Original Work Heart's Eye (Schooled in Magic 30)

Hi, everyone

Heart’s Eye is Book 30 of Schooled in Magic and is intended, at least in part, as a coda to the entire series (or at least the mainstream, focused on Emily, although I do have a couple more ideas for Emily-focused books). It’s also intended to be light-hearted, with milder stakes, though it is probably a little much to expect Emily’s wedding to be problem-free.

It will probably not make much sense to you unless you have already read the earlier books - you can download the first few books in the series through Kindle Unlimited (link below) and I will forward copies of later books to anyone willing to offer comments on this book.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F79CC1MZ/?tag=survivalmonke-20

As always, I welcome comments and feedback. Everything from spelling mistakes to logic errors or contradictions would be very welcome.

I’ve been working on expanding my list of ways for people to follow me. Please click on the link to sign up for my mailing list, newsletter and much - much - more.

The Chrishanger

Thank you

Chris

PS – if you want to write yourself, please check out the post here - Call for Submissions: Fantastic Schools Parents/Outsiders and Fantastic Schools Isekai. We are looking for more submissions for Parents.

CGN

 

Prologue

The below article was written by Jane, Daughter of Gerald (aka The Muckraker) and published in The Muckraking Times, shortly after the defeat of the Supremacist Regime. Lady Emily has not commented on the article.

My readers, the greatest society event in living memory is about to begin!

Is it the coronation of a new monarch? No! Is it the naming day of a newborn Prince of a Realm? No! Is it a treaty between two kingdoms that have been at loggerheads for so long no one that no one alive recalls what actually started the feud? No! It is the marriage of Lady Emily Voidsdaughter to Caleb of House Waterfall, Son of General Pollack and Mediator Sienna. It is an event that brings together the magical and mundane aristocracy, the old merchants and the new, the teaching staff of three old schools and a dozen new educational colleges and universities, some so new that the paint has not yet had time to dry. It is truly the greatest society event in living memory!

Lady Emily, of course, requires no introduction. The famed Necromancer’s Bane, who killed many with her own hands and introduced the magitech that killed the remainder; it was never in doubt that the question of who she would marry was one many would seek to answer. This reporter can confirm that nearly every kingdom with an eligible prince wrote for her hand, along with many an aristocrat, wealthy merchant and magician. Her name was linked with a hundred young men shortly after her introduction to modern society, none with any real tie to her. Many claimed they would win her hand, competing for her favour. This reporter has been unable to uncover anything to suggest those claims were anything other than wishful thinking. In most cases, there is no reason to believe Lady Emily even knows them.

But she has finally chosen her man, Caleb of House Waterfall.

He too requires no introduction. Deputy Administrator of Heart’s Eye, the first University in the Allied Lands; a practicing practical and theoretical sorcerer of great renown. His partnership with Lady Emily has led to many magical developments, including laying the groundwork for what would become known as magitech; his work as a university administrator is renowned for tackling problems that could easily have proven fatal, then providing leadership during the dark days when outside forces laid siege to the university and Lady Emily’s grand design was threatened by enemies within as well as without. Many have speculated that he is unworthy of her hand, but this reporter – who has actually met him – can confirm he is an excellent complement and helpmeet for the greatest sorceress this land has ever produced. Those who loudly threaten duels, on the grounds that he has taken Lady Emily away from them, should beware. She has killed necromancers. She will have little trouble with a bravo who lets his little head do the thinking.

The questions now are threefold. Where will the wedding be held? And who will be invited?

A wedding is always about more than just the happy couple. A wedding between aristocracy, be it the aristocracy of birth, magic, or money, is an alliance between two families and a celebration for all. It is an offence almost beyond bearing for a person of importance not to be invited. Countless feuds have started because an invitation was lost, or not issued at all; who can forget the centuries-old feud between great houses in Red Rose, all because Lady Angelina wasn’t invited to the wedding of Prince Brenton and Princess Elle? A wedding is truly the social event of the season and not to be invited … so who would be invited to this one and who will be told, regretfully, that there is no room?

And where will it be held? Lady Emily is a noblewoman of Zangaria, taking social precedence over her husband, who is a Freeman of Beneficence. By that logic, the wedding should be held in Zangaria. But Lord Caleb is a magician, which makes him the equal of any mere mundane aristocrat, which gives him the right to demand the wedding be held at Heart’s Eye or another magical community. And let us not forget that, as graduates of Whitehall, the school has the right to demand the wedding be held there? Where should they go? Where can they hold the wedding that will not cause great offence? The world waits with baited breath. Everyone needs to know.

And the third question? The most important question of all. Will this reporter be invited?

Alas, this reporter – like everyone else – can only wait and see.

 

Chapter One

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Emily stared at the wedding dress and tried hard, very hard, not to groan. To call it a dress was being generous beyond words. She had underwear that covered more skin than the dress the dressmaker was holding up, the outfit so revealing she couldn’t help thinking that she’d be better off naked. She’d seen more demure dresses in … she shook her head. The idea of going out in public in such a garment was just absurd, certainly at her own wedding! She’d heard horror stories of brides who wore truly ghastly dresses, but this … this was too much. Five minutes into the session and she’d already had enough of it.

Queen Marlena, Dowager Queen of Zangaria, giggled. “The look on your face!”

Emily gritted her teeth. Queen hadn’t endured her imprisonment well, after her husband had jumped off the slippery slope, and the confident lady Emily recalled had been replaced with a nervous and shell-shocked woman who jumped at shadows and spent half her time living well away from her daughter’s court. The elegant outfits she’d worn once were gone, replaced by mourning blacks that couldn’t be doing wonders for her mental house. Courtly etiquette demanded she remain in mourning for her husband for the rest of her life, yet it was her husband who had imprisoned her and threatened to murder her daughter and son-in-law. Emily wondered, not for the first time, why Alassa couldn’t simply decree her mother could wear something else, if she wished, but courtly politics had always been a closed book to her. King Randor had been a tyrant and a necromancer, yet he still had his supporters, men who believed he hadn’t fallen into madness or that anyone, even a necromancer, was preferable to a woman sitting on the throne or thought Jade was secretly pulling the strings. They clearly didn’t know Alassa very well. She would never let anyone, even her husband and the father of her child, boss her around.

The dressmaker paled. “My Lady …”

Emily felt a stab of sympathy for the woman, caught between two almighty figures. “I think it wouldn’t be great for the wedding,” she said, as calmly as she could. “Do you have something less revealing? A lot less revealing?”

Frieda snorted. “It will do for the wedding night.”

“We are not selecting clothes for that,” Emily said, feeling a headache start to blossom behind her eyes. “No. Not now and not ever.”

She closed her eyes for a long moment, then opened them and looked from face to face. She’d come to the castle to discuss her upcoming wedding with her best friends, not to be ambushed by the queen and dragged into a dressmaker’s chamber that was clearly designed for people with more money than common sense. The chamber was immense, yet it felt small because of the rows upon rows of dresses, from a simple silk outfit to a dress dripping with gold and so many diamonds it had to be literally priceless. The chairs in the centre of the chamber were soft and comfortable, intended to lure the wedding party into a false sense of security. Emily dreaded to think how many young women had come for a fitting and left with a small collection of dresses they’d wear once and never again. Last time, Queen Marlena had had taste. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

“Mother,” Alassa said, laying one hand on her mother’s wrist. “Emily doesn’t need so many dresses.”

“I just need one,” Emily said, although she feared it was already too late to escape her fate. “It’ll be a short ceremony.”

Queen Marlena looked stunned. “A short ceremony?”

“Yes,” Emily said. “We don’t need much …”

“You’re a noblewoman of Zangaria,” Alassa said, awkwardly. “Your wedding is not going to be short.”

“I can’t have a longer wedding than you,” Emily pointed out. Alassa wouldn’t take offense if Emily wanted two months of celebrations, but the rest of her nobility certainly would. Or, worse, they’d see it as a breach between their monarch and her closest friends, a chink in her defences that could be ruthlessly exploited. “One day will be quite enough.”

Alassa and Imaiqah exchanged glances. “Emily, it will have to be at least a week.”

“My wedding took a month,” Queen Marlena said. “And that was when … he … was a mere Prince of the Realm, not King.”

Emily rubbed her forehead. “I’m not that important.”

“You’re perhaps the most important person in the world,” Alassa pointed out, ruthlessly. “And there are too many people you need to invite to your wedding.”

“Like who?” Emily had never found it easy to come to terms with her own importance. The idea anyone saw her as a noblewoman was difficult to believe, even though she knew it to be true. “I don’t have that many friends?”

Alassa ticked off points on her fingers. “Everyone who happens to be anyone, or thinks they are, will expect an invitation. The nobles of this country, for starters; every aristocrat north of the Craggy Mountains will be massively offended if they don’t receive an invitation. The mundane traders who got rich from the New Learning … they’ll expect invitations too. And the magical community … the patriarchs and matriarchs, the guildmasters, every teacher who ever taught you and every student who ever passed you in the corridor … they’ll all expect invitations too.”

“Oh.” Emily stared down at the floor. “Can we just elope?”

“It would be seen as a grave insult,” Imaiqah said, quietly. “You may not have to care, Emily, but Caleb will. Your children will. It will have effects that will linger for decades …”

“Centuries,” Alassa put in.

“… And there’s no way to make up for it,” Imaiqah continued. “There are no acceptable grounds for a hasty wedding, not here. Even if you were pregnant, they’d still be offended.”

“You’re talking about inviting thousands of people,” Emily said. How many aristocrats were there? Tens of thousands, perhaps more. How many magicians were there? Even if she managed to limit it to students who’d been at Whitehall at the same time as herself, and she doubted she could, there were going to be upwards of a thousand guests and that was being optimistic. “Can we hope to host them? And who is going to be paying for it?”

“The Crown,” Alassa said. “It’s a hell of an opportunity.”

“It’s not just about the happy couple,” Imaiqah said. “It’s a chance for everyone to meet in a neutral setting too.”

Emily nodded, curtly. There were entire families and factions that refused to talk to each other … that wouldn’t be seen dead sharing the same space and breathing the same air. Some had hatred each other for so long they couldn’t recall why, others were under family obligations to draw swords as soon as they laid eyes on each other. But a wedding, a big wedding …? It was a perfect place for those families and factions to actually talk, to make secret deals and try to smooth out the issue that had caused the feud in the first place … hell, it wasn’t just the local version of Romeo and Juliet’s families, but everyone else too. Aristocrats who would normally never talk to commoners would be able to do so, without everyone looking down their long noses and making snide remarks about letting the side down. People who cared not one jot for her would come for the chance to wheel and deal, to make secret agreements and lay the groundwork for more public alliances. She knew how it worked, as much as she detested it.

And yet, why did it have to happen at her wedding?

“I know that,” she said, although she suspected she’d already lost the argument. “But why me?”

“You’re a hero to everyone,” Frieda said. “Name me one person who doesn’t like you.”

“Everyone whose nose was put out of joint by my innovations,” Emily said. She’d unleashed a tidal wave of change that had created a whole new aristocracy of winners and losers, the former growing immensely rich and the latter seething in bitter hatred and resentment. She had done what she could to tackle the problem, in hopes of preventing long-term trouble, but she knew it wasn’t anything like enough. There had been too many inequalities in the old order for the tidal wave to be anything other than utter devastating. “And everyone who sees Heart’s Eye as a threat to the world.”

Queen Marlena put her hand on Emily’s. “I know it feels overwhelming,” she said, gently. “I’ve been through it myself, so has Alassa. There will be times when you want to shout and scream at the wedding planners, times when you’ll want to throw everything away and run off to the Sisterhood. But in the end, you’ll get through it. You’ve been through worse.”

Emily swallowed the urge to ask if Marlena’s wedding had led to a good marriage. King Randor had been angered by her failure to produce a male heir, never mind that it had likely been his fault, and it was a minor miracle he hadn’t tried to put her aside – like Catherine of Aragon – in hopes of siring a son on someone else. Emily was fairly certain it had been his fault; he had one known bastard, despite a whole string of extramarital affairs, and if that bastard had been discovered earlier the king would certainly have claimed him as his own. But … she put the thought aside, all too aware it would be thoroughly unpleasant. Alassa had chosen her husband. Her mother hadn’t been granted that right.

“I’ll try,” she said, reluctantly. “But why do I need so many dresses?”

“You’re going to be on display,” Queen Marlena pointed out. “And if you don’t look your best people will talk.”

“They do nothing else,” Alassa put in. “And if they think I’m being miserly …”

Emily shook her head in disbelief. The dress she’d just been shown was tiny to the point of outright indecency and yet it cost more than the average common-born merchant would make in his entire life. The dress groaning under the weight of diamonds had to be worth as much as a earldom, perhaps more … it seemed a sick joke to invest so much money into a dress when land, the only true guarantee of long-term status, was far more valuable. The whole system was screwed up. She knew Alassa wasn’t being stingy, when it came to paying for the wedding. The idea Alassa had to bankrupt herself, or her kingdom, was just absurd. But it wasn’t her who got to make that judgement. It was people who cared little for anything, but scoring political points at their monarch’s expense.

“When this is over, the honeymoon will be ours,” Emily said. “No Grand Progress. No nothing.”

“As long as you keep your head down, that should be fine,” Alassa said. “Just pretend you didn’t see any of the invitations.”

“That’ll be easy,” Emily said. “I haven’t seen any of the invitations.”

“They’re piling up, even as we speak,” Imaiqah said. “What do you want me to do with them?”

“Burn them,” Emily said. If her wedding had to be public, her honeymoon was going to be private. It wasn’t as if they couldn’t get around without making it obvious. They could both teleport, or use magic to disguise themselves, or simply refrain from visiting places that would oblige the local authorities to take notice of them. There was a whole system in which figures of importance pretended to be travelling incognito and local authorities pretended to believe their transparently-thin cover stories. “I don’t even want to know who sent them.”

“I can do that,” Imaiqah said. “But it may cause diplomatic headaches.”

“Most of which can be safely ignored, because any complaints will be pro forma rather than real,” Alassa said. She shot Emily a wink. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks,” Emily said. She didn’t want to cause Alassa any trouble, but she would like at least one part of the whole affair that was theirs alone. “And, just so we’re clear on this point, we will not be having a bedding ceremony.”

“That was never on the program,” Alassa said, calmly. “Jade refused to have one too.”

“Good.” Emily had known her friends wouldn’t want that for her, but Queen Marlena had gone through such a ceremony and she might not realise Emily wouldn’t want it. If it really had been Jade’s decision, when he and Alassa had tied the knot … it could easily have been Alassa’s instead, but Jade’s objections would be taken a little more seriously. Emily didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know. “Is it wrong to just want to get it over with?”

“It will be the first day of the rest of your life,” Queen Marlena said. “Enjoy it.”

Emily snorted, inwardly. She’d heard horror stories about brides and grooms who’d spent thousands upon thousands of dollars on their weddings, often going into debt so their wedding could be absolutely perfect. The marriages hadn’t lasted. The debts had. She wasn’t too surprised. Debt worried people, not least because paying the interest made it harder to build a life, and it was very human to come to resent the source of the debt. Caleb and her weren’t going to be paying for anything, which only made it worse. She would regret letting Alassa pay for anything, she was sure, no matter the benefits to her kingdom. And perhaps Alassa would grow to resent her for the burdens, even though it wasn’t her fault.

“I’ll try,” she said, finally. “But I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

Queen Marlena clapped. The dressmaker, who had slipped back as soon as the discussion broke out, hurried forward again. Emily hoped the woman wasn’t intending to sell the story to the broadsheets, or one of the hundreds of information brokers that pervaded the court and city like fleas on a dog. Everyone who thought they were anyone had a small army of sources within the court, as well as everywhere else that was even remotely important; some of the sources, Emily had been told, collected payments from dozens of different aristocrats, rarely bothering to keep what they knew exclusive to one patron. Alassa had an inner circle of trusted maids and menservants, but it was rare for anyone outside that gathering to be wholly trustworthy. King Randor had once beat a spy to death with his bare hands, or so she’d been told. It was quite possible. Alassa’s father had been a jovial boar of a man, as long as he’d gotten what he wanted whenever he wanted it, but his violent nature had never been that far beneath the surface. His laugh had been little more than the smile on the face of the tiger.

The dressmaker took a dress off the rack and held it up. Emily stood, reluctantly, and allowed the dressmaker to hold it against her. The dress was a little too big, but that wasn’t a problem. There was no such thing as mass-produced wedding dresses, not here, and the dressmaker would simply make a handful of alternations to ensure it fitted her properly. She gritted her teeth as the dressmaker helped her put the dress on – surely, she could at least choose something she could put on without a maid – and then tried not to wince as it grew tight in all the wrong places.

“You look lovely, My Lady,” the dressmaker said.

Emily kept her face impassive as the dressmaker turned a mirror towards her. Her reflection was hers and yet … she shook her head. No one else recalled the end of the multiverse, no one else understood what she’d gone through … the only thing everyone recalled was the nightmares, shadowy echoes of times that had never been and things that never were. She felt a sudden frission of something as she studied her reflection, an impression of memories from her counterparts that refused to come into the light. They were hers and yet they were also something more, something she couldn’t see …

“It’ll do,” she said. The dress was simple enough, with just a handful of neat little pieces of stitching. It covered everything below the neckline. The lower half of the dress was a little too stiff – she’d have to walk in it, which might be a problem if she had to run – but that could be fixed. She swallowed a wince as the dressmaker accidentally pricked her, then forced herself to relax as the woman pulled the dress tighter in some places, making a series of notes for later adjustments. “What do you think?”

“It could do with more gold,” Alassa teased. “And perhaps a necklace or two.”

“No, thank you,” Emily said. “I don’t need to show off my wealth.”

She relaxed, slightly, as the dressmaker removed the dress. “It’ll do,” she said, again. “Are we done now?”

Queen Marlena’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Done?”

She indicated the long line of dresses, from the simple if somewhat complex to the tastelessly gaudy. “We’ve only just begun.”

Emily groaned. Assuming ten minutes per dress, and that was optimistic, they were going to be trapped in the chamber for hours. She wished for a necromancer or a dark wizard, something she could fight, then told herself not to be silly. The dressmaker was doing her job. Her friends were trying to help her, as best they knew how. Even Queen Marlena was on her side …

But she couldn’t help wishing, as the next dress was produced, that the wedding was already over. It was her wedding, hers and Caleb’s. He’d asked her to marry him and she’d said yes and she meant it. She knew it, in a manner she couldn’t put into words. A life spent with him would be no hardship at all.

So why didn’t it feel like hers any longer?