Chosen (9781742844657) (28 page)

‘No,' I said pointedly, looking away. I didn't like talking about this. I did
not
want to discuss my teachers' personal lives with them. I wished I'd never scried myself into this office.

‘Why not?'

I stared at him, disbelieving.

‘Because it was none of his business,' I said strongly, but then looked away, less confident. ‘It was none of mine, either. I shouldn't have been here and I shouldn't have seen anything. Neither of you knew I was watching.'

Renatus reclined slightly in his chair, regarding me.

‘Emmanuelle doesn't need the entire council and student body to know that she made a mistake – especially one that she couldn't control. It would embarrass her, and that's not something I want to do. Do you?'

‘No.'

‘I'm very grateful for your respect thus far, Aristea,' Renatus said sincerely. ‘Emmanuelle has suffered a great loss – she has just lost a friend that might have been her soul mate. Your discretion is appreciated, as is your determination to keep this secret from Qasim. You are correct – it is none of his business, or anyone else's. To that end, I suppose we can agree that what you saw will not be shared with anyone else, by either of us, and perhaps that it never even happened?'

‘Okay,' I said, and stood so I could shake his hand when he offered it. His skin was cool, as if his blood had more important things to do than warm and oxygenate his hands. I released his hand after shaking it once, but his long fingers held on.

‘If nobody hears about
what
you scried, then technically, nobody else on the council needs to know that you scried at all,' he said, holding my gaze in his.

‘Qasim knows, and he's going to tell Lord Gawain,' I reminded him, my stomach clenching. What would happen when Lord Gawain found out?

‘Qasim won't tell anyone anything,' Renatus said dismissively. ‘He's just blustering. He's angry and his ego is bruised. He won't want anyone to hear the full story, in which he didn't just catch a student out for misbehaviour, but also had his authority overstepped by me. He already dislikes us both. Today has made that worse. He will be very, very angry if you are not punished. He could make life very uncomfortable.'

I swallowed once again, nervousness flooding back.

‘To avoid that,' Renatus said clearly, ‘it needs to seem to him that you have been punished. I am issuing you three weeks of detention, to be served in the evenings of weekdays, in my office, for one hour a night. There will be no chores or lines or scrubbing of floors – only time spent here. Does that sound fair to you?'

I nodded, too relieved to say anything. I had expected some kind of suspension or removal of privileges. An hour a night lost for three weeks was a thousand times better than writing to Angela to say I'd be coming home early, or watching my friends attend classes while I sat in my room, banned.

‘Perhaps you can spend the time practising scrying properly so that you can get back into Qasim's good books,' Renatus continued. His hand still grasped mine across the desk. ‘If you are serious about becoming a Scrier for the White Elm, you'll want to be able to go to him for advice. So, you will serve three weeks of detention with me, and because the rest of the council and the students aren't to know that you ever illegally scried, you will tell anyone who asks that your punishment is for refusing to follow an instruction given by Qasim. You argued with him over whether or not his technique was correct. It was a silly argument and you don't even remember why you said it. The council knows his tendency to overreact and his love of discipline, so nobody will think twice.'

It took me a moment to realise that the headmaster was inventing a story for me to tell anyone who asked for it. Was he was asking me to
lie
to the White Elm?

‘Don't think of it as lying,' he said, as though he'd read my thoughts. I was sure he hadn't, couldn't have, because my wards were up, shielding my mind and all of its facets. I glanced at our hands, clasped across his desk. Did skin contact make my wards useless? ‘No, your wards are very good – impenetrable to most sorcerers.'

‘Then how can you get through and read my thoughts?' I asked, wondering why I didn't feel more threatened. Renatus almost smiled – his mouth hardly moved, but his eyes softened and brightened a little.

‘You may not yet have noticed, but I'm not like
most sorcerers
,' he answered. ‘You'll have to work with Emmanuelle to perfect your wards. You're already very established at protecting yourself from telepathic attack, but there's room for improvement. Anyway,' Renatus said, getting back on track, ‘the story about your argument with Qasim is the story that we will allow to circulate, because there is nothing in that story that implicates you in any crime.'

‘Why are you helping me if I've done something so awful?' I asked carefully, not wanting to sound ungrateful. I wondered whether he had fought Qasim on the matter for my sake, or simply because he didn't want to agree with the Scrier.

‘Because in this version of the truth, everybody wins,' he said simply. ‘Emmanuelle's pride is kept intact. Qasim is secure and placated knowing that you are disciplined for your wrong doings. You are able to continue with your studies without fear of exclusion, which I feel is in the best interests of both yourself and the council. And
I
will be in much less trouble if Lord Gawain or Lady Miranda ever learns that I chose to ignore and conceal a serious breach of magical law. At least this way I can defend my actions by showing that you have been punished.' He paused, as though waiting for me to interject or ask a question. When I did nothing but stare at him silently, he said, ‘So we are in agreement?'

‘Yes, Sir,' I said, and he shook my hand again and finally released it.

‘Good. Your detentions start this evening. Please avoid Qasim until your next lesson, or until you really must see him – I intend on doing the same. I expect he'll need some time to cool off.'

‘Will he even let me back into his class?' I asked, feeling doubtful.

‘Absolutely. He wouldn't pass up the chance to teach you everything he knows – you're a once in a lifetime opportunity for him. He just needs some time to remember that.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘You don't need to,' Renatus answered. He stood and walked to a tall, thin cabinet behind his desk. The glass was smoky and too dark to see through. He opened the door of it and withdrew a small box. ‘It seems that your accidental Haunting was caused by putting your mind under a great deal of stress and pressure to scry. I imagine that during your practices, you may have flipped the switch, so to speak – opening yourself up to your potential. With your mind still open, you went to sleep, a deep state of relaxation, which is when your soul left. Very few sorcerers have the power to Haunt. However, Qasim is right. It is an extremely dangerous activity. Your body was defenceless, and had you touched one of us, you would have possessed that person. Unskilled as you are, you may never have been able to disengage; it may have been permanent. It mustn't happen again, or I really will have to expel you.'

I blinked, shocked. No wonder Qasim had been so angry; no wonder it was illegal. I remembered almost touching the books in the shelf. What if I had tried to touch Renatus or Emmanuelle on the arm or shoulder to get their attention? I shivered.

Renatus held out the little box to me, and I hesitantly took it and looked inside. The box held a roughly cast pendant on a dark silver chain. The carved symbol on the pendant was entirely unfamiliar to me.

‘What is it?' I asked.

‘Very old,' Renatus responded. ‘It will lock your magic inside your body and prevent you from scrying at all, so if you wear it at night until you learn to control your abilities, it will stop this from happening again. Don't wear it during the day –
always
take it off first thing in the morning. It prohibits a lot of magic.'

‘Thank you,' I said, re-examining the pendant. Renatus nodded his acknowledgement and raised his hand, and in the corner of my eye, I saw the door open.

‘Please don't return to class,' he said. ‘Enjoy this spare lesson. I'm glad we had this talk. I will see you this evening straight after tea.'

I nodded, recognising the dismissal, and headed for the door. I didn't look back until I heard the heavy oak click shut behind me.

I went to my empty dorm room and sat down on my bed. My head was reeling. So much had happened in the past day.

I kept thinking about the things Renatus had said. He was correct in saying that he wasn't much like
most sorcerers
. What was it that made him different? How had he read my thoughts, without me even noticing? He hadn't broken my wards, so how? Hasty wards could often be smashed down with enough mental force (it had never happened to me, but it was common knowledge – like a wobbly, badly constructed fence, a strong shove could push it down). However, I imagined I'd feel the sort of strength that would be required.

He'd suggested I use the detentions as time for scrying practice so I could impress Qasim with my skill. He'd said I presented an opportunity that Qasim couldn't pass up. He'd implied that I had the potential to become a Scrier for the White Elm…

I looked at the pendant again. It looked very old and handmade. When I lifted it from its box by the chain, I found that it was heavier than I'd expected. It seemed heavier
out
of the box than when it was in it. I stared at the pendant and tried to focus on its energy, but I felt nothing at all. Was it even real? I touched it with my fingers. It was cool and rough. Experimentally, I looped the chain over my neck and settled the pendant against my chest.

It was the magical equivalent of turning off a light. My magical senses immediately shut down and beyond my skin, I could feel nothing. Even the feelings of others, which usually passed over me constantly, were unreachable. I took my wand in my hand but it was like holding a stick. I felt dim and powerless, and I didn't like it. This was what it was like to be mortal. No idea what was around me, except for what I could see. No idea what people felt or thought about me…I hurriedly took it off, and immediately felt so much lighter. It felt heavy to wear, not just in weight but in the way it held my powers down. I carefully laid it back inside the box and tucked it away in the drawer of my bedside table.

I felt compelled to talk to someone, but I was alone, so I decided to write to my sister. As I wrote, however, I realised that there wasn't a lot I could say. Most of what was looping over and over in my head had officially not happened. I wondered if this was what it was like for the White Elm when they visited family members after a hard day, and, unable to set aside the red tape and political secrets, had to say, ‘Yes, work's been fine – I'm great.'

In the end, I wrote a rather short and uneventful letter outlining my scrying practice. I said that I was progressing rather well. I dedicated one sentence to Peter –
We attended a funeral for an ex-White Elm councillor on Thursday morning, which was sad for the people who knew him
.
I didn't mention my “dream”, or Renatus, or Qasim.

Angela was very perceptive, and would probably read between the lines and realise that there was a lot left unsaid in my letter. But really, what more could I do?

I had just signed my name when the door banged open, and Sterling bounced in, followed closely by Xanthe.

‘What happened?' Xanthe asked of me, taking Sterling's key from the still-swinging door and handing it to its owner. ‘Qasim didn't say anything about it when he came back to class, but he was
really
angry.'

I hesitated for only a second. Xanthe and Sterling were both watching me, waiting patiently for the juicy gossip they were sure they were about to hear.

‘It was stupid,' I began, and the lie tumbled easily from there. ‘I told Qasim I knew a better way to scry, and we had a bit of an argument. He took me to the headmaster.'

I waited for that damning energetic spark to give me away, but it didn't happen. Later, when I really thought about it, I wondered whether how I felt about the lie made a difference.

‘Ooh,' Sterling said excitedly, dropping onto my bed. ‘Then what?'

‘I got detention,' I shrugged. ‘I shouldn't have said anything. I guess I was still unsettled from the funeral.'

‘Yeah,' Sterling agreed, although I could hear in her voice that my feelings about a funeral were not a concern of hers. ‘What's the office like?'

‘Uh, big?' I said, as though I hadn't seen it twice and hadn't had a good look around. ‘It has a big desk that's covered in paperwork, and some cushy chairs.'

‘When's your detention?' Xanthe asked. She put her scrying things away in her cupboard.

‘I have three weeks, starting tonight,' I told them. ‘It's an hour a night, on weeknights, straight after tea, in the head's office.'

‘In Renatus's office!?' Sterling demanded, eyes wide. I nodded, and she pouted. ‘But that's so unfair! How come
you
get to spend time with him?'

‘If you piss off a teacher, you'll get to join her,' Xanthe suggested.

‘You have to tell me
everything
,' Sterling instructed me. Her bright brown eyes were beggars. ‘I need to know everything you see or hear. Anything he says.' She sighed, and looked away. ‘You are
so lucky
, Aristea.'

‘Yeah,' I said in a sarcastic voice, but I meant it, because I knew I was. I had been given a way out of exclusion from the school.

Sterling fell into one of her monologues, as she was prone to do, wondering aloud what level of trouble she needed to get into before she, too, could be sent to the headmaster's office. Xanthe and I went about collecting our things for our next classes, nodding at Sterling periodically.