Thomas cleared his throat. “I hate to remind you, but you did promise to buy the drinks for the party last week and…”
Juliet cut him off. “It was an unfortunate mix-up when the orders were placed,” she said, stiffly. “I will pay you back later today.”
“See that you do,” Thomas said. “My family was not pleased.”
“Families are never pleased,” Juliet muttered. I heard a hint of bitterness in her tone. “But I will be paying for the drinks this afternoon, after the game.”
She let the words hang in the air as she stood and peered down her nose at me. “We’re off to the arena,” she said. “I’ll be back after the match. If you do a good job, you can go. If not… I’ll be supervising your every move until the room is spotless.”
Blair and Thomas stood and headed for the door, making sure to splash through the puddle as they moved. Juliet’s lips thinned as she followed them, closing the door behind her. I felt a flicker of magic a moment later, effectively locking the door. I guessed she wanted to rub my punishment in a little more. It wasn’t as if I could run out on her, unless I chose to leave school completely. She’d track me down and then…
I gritted my teeth as I turned slowly, surveying the room. I wasn’t unused to menial chores — I’d been my father’s housekeeper well before I’d been accepted at Whitehall — but it was still humiliating to be assigned to clean her room. There were schools where younger students were expected to serve their seniors, in exchange for private tuition and patronage… I tried not to grimace at the thought. Whitehall wasn’t one of those schools, and it was all the better for it. I’d barely had any time to myself as a firstie. It would have been so much worse if I’d been expected to wait hand and foot on an older girl.
She really is a slob, I thought, as I stripped the bed and mattress, piling the dirty covers by the door. Juliet would have to hand them to the cleaning staff… no, unless I was very much mistaken, I’d get that job too. It was lucky there were spares in her cupboards. Did she think to collect them, or did she simply never change her sheets since coming into the rooms?
I put the thought aside and kept working, muttering a handful of domestic spells to clear away the dust and juice from the floor. The spells were surprisingly low-power, but they needed constant tendering to ensure they didn’t fade back into nothingness or turn into miniature tornadoes. I’d half-expected Juliet to fiddle with her wards, purely to make it harder for me to use spells in her lair, but the magic worked normally. There weren’t even any spying spells watching me. I guessed she didn’t really want me here that long. Who knew what I might find?
Good question, I thought. Let’s find out.
It cost me a pang to look at her desk drawers and trunk and start considering how best to open them. We had so little privacy at school, even in our later years, that we jealously guarded what little we had. To break into someone’s warded trunk was no better than flipping up someone’s robes to expose their underwear, something no one would take lightly even if it was committed against the school outcast. I’d become the outcast if they knew I’d poked through her trunk and yet, the temptation was almost overpowering. I inched forward, carefully reaching out with all my senses. Dad had arranged for me to have proper — advanced — lessons and…
I recoiled in shock. Juliet had been careful. Very careful. Her trunk was so heavily warded I doubted even one of her peers could break in, not without risking life and limb. I wondered, as I turned my attention to her desk, if she’d deliberately baited a trap for me. She hadn’t climbed all the way to Captain-General without a certain willingness to take risks — I’d discovered that through researching her career — and if she’d caught me violating her privacy I would be thoroughly screwed. I sensed a handful of very nasty spells coiling just under the wards, waiting for me to break into the trunk. If I’d tried, I would have wound up an inanimate object — or worse — until she came back and freed me.
If she ever did, I reflected. She could try to argue I did it to myself.
I scowled, silently thanking all the gods my father had been so careful. A normal second-year student would be… something… by now. As it was… I felt my scowl deepen as I turned to the desk. The drawers were as heavily warded as her trunk, while the papers on the desk itself were nothing more than lecture notes. They didn’t look to be written in her handwriting. I guessed she’d hired someone else to take notes for her. Was she even attending the lectures? She was a senior student. No one would scold her for not attending. They’d let her exam results do that.
My lips quirked. She’s old enough to know better, really?
A sharp knock ran through the room. “Come in,” I called, automatically. I caught myself a second too late. It wasn’t my room, and the door was locked… wasn’t it? The door opened a moment later, revealing a shy first-year girl. She was only a year or so younger than me, and yet she looked so young I was tempted to inspect her lips for milk. My suspicious mind sounded the alarm a second later. What was a first-year girl doing in a senior girl’s room?
“I…” The girl stared at me. “Are you one of her friends?”
“I suppose I work for her,” I managed, trying to keep my puzzlement off my face. I couldn’t understand Juliet having any interest in a mere first year, unless the girl was astonishingly good at sports. No, it was unlikely. Promoting a complete newcomer into a team would raise hackles, even from students who would normally be on her side. “What can I do for you?”
“Can you give her these?” The girl passed me a sheaf of parchments. “Please? I’d stay for her, but… I have to report to Professor Lombardi and…”
“Of course,” I said, feeling a twinge of pity. What had the poor girl done to earn a detention from Professor Lombardi? “I’ll tell her you popped by.”
The girl nodded and retreated. I frowned as she closed the door. Nothing about the affair made sense. It was beneath Juliet’s dignity to pay attention to first years, no matter how good they were at sports. I wondered if she even knew the girl’s name. I didn’t. And yet… I forced myself to concentrate on the memories, replaying the brief conversation in my mind for clues. The girl was common-born, or I was a ninny. She certainly hadn’t displayed the tasteless confidence that came with being able to buy one’s way out of trouble, an attitude — I’d discovered — that most aristos went out of their way to cultivate. I hadn’t sensed her magic either, which meant she was either masking very well or she simply wasn’t that powerful. It really didn’t make sense.
I stood by the bed and started to pick my way through the parchments. The spells on them were minor, enough to protect them from mundanes and first-year students, but no one else. I knew how to unpick the spells without destroying them, allowing me — at least in theory — to put them back after I’d read them. It should be impossible for anyone, even Juliet, to tell I’d read her mail…
My eyes narrowed as I parsed the messages. Betting slips?
For a moment, I refused to believe it. Juliet was betting? Gambling?
She can’t, I thought, slowly. Can she?
I wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem legal, but… I stared down at the slips, slowly working out the messages. Juliet — through her messenger — had been placing bets in town. Proof, if I needed it, that she was bending if not breaking the rules. Why bother recruiting an agent, and one so beneath her, if she could do it herself? My senses tingled as I kept going, sure I was on the verge of something. Juliet seemed to be a pretty good gambler. She’d won more than she’d lost.