emily took it, when he passed it to her, and turned it over and over in her hand. She couldn’t help being reminded of a bourbon cream; there was a layer of light wood, sandwiched between two layers of darker wood. And, judging by the smell, the glue holding the wood together was
Manaskol
. Magic would embed itself in wood, given half a chance, but the
Manaskol
would ensure it fled onwards to its final destination.

“Clever,” she said. It looked sloppy, but neatness was very much the last problem. “Does it actually work?”

“The basic concept is sound,” Caleb assured her. “We embed complete spells in wands, after all. But the trick is learning to separate out the components so they can be placed together in the correct order.”

Emily looked down at the diagram, feeling her thoughts churning. She had a concept for a magical battery — she intended to make the first test version over the summer, if she had time to actually do anything for herself — and, merged with the spell mosaics, it might actually prove more workable than she had thought. It would be risky — Caleb had already managed to injure himself once — but it was doable. And then...

She looked at Caleb, wishing she dared trust him enough to talk about the batteries.
They
would make one hell of a project proposal, but they would be literally earthshaking. She didn’t dare discuss them with anyone, save for Lady Barb. And
she
had taken an oath of secrecy.

“I would understand if you didn’t want to work with me,” Caleb said, after a moment. “June worked with me and she...she came very close to being hurt.”

“I know,” Emily said. She looked at Caleb’s twitching hands and shuddered. “How long did it take you to recover?”

“Six months, more or less,” Caleb said. “Father was most unimpressed. He kept pointing out that I should have stayed at Stronghold, where they would beat the clumsiness out of me.”