He would have gone mad, or simply fled the school, if he hadn’t had a couple of friends. Simon and Lyndred were slightly above him, socially speaking, but the gulf between them and Charlus was unbridgeable. Charlus was thoroughly unpleasant to them too, as were the rest of his class. Lyndred even admitted that her roommates managed to be nastier than the boys, blaming Lyndred for ... something. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to have done, or why they were blaming her, but it didn’t matter. They were blaming her. The three of them clung together, practicing their spells in what little privacy they could, because there was no one else. They knew they couldn’t expect help from anyone.
The hell of it, Gennady knew, was that he was better off at Whitehall. No one made fun of him for having a clubfoot. He didn’t have to force himself to limp from place to place, or stay on his feet until his ankle gave way and he collapsed. Simon and Lyndred might be shocked at the corporal punishment that seemed to be administered at the drop of a hat—even Charlus had been sent to the Warden, by one of the few tutors who didn’t give a damn about his family—but Gennady was unfazed. He’d take the Warden over his father any day. It would have been a good life, if he fitted in a little better. If there was anyone else from the Cairngorms in the school, they were keeping themselves to themselves.
Not that I blame them, he thought, sourly. Simon and Lyndred had been able to read and write, at least to some degree, before they’d been invited to Whitehall. The gulf between Gennady and his friends sometimes seemed as wide as the gap between himself and Charlus. Being a newborn magician wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. The magical families seemed to expect newborns to keep their mouths shut and do as they were told. I wouldn’t tell anyone if I could avoid it.
His cheeks burned at the thought. He’d never thought he’d have to be ashamed of his roots. His family had always been proud of themselves, looking down on their so-called betters even as they struggled to survive the winters and make it to spring. And yet ... he couldn’t deny the sheer lack of sophistication in the mountains. Simon and Lyndred had had opportunities that would never have been offered to anyone back home, not even Hogarth or Primrose. He sometimes felt his friends were humouring him, that they’d brought him into their circle as an act of charity rather than friendship. He couldn’t help wondering if they were going to dump him, when they all moved up a level. The next set of roommates might not be so interested in befriending him.
The days passed slowly. Gennady forced himself to study, even when his head was pounding and his eyes were crying out for relief. He wanted—he needed—to learn everything, but the secrets of higher magic were still a closed book. He’d thought he knew how to read, yet ... he’d only mastered the very basic levels. The textbooks in the giant library, each one a work of art in its own right, were beyond his understanding. It didn’t help that he could barely spend anytime in the library. Charlus seemed to take it as a personal offense whenever he caught Gennady in the library. The librarians didn’t seem inclined to care when the bastard ordered Gennady out.
One evening, he ate his dinner alone, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who wasn’t Simon or Lyndred. The two merchant children had gone to Dragon’s Den to meet their families, leaving Gennady in Whitehall. They’d chosen not to invite him ... Gennady didn’t want to go, but it would have been nice to be invited. He tried to read his notes as he ate, even though his handwriting was worse than his reading. Charlus had mocked his writing relentlessly, but Gennady hadn’t had time to improve. It was so bad that Gennady was unsure what his notes were about.
He tensed as he saw Charlus and three of his flunkies entering the dining hall, bragging to each other of their conquests and bold magical deeds. Gennady knew better than to take any of their claims seriously—Charlus was lying through his teeth—but the knowledge didn’t make them easier to bear. The bastard was gloating about a woman in the town, boasting of how he’d seduced her and ... Gennady stood, unwilling to listen to any more. He was sureCharlus was lying, yet ... he felt a flash of envy. None of the girls, not even Lyndred, paid any attention to him. Not like that. He’d have felt worse about it if he hadn’t been saving himself for Primrose. His back itched as he walked through the door, expecting a hex at any moment, but nothing happened. Charlus was too wrapped up in his bragging to pay any attention to Gennady.
Poor girl, Gennady thought, sarcastically. She probably doesn’t even exist.
He felt a wave of despondency as he made his way back to the dorms. She probably did exist. He’d seen dozens of girls trying to impress Charlus, choosing to overlook his behaviour in hopes of allying themselves with an aristocrat. Gennady felt quite sorry for whatever girl happened to marry him, even if she was as unpleasant as her husband. He knew what happened behind closed doors back home, if a wife disagreed with her lord and master. Charlus would use magic, rather than his fists, to dominate a wife ... but dominate her he would. Gennady was sure of it. The idea of Charlus forming an equal partnership with anyone was absurd.
The door opened at his touch. He walked past the Housemaster’s office—the Housemaster himself was nowhere to be seen—and into his room, closing the door behind him with a sigh of relief. Lights Out was a whole hour later on the weekends. Charlus usually spent his weekends with his friends, only coming back to bed shortly before the lights went out. Gennady knew to be grateful, even if he wished—at times—that he was included. It would have been nice if ... he pushed the thought aside, feeling a twinge of bitter hatred. The only thing Charlus could do for him would be to die.
Gennady reached his bed and stopped, casting a handful of spells to reveal any traps that might be lying in wait for unwary sleepers. Charlus was good at casting spells. Gennady admitted that much, even as he cursed the aristocrat every night. It just wasn’t fair. Charlus had had all the time in the world to learn the theory of magic, before coming into his power when he reached his teens. He was already so far ahead of Gennady that it seemed that gap—too—would never be crossed. Gennady winced as his spells uncovered a pair of traps. Only two. Charlus was being lazy.
He removed the spells, then sat on his bed and looked around the room. Simon’s bed looked untouched, although ... that proved nothing. The wards they’d cast around their beds were nothing more than a minor nuisance to Charlus. Charlus’s own bed ... Gennady stared, realising the wards around Charlus’s bed were weaker than ever. Charlus could walk through them at will, but ... Gennady froze, scenting a trap. The wards were weak, fading ... was it really a trap? His eyes wandered over the bed, noting the expensive bedding—Charlus was too good for the school’s bedding—and the handful of books sitting on the bedside table. And, beneath them, a set of notes. The books alone cost more money than Gennady had seen in his entire life.