The Grandmaster's Tale

“A lot.” Geraldine’s cheeks heated. I guessed Walter had been crude, rude, and unappealing. “Mostly about things he wanted me to do to him.”

I almost smiled, despite the situation. It would be hilarious if Boscha’s plan unravelled because Walter couldn’t keep his fat mouth shut. The more people you added to your conspiracy, the greater the chance one of them would say the wrong thing and draw attention to your plans before it was too late. Boscha would have been wiser to use magic to seal their lips, although that might have drawn attention too. And yet, as Geraldine reluctantly outlined the specifics, I had to admit Walter hadn’t said anything too specific. It would be easy for someone to argue he’d just been an asshole.

“Yes. It is.” I leaned forward. “Do you want the lessons?”

Alan and Geraldine exchanged glances. I could tell what they were thinking. On one hand, without private lessons they were going to fall further and further behind; on the other, they had no idea what I really wanted, and they had no idea what I might get them into. There was no way I could reassure them either, or offer protection if the whole affair exploded in our face. I knew better than to make promises I couldn’t keep. Alan was too streetwise to be fooled.

“Yes,” Alan said, finally. “I’ll take them.”

Geraldine nodded. “Me, too.”

I allowed myself a tight smile. “Good,” I said. “You’ve both been very naughty and you’ve been given detention, Saturday morning. Mistress Constance has recruited me to assist with collecting certain ingredients she needs, and I’m assigning you to assist me. I’ll write something into the record book to account for it. If anyone asks, tell them I caught you whispering rude things about me.”

“Sir,” Geraldine said. “Does it have to be a detention? Can’t you come up with another excuse?”

And on Saturday morning, at that, I thought, wryly. Saturday detentions were the worst. You didn’t get to stay in bed until noon or … or anything, really. Walter was going to laugh his ass off when he found out, the prat. Hopefully, he wouldn’t wonder if there was something else going on. There’s no other way to do it.

“I’m afraid so,” I said. “One other thing—who else do you think would be interested in private lessons?”

“Everyone who isn’t an aristo,” Alan said, flatly. “And that’s a lot of people.”

I nodded. “I’ll see you both at the rear door on Saturday. Nine in the morning. Do try not to be late.”

“Yes, sir,” Geraldine said, reluctantly.

“Do not discuss this on school grounds,” I warned. “The walls have ears. Don’t discuss it in town, either. If you must, go far into the forest or up the mountains and do it there.”

Geraldine looked pale. I thought I knew what she was thinking. The grandmaster—or anyone who knew how to access the wards—could look into the female dorms, or changing rooms, or showers … I didn’t think Boscha would do anything of the sort, and privacy was always in short supply at a boarding school, but it was still disconcerting. The aristos didn’t worry so much about those things. They grew up surrounded by servants, from birth to death. They didn’t have any privacy at all.

“Dismissed,” I said, quietly.

Alan and Geraldine nodded, then hurried off as I dispelled the wards and unlocked the door. I watched them go, knowing I was now committed. They’d told me … I didn’t like the sound, I really didn’t, of what Walter had been saying. The Supremacists had long argued that newborn woman should be turned into nothing more than broodmares, sharing their blood with the greater community without receiving anything in return, and Walter was the type of person to embrace that argument with great conviction. Personally, I suspected it would be disastrous—there would be all sorts of disputes over who was the legitimate heir to any given bloodline— but no one was interested in asking my opinion. The Supremacists—those that knew about my father—might even think my existence was proof they were right.

The rest of the week passed quickly. I kept patrolling the corridors, listening to rumours being passed from student to student, and quietly compiling lists of potential recruits. It wasn’t easy to pick students who had both a cause and the ability to become fighters, rather than being so badly battered they couldn’t even raise a hand to defend themselves. It was also tricky to avoid students who had ties to the various magical families, even if they were newborns. Quite a few had been scouted already and offered all kinds of rewards for sharing their blood. I hoped they’d had the sense to make sure protections for themselves were worked into the contract. If they didn’t … it would bite them. Hard.