Free Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) by Christopher Nuttall

this is my friend the Lady Emily, the Necromancer’s Bane. Treat her with respect.”
    The Viscount stepped forward, bowed deeply in front of Emily, then managed to look surprised and offended–and yet unbothered–in the same instant. Emily realized that she was supposed to present him with her hand to kiss and hesitated, before gritting her teeth and holding out her palm. The Viscount kissed her hand lightly and then stepped back, bowing again. Emily had to fight down the urge to wipe her hand on her trousers.
    Alassa cleared her throat. “I trust that the horses and carriages are ready,” she said, in her regal voice. “We have a long trip ahead of us and I wish it to be comfortable.”
    “Of course, Your Highness,” Nightingale said. “I have organized the trip to be as comfortable as possible. We will be visiting many people who wish to admire your regal beauty.”
    “Good,” Alassa said. Her voice didn’t sound very pleased, but Nightingale didn’t seem to notice. “Bring the horses to the main entrance. Now.”
    Nightingale bowed and backed out of the room. Emily shook her head in disbelief as he somehow navigated his way out of the door without turning his back, as turning his back on Alassa would have been a deadly insult. The princess winked at Emily, then leaned closer to whisper in her ear.
    “He’s very minor nobility,” she said. “If he happened to displease my father in any way, he would be exposed to all of his enemies instantly.”
    Emily nodded, tartly. It hadn’t been uncommon for medieval kings to choose to uplift men from the lower ranks, men who had no choice but to be loyal–for the moment they lost their usefulness, they could be handed over to their enemies. And if they happened to be tax collectors or lawgivers, they wouldn’t have many friends anywhere . Maybe Nightingale had more qualifications than being able to ladle on the flattery at a moment’s notice, but she hadn’t been able to see them.
    “Emily,” the grandmaster said. He’d dispelled the privacy ward. “This is Lady Barb. She will be joining us next year as Head of Healing.”
    Lady Barb didn’t blink, Emily realized, as she held out her hand. The sorceress just stared at her, her blue eyes unreadable. Her hand, when she took Emily’s hand and shook it firmly, felt strong enough to crush Emily’s to powder with ease. And she could feel the magic crackling around her, a presence more daunting than most of the other tutors.
    “Pleased to meet you,” she said, finally. She couldn’t help feeling disconcerted; Void had been right, Lady Barb didn’t seem to like her. “I hope you will enjoy working here.”
    Lady Barb’s eyes glittered. “And you are the girl who defeated a necromancer,” she said, without letting go of Emily’s hand. Her voice was cold, dispassionate, almost completely stripped of femininity. Was that the price for being a combat sorceress? But Mistress Irene didn’t seem so dispassionate. “How did you manage to defeat Shadye?”
    “We agreed that the knowledge would remain restricted,” the grandmaster said, hastily. “It is far better for the necromancers to wonder what happened than to confirm their theories.”
    Lady Barb looked at him, then turned her gaze back to Emily. “And you are the closest friend of the princess,” she said, nodding to Alassa. “Are you capable of defending her?”
    “She is,” Alassa said, before Emily could say a word. “And you shouldn’t question her competence…”
    “It is my job, Your Highness,” Lady Barb said. There was no hint of sycophancy in her voice at all. She let go of Emily’s hand and stepped backwards. “Your protection from all threats is my prime concern.”
    There was something in her voice that made Emily start in anger. She knew all of the rumors about what had happened when she’d faced Shadye for the final time–and one of them, the most damning, was that she’d become a necromancer herself. Emily knew that