The Family Name

(The Zero Enigma IX)

Christopher G. Nuttall

Book One: The Zero Blessing
Book Two: The Zero Curse
Book Three: The Zero Equation
Book Four: The Family Shame
Book Five: The Alchemist’s Apprentice
Book Six: The Family Pride
Book Seven: The King’s Man
Book Eight: The Lady Heiress
Book Nine: The Family Name

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The Family Name Cover Blurb

House Rubén and House Aguirre have been rivals for centuries, before the discovery of the Zero Talent and a plot to take control of Shallot plunged the two houses - and the entire city into war.  In a desperate attempt to end the fighting, Akin of House Rubén was betrothed to Caitlyn of House Aguirre - the one and only known Zero.  Since then, the two houses have been locked in an uneasy alliance, all too aware they must hang together or hang separately,

But, as the marriage starts to loom over the city, Akin Rubén discovers a deadly secret.  His twin sister Isabella, sent into exile for her role in the House War, has discovered Callam, the second known Zero.  And her desire to carve a position for herself within the family, a role denied to her through no fault of her own, will shake House Rubén to its core.  As shadowy figures step into the light, ready to stake everything on a desperate bid to save or damn the family, Akin and Isabella find themselves in the middle of a deadly storm that may destroy everything they love ...

... And plunge the entire city back into war.

Author’s Note

As an experiment, I have written this book in alternating first-person POVs, allowing both Akin and Isabella a chance to tell their story.  I’ve put the POV character in the chapter headings.  Please let me know how well it works.

CGN.

“The price of getting what you want, is getting what once you wanted.”
-Neil Gaiman

Historian’s Note

The Thousand-Year Empire dominated the twin continents of Maxima and Minima through two advantages, an unmatched command of magic and the development of Objects of Power, magical weapons and tools that made them seemingly invincible.  But the Empire fell and the secret of making Objects of Power was lost.

Hundreds of years later, a young girl - Caitlyn Aguirre - was born to a powerful magical family.  Caitlyn - Cat - should have been powerful herself, like her two sisters, but she seemed to have no spark of magic at all.  She lacked even a sense for magic.  In desperation, her parents sent her to Jude’s in the hopes that exposure to magical training would bring forth the magic they were sure lay buried within her.  There, she met Isabella and Akin Rubén, children of her family’s greatest enemy.  Isabella became her rival, while she formed a tentative friendship with Akin.

Cat developed no magic, but she discovered something else.  Uniquely, as far as anyone could tell, she had no magic at all.  She eventually discovered that a complete lack of magic was necessary for forging Objects of Power.  Far from being useless, her talent made her extremely valuable and utterly irreplaceable.  As far as anyone could tell, Cat was the only true ‘Zero’ known to exist.  This led to her - and her friends, Akin and Rose - being kidnapped, then targeted by Crown Prince Henry and Stregheria Aguirre, Cat’s Great Aunt, when they launched a coup against the Great Houses and the King himself.  Their subversions - which turned Isabella against her family - nearly led to complete disaster ... and perhaps would have done, if Cat and Akin hadn’t become friends.

In the aftermath, Cat proposed that she and Akin should be betrothed, creating a marriage bond between their families and making it impossible, at least for the next few years, for the two houses to come to blows.  This was - reluctantly - accepted, with the proviso that either Cat or Akin could refute the agreement if they wished, when they came of age.  Cat left Jude’s to found her own school, where other Zeroes - when they were found - would be taught.

Meanwhile, the Great Houses had to deal with the repercussions of the attempted coup and the sudden shift in the balance of power.  Isabella Rubén, condemned as a traitor, was exiled to Kirkhaven Hall, where she discovered a secret her family had sought to bury ... and a new secret, one of her own.  Others took advantage of the chaos to stake a claim to power themselves, plots that were only foiled through sheer luck and outside intervention.  The city remained unstable ...

Six years passed, slowly.  Akin Rubén went back to school for his final year, to discover - thanks to his father - that he had to compete in the Challenge, a contest to find the ‘Wizard Regnant.’  Reluctantly, Akin complied, forming a team consisting of his cousin Francis and a handful of misfits, including merchant’s daughter Louise Herdsman and Saline Califon, a distant relative who was under a spell cast by her wicked uncle.  Despite Francis’s betrayal - the work of Malachi Rubén, a shadowy figure from the family’s past - Akin managed to realise the true nature of the Challenge and forge a last minute alliance with Alana Aguirre, Cat’s sister, that allowed them to share the victory.

This did not please everyone, most notably Adam Mortimer.  Disgusted with the Great Houses, and uneasily aware his city was on the brink of exploding into class war, Adam joined the Kingsmen and became instrumental in stopping a plot to use Infernal Devices to trigger the war.  However, he was unable to prevent the plotters from damaging the city’s harmony and far too many innocents wound up paying the price.  

One of them was Lucy Lamplighter, who inherited House Lamplighter after her father was killed in a detonation and discovered, the hard way, that her family was effectively bankrupt.  Embarking on a desperate scheme to rebuild the family fortune, Lucy found herself tangled in a complex web of blackmail spun by Malachi Rubén and was forced to kill him in order to save her life and reputation.

Now, Akin is readying himself for the final step into manhood, unaware that his sister has plans of her own ...
Prologue

The Chiltern Lodge, Stephen Rubén had decided long ago, had been built by someone who wanted to convince his guests that he was still a man of power and influence.  It had taken Stephen a few days of digging in the family archive, a punishment set by his father decades ago, to determine he’d been correct.  The lodge had been constructed for a loser in the endless family power struggles, a particularly sore loser who’d taken his failings out on the local wildlife.  Everything about the lodge was on a grand scale, from the dining hall - roomy enough for a hundred - to the animal heads decorating the walls.  It screamed rustic in a manner that mocked the owner’s pretensions.  It was no great surprise to Stephen that no one had been particularly interested in taking the lodge for themselves when the original owner died.  The lodge was visually stunning, surrounded by beautiful countryside and yet crammed with all the comforts of home, but it was too far from Shallot to serve as a permanent base.  To take possession of the lodge was to concede, to one’s shame, that one no longer had a part to play in the games of power.

And yet, he admitted in the privacy of his own mind, it had its uses.

The lodge’s staff had been surprised when he’d arrived, but they hadn’t hesitated to prepare rooms for Stephen and his guests.  Stephen had been tempted to send them away, perhaps permanently, yet he’d known his guests wouldn’t appreciate having to fend for themselves during their little safari.  They hadn’t come to slaughter the local wildlife, let alone skin and cook the remnants of poor woodland creatures blasted by enhanced spellcasters.  The mere idea of making their beds for themselves ... his lips quirked in amusement.  They’d done enough of that at Jude’s.

He lit the fire in the grate with a spell, then sat back in his comfortable armchair and waited for the remainder of the cabal to arrive.  They’d taken a risk gathering so far from the city, even with a cover story firmly in place, but there was no time for half-measures.  The very future of the family itself was at stake.  And there was no hope of saving their lives and their futures through more ... legitimate channels.   Lord Carioca Rubén, Patriarch of House Rubén, had committed himself and his family to a course that would lead to either apotheosis or nemesis.  Stephen was all too aware that apotheosis was not in the cards.

“I trust this chamber is secure.”  Andrew Rubén was a tall man, his handsome face marred by a duelling scar.  “The staff can hardly be trusted not to report back to Carioca.”

“There are privacy wards already in place,” Stephen assured him.  It was unlikely the patriarch was paying close attention, with so many other problems concerning him, but Stephen hadn’t survived so long by neglecting the basics.  “The staff are barred from these rooms.”

“You’ll excuse me if I check for myself,” Jeanne Rubén said.  It wasn’t a question.  She looked soft and warm, everyone’s favourite auntie.  It was easy to underestimate her, yet her smile and greying hair concealed a mind as sharp as an enchanted blade.  “I cannot live without the family, not at my age.”

“And I have matters to attend to in Shallot,” Davys Rubén said.  He wore mourning black, for his son who’d died only a few short months ago.  “Why are we here?”

Stephen waited for Jeanne to finish her examination of the charms, then studied his little cabal as they took their seats.  Andrew had been denied the power and positions he thought were his by right - a fairly common delusion - and, with the next generation readying itself to take the reins, faced a choice between gambling everything or retiring to the hinterlands of power.  Jeanne had old resentments driving her forward, demanding revenge for years of being told she couldn’t reach for supreme power herself.  And Davys had a son to avenge.

“Malachi is dead,” Stephen said, flatly.

“Good.”  Davys stared into the fire.  “The bastard got my son killed.”

“We had hoped Malachi could undermine our lord and master,” Stephen reminded him.  The disgraced outsider, the blackmailer, had been a tool.  Stephen had hoped he could rely on the man’s bottomless malice to damage Carioca without doing too much harm to the family as a whole.  He wouldn’t shed any tears for the man’s fiery death, but it had deprived him of a prospective weapon at the worst possible time.  “His death is quite awkward.”

He raised his voice, drawing their attention to him.  “The High Summer Ball will be held one month from now, in Aguirre Hall.  The ball will serve as both the coming-out party for the Aguirre Triplets and the formal announcement that Akin and Caitlyn are to be married.  The wedding date itself is still being negotiated, according to my source, but the general feeling is that it will take place on Winter’s Eve.  Carioca” - his voice darkened - “will not want to delay the nuptials too much.”

“Of course not,” Andrew said.  “The happy couple might decide they don’t want to get married after all.”

“Which is possible,” Davys pointed out.  “They are betrothed, not engaged.”

“They appear to be very fond of each other,” Jeanne said, blandly.  “Their parents have worked hard to foster the match.  They are more compatible, in many ways, than most aristocratic couples.  I do not believe they will refuse to marry, when the time comes.”

Stephen grimaced.  Aristocratic matches were not supposed to be about love.  Of course not.  The families came first.  Always.  The happy couple would have - should have - been raised to be realistic about such things.  As long as there were a handful of children, with no doubt about the bloodlines, the parents could do whatever they liked.  Stephen himself spent as little time with his wife as possible.  The feeling was mutual.

A flash of rage shot through him.  A Rubén, marrying an Aguirre?  Unthinkable.  Caitlyn could trace her ancestry back a thousand years, but Akin - and Stephen himself - could list his ancestors all the way back to the days before the Thousand Year Empire.  They’d been founders, senators, even emperors.  House Rubén had had its ups and downs - there’d been times when they’d been on top and times when they’d been clawing their way back up to the top - but the family had never declined for long.  House Aguirre ... they were nothing more than parvenus.  They should have married into the older families, not set up bloodlines of their own.

He calmed himself with an effort.  “If we don’t act now, Akin will be the next Patriarch and Caitlyn will be his wife.  The two families will slowly merge, leaving us - us - on the sidelines.  Our bloodlines will be diluted, our family magics shared or lost forever.  We will lose everything, even our name!”

“And if we do act, we lose access to Caitlyn’s ... talents,” Jeanne pointed out, evenly.  “House Aguirre will have an unbeatable advantage.”

“Caitlyn cannot be unique,” Stephen said.  “There have to be others.”

“We have found none,” Jeanne said.

Stephen said nothing for a long moment.  He had a trump card, a piece of information that had fallen into his hand, but he didn’t dare play it openly.  Not until they were ready to follow him.  There were too many players in the game for his peace of mind.  The cabal was hardly bound together by oaths of blood and promises of ancestral retribution.  Carioca would probably be very forgiving to whoever came to him to betray the cabal before it was too late.  Stephen would have rewarded a willing traitor and he was fairly sure Carioca would do the same.  

“She isn’t invulnerable,” Davys pointed out.  “She can be killed.”

“That would trigger a House War,” Jeanne countered.  “And even if it didn’t, Akin would hunt the murderers down and kill them.”

Andrew leered.  “What about her children?  Would they have her talents ... and their weaknesses?”

Stephen made a face.  The family - both families - had carefully avoided the question of precisely what would happen if Akin and Caitlyn’s children lacked magic.  Caitlyn was far from useless - she alone could make Objects of Power - but she was horrendously vulnerable, too.  Stephen had been told that putting her under a compulsion spell would prevent her from using her talent, yet there were other ways to make someone compliant.  And if her children lacked magic as well ...

If they can’t defend themselves, they cannot lead the family, he thought.  And her family will feel the same way.

Jeanne cleared her throat.  “What do you propose we do?”

She leaned forward, speaking with cold certainty.  “Francis is dead.  There are no other possible candidates for the patriarchy, certainly none who can hold a candle to Akin and would be interested in the role.  The majority of the new generation has made their peace with the concept of him succeeding his father.  The ones who might want to reach for the brass ring themselves have no hope of success.”

Stephen nodded.  He’d hoped Carioca and Davys would have more children, more prospective candidates for the patriarchy, but they’d been careful.  Very careful.  Carioca hadn’t wanted too many children competing for his favour, while Davys had clearly assumed Francis would either compete with his cousin or use his position as a bargaining chip when Akin succeeded his father.  None of them had realised that Malachi would push Francis too far, or that the Challenge would end in the young man’s death.  The disaster had left them scrambling to find another candidate before it was too late.

Andrew coughed.  “Penny?”

Jeanne snorted.  Penny Rubén had been doubly disgraced, first by being the daughter of Malachi and then by being demoted back to lowerclassman at school.  Akin himself had done it, supposedly for the best of motives.  Stephen suspected the younger man had planned it carefully, ensuring he could knock Penny down a peg or two in a manner no one could really challenge.  It was what Stephen would have done.  Akin might appear to be a genial, good-natured child - young adult, now - but he was Carioca’s son.  He’d learnt his father’s lessons well.  

Davys looked up.  “House Aguirre’s Heir Primus is Alana, not Caitlyn,” he said.  “I don’t think Alana will give up her power so readily, even if merging the two families is good in the long run.”

“She may not have a choice,” Andrew said.  “What better dowry could Caitlyn bring than a prospective merger?”

Stephen cleared his throat.  “There’s one other possible candidate,” he said.  “Someone who might - might - accept our guidance.”

“Really?”  Davys didn’t look impressed.  “Do you think Carioca has a natural-born son?”

“No,” Stephen said.  “I mean Isabella.”

Jeanne choked.  “Isabella?  But she’s a ...”

A girl, Stephen finished, inwardly.  Tradition insisted that only men could head aristocratic families and House Rubén, traditional in all things, refused to bend to the modern world.  Jeanne had seen her ambitions curtailed for the same reason as Isabella herself.  Her femininity meant she couldn’t rise to the very top, even though she would have been good in the role.  And are you going to support me now, because it may force the family to discard that tradition for the good of all?

Andrew had the same thought.  “Isabella is a girl,” he said.  “Carioca will laugh at us.”

“And she’s in exile,” Jeanne added.  Her face was so expressionless Stephen knew she was thinking furiously.  “She betrayed the family.”

“She was young,” Stephen countered.

“Isabella is a girl,” Andrew repeated.  “I think you’re overlooking the simple fact that she isn’t eligible to lead ... by the ancestors!  She’s in exile!”

“Carioca wants to bring her home,” Davys said, slowly.  “The council voted to send her into exile and leave her there.”

“Yes,” Stephen said.  “And we represent a good chunk of the council.  We could bring her exile to an end.  We can also nominate her as a prospective leader.”

Jeanne made a rude sound.  “And how do you intend to convince the council to break with tradition?”

“Yeah.”  Andrew leaned back in his chair.  “The council rejected Jeanne, even though Jeanne was infinitely superior to Carioca.  She had age and knowledge and practical experience, all of which Isabella lacks.  Why should they accept someone who is even younger than Carioca himself when he assumed the role?”

“There are two factors in our favour,” Stephen said.  “First, we would be putting her forward as a regent, rather than a patriarch - a matriarch - in her own right.  There is precedent for both regencies, when the new generation is immature, and for women to serve in such roles.  There is also precedent” - he allowed himself a smile - “for a regency to evolve into a de facto patriarchy.  I might refer you to ...”

“Yes, but not for a woman,” Jeanne snapped.  The bitterness in her voice was clear.  “Your precedents will not hold up if Akin challenges them, let alone someone else from the next generation.”

“We comprise a sizable fraction of the council,” Stephen reminded them.  “As long as she has our support, no challenge can hope to succeed.”

And that will keep her in line, his thoughts added, coldly.  She’ll do everything in her power to make sure she doesn’t lose our support.

“You cunning bastard.”  Andrew clapped his hands.  “You’ve found a loophole!”

Davys looked uncomfortable.  “You mentioned two factors,” he said.  “What’s the other one?”

Stephen braced himself.  They were ready, he thought.  But what if he was wrong?

“I had a visit recently, from another disgraced member of the family,” he said.  “She told me something that changes everything.”

“Really?”  Davys didn’t look impressed.  “And what was that, pray tell?”

Stephen told them.

Chapter One: Akin

To attend Magus Court, to shadow my father from chamber to chamber, is a great honour.

I told myself that, again and again, as we strode down the long corridor to the innermost chambers.  The centre of the corridor was clear, no one would dare get in our way, but the walls were lined with clients, soldiers, lobbyists, politicians, newspaper reporters and sycophants who wanted to pay us for the privilege of kissing our boots, all talking so loudly the words blurred into a deafening howl.  My father appeared to be ignoring them, but - every so often - he would nod to someone and his secretary, bringing up the rear, would make arrangements for a private interview later in the day.  He’d told me it was a good way to make sure he knew what was really going on, that no one further down the food chain was trying to limit what information reached his ears.  It struck me as uncomfortably paranoid, but I’d learnt a hard lesson from Uncle Malachi.  It was hard not to grimace at the thought.  He might be dead, under mysterious circumstances, but his influence lingered on.

A young reporter, barely out of her teens, caught my eye.  “When’s the wedding?”

I gritted my teeth, schooling my face into a blank mask as I fixed my eyes to my father’s robes.  The golden outfit he wore, topped with a fancy wig, marked him as a man of power and influence, a man who drew supplicants to him like flies to honey.  I’d learnt to detest the hordes of vultures as I started my apprenticeship with my father, the men and women offering anything - anything at all - in exchange for a word in my ear.  A tiny minority had something useful to offer, my father had said.  The trick was telling which ones were worthy of an offer of patronage.

The reporter kept pace with us, somehow.  “Have you agreed on a date ...?”

I kept my face blank, somehow.  It had taken months to agree that Cat - and her sisters - would have their coming-out ball on High Summer, at the end of the Season.  Cat had been a little ambivalent about it, but her sisters had been furious about being kept as children while their peers made the leap to adulthood.  The families were still arguing over when - precisely - Cat and I would be married.  Personally, I just wanted to get it over with.  I wanted to be with her, not forced to meet under chaperonage or snatch a few private minutes from our families.  But no one could hide from the implications of our match.  Nothing would ever be the same again.

A pair of armsmen seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and frogmarched the reporter out of the corridor.  I hoped they’d be gentle.  The poor girl probably just wanted a scoop, something that would make her name in a competitive world.  I didn’t blame her, even though she’d poked a running sore.  Cat and I would be married.  There was too much riding on the wedding for either of us to back out.  We just didn’t know when we’d be married.

We reached the end of the corridor and passed through a pair of security wards tuned to our magic.  Boswell - the secretary - remained behind, speaking to a handful of potential clients, while we walked into the elevator and allowed it to carry us upwards.  I relaxed, slightly, as more and more privacy wards fell into place.  Father held himself steady.  He’d told me, more than once, that the wards didn’t guarantee our privacy, even here.  Magus Court was layered with hundreds upon thousands of protective spells, but every sorcerer who fancied himself a player was trying to break them.  Knowledge was power, particularly if one was the only person who knew it.

The door hissed open, revealing a secure chamber.  Alana and Uncle Joaquin - Lord Joaquin Aguirre, her father - were already waiting for us, her father sitting on a comfortable armchair and Alana standing behind him as if she were nothing more than a servant.  She was learning from her father, just like me.  She met my eyes and winked, then lowered her gaze again.  It was hard to believe, sometimes, that she and Cat were siblings.  They were very different.

I studied her, thoughtfully, as I took my place behind my father.  Alana wore a long white robe, very much like mine, although her personal tailor had tightened it around the chest ... I was surprised her father hadn’t ordered her to change before they left the manor.  The dress contrasted oddly with her dark face and darker hair, the latter still in braids despite her age.  I was sure she found that more than a little humiliating.  Her friends and many of her cousins had already been through their coming-out, when they were formally acknowledged as adults.  Alana might be her father’s heir, but she couldn’t even speak for herself ...

Maybe that’s the point, I thought.  If she messes up now, it can just be blamed on her immaturity and everyone will pretend to believe it.

I shoved the feeling aside as our respective fathers exchanged greetings and got down to work.  They’d been rivals before becoming allies and there were times when I thought they would be more comfortable returning to their rivalry, even though it would tear the alliance between our families apart.  I wondered, deep inside, if either of them had their doubts about the future.  They’d gambled everything on a plan to keep the two families allied permanently, but ... things were going to change.  The families might never be united, yet ...

Alana looked calm and composed as our fathers talked, hashing out issues in private so they could present a united front in public.  It was an impressive act, I had to admit.  She stood at attention, hands clasped behind her back.  If I hadn’t known her so well, I wouldn’t have known she was bored stiff.  Not, of course, that she wasn’t paying attention.  Her eyes were demurely lowered, but I was sure she was listening to every word and filing it away for later consideration.  I told myself I should be doing the same thing.  Father had made it clear he wouldn’t live forever.  There would come a time when I’d have to step into his shoes.  It wasn’t a pleasant thought.  I wasn’t one of the spoilt brats counting the days until my parents died.  I wanted them to live!

“The question is, do we accept her as a representative?”  Father’s voice was very quiet, a sure sign he was talking about something important.  I hastily replayed the conversation in my mind.  “And do we accept she won the vote legitimately?”

Uncle Joaquin frowned.  “It would be very hard to prove she didn’t.  The dockworkers are a very numerous group.  It makes it harder for anyone to rig the elections.”

Including us, I thought, coldly.  In theory, the guilds elected their representatives to Magus Court.  In practice, the guilds were so riddled with aristocratic patronage networks that we had a great deal of say in who got elected to what.  The bigger the group, the harder it was to control.

“And that means she outdid our own picked nominees,” Father said.  “Do we go along with it or do we seek to reject her?”

I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he’d smiled.  “Akin?  What do you think?”

“I think we have to accept the result, unless we have clear proof she cheated,” I said.  I found it hard to believe that Louise Herdsman had cheated, even after the Infernal Devices that had shook the city last month.  She wasn’t the type to cheat, particularly when she knew she had powerful enemies who would do everything in their power to prove she cheated.  “We have to uphold the system or it’ll collapse, taking us down with her.”

“And she’s just one person, with few real connections,” Alana added.  “Let her waste her time playing politics.  It’ll dampen the reformist fire.”

I kept my face impassive.  Louise Herdsman was a merchant’s daughter, hardly the sort of person to impress Alana.  Or Isabella, for that matter.  It was easy to class her as a know-nothing know-it-all, someone who couldn’t even be bothered to dress the part.  And yet, she was a very capable and determined magician in her own right.  Her zeal for social reform had only sharpened in her last few months at Jude’s.  I wasn’t remotely surprised she’d walked into the newborn reform movement and made it her own.  The real surprise was that she’d managed to win enough dockworkers to her banner to win an election.  And yet ...

Clever, I conceded.  She comes out ahead whatever we do.

“She might have some useful ideas,” I said, carefully.  “She really shouldn’t be underestimated.”

Father glanced up at me.  “Do you think she’d work with us?”

I hesitated.  I’d worked with Louise myself, back when we’d taken the Challenge.  She was a hard person to like, with so many rough edges it was easy to see why she had few real friends, but ... she was easy to admire.  She had a passion that burned deep within her, a passion I found both appealing and terrifying.  I honestly wasn’t sure how to put that into words.  They’d probably come back to haunt me.  Alana would see to it personally.

“I think she’d be open to discussions,” I said, carefully.  “But she wouldn’t be open to bribery or corruption.”

“Every man has his price.”  Alana didn’t seem impressed.  “And we can bid very high indeed.”

“I doubt it,” I said.  “There are some things money can’t buy.”

Our respective parents tabled the matter, for the moment, and moved on to a different topic.  I forced myself to listen, doing my best to keep my boredom off my face.  Alana seemed as impassive as ever, but I could tell she was bored, too.  And she wanted to be her father’s successor.  I wasn’t anything like so keen on the idea.  I didn’t really want to spend my days in Magus Court, holding meetings in smoke-filled backchambers, or dealing with an endless succession of clients and supplicants.  If Isabella hadn’t been disgraced, if women had been allowed to lead the family, I would have stepped aside without hesitation.  Isabella would have been good at it.  Me?  I wasn’t sure I’d be anything more than a placeholder until the true successor arrived.

The thought bothered me more than I dared say, not to my father.  I was looking at nearly two centuries of life, barring accidents or acts of war.  I was going to be spending those years building my position, then securing my position so I could pass it to my son without a major struggle.  I’d seen enough of father’s manoeuvrings to know just how far he’d gone to make sure I could take his place.  His enemies wouldn’t be able to regroup in time to make a challenge when he stepped down ...

My father cleared his throat.  “We could do with some coffee,” he said.  “Perhaps you two could go fetch it.”

Alana looked displeased, just for a second.  We might be the juniors, the lowest-ranking people in the room, but ... we were aristocrats.  We weren’t servants.  And yet I wasn’t unhappy.  It was a chance to step out of the chamber and relax before returning to the political debate.  I wasn’t remotely fooled by the genteel talk.  Our fathers were skirmishing as aggressively as a pair of duellists, testing each other before they moved in for the kill.

I bowed and headed for the door.  Alana followed.  I could feel her gaze boring into my back.  I was pretty sure she was irked at having to leave, that she thought our fathers would be discussing matters they thought unsuitable for our ears.  There was only one issue my father wouldn’t discuss with me, one issue that he thought better handled by my elders and betters.  And that was the date Cat and I were to be married.

“You defended Louise,” Alana said, as soon as we were alone.  “Do you like her that much?”

“She’s an impressive person,” I said.  I wasn’t blind to the unasked question.  Alana might have feared I had feelings for Louise.  “And she has the courage of her convictions.”

Alana snorted.  “And yet she didn’t spend any time forming alliances with her classmates.”

I stopped and turned to look at her.  “She’s just gotten herself elected to Magus Court,” I said, bluntly.  “And she did it alone, without becoming someone’s client.  She didn’t need an alliance, any more than she needed to submit herself permanently to one of us.  She’s become one of the most important people in the city and she’s no older than you or I.”

“Hah.”  Alana snorted, again.  “She’s nowhere near as powerful as us.”

“You and I inherited our positions,” I reminded her.  I doubted she’d understand.  “Your sisters aren’t interested in power.  I don’t have any brothers.  Neither of us had to compete for our family titles, let alone at a severe and seemingly permanent disadvantage.  Louise, on the other hand, had to fight for everything.  She’s not someone to underestimate.”

Alana walked past me, into the tiny kitchenette.  I knew she didn’t believe me, yet ... I had been paying attention to Father’s lessons.  Louise was in a strong position, perhaps stronger than she knew.  There was no way the Great Houses could unite against the Dockworkers Guild, not without cutting their own throats.  It would be very hard, if not impossible, to convince them to recall her, let alone elect one of our clients in her place.  I had a feeling we’d hexed ourselves in the foot.  There’d been so many possible candidates, clients of one family or another, that Louise hadn’t needed an absolute majority to win.  She’d just needed more votes than anyone else.

And she doesn’t even have to do much to keep them happy, I thought.  I was suddenly convinced she knew precisely what she was doing.  As long as she doesn’t make any serious mistakes, they’ll keep voting for her.

I dismissed the thought as I stepped into the kitchenette.  It was small, surprisingly compact for Magus Court.  Alana poured water into a jug, muttered a heating spell and settled back to wait.  I found a pair of plates, piled them high with biscuits and placed them both on a tray.  Cat would probably laugh if she saw me waiting on my father.  I wondered, idly, what Louise would think of it.

Alana cleared her throat.  “You know what they’re discussing?”

I nodded.  “Have you heard anything?”

“Dad’s been hinting we’ll be coming out at the end of the summer,” Alana said.  There was a hint of bitterness in her voice.  She was eighteen and yet she was still legally a child.  I was sure her friends and cronies were carefully not mentioning it in a manner that drew attention to the elephant in the room.  “Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing too specific,” I confessed.  Father had acknowledged me as an adult after I’d completed the Challenge.  I had a feeling he might have waited longer if I hadn’t proved myself.  “I’ve been told to keep my nose out of the discussions.”

Alana smirked, her dark eyes sparkling with sudden mischief.  “And have you actually obeyed?”

I felt my cheeks heat.  “Father wouldn’t be very pleased if he knew I was spying on him.”

“So, you have.”  Alana’s smirk grew wider.  “What did you hear?”

“Nothing.”  I shook my head in some frustration.  The discussions had taken place on neutral ground.  House Lamplighter perhaps, if they hadn’t been held at Magus Court itself.  “I haven’t heard the matter being discussed, not formally.  Just a lot of stupid chatter from stupid relatives.”

It wasn’t easy for me to keep the bitterness out of my voice.  House Rubén had been invaded by hundreds of relatives, ranging from my father’s cousins to people who had a very weak tie to the family ... all of whom insisted on speaking to me, congratulating me on succeeding my father - even though I hadn’t even done it yet - and trying to convince me to remember them when I came into my own.  The fact the last two points contradicted themselves didn’t seem to bother them.  The only upside, as far as I could tell, was that I was building a list of people I really didn’t want on the family council.  

But I might not be able to keep them out, I thought, curtly.  I hadn’t realised, until he’d explained to me, why Father allowed some of his enemies to keep their seats.  Their positions are just too strong.

Alana tapped the pot, then poured water into the cups.  “I almost forgot,” she said, as she put the milk jug on the tray.  “I have a message for you.”

Somehow, I doubted she’d forgotten anything.  And there was only one person who’d use Alana as a go-between.  “From Cat?”

“She wants to see you.”  Alana’s voice was suddenly serious.  “In the Workshop, as soon as possible.  She burned up a favour to get me to pass the message on.”

I blinked.  Alana and Cat might have been getting on a little better, since their disastrous first decade, but Cat wouldn’t ask her sister for anything unless it was important.  And ... it wasn’t the sort of message she’d normally trust to anyone.  Asking me to visit her - alone - could land us both in hot water.   Betrothed or not, we weren’t supposed to be unchaperoned until the wedding.  

“I’ll sneak off after lunch,” I said.  “Cover for me?”

“You’ll owe me,” Alana said.  “And believe me, you’ll pay.”

I nodded as I picked up the tray and carried it back into the meeting chamber.  It was hard not to keep the concern off my face.  Cat had a dozen ways to send me a perfectly legitimate message, including a couple that - probably - wouldn’t go through one or both families first.  If it was that important ... I wondered, suddenly, if I should fake an illness and leave early.  Father wouldn’t be pleased, but ...

“Thank you,” Father said.  He took the coffee and sipped it.  “Joaquin?”

“We have come to a decision,” Uncle Joaquin said.  He looked at his daughter, his dark face unreadable.  “The High Summer Ball will be held at Aguirre Hall.  It will serve as your formal coming-out party ...”

Alana gasped, losing - for once - control of her face.  I swallowed hard, a multitude of feelings racing through me.  I didn’t know what to think.  The wedding date itself might not have been set, but it was only a matter of time.  And then ... I stared down at my hands, suddenly apprehensive.  Cat wanted to see me.  Why?

“Thank you, Dad,” Alana said.  She dropped a curtsey that looked completely heartfelt.  “I won’t let you down.”

“I have every faith in you,” Uncle Joaquin said.  “And your siblings.”

Father glanced at me.  “The formal announcement will be made at lunchtime,” he said, quietly.  “Until then, try not to cheer too loudly.”

I grinned.  Cat and I were going to be married!  And ... I promised myself, as our fathers discussed the arrangements for the ball, that I was going to see her as soon as possible.  If she wanted me to visit, if she’d gone to some trouble to ensure I got the message quickly, it had to be urgent.  And ...

Go see her, before everyone else hears the news, I thought, numbly.  I was pretty sure the word had already gotten out.  Father and Uncle Joaquin wouldn’t have made up their minds on the spur of the moment.  I’d be surprised if the gossip papers weren’t already putting out special editions.  And find out what she wants, before it’s too late.

Chapter Two: Isabella

Cat was getting a season.

It was a warm summer day in Kirkhaven, a rarity in a region where the climate normally ranged from rain to snow to sleet and rain again.  It was the kind of day I would have normally taken as a holiday, perhaps gone for a picnic somewhere on the grounds or walked in the rolling hills between Kirkhaven and Caithness.  They came so rarely that I could easily justify taking the day off, just to enjoy the sunlight.  But the news from Shallot had driven every other thought out of my mind.  The letter left no room for ambiguity or misinterpretation.

I stood in front of my greenhouses, staring at nothing as my thoughts ran in circles.  Cat was getting a season.  She was going to be presented to the city, even though she was already betrothed and would be engaged the moment she let her hair down for the very first time.  She was going to be the belle of the ball, she was going to be the centre of attention, she was going to dance with all the heirs ... my heart clenched as a sudden surge of bitterness ran through me.  I’d thought I’d grown used to living so far from Shallot.  I’d thought I’d made something of myself, enough of myself that I didn’t feel the need to prove myself to the family or anyone else, but the letter had brought all the buried feelings bubbling to the surface.  Cat was getting a season ...

... And I was not.

I took a long breath, telling myself I didn’t want or need a season.  I wasn’t entirely blind to the dark truth behind the custom.  Morag had rubbed my nose in it, back when I’d been banished to Kirkhaven Hall.  A girl was presented to the city like a prize horse, to have her looks and health and intelligence evaluated ... and woe be to her if she didn’t impress the Grande Dames.  And if she had a prospective husband, they’d be assessed as a couple.  It had never occurred to me, until it was too late, just how unpleasant gossip could become until the gossips had targeted me.  I’d disgraced my family.  The only upside of being sent into exile was that I didn’t have to listen to the Grande Dames.  What I read in the papers was quite bad enough.

And yet, I did want a season.  I’d spent most of my life knowing that my coming-out would mark the jump from childhood to adulthood.  I’d put away childish things and take my place as a young woman of one of the foremost families in the city.  I would be a person of influence, a person who could command respect ... not now.  My brother was the only person from my former life who wrote to me regularly.  It was why I’d taken the risk of travelling to meet him a few months ago.  He was the only one who actually cared.

Tears welled up in my eyes.  I’d done well for myself.  I knew I’d done well.  The greenhouses I’d built produced all sorts of basic ingredients, allowing me to brew dozens of different potions and sell them for profit.  I’d been careful, investing in more greenhouses and exotic ingredients instead of putting the money in the bank or frittering it away.  It was hard, sometimes, to look at the society pages and not buy whatever was in fashion back home, but ... where would I wear it?  There was no point in wearing fancy clothes up here.  I’d spent so long wearing trousers, like the local women, that I’d had to remind myself - sometimes - that wearing trousers in the city was social death.

I’d done well, and yet ...

I stared down at the letter, wondering who’d written it.  Not Akin.  He would have signed his name.  Besides, I knew my brother’s style.  He was informal with friends and family, even though I was sure his tutors expected him to talk - and write - like a man with a permanent rod up his backside.  He would have done what he could to soften the blow ... he would have understood, I admitted sourly, that it was a blow.  The unknown writer had done nothing of the sort.  He’d written in a formal style calculated to suggest a complete lack of emotion, as if he were talking about the weather ... a style I knew meant he was doing his level best to hide whatever he was feeling, in a manner designed to let me know without letting me take offense.  I wanted to crumple the paper in my hand, but instead I performed a handful of trace spells.  There were no results.  I honestly couldn’t say I was surprised.  

Cat is having a season, I thought.  It just wouldn’t go away.  Cat is having a season.

I ground my teeth in frustration.  Cat and I had been rivals ... no, we’d been meant to be rivals.  We should have competed on even terms.  We should have played the great game of power and influence as we grew into adulthood, gathering friends, allies and clients we’d take with us when we started to play the game for real.  I’d thought I’d be competing with an equal.  But ...

The irony mocked me.  Cat was powerless, yet it was her very lack of power that made her so important.  She’d thought she’d been at a disadvantage, but ... she’d had an advantage that made her unbeatable.  She was so important that kings and princes from all over the known world would do whatever it took to get her on their side, even ... I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms.  Cat had a colossal unfair advantage and the worst of it all, I thought, was that she hadn’t even known it.  I hadn’t known it.  Being bested by Alana would have been bad - Alana and I had too much in common for me to doubt it - but we’d have met on equal terms.  Cat was so far ahead of me that I hadn’t stood a chance.

I ran my hand through my long blonde hair, trying to tell myself it didn’t matter.  Father had told me I could wear my hair down, in recognition that my twin was considered an adult, but ... it wasn’t quite the same.  I hadn’t been presented to High Society.  I hadn’t been announced as an adult in my own right.  I hadn’t even been formally acknowledged by my family.  They certainly hadn’t offered me a seat on the council, even though it was mine by right.  I suspected they were hoping they could forget I ever existed.

You did betray the family, my thoughts reminded me.  Didn’t you?

My stomach churned.  The letter had brought all the old emotions bubbling to the surface, all the thoughts and feelings I’d thought I’d buried years ago.  I’d been a fool.  I’d allowed my anger and humiliation to override my common sense.  I’d listened to Stregheria Aguirre, who’d pretended to understand me long enough to ... she had understood me.  I tasted bile in my mouth.  I’d thought I was playing the game.  My arrogance had blinded me to the truth.  I hadn’t been a player.  Stregheria Aguirre had played with me.  

The letter crumpled in my hand.  Cat had won, completely and totally.  She’d won without even playing.  She was the toast of the town.  No one would dare make astringent remarks about her conduct, not when it might mean being cut off from her work.  And Akin loved her.  I knew my brother well enough to be sure.  He loved her and he was going to marry her - the wedding couldn’t be delayed much longer, once Cat was formally presented to High Society - and they were going to be together and I ...

“Isabella!”

I looked up, startled.  Callam was hurrying towards me, picking his way through the overgrown grassy path.  He looked ... I felt my heart skip a beat.  He’d always been handsome, through not by the standards of Shallot’s High Society, but adolescence had been good to him.  Brown hair fell around a rugged face, topping a muscular body ... he’d grown into a remarkable young man.  I felt a rush of affection that surprised me.  Callam was hardly the kind of person I’d have befriended back home - he was a teacher’s son, not an aristocrat - but I didn’t care.  High Society had rejected me.  The Grande Dames could twitter all they liked.  I didn’t care.  

And besides, he’s a Zero, I reminded myself.  Who would dare to comment on him?  On us?

The thought caused me a pang of guilt.  I’d lain awake, night after night, wondering what would have happened if I’d told my father about Callam years ago.  A Zero ... Cat was the only known Zero, as far as the rest of the world was concerned.  The family would have forgiven me anything - they would have forgiven Uncle Ira, and he’d been a warlock - if I’d brought them a Zero.  It would have saved us from having to ally with our enemies, from having to accept Akin and Cat getting married and Cat’s children being our future rulers.  I could have gone home, if I’d been willing to betray my friend.  I hadn’t been able to go through with it.

Callam came up to me.  “The housekeeper said you’d gotten a letter,” he said.  “Are you alright?”

I reached out and hugged him.  Callam hugged me back, openly, as my eyes watered.  No aristocrat would have dared to offer such comfort, not to a young woman ... it was one of the things I loved about him.  And ... I held him tightly, remembering the kisses we’d shared as we grew older.  The memory thrilled and scared me in equal measure.  The family would not approve, except they would.  They’d accept Callam, even if he’d had the morals of Uncle Ira.  They needed him.

“Yes.  No.  I don’t know.”  I made a bid to change the subject.  “Did Sandy let you go?”

“The housekeeper ordered it,” Callam said, innocently.  “How could she say no?”

I smiled.  Sandy was several years older than we were, a dorm monitor whose promising career had been ruined when Cat had been kidnapped.  It hadn’t been her fault - nothing that had happened that year had been her fault - but her prospects had dwindled to nothing.  There’d certainly been no hope of a formal apprenticeship.  I’d hired her to teach Callam, after promising great rewards and securing a number of powerful oaths.  Sandy didn’t like me - I could tell, even though she tried to hide it - but she was good at her job.  Callam had advanced by leaps and bounds.  

Callam leaned back, slightly.  “What happened?”

“Cat’s getting a season,” I said, sourly.  I smoothed out the letter and held it out.  Callam could read, which put him head and shoulders above most of the countrymen.  I’d funded a permanent school in Kirkhaven, the nearby hamlet, but I doubted it had made much of an impression.  “Cat’s getting a season, and I’m not.”

Callam read the letter thoughtfully, then looked at me.  “Does it bother you that much?”

“Yes.”  I hesitated.  “No.  Maybe.”

“Why?”  Callam cocked his head.  “Do you really want a season?”

I pulled on my hair, unsure of what to say.  Callam hadn’t been raised amongst the aristocracy.  He didn’t understand the importance of one’s season.  He - and his sisters - would never be presented to their peers.  I doubted Callam’s father would do more than tell his daughters to let their hair down, then wish them good luck.  There might be a communal dance - the country folk loved dancing, almost as much as the aristocracy - but little else.  And Callam himself had simply been told, one day, that he was an adult.  It hadn’t changed his life.

“I don’t know.”  I held his hand as we started to walk around the greenhouses.  “It would be nice, but ...”

Callam gave me a sidelong look.  “You want to be put on display like a prize pig?”

I coloured.  “It’s not quite that bad.”

“It sounds like it,” Callam said.  “The prize pig goes to the pig fair, wins an award ... and then gets sold to someone who’ll turn him into lunch.”

“Hah.”  I had to smile.  “I wouldn’t be turned into lunch.”

My thoughts weren’t so sure.  If things had been different, if I hadn’t been sent into exile, I would have had my season by now.  I would have been presented to my peers, then ... my family would have started looking for a suitable match.  I would have had some say in the final decision - neither my father nor my brother would have made the decision without my input - but they would have wanted a say as well.  And if I’d said no ... I mentally tallied the potential candidates, the boys in my generation who might have made suitable husbands.  I didn’t know them that well - I certainly hadn’t been allowed to return to the city for the last six years - but none of them struck me as good choices.

Not for me, I thought, sourly.  I wouldn’t have met Callam if I hadn’t been sent into exile.  But they might have been good choices for the family.

I tightened my grip on Callam’s hand.  It was bad enough to be told that I would always be denied the chance to lead the family, because of tradition.  It was worse to know that other girls - Alana, in particular - did have that chance because their families weren’t so hidebound, so intent on keeping the customs of an empire that had died a thousand years ago.  I wouldn’t have cared so much if I’d lost fairly, if Akin had beaten me through superior magical or political skill, but to lose because of an accident of birth ... there was a part of me that wanted to leave the family behind, to cut all ties completely and walk off into the sunset.  And there was a part of me that wanted to force the family to change the rules ...

“Daisy and Poppy are doing well,” Callam said.  “They’re putting your advice into practice.”

I smiled, despite a twinge of ... something I didn’t care to look at too closely.  Resentment, perhaps.  Or envy.  Callam’s sisters had won scholarships to Jude’s, at least partly through my coaching.  I’d considered paying their fees, but their father would probably have said no ... and even if he hadn’t, my name wouldn’t have done them any favours.  They were a pair of powerful young girls, to the point they’d started to terrorise the locals, but they weren’t that special.  There were plenty of other strong magicians in Shallot.

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said.  It was true.  Mostly.  “Did they say anything about coming home?”

“They’re still doing their work experience,” Callam said.  “Mum was hoping they’d come home before term resumed, but ...”

His voice trailed off.  I nodded.  It wasn’t easy to travel from Kirkhaven to Shallot and back again.  Even with a coach, it took several days ... I shuddered, remembering the first time I’d made the journey.  It would have been a horrible experience even if I hadn’t been going into exile.  I knew Callam’s mother wanted to see her daughters again, but I also understood they might prefer to remain in the city.  Akin’s letters had talked about some newfangled kind of mass transport, one that ran on enchanted rails, yet ... it would be a long time before it reached Caithness.  

I squeezed his hand.  “They’ll be fine.”

“Unless they get expelled,” Callam pointed out.  “You know what they’re like.”

“They’d have to work very hard to get expelled,” I said.  I honestly wasn’t sure if I’d been expelled.  Jude’s might not have bothered with the formal paperwork, considering I had been sent into exile.  Father could have prevailed on them to let the matter go, in exchange for a hefty donation – read: bribe - and an unspoken guarantee that I’d never be allowed to return.  “They might wear out their wrists writing lines, or spend their weekends scrubbing floors, but they won’t be expelled.”

“How ... reassuring,” Callam said, a deadpan look on his face.

I smiled, leaning against him as we walked towards the crumbling wall that marked the edge of my property.  It wasn’t very high, but it didn’t need to be.  Generations of forgotten ancestors had layered hundreds of protective spells over the estate, then Uncle Ira had added his own refinements to make sure no one could enter without his permission.  My lips quirked as I looked at Callam.  He’d found a way to enter the estate without setting off a single alarm.  I was glad of it, even though I knew Callam had taken a horrendous risk.  If he hadn’t, we would never have met.

The woods surrounded us, the trees providing a little cover.  Water bubbled as it ran under a crumbling stone bridge and through a gap in the wall.  The stream wasn’t that deep, but I knew from experience it was bitterly cold.  And that, somehow, it had worn a hole in the wards.  I still didn’t understand how that had happened.  Uncle Ira hadn’t done it deliberately, I was sure.  He hadn’t even known there was a hole in his wards.

Callam grinned at me.  “Remember when we went to town for the first time?”

I grinned back, then raised my lips to his.  We kissed, gently.  I felt a rush of emotion, the thrill of doing something wrong mingling with the awareness that no one would see.  Or care.  There weren’t many people on the estate and they were, almost all, loyal to me.  They’d keep their mouths shut if they saw anything.  I’d gone to some trouble to make sure they’d keep Callam’s secret.

The kiss grew deeper.  He shifted against me.  I felt a mixture of anticipation and fear.  If we went further ...

The wards shifted.  I jumped.  Something was wrong.

Callam blinked.  “What?”

“Someone just pinged the wards,” I said, grimly.  “We have an intruder.” 

Chapter Three: Akin

The Workshop was not, technically, part of Aguirre Hall.  House Aguirre had taken over the nearest building and converted it into a school for Zeros, a school that existed in a curious legal limbo.  It was right next to the hall and yet, legally, it wasn’t part of it.  I’d heard, through my father, that there’d been a number of muted protests from the remainder of the Great Houses, protests that would probably have been a great deal less muted if they’d had Zeros of their own.  Cat could study, and work, without ever quite leaving her family’s protections.  Or their sphere of influence.

And that wouldn’t go down well if there were others, I thought, as I slipped up the concealed path.  The other Great Houses might refuse to send their Zeros to the Workshop.

I stopped and braced myself, looking around to make sure I wasn’t being watched.  The Workshop was supposed to be secure, with Objects of Power keeping out prying eyes, but it was hard to be sure.  I was fairly sure the remainder of the aristocracy would be trying to keep an eye on who went into or out of the building.  The old servant’s entrance was supposed to be sealed - servants were banned from the workshop - but Cat had fiddled with the locking charm a long time ago.  I pressed my hand against the doorknob and it clicked open.  I was expected, it seemed, and welcome.  The door wouldn’t have opened if she hadn’t wanted to see me.

That thought was bothersome.  Cat wasn’t the type of girl to throw caution to the winds and organise an unchaperoned meeting.  She wasn’t foolish enough to risk her reputation - and mine - when there were easy and practical ways to arrange a meeting without us being closely watched.  Rose - our mutual friend - could be relied upon to look the other way.  And Cat had taken the risk of asking Alana to pass a message to me.  She wouldn’t have done that unless it was truly urgent.

I closed the door behind me and took a long breath, tasting the scent of oil and worked metal - and magic - in the air.  It felt like coming home.  There’d been times when I’d wanted to take one of the rooms on the upper floors, the rooms set aside for students who’d as yet never materialised, and spend my days forging.  It didn’t seem fair, somehow, that I would be charged with running the family.  It wasn’t a job I wanted.

The air grew warmer as I made my way into the forging chamber.  Cat had drawn a red line on the floor, with a stern note warning people not to cross it.  I didn’t quite understand why the presence of magicians made it harder, if not impossible, to forge Objects of Power, but - so far - the problem seemed insurmountable.  Cat and I had spent years trying to find a way to overcome the problem.  We’d failed.

I let out a breath.  Cat herself was bent over a table, working on something that required complete concentration.  I watched, feeling a surge of admiration.  I was a skilled forger - it had been my hobby from childhood - but Cat was an absolute master of the art.  She’d been head and shoulders above me even before she’d realised what her lack of magic allowed her to do.  She was wearing a shapeless overall, her hair tightly tied back, but she’d never looked more beautiful.  I wanted to cross the line and take her in my arms.  But I knew better.

My eyes wandered.  Cat had a dozen projects on the go, ranging from repairing damaged or broken Objects of Power to experiments with combining Objects and Devices of Power.  One table held a modified cauldron, with a confusing network of automated stirrers; another held a mirror, resting on top of a half-opened cabinet.  A third held something so ... strange ... that my eyes slipped over it, as if they refused to accept it was there.  I wondered, as I waited, what it was.  Cat’s family had purchased various artefacts over the years, hoping she might be able to get some of them working.  Perhaps she’d succeeded.  Objects of Power were often a little difficult to see.

Cat straightened, carefully putting her tools back where they belonged before turning to me.  I waited, patiently.  My tutors had drilled respect for the tools into me right from the start, pointing out - time and time again - that a workman who mistreated his tools would wind up injuring or killing himself.  It was hard to remain still, but I forced myself to wait as she walked over the line and hugged me.  Our lips met, purely on instinct.  I held her tightly as we kissed.

“Thank you for coming,” Cat said, drawing back a little.  “I have something to show you.”

I smiled at her.  Cat’s face was softer and rounder than her sister’s, although her eyes were the same.  Her hair might be in braids, but she hadn’t made any attempt to make them fancy or striking.  She smiled back, then turned and led me down the corridor and into one of her private studies.  She’d designed it to be comfortable, if shabby.  I guessed her mother had never seen the room.  The combination of scratched tables, flimsy bookcases, ancient sofas and stuffed armchairs would have been bad enough even if she hadn’t invited a young man inside.  There were no protective spells on the chamber, nothing to keep her safe if matters turned nasty.  Indeed, Cat had gone to some trouble to make sure no one could spy on her private room.

“Take a seat.”  Cat sounded nervous as she pointed to an armchair, rather than inviting me to curl up beside her on the sofa.  “Tea?  Coffee?”

“Tea, please,” I said.  It was socially impossible not to drink tea in High Society.  Cat had forged a teapot that kept the tea hot and fresh for hours, if not days.  “I’ve missed you.”

Cat smiled as she passed me a cup, then sat facing me.  She’d put a box on the sofa, something else that would give her mother a fit of the vapours ... I felt a twinge of unease as I studied her.  Cat wasn’t necessarily the most sociable person in the world - she’d been isolated for a long time - but she’d always been open and friendly with me.  She certainly wouldn’t have invited me into her private chamber if she’d had any doubts.  I watched her sip her tea and forced myself to wait.  She’d get to the point in due time.

“I’m sorry I had to call you so ... directly,” Cat said.  “Did you manage to slip away without problems?”

“I made an excuse, after lunch,” I said.  Father wouldn’t be pleased, but it couldn’t be helped.  “I might have to spend the evening making up for it ...”

Cat smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes.  “I would have waited, if it wasn’t so urgent.  “I thought we should address the problem as quickly as possible.”

I put my teacup aside.  Something was wrong.  “Cat ... what’s happened?”

“Remember this?”  Cat picked up the box and held it out to me.  “It’s yours.”

I opened the box and peered inside.  The pieces were a jumbled mess, but ... it took me a moment to recognise them.  They’d been a spellbreaker, once upon a time.  The Object of Power had been priceless, as long as it remained intact, but I’d had to break it during the Challenge.  Isabella had loaned it to me ... I’d asked Cat to repair it, in hopes it could be repaired.  I hadn’t wanted to explain to my sister that I’d destroyed a family heirloom.

“I remember.”  I felt my heart sink.  “Can it not be repaired?”

“It should be possible,” Cat said.  She didn’t sound certain.  Objects of Power were hard to break, but - when they were broken - they were very difficult to repair.  The vast majority of broken Objects of Power were little more than scrap metal, the components so tainted by magic that they couldn’t even be recycled.  “That’s not the point.”

I stared at her.  “Cat ...?”

“Akin.”  Cat’s hands twisted in her lap.  “Akin, that Object of Power ... it’s new.”

For a moment, I thought I’d misheard.  There was only one person in the entire world who could make Objects of Power.  Six years ago, the secret of making them had been a complete mystery, lost with the Thousand-Year Empire.  Every forger worthy of the name had hoped and dreamed of being the one to crack the puzzle, but none of them had even guessed the truth.  Cat was the only one who’d worked it out and even she, she’d admitted to me, had succeeded more through luck than judgement.  And she was the only person who could make Objects of Power ...

I opened my mouth to ask if she’d made the spellbreaker, but the words died before I could say them aloud.  It would have been a stupid question.  Cat didn’t like Isabella.  My sister had been horrid to her, even before she’d betrayed the family.  I could see Cat trying to ensure I had an edge in the Challenge, but ... she certainly wouldn’t have worked through Isabella.  And ... I hadn’t wanted the spellbreaker for the Challenge anyway.  I’d wanted to help poor Saline.

“I ...”  I swallowed hard.  “Are you sure?”

Cat nodded.  “I checked the strands,” she said, picking up a broken piece of metal.  “There’s no decay, nothing to suggest the spellbreaker was channelling magic for centuries before it was finally destroyed.  I ran a handful of tests, when I realised the truth.  I’d say the ... the thing ... was nothing more than a few months old when it was destroyed.  It’s hard to be sure, but there are a bunch of other clues.”

I took the piece and stared at it.  The working was crude.  Whoever had made it hadn’t been a forger for long.  They lacked the skill and practice of someone who’d been forging for well over a decade.  There were no hints they didn’t care about elegance or anything other than producing a workable Object of Power ... they really were that unpractised.  And yet, the Object of Power had worked.  Saline wouldn’t have been freed from her curse if the spellbreaker hadn’t done its job.

“Incredible,” I breathed.  “Another Zero?”

“I can’t think of any other explanation.”  Cat looked badly shaken.  Her hands kept twisting relentlessly.  “This person hasn’t been doing it for long, but ... they have to know what they’re doing.  A regular forger wouldn’t try this design.”

I nodded.  The forger was clearly new to his trade.  He wouldn’t be wasting his time trying to forge Objects of Power unless he thought it was worthwhile.  I couldn’t imagine someone finding a book of instructions and trying them, not when most introductions to forgery would concentrate on Devices of Power ... I scowled.  The forger would have needed a teacher as well as a workshop.  He would have needed ...

And then it hit me.  “Isabella has a Zero?”

“Yes.”  Cat met my eyes.  “Unless she’s been faking having magic all this time ...”

I snorted.  I knew my sister had magic.  We’d been taught together, practically from the moment we could walk.  I’d lost track of the number of times she’d turned me into an animal or an object or ... I supposed I hadn’t been much better.  Practicing on each other was the easiest way to learn without parental oversight.  There was no way she could have faked it, not when she’d been a toddler.  The very thought was absurd.

“No,” I said.  “And that means she has a Zero working for her.”

“A child, perhaps,” Cat said.  “Someone too young to know right from wrong, or too inexperienced to figure out their options.  Although ...”

She stared at the piece of debris in her hand.  “I made some devices when I was a little girl,” she said.  “They were always smaller.  The handprints were consistent with a child’s small hand.  This ... the handprints are a bit bigger.  I’d say the person’s hands were actually bigger than yours.”

I looked at my hand, scarred by years of forgery.  “I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I,” Cat said.  “But there’s no way any of this” - she dropped the debris back in the box - “could be faked.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” I said.  “If Isabella had a Zero, why ... why hadn’t she tried to use him?”

Cat indicated the box.  “She did.”

“Isabella is in exile,” I reminded her.  “She could get that exile rescinded, if she contacted our father and told him what she’d found.  The family council would be utterly delighted to discover a new source of Objects of Power.  Or she could bargain with another Great House or even King Rufus himself.  Why didn’t she?”

“Point,” Cat conceded.  She disliked Isabella, with reason, but she respected her old rival’s mind.  “Unless she thought they’d take her new friend and then leave her in exile ...”

I shook my head.  Father had told me, time and time again, that keeping one’s word was important.  A Patriarch who developed a reputation for cheating people would lose everything, sooner or later.  And Father had been working to find a way to bring his daughter home.  He wouldn’t let this slip by him, if he’d known about it.  And that meant ... what?

“It makes no sense,” I said.  “It just doesn’t.”

My thoughts spun in circles.  Isabella had made a serious mistake which had gotten her sent into exile - she would have been executed, if she’d been a grown woman - but she wasn’t stupid.  She would know just how valuable a second Zero would be to the right people.  And she wanted to come home ... why hadn’t she said anything?  Or ... was she the one in charge?  Maybe it was the Zero who was calling the shots.  Or ... no, that didn’t make sense either.  Why bother with a disgraced exile when one could make contact with the Great Houses or King Rufus or ...

I closed the box, suddenly unwilling to even look at the debris.  Cat wouldn’t have made a mistake.  I trusted her to have gone through every test in the book and a few she might have made up specially.  Isabella had come into possession of a new Object of Power, which meant ... my eyes narrowed as I remembered her potioneering business.   Isabella had always been skilled with a cauldron, and I knew it was one of the easiest disciplines to use to build a career with, but Isabella had been churning out too many potions for one person.  I’d assumed she’d hired others to brew for her, like a regular apothecary, yet ... she could use Objects of Power to mass-produce certain brews.  By the Ancients, she could even get her Zero to brew potions that were impossible to produce with magic!  It wouldn’t be that hard to tap into the darker sections of the potions underground.  There were plenty of buyers for rare potions who’d be happy to pay through the nose and keep their mouths shut afterwards.  And Isabella would be more than capable of driving a hard bargain.

She could have had help, I thought.  Uncle Malachi had given Isabella a forbidden book when we were both children.  She’d convinced me to take the blame, which had earned me a stern lecture and a sharp punishment.  In hindsight, perhaps he’d been trying to influence her before he’d turned his attention to Francis.  She could have made contact with him and he could have urged her to keep her new friend a secret ...

“This person could be ...”  Cat looked at the floor.  “We don’t know anything about this person.”

I nodded, too numb to feel.  Cat was wonderful.  I knew my opinion was hardly unbiased - I loved her - but it was true.  She hadn’t sought to use her prominence - and her unique talents - to dominate the city, let alone the rest of the world.  And she could have done it, too.  The newcomer ... what if he wanted to rule?  Or build an empire?  He’d have enough influence to have wealth and power practically shoved into his hand.  Or ...

“I have to speak to my father,” I said.  I wanted to stay with Cat, but ... Father had to be warned.  Quickly.  If Isabella was up to something ... she’d risked a great deal when she’d given me the spellbreaker.  Had she assumed I wouldn’t break it?  I certainly had never intended to risk taking it apart.  “Can I take the remnants for him to see ...?”

“Yeah.”  Cat frowned.  “Akin, be careful.  Please.”

I stood and hugged her, tightly.  Her body pressed against mine.  I wanted to kiss her again and again, until the shock and numbness faded.  I wanted ... I kissed her lips gently, then let go of her.  It was impossible to be sure someone hadn’t noticed my visit, for all the protections Cat had worked into the building.  Auntie Sofia would have a lot of nasty things to say if she caught us together unchaperoned.  It wouldn’t destroy the alliance, I thought, but it would do a lot of damage.  And if anyone outside the families found out ...

And Isabella found a Zero, I thought.  I loved my sister, but I wasn’t blind to her ambition - and her resentment of a world that refused to let her rise to the top.  What is she planning to do?

In truth, I feared the worst.

Chapter Four: Isabella

Callam stepped back from me, clenching his fists.  “Where is he?”

“I’m not sure,” I said.  I touched the wards mentally, wishing I’d been able to take complete control after Uncle Ira’s death.  I’d always suspected he hadn’t had complete control either.  The wards had been layered so deeply that the bottommost layers had been practically impossible to modify, even by the family.  “But there’s someone out there.”

A chill ran through me as I closed my eyes and reached out as far as I could.  The wards were strong, but they were very far from perfect.  There were a number of weaknesses I’d never been able to fix.  I’d often considered trying to dismantle them completely and have them rebuilt from scratch, but that would have meant having to hire wardcrafters from Caithness or even Shallot itself.  I wasn’t sure I trusted anyone, even family, to handle the job.  Given time, Callam might be able to design an Object of Power to protect the estate ...

My thoughts opened as I sensed something moving along the edge of the wards.  It felt more like a busy bee than anything human, but it was testing my defences.  And it was heading towards the old gap in the wards.  I opened my eyes, staring towards the churning stream.  It might not be easy for someone to deduce there was a gap in the wards there, but ... the intruder, whoever he was, seemed to be testing everything.  I glanced at Callam, silently motioning for him to follow me as I walked to the bridge and peered towards the low stone wall.  The trees were too tightly packed to see anything on the far side.  There were hundreds of tiny paths running through the estate and beyond - I’d explored them during my first year in exile - some ran right up to the walls.  Callam and I had used one such path when we’d sneaked down to the town for the first time.

“Stay low,” I whispered.  I hoped Callam had thought to wear his protective amulets.  Cat had hidden at least two on her person at all times.  As long as one was touching her skin, magic wouldn’t affect her.  Not directly.  “Keep your eyes open.”

I listened, carefully, as we inched towards the bridge.  The air was suspiciously quiet.  I’d grown used to the noise of the countryside, from birds singing to rodents and small animals making their way through the undergrowth, but ... there was something strange in the air.  The wildlife knew something was wrong, that there was an intruder in their territory.  It was impossible to tell if our presence was scaring them or if there genuinely was an intruder beyond the wards ...

The wards seemed to shimmer, just for a moment, and then faded into transparency.  I cursed under my breath, using words that would probably have earned me a sharp lecture from my mother.  The intruder - and the sense of magic - was gone.  I peered at the water, looking for signs of a man wearing an invisibility cloak or concealing himself with stealth spells.  There were none, as far as I could tell.  And yet, that might be meaningless.  A powerful magician might just be able to conceal the effects of his passage.

On impulse, I cast a spell towards the water.  Steam rose into the air.  It would have badly scalded anyone, protections or no, if they’d been caught in the blast.  But there was nothing. I heard panicked snatches of birdsong and felt a twinge of guilt for scaring them.  I’d flatly refused to allow hunters from Caithness to enter the estate.  Really, I’d never liked the idea of charging over the landscape on horseback, leaving a trail of devastation in my wake.  It was a great deal less amusing when you were, at least on paper, responsible for looking after the land.

“Nothing,” Callam said.

I nodded.  Callam was blind to magical illusions, but - for reasons I had never been able to determine - also immune to certain kinds of magic.  A distraction spell wouldn’t work on him for long, while certain kinds of warning spells were completely ineffective.  I suspected that was why Callam had been able to find the gap in the wards in the first place, rather than being driven away by the outer edge of the defences.  I’d watched local youths run, screaming, when they brushed against the fear spells.  Callam hadn’t been affected at all.

Between us, we should have seen something if someone was there, I thought.  The intruder was only testing the edge of the defences ...

“Stay still,” I muttered.  The wards didn’t run on the far side of the walls.  I pushed my senses as far as they would go, but felt nothing.  It was easy to wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing.  Perhaps someone experimenting with distance viewing had brushed against the wards and come in for a closer look.  It was a good way to get seriously hurt - or killed - if the wards snapped back, but ... I shook my head.  “Whoever it was has gone.”

Callam looked relieved.  “Who’d test the wards?”

“Good question,” I said.  I was the most powerful magic-user short of Caithness, save - perhaps - for Sandy.  I thought I had the edge when it came to raw power, but Sandy had enough skill to make up for it.  “I don’t know.”

I took his hand and led him back into the forest, following a trail that would - eventually - lead us back to Kirkhaven Hall.  Who would probe the wards?  Uncle Ira was dead.  His mystery allies had remained a mystery.  Morag ... I touched my face, remembering how she’d slapped me.  Morag had been a bitter woman, sent into exile just like me ... she’d vanished in the chaos, when Uncle Ira had died.  I didn’t think she would ever return.  And I didn’t have many other enemies.  Cat was the only one who came to mind, and she could probably build an Object of Power that would go through my wards like a knife through butter.

And she’s going to marry my brother, I thought.  He wouldn’t go through with it if she killed me.

The thought made me smile, even though it wasn’t funny.  I had a duty to my prospective sister-in-law, a duty I would never be able to fulfil.  I was meant to welcome her to the family, to help her settle in ... I shook my head.  Cat wasn’t going to settle in, not like my mother had done.  She was a powerful aristocrat in her own right and her talents made her irreplaceable.  Father wouldn’t let anyone harass her, or give even the slightest hint she was unwelcome.  I didn’t think there was anyone the family couldn’t afford to lose, except perhaps Akin ...

Callam glanced at me.  “What’s so funny?”

“I was thinking about my family,” I said.  “And how they’re going to respond to Cat.”

“Ah.”  Callam hadn’t enjoyed hearing my stories about my childhood.  He’d found them alternatively horrific and tragic.  “Will they be mean to her?”

“Not if they value their positions,” I assured him.  “She’s too important to mistreat.”

I felt my unease slowly drain away as we walked past the ruined and abandoned buildings, past the dry well and down towards the edge of the woods.  There’d been ghosts - and all manner of strange creatures - in the estate when I’d first arrived, but most of them had faded into the ether when Uncle Ira had died.  I hadn’t seen a ghost for years.  I wasn’t sure what to make of that - I certainly hadn’t dared return to the abandoned city - but I couldn’t help feeling relieved.  The ghosts had been terrifying, even when they hadn’t been dangerous.  They’d come far too close to killing me.  Callam had saved my life.

“Mum was asking if you wanted to join us for dinner tonight,” Callam said.  “Will you?”

“If she’ll have me,” I said.  It was strikingly informal, compared to the rituals back home.  No one just asked someone else to come to dinner, even if they were very good friends.  “It will be my honour.”

I had to smile.  I’d invited Callam’s family to stay at Kirkhaven Hall, but they’d insisted on taking one of the repaired cottages on the edge of the estate.  They hadn’t really wanted to be my dependents ... I supposed, given how close Callam and I had become, it wouldn’t have been entirely wise to have them sharing the hall.  There were plenty of romantic stories that started with one partner sneaking through the darkened mansion to see the other, but they tended to end badly in real life.  There’d been a colossal scandal only a few years before my own that had had everyone in High Society taking sides.  I’d been too young to follow it, or care, either.

My thoughts sobered.  There’d been ... issues ... that had never been explained to me, things about my own body no one - not even my mother - had seen fit to tell me before it was too late.  I guessed she’d hoped Jude’s would do the job, when the time came.  I’d been lucky Callam’s mother had been there, willing to put her feelings aside and treat me - just for a few, short hours - like her own daughter.  If she hadn’t been there ... I promised myself that when - if - I had daughters of my own, I’d make sure they knew well in advance.  They wouldn’t be caught by surprise.  They wouldn’t think they’d been cursed ...

Callam stopped as we reached the edge of the forest.  “Is anyone in sight?”

I shook my head and allowed him to embrace me, then kiss me.  It felt ... it felt natural and right and ... I understood, now, why so many of the heroines in Morag’s abandoned romance novels allowed themselves to be enmeshed in a web of scandal.  I wondered, as our lips touched again and again, why she’d had so many of the books.  They’d all had the same basic plot, just in different settings.  Perhaps they’d distracted her from her exile.  If she hadn’t helped Uncle Ira, I would have felt sorrier for her.

“I ...”  I pulled back, gently.  My heart was pounding like a drum.  “I ...”

“I know,” Callam said.  He gave me a last kiss, then let me go.  “I do understand.”

I smiled as we started to walk again, careful - as we stepped into the open - to keep a safe distance between us.  Callam’s parents hadn’t said anything to us, but I was sure his mother had noticed we were getting closer.  The servants - and Sandy - had probably noticed, too.  I feared what they’d say, if they found a loophole in their contracts.  I’d gone to some trouble to make sure they couldn’t report back to my father, or anyone else, but ...

Kirkhaven Hall came into view.  It was a blocky, ugly building, built in a style that had been out of date for hundreds of years.  Half the windows had been boarded up decades ago, the glass itself stolen or ... or something.  The uppermost floor was a skeleton of its former self, the pillars marred by the explosion that had slain Uncle Ira.  The family had used it as a dumping ground for exiles until they’d discovered what Uncle Ira had been doing, then effectively given it to me as a reward for dealing with him.  I honestly didn’t know why we hadn’t sold the manor long ago.  It wasn’t as if we wanted the estate or the surrounding lands.  Kirkhaven got on very well without us.

We never give up what is ours, I thought, morbidly.  And that includes the hall.

The wards opened around me as we stepped through the servants’ entrance.  I’d never really seen the point of keeping the main entrance open, not when we had so few visitors.  Large swathes of the hall were effectively cordoned off and left to rot, once we’d gone through them with a fine-toothed comb.  Uncle Ira - or perhaps one of his predecessors - had been a real pack rat.  There’d been endless trunks of clothing so old they’d gone in and out of fashion several times since they’d been packed away, as well as outdated books and manuscripts from an earlier age.  I’d made sure to put those somewhere very safe.  A couple of them had been banned for so long that mere possession was enough to land someone in very real trouble.

“My Lady.”  Alice, the housekeeper, dropped a curtsey.  “Welcome home.”

“Thank you,” I said.  Alice was old enough to be my grandmother, but she wouldn’t hear of retirement.  I hoped she left most of the harder chores to the maids.  “Did anything arrive for me?”

“No, My Lady,” Alice said.  A hint of disapproval entered her voice.  “I must tell you, however, that Miss Sandy took a horse and left without saying goodbye.”

I shrugged.  Sandy had a young man in Caithness.  She hadn’t told me much about him, beyond the mere fact of his existence, but I was hardly going to tell her she couldn’t visit whenever she had the chance.  I glanced at the timekeeper on the wall - one of Callam’s first productions, although someone would have to look very closely to realise it was an Object of Power - and nodded to myself.  Sandy would have no trouble getting to Caithness in time and taking a room at an inn, if she didn’t want to try to get back in the dark.  She wasn’t expected to do anything for a couple of days.

“She’ll be fine,” I said.  It wasn’t as if Kirkhaven had much to entertain a young woman from Shallot.  Dancing and ... and what?  There wasn’t much of anything for someone used to a more cosmopolitan environment.  Caithness was a gloomy city compared to Shallot, but there was definitely more to do.  “Let me know when she returns home.”

Alice dropped another curtsey, then backed away.  I glanced at Callam and led him down to the workshop.  The chambers brought back bad memories - Uncle Ira’s presence still haunted my workspace - but there weren’t many other places we could go together.  The maids would talk if I took him to my room.  And I was morbidly sure word would get back home.

Betraying the family and being in a compromising situation with a young man, I thought, with a flicker of dry humour.  How will I ever get a job with a record like that?

“That experiment never worked,” Callam said, as we entered one of the larger chambers.  He pointed to a hunk of scorched metal.  “I don’t know why.”

I frowned.  Forgery had never been my skill.  I’d preferred charms and potions.  My mother had drilled me in charms extensively, making sure - in hindsight - that I could protect myself from the world.  Akin had been the forger and ... I couldn’t ask him anything, not without raising questions I dared not answer.  I crossly studied the block of fused metal.  The spellform looked to have surged, burning out the links and turning the entire structure into a useless lump.  I guessed he’d triggered the magic a little too early.

“It could be worse,” I said, finally.  I hadn’t come out of the womb knowing how to cast spells.  Callam had had very little practical, magical education before he’d met me.  “What were you trying to do?”

“A Mirror of True Reflection,” Callam said.  “I thought it might come in handy.”

I nodded.  His twin sisters were fond of casting spells on their older brother, on the assumption they couldn’t do anything permanent to him.  Technically, they were correct, but the risks of seriously hurting - or even killing - their brother were still terrifyingly high.  What would happen if the spells wore off at the worst possible time?  I didn’t want to think about it.

“I think you triggered the spellform too early,” I said.  I’d have to go through the notes - or, more practically, ask Sandy to do it.  Objects of Power were more powerful than Devices of Power, but they had to be put together in the correct order or the whole exercise would be worse than useless.  I mentally tallied how much material had been wasted, then shrugged.  It wasn’t as if we’d lost something we couldn’t replace.  “Let Sandy take a look at it.”

Callam nodded.  “Did you have any more luck with the rejuvenation potion?”

“No,” I said.  The recipe should have been simple, with the stirrers Callam had made.  They were designed to channel precisely the right amount of magic into the brew and not a drop more.  But the cauldron had still exploded.  I’d been staring at the bubbling mess when the wretched letter had arrived.  “It simply didn’t work.”

“You’ll get it,” Callam assured me.  “Or you could take it to Caithness and ask a brewer there.”

“Bad idea,” I said.  “They’d ask too many questions.”

Callam nodded.  I helped him clean the workroom, putting the charred and useless pieces of metal in the bin for disposal.  We’d swept them with spellbreakers, in hopes of salvaging some of the wreckage, but the material was still useless.  I didn’t understand that either.  I wondered sometimes, late at night, if Cat did.

“It’ll be dinner soon,” Callam said.  “Coming?”

“Yeah.”  I turned to the door.  “Just let me get changed and I’ll be right with you.”

I touched the letter in my pocket as I made my way up to the master bedroom.  Who’d sent it?  And why?  I’d read the society pages - only a few days out of date - and they’d never so much as hinted at Cat’s coming out.  Whoever had told me clearly wanted me to know ... why?  I didn’t think I’d like the answer, when I finally got it.

They’ll show themselves, sooner or later, I thought.  And then we’ll find out what they want.

Chapter Five: Akin

It felt strange to be walking back into Rubén Hall, after everything had changed.  The world had changed and yet, the hall still bustled with activity as countless uncles and aunts and cousins argued over who should get which room and who should have precedence during the big family gatherings that seemed to be good for nothing.  Auntie Karen was bickering with the maids over the flowers in her room, Uncle Oswald was eying the women in a manner that - in a man a few decades younger - would have earned him a sharp lecture from my mother and probably banishment from the hall.  There were so many people visiting that I was relieved - very relieved - that my rooms were private.  Isabella’s rooms were probably secure, too.  My father had ordered them sealed, then left untouched.

I felt my heart pounding as I hurried up the stairs, ignoring the crowds of family, friends and servants.  It was hard to forget that we were a large family, with more uncles and aunts than stars in the sky, but ... a sizable number of them preferred to live away from the city.  I passed Uncle Andrew, talking with Uncle Davys and Auntie Jeanne.  Uncle Davys gave me a sharp look as I walked past.  His son was dead.  It hadn’t been my fault, but he still blamed me.  There were times when I blamed myself, too.

Father’s office was closed, but the outer door opened at my touch.  Boswell was sitting at his desk, working his way through a stack of letters and reports from our clients.  He started to say something as I swept past, but I ignored him.  Father had often told me that I should make an appointment during working hours, yet this was too important to wait.  The matter could explode in our collective face at any moment.

I pushed the door open and peered inside.  Father was seated at his desk, facing Uncle Stephen.  The older man wasn’t his strongest supporter, but he’d never been a particularly vigorous opponent, either.  I’d often had the feeling Stephen would have liked to put up a better fight, in the endless struggle for power and influence, but he lacked the backing to make a go of it.  Or so I’d been told.  It would be a great deal easier, I reflected sourly, if the family was a little smaller.  Louise didn’t have to worry about juggling a dozen factions who shared the family name.  She didn’t know how lucky she was ...

Father cleared his throat, loudly.  “Why, hello Akin.  Glad you barged in.”

I flushed.  “Father, I claim urgency,” I said.  “I need to talk to you.”

Uncle Stephen gave me a sharp look.  He spent most of his time outside the manor, ensuring he didn’t have much - if any - face-to-face time with my father.  Whatever he’d wanted to discuss - and he had to have requested the meeting, or I would have heard about it beforehand - had to be important, at least to him.  He was on the family council, I reminded myself.  He could make real trouble for me if he wished.

“You are aware, of course, of the risks of claiming urgency,” Father said.  It wasn’t a question.  I suspected the comment was more for Uncle Stephen than me.  “One moment.”

He looked at my uncle.  “Boswell will arrange another meeting, later tonight,” he said.  “But it would be hypocritical of me to deny your request.”

Uncle Stephen stood and bowed.  “Thank you.”

He left the room, closing the door behind him.  I hoped he wouldn’t berate Boswell on the way out.  Hell, I hoped my father wouldn’t berate the poor man.  Boswell was very minor family.  He didn’t have the clout to stop me from walking into my father’s office and he knew it.  Father would understand, probably.  He could have given the secretary specific orders to keep me out, if he’d wished.  I couldn’t blame Boswell if he had.

“Akin.”  Father eyed the box under my arm.  “What is that?”

“A broken Object of Power,” I said.  I offered the box to him.  “It’s where it came from that’s so important.”

I took a breath, then launched into an explanation.  Father might not have known, not officially, that I’d met Isabella months ago.  He certainly hadn’t reprimanded me for arranging a meeting, even one held far too close to Shallot for anyone’s peace of mind.  There were too many people who wanted Isabella’s sentence to be upheld for them to take it calmly if they found out.  I allowed myself a tight smile as I finished the explanation.  They were going to explode when they found out the truth.

Except we don’t know what the truth actually is, I reminded myself.  Who made it for her, and why?

“Akin, if this is a joke ...”

Father bit off his next words.  We both knew I wouldn’t joke about something like this, not when my sister’s future - and mine - was at stake.  Father had been trying to get her banishment rescinded for years, systematically laying the groundwork to convince the council to recall her.  Isabella might never be allowed into the heart of power, but at least she’d be home.  And yet ... I wondered, again, just who’d given her the spellbreaker.  It was too significant an issue to ignore.

“Are you sure?”  Father’s eyes bored into mine.  “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yes, Father,” I said.  “Cat checked it thoroughly.  And I have faith in her.”

I took one of the pieces out of the box and eyed it.  Whatever it had been, once upon a time, it certainly was not a Device of Power.  The forger had used techniques that were only used to make Objects of Power.  And I’d used the spellbreaker before breaking it.  I’d have to run a handful of tests myself, but I was certain Cat was right.  The damage was consistent with something that had only existed for a few short months before being destroyed.  An older spellbreaker would have been beyond any hope of repair.

“Father.”  I took a breath.  “If this is true ... it is true.  Isabella has a Zero.”

“Or a Zero gave her the spellbreaker for reasons of his own,” Father said.  “She would have known what it was, of course.”

I nodded.  Isabella had been, in hindsight, more than a little evasive about where she’d found the spellbreaker.  I’d assumed it had been lost in the chaos when Kirkhaven Hall was abandoned, or perhaps passed to her when she’d taken control of the hall and the surrounding lands.   There wouldn’t have been any reason to suspect anything else, if I hadn’t broken the spellbreaker.  The very thought of Isabella finding a way to produce Objects of Power was absurd.  If the proof hadn’t been in front of me, I wouldn’t have believed it.

Unless she did find a way to make Objects of Power without a Zero, I thought.  It seemed unlikely, but it was possible.  Could she have found something new ...?

I doubted it.  Isabella was smart, but she wasn’t ... Cat.  Cat was an order of magnitude smarter than anyone else when it came to forgery.  I’d seen her solve problems that had baffled other - lesser - minds, including mine.  She was well on her way to single-handedly reinventing everything that had been lost when the Thousand-Year Empire died.  I couldn’t believe Isabella had found something Cat had missed.  There were disturbing rumours about Uncle Ira - Father had told me off, when I’d asked about them - but he hadn’t been a forger.  I couldn’t believe he’d found something new, either.

Father looked pale.  “Akin ... do you understand what this means?”

“Yes,” I said.  “We could bring her home.”

“More than that,” Father said.  He sounded as if he were struggling to keep his voice under tight control.  “She either has a Zero, she knows a Zero, or she’s found a way to forge Objects of Power without a Zero.  I don’t see any other options.  Do you?”

“No, Father,” I said.

“And each of the options has its own implications,” Father said.  “If the forger is under her thumb, for whatever reason, she can use him for her own goals.  If the forger isn’t under her control, what is he doing?  If she’s found a way to forge without ...”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” I said.  “Cat would have done it if anyone could.”

My father gave me a sharp look.  “Cat has a certain interest in keeping her talents to herself.”

I shook my head.  “She’s already been kidnapped once,” I reminded him.  I didn’t need to add that I’d been kidnapped along with her.  “Her talents make her both invincible and … vulnerable.  If she had a way to make herself less of a target, she’d have taken it long ago.”

Father didn’t look convinced.  I grappled for the words to convince him, but nothing came to mind.  There was no way to really explain just how vulnerable Cat was, if she was taken by someone with bad intentions.  She could be stripped of her defences and beaten into submission, or simply killed outright.  The only thing keeping the Great Houses - or the King - from plotting her death was the certainty of massive retribution.  As Cat grew older, and more capable, the threat might not be enough to deter them.

“We have to know the truth,” I said, putting the thought aside.  “We have to know before it’s too late.”

“True.”  Father leaned back in his chair.  “How do you intend to proceed?”

I blinked.  Father had given me more authority and responsibility over the last few months, since I’d been recognised as an adult, but he’d always insisted on having the last say.  It wasn’t easy to give up power, not when it might be seen as the first step towards transferring the remainder to me.  His enemies would start to gather, preparing themselves to take what they could before it was too late.  Father deserved a peaceful retirement, but ... I doubted he was going to get one.

“I was due to visit the country estates next week,” I said.  “I’ll tell everyone that I left early, to get away from the swarm of reporters.  They’ll be laying siege to the hall from the moment Cat’s family formally announces that she will - finally - be declared an adult, demanding to know when we’ll be wed.  No one will be concerned about me fleeing to the countryside.  I’ll take a stage coach to Halladale, then hire one of the king’s horses to get me the rest of the way.”

“Ouch,” Father said.  “You don’t want to take the coach all the way?”

I grimaced.  I was a practiced rider, but spending hours in the saddle - and exchanging horses at every postal station along the road to Caithness - was going to leave me black and blue.  I was going to be aching for days, magic or no.  And yet, it was the only way to get there quickly.  Taking the coach would be more comfortable, but it would add several days to the journey.  The days when one could step through a teleport gate, crossing hundreds of miles in a single step, were long gone.  

Cat thinks she can rebuild the gate network, given time, I reminded myself.  And that will change everything.

Father cleared his throat.  “Akin?”

I flushed, again.  “I think speed is more important than comfort,” I said.  “I might have to take a room at an inn near Caithness, so I can have a rest before going to ... meet ... her the following day, but it’ll still be quicker than taking the coach.”

“Good thinking.”  Father didn’t smile.  “Who else knows about this” - he rattled the box - “thing?”

“Cat,” I said.  “She hasn’t told anyone else.”

“Not yet,” Father said.  He stared at the box for a long moment, his face utterly unreadable.  “I should send a bunch of armsmen with you.”

I shook my head.  “Father, she isn’t ... this isn’t ... I ...”

Father snorted.  “Akin, whatever this is” - he rattled the box again - “the implications are likely to shake the entire family, if not the world.  And your sister has always been ambitious.”

“She wouldn’t try to hurt me,” I said.  I recalled all the times Isabella had turned me into things and hastily amended the statement.  “Not really.”

“Akin, you don’t know what’s really going on,” Father reminded me.  “You - we - don’t know who’s really in charge, or what they’re doing, or anything.  Isabella may be in command or ... someone else might be giving the orders.  And if she’s become someone’s puppet ...”

“Not Isabella,” I said.  

“That ... witch ... was able to manipulate her,” Father said.  He hadn’t forgotten the late unlamented Stregheria Aguirre.  “There are spells to watch for magical compulsions and suggestion charms.  It’s a great deal harder to detect, let alone counter, arguments that don’t rely on magic to influence someone.  Isabella could think she’s in charge, without ever quite realising - or admitting to herself - that she’s not.  I’ve seen it happen, Akin.  It never ends well.”

He shook his head.  “If you want to go alone, take your sword,” he added.  “And I shall expect to get a message from you, four days from now at the latest.  If it doesn’t arrive, I’ll send the armsmen.  Understand?”

“Yes, Father,” I said.  “I understand.”

“Be careful,” Father added.  “And don’t leave yourself too open.”

I nodded, wordlessly.  It was hard to believe Isabella would do me any real harm - she hadn’t had to give me the spellbreaker, given the risk it represented to her unknown ally - but my father was right.  Isabella had been manipulated before and the results had been disastrous for the entire family.  It had been sheer luck we’d been able to patch together a settlement - and an alliance - before the Great Houses started looking for someone to blame.  

“And apologise to Uncle Stephen, when you pass,” Father added.  “He went to some trouble to meet with me.”

“Yes, Father,” I said.  “What did he want to discuss?”

Father’s lips tightened.  “He has a relative he wants to bring home,” he said.  “And I was hoping to use it to ...”

“Like Isabella?”  I frowned.  Uncle Stephen was old enough to be my grandfather.  I hadn’t heard of any scandal surrounding him, but that was meaningless.  “Who did he ...?”

“No one is quite like Isabella,” Father said.  “But if Stephen wants his daughter home, we can use it.”

“To convince the council to bring Isabella home,” I finished.  “What did his daughter do?”

“She didn’t commit treason,” Father said.  He held up a hand.  I had the oddest feeling there was something he didn’t want to discuss.  “Right now, it doesn’t matter.  Go get your sword, then prepare yourself for the trip.  You can leave at the crack of dawn.”

“Yes, Father,” I said.

I walked into the antechamber, shot an apologetic look at Boswell and hurried back to the family wing.  The wards on the doors had been tightened, in hopes of discouraging the visitors from snooping.  Father had ordered it a couple of months ago, well before we’d started sending out invitations for the summer.  The residents - and even some of the servants - had complained about his sudden attack of paranoia, to the point of asking me to intervene.  I hadn’t been able to talk him out of it, or determine why he’d started being so careful.  He had seemed oddly unwilling to talk about it.

My rooms were closed and locked, but I tested the spells anyway before I stepped inside.  The downside of being born into the family was the need to guard against everyone else ... even one’s closest kin.  I was fairly sure Francis - and Penny - had sneaked into my room a couple of times, although I’d never been able to prove it.  In hindsight, I wondered if Uncle Malachi had sneaked in and out as well.  The thought made me shudder.  The genial old man façade had been nothing more than the smile on the face of the jackal.

It could have been worse, I thought.  I could have had Alana as a sister.

I dragged the trunk out from under my bed and opened it with a drop of blood.  Cat had offered to forge a chest for the family sword, but my father had flatly refused to let her.  It would have been secure, perhaps too secure.  The sword would bond with a close relative, if I died, but someone else - even Isabella, my sister - might not be able to get into a secure chest without destroying the contents.  I had no idea if the sword would survive.  It glowed with power, yet ...

My hand tingled as I grasped the hilt and held the blade in the air.  It glowed faintly, as if it were made of light rather than metal.  I was no swordsman - I’d never bothered to keep up with fencing lessons - but it didn’t matter.  The sword itself would guide me if I got into a fight.  And yet, it wanted blood ... I could feel the compulsion as I picked up the scabbard and sheathed the blade, then hung it on my back.  No one else could so much as see the sword, unless I drew their attention to it.  The obscurification charms were so powerful, there were times when I’d forgotten it was there, too.

I sat back on the bed, taking a long breath.  Tomorrow was not going to be fun.  And the day after would be worse.  And yet ... I shook my head in annoyance.  Father was right.  I didn’t know what was really going on.  I might be riding straight into a trap or ...

Whatever I find, I’ll deal with it, I told myself, as I stood and started to pack.  And then, perhaps, I can bring my sister home.

Chapter Six: Isabella 

I couldn’t help feeling a sense of unease as I sleepwalked through the next few days, as if I knew - on some level - that the hammer was going to fall.  Granny McVeigh, the local hedge witch, had told me to pay attention to such feelings, even though everything I’d been taught back home suggested they didn’t matter.  I brewed my potions, I studied my books and spent time with Callam, trying to distract myself from the lingering sense my world was going to collapse once again.  I kept going to the mailbox to check for mail, even though I knew it was unlikely anything would come for me.  The mailman only came once a week unless it was truly urgent.

It was almost a relief when the wards finally twanged a warning.  I straightened, frowning as I reached through the wards.  Only a close blood relative could have passed through the outer layers without setting off an alarm, only someone very close to me ... my father?  He’d visited once, after Uncle Ira’s death ... I stood, brushing down my shirt and trousers as I muttered orders to my staff.  It wouldn’t be hard to hide Callam and his workshop as long as my father didn’t insist on searching the hall from top to bottom.  The combination of misdirection spells and the hall’s sheer size would make it hard to find anything, at least without my help.  Or so I hoped.

I walked down to the main hall, feeling a growing sense of disquiet.  My father wouldn’t have sent me an unsigned letter.  He ... he might be coming now to tell me the news, to inform me that my brother was already married or ... my imagination provided too many possibilities.  It was easy to forget, at times, that I was several days away from Shallot.  The news might be outdated by the time it reached my door.  I glanced at Alice, who dropped a curtsey and scurried away to make tea.  I had to welcome my father, whatever he wanted.  I pushed open the main door and stepped outside.  Father knew I had only a handful of staff.  There was no way I could put on a formal reception ...

My heart skipped a beat as a horse cantered into the driveway and slowed to a halt.  My father wasn’t a great horseman ... I stared as Akin dropped to the ground, then tied the horse to a convenient pole.  I’d seen him a few months ago, but ... he seemed to have grown several inches since we’d last met.  I felt an odd little pang.  Akin had always been a little innocent.  It was strange to think he might have lost that innocence overnight.

“Isabella,” Akin said.  He looked at me and stared.  “I ...”

I reddened.  I was wearing trousers ... so what?  Female forgers wore baggy pants that were trousers, except they totally weren’t trousers ... or, at least, that was the explanation I’d heard.  It was like trying to explain the difference between skirts and kilts ... I shook my head in annoyance.  I didn’t have time for the absurdities and hypocrisies of High Society.  Besides, it wasn’t as if they’d like me if I wore dresses that brushed the ground.  They hated my guts.

“Akin,” I said.  I put my annoyance aside.  “Welcome to Kirkhaven Hall.”

“Thank you.”  Akin dropped a bow, a recognition that the hall was my place of power.  “It’s good to be here.”

I eyed him, my mind churning.  Akin moved like a man who’d been beaten halfway to death - or, more likely, had ridden like the wind.  I was surprised he hadn’t used the coach ... no, I was surprised he hadn’t sent a message ahead to warn me of his coming.  It was nice to see him again, but ... the sense of unease remained.  Akin wouldn’t have come without our father’s permission and that meant ... what?  Why was he here?

Akin looked up, his eyes sweeping the hall.  I tried to see it as he’d see it ... a ratty old building seemingly on the verge of collapse.  The remnants of Uncle Ira’s laboratory looked battered and burnt, as if there’d been a fire ... I supposed there had been.  Too many of the old man’s secrets had died with him, for better or worse.  I still had nightmares about some of the potions he’d fed me.  The old man had been a monster.

“We need to talk,” Akin said.

“So I gather,” I said.  “But I should invite you for tea first.”

The sense of unease, of displacement, only grew stronger as Akin followed me into the hall.  I could feel his eyes looking everywhere, noting the dust and damage we’d never bothered to clear away.  Morag had been felled in the hall ... in hindsight, perhaps I should have killed her instead of racing to confront Uncle Ira.  She’d vanished and then ... I didn’t know.  I led him through a pair of warded doors, into my office.  It wasn’t anything like as clean as it should be, I knew, but the locals didn’t seem to mind.  All they really wanted was for me to stay out of their way.  I was happy to comply.

“Please, be seated,” I said.  The sofa was the best piece of furniture in the hall, which wasn’t saying very much.  The framework had gone out of fashion years ago, while the cushions had been replaced several times over the last few decades.  “How is everyone?”

Akin frowned as Alice entered, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits.  “Father is well.  Mother is ... well, mother.  I ...”

“I understand your marriage will be taking place shortly,” I said, more waspishly than I’d intended.  I poured him a cup, then passed it to him.  “I wish you and she the very best of life.”

“Cat is well,” Akin said, not quite answering my unvoiced question.  He took a sip of his tea, then nodded in approval.  “Alana is ... learning the ropes at her father’s knee.”

“Over her father’s knee,” I snapped, with a sudden flash of anger.  It wasn’t fair.  It just wasn’t fair.  Alana had the chance to climb to the very top, a chance I’d always been denied.  It would be easier, perhaps, if I hadn’t been the only one.  We could have formed an alliance and banded together to claim our rights.  “Alana is ...”

“She’s grown up a lot since you last saw her,” Akin said.  His voice was mild, but there was a hint of firmness in his voice that would not be denied.  Somewhere along the line, he’d grown a spine.  “She isn’t the brat you remember.”

I nodded, feeling a twinge of shame.  And irritation.  Alana and I would have competed on equal terms, at school if not in adulthood.  She would have given me a good fight.  There would have been no shame in losing to my equal.  I could have taken it ... I wouldn’t have been happy, but I could have taken it.  And yet, I’d been paired with Cat instead.  I looked down at myself, reminding myself I wasn’t a child anymore.  I owed it to myself to be a little more adult.  Didn’t I?

“I suppose even she would have to grow up, sooner or later,” I managed, finally.  “How do you cope?”

“She isn’t a bad person.”  Akin shifted, uncomfortably.  “You heard about Malachi?”

“I read your letter.  Is he really dead?”

“Apparently so,” Akin said.  “But no one’s quite sure how he died.”

“Or someone isn’t talking,” I muttered.  “Did they find a body?”

“Ashes,” Akin said.  I had the strangest feeling he was marking time, dancing around something rather than bring it up.  “They checked the rubble.  They’re sure he died there.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.  Uncle Malachi had always been willing to talk to a little girl.  He’d helped me get my hands on books my father had always denied me ... in hindsight, after dealing with Uncle Ira, I couldn’t help wondering if his motives had been as pure as they seemed.  He certainly hadn’t taken his share of the blame, after my father had realised the book was missing.  I grimaced.  Akin had taken the blame and it had earned him a whipping, the first and only time - as far as I knew - that any of us had been beaten.  Father had certainly never laid a hand on me.

“I hope they’re right,” I said, finally.

“Yeah.”  Akin put his cup to one side.  “Isabella, I need to ask you something.  And I need you to answer honestly.”

I tensed, my fingers slipping automatically into a casting pose.  Akin wasn’t normally so ... blunt.  He’d grown up, too - it was harder to believe, now, that we were twins - but ... I guessed the Challenge and Francis’s death had hardened him a little.  And he’d been learning from our father.  He’d certainly picked up some of his mannerisms.

“You can ask whatever you like,” I said.  “And I will do my best to answer.”

Akin’s eyes met mine.  I stared back, knowing it was probably useless to try to deceive him.  Akin was my twin.  He knew me as well as I knew him.  He’d know if I lied.  He’d probably know if I tried to mislead.  He looked as if he didn’t really want to ask his question, as if he was a little scared of the answer ... a hundred possible questions crossed my mind, each more outrageous than the last.  I forced myself to wait, keeping my impatience under firm control.  I’d let him speak first even if I had to keep my mouth shut for hours.

“Isabella.”  Akin swallowed and started again.  “Isabella, where did you find a Zero?”

I tried to keep my face expressionless, but ... it was pointless.  My heart seemed to stop.  I’d assumed that, sooner or later, someone would guess the truth ... I’d done my best to come up with contingency plans, but none of them were practical.  Akin had a unique insight into Zeros.  If there was anyone who might guess the truth, it was him.

“I ...”  My mouth was suddenly dry.  “What do you mean?”

Akin shot me an irked look.  I didn’t blame him.  He knew I was stalling.  He knew I knew he knew I was stalling.  I might have been able to fool the rest of the family, but not him.  And my reaction had probably told him he was right.  There was a second Zero.

“I accidentally broke your spellbreaker,” Akin said.  “I took it to Cat, in the hope she could repair it.  And she discovered it was new.”

My fists clenched.  Cat.  Of course it had been Cat.  I should have expected it ... I kicked myself, mentally, for not insisting on the spellbreaker’s return as soon as it had served its purpose.  As long as it was intact, there was nothing to suggest it wasn’t anything other than yet another relic from the long-gone empire.  But if it had been broken ... I muttered a word that would have shocked my mother.  I hadn’t considered what might happen if the spellbreaker was accidentally broken.  Who’d try to break a working Object of Power?

The guy who’s betrothed to the one person who could replace it, I thought.  Damn it!

“Isabella, I need an answer,” Akin pressed.  “What is going on?”

“I have a friend,” I said.  Callam was more than a friend, but ... I wasn’t going to get into that.  Not yet.  “And I discovered he doesn’t have magic.”

Akin leaned forward.  “What happened?”

I took a breath and ran through the whole story, from the moment I’d discovered Callam exploring the estate to the final - desperate - struggle with Uncle Ira.  It had taken me longer than it should have done, I conceded privately, to realise the true nature of Callam’s talents.  I knew Cat, the only known Zero, and I still hadn’t put the pieces together until it was too late.  And then ... I wondered if my father was going to disown me, when he worked out that I’d known the truth well before the final struggle.  If I’d told him, when he’d visited in the aftermath, things would have been different.

“You didn’t tell father,” Akin said.  His thoughts were already running along the same lines.  “Why not?”

“I ...”  I wasn’t sure how to put my feelings into words.  “He was - he is - my friend.  I didn’t want to betray his secret, even though it would have made up for everything.  I didn’t want to see him forced into a role he didn’t want, not then ...”

“You have him forging for you now,” Akin said.  He looked oddly relieved, although I wasn’t sure why.  If I hadn’t been in command, if the remnants of Uncle Ira’s group had been calling the shots, I would never have been allowed to give him the spellbreaker in the first place.  “And what ... what do you intend to do?”

“I ...”  I found myself tongue-tied, again.  “I’m going to marry him.”

Akin blinked.  “Don’t you need father’s permission to get married?”

I had to laugh.  “I’ve been sent into exile,” I pointed out.  “And besides” - I held up my hair - “I’m a grown adult.  I don’t need his permission to get married.”

Akin grinned.  “I suppose it might be a little hard to boss you around.”

I nodded, feeling the plan slipping into place ... the plan I’d been unwilling to admit existed, even to myself.  I liked Callam.  I knew he liked me, too.  I could marry him.  We could set off on our own, if the family managed to take back the manor.  Callam was a Zero and I had skills of my own.  Between us, we’d have no trouble making a living.  I could name a dozen Great Houses that would pay us anything we wanted, in exchange for our services.  It wouldn’t be that hard to set off a bidding war.  

“I don’t need the family,” I said.  I’d managed to earn some degrees of my own over the past few years.  “Do they need me?”

“I do,” Akin said, frankly.  “I’ve always valued your advice.”

If anyone else had said that, I would have laughed in their face.  It would have come across as a terrible joke or a shamelessly stupid attempt at pointless flattery.  But Akin ...?  He’d written hundreds of letters to me and I’d replied, discussing everything from family politics to the endless stream of problems facing the Head Boy.  I knew he’d listened.  I knew he’d keep listening, even after he succeeded my father.  I could be the power behind the throne ...

My heart sank.  It wouldn’t be the same.  

“The family would hardly refuse you permission to marry him,” Akin said.  “He’s too important.”

“Unique,” I corrected.  Cat had been raised by a Great House.  She would always put the interests of her family first.  Callam ... didn’t have that handicap.  “And yet ...”

Akin leaned forward.  “Do you want to return?”

I honestly didn’t know.  I missed Shallot.  I missed the days when everyone had seen my blonde hair and fancy dresses and known, without ever having to ask, that I was a Rubén.  I missed the days when I could walk in and out of the dressmakers and tailors, ordering a new dress for each and every event before putting it into storage; I missed the days when I could meet my friends to practice magic and share gossip.  I missed ...

And yet, I knew I’d done well for myself.  I’d stopped Uncle Ira.  I’d found a friend with a practically unique talent.  I’d built a business growing ingredients, then brewing and selling potions.  Rare potions.  I had enough money, salted away in a handful of places, to last the rest of my life, even if the family kicked me out for good.  And my friends from the city hadn’t so much as written to me since I’d gone into exile.  Akin was about the only one who’d kept in touch.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.  There was a part of me that wanted to go home and rub their collective nose in my success.  They’d thrown me into a cesspit and I’d come out covered in diamonds.  And yet, there was another part of me that hated the idea of going back to the city and becoming just another Rubén.  What was the point of trying when there was no hope of winning the prize?  Sure, I could become the power behind the throne, but no one would ever know it was me.  “What do you want?”

Akin said nothing for a long moment.  “I want you to be happy,” he said.  “And I want you to be safe.”

“Sending me here wasn’t safe,” I pointed out, sharply.  “How many people back home knew about Uncle Ira?”

“No one, apparently,” Akin said.  “Father was pissed when he heard the news.”

“Which is probably why everyone involved kept their mouths firmly shut,” I said.  I found it hard to believe that no one had had the slightest hint of what he’d been doing.  But then, I’d been up to something too and no one would have known if I hadn’t had a nasty stroke of bad luck.  “Akin, how many people know about the spellbreaker?”

“Apart from us?”  Akin made a face.  “Father and Cat.”

I grimaced.  Father would try to use Callam.  He wouldn’t have a choice.  And Cat would probably want to meet someone who shared her talent ... the thought caused me a stab of jealously, surprising in its intensity.  Cat and Callam had something in common, something I couldn’t share.  The thought was maddening.  I hadn’t known what I had until I’d lost it.

“Joy,” I said.  I stood, brushing down my shirt.  I needed a distraction so I could think and ... there was only one thing that might distract him for a few moments.  “I think it’s time you met him.”

Chapter Seven: Akin

My sister had changed.

I studied her, thoughtfully, as she led me through the crumbling building.  She wore a shirt and trousers that would have landed her in real trouble if our parents had laid eyes on her.  Respectable young women did not wear trousers.  Even Cat preferred to avoid the baggy pants beloved by forgers, at least when I was around.  Her parents would have banned us from seeing each other if they’d even suspected she’d worn them in front of me.

And yet, it wasn’t that that had changed.  Isabella spoke and moved like an older woman, even though we were the same age.  There was a hint of bitterness in her voice, combined with a mixture of longing and fear that bothered me.  She’d been alone for weeks before she’d met her friend, then she’d had to deal with a mad warlock and his assistant ... a warlock who’d seen her as a combination of apprentice and test subject.  Even after that, she would have been largely alone for years.  The locals were her subjects, not her friends.  She could hardly have a close friendship with anyone, apart from Callam.  And that ... our parents were going to be furious.  Their daughter had been alone with a young man for years.

I grimaced.  That wasn’t going to go down well.  There should have been a degree of separation between them, but ... Isabella clearly hadn’t bothered.  She’d spoken with such assurance of marrying him that I knew they were already more than friends.  Her reputation would be dragged through the mud ... I snorted at the thought.  It wasn’t as if her reputation could get any lower.  I wanted her back, but she was my sister.  There were too many others who would prefer her to stay well away from the city, allowing them to pretend she didn’t exist.

That’s not going to be possible, I told myself.  Isabella and Callam being friends was very much the best-case scenario, compared to some of the ideas I’d feared during the long ride to Kirkhaven, but it was still going to be a major headache.  The family will have to welcome her home.

My muscles ached as I followed her down the stairs, passing through an ornate charm that felt like an oddly-modified obscurification spell.   Kirkhaven Hall was bigger than I’d realised, probably with several layers of basements below the hall itself.  Isabella and her staff hadn’t bothered to keep the place clean, save for a handful of rooms.  I could see dust everywhere, lying like snow on the creaky floorboards or covering a number of paintings of long-dead ancestors.  I wondered if they’d lived in the hall, if they were looking down on their descendants and shaking their heads in disgust.  Isabella’s letters had insisted the ghosts were gone, but I thought I could feel their presence.  They were common in ancient dwellings.  Kirkhaven Hall was nearly seven hundred years old.

I stopped as we reached a solid wooden door.  Isabella looked suddenly unsure of herself.  She’d sent a vapour message ahead, but ... I understood, suddenly, just how she must feel.  My parents and family had had years to get used to the idea of Cat and I being betrothed ... it was easier, I supposed, if someone was joining the family.  Callam was a complete stranger.  He hadn’t even spent the last seven years at Jude’s, learning how to be a magician and comport himself in High Society.  It might have been easier if she’d reported his existence to the family.  Callam could have been trained by Cat, while our parents - both sets of parents - had time to come to terms with the relationship.  I didn’t dare ask just how far they’d gone.  I really didn’t want to know the answer.

Francis went a lot further than anyone else, I recalled.  My cousin had had a nasty habit of rushing into things without thinking.  He’d been lucky to avoid a dozen scandals by the time he’d plunged to his death.  What would he have had to say about all this?

Isabella gave me a look that asked - begged - me not to cause trouble, then pushed open the door.  The air smelt faintly of molten metal, just like my workshop back home.  Callam stood by the table, hands clasped behind his back.  He was taller than I’d expected, easily a head taller than Isabella or I.  His brown hair was cut neatly, his face more rugged than handsome, although - I had to admit - he had a certain charm.  He wore a simple worker’s tunic that didn’t quite conceal his muscles.  It was gauche to show off one’s muscles in polite society - it was often seen as a sign of insecurity - but Callam didn’t seem to be showing off.  He’d probably been physically strong even before discovering his talents.  He’d grown up in the countryside, after all.

I’d had years of etiquette lessons, but I didn’t know how to address him.  A friend?  A prospective brother-in-law?  A … a what?  Callam seemed equally unsure.  It couldn’t be easy to come face-to-face with your girlfriend’s brother, particularly when you’d gone further than you should ... I shook my head, mentally.  Isabella was old enough to make her own choices.  And besides, it wasn’t as if Cat and I hadn’t been kissing as well.

“Akin, meet Callam,” Isabella said.  Her voice was quiet.  I had no trouble telling she was nervous.  “Callam, meet Akin.  My brother.”

I held out a hand.  Callam shook it, firmly.  His hand was strong, but scarred.  Mine was no different.  A lifetime spent forging had left its mark.  Cat was lucky, I’d often thought.  Her dark skin hid some of the scars.  It was never easy to heal the damage, not when magical devices were involved.  One just had to wait and hope the scars healed on their own.  No one was quite sure why.

“It’s good to meet you,” Callam said.  He had a Caithness accent, although it was oddly diluted.  His father had been a travelling teacher, according to Isabella, and he hadn’t been close to any of the locals.  “Isabella has told me a lot about you.”

“It’s all true, apart from the lies,” I assured him.  I wondered which stories she’d told him and what he’d thought of them.  “She’s told me a lot about you, too.”

I looked him up and down.  He seemed decent enough, although it was impossible to be sure.  Isabella was a better judge of character than I, but neither of us had realised Uncle Malachi was a snake in the grass until it was too late.  Not, I thought sourly, that it mattered.  The family would do whatever it took to get Callam’s services ... it struck me, suddenly, that a marriage would be a very small price to pay.  Father wouldn’t have any manoeuvring room once the family council realised what had fallen in their lap.  They’d come out ahead no matter the outcome.

“We should talk elsewhere,” Isabella said.  I thought she wanted to hold Callam’s hand, but didn’t quite dare in front of me.  “Come on.”

I followed them into a smaller sitting room - someone had made a half-hearted attempt to clean the table and dust the floors - and took a seat in an armchair.  Callam sat on a sofa, his hand reaching for Isabella before he caught himself.  I groaned inwardly, hoping and praying they wouldn’t do that in front of my parents.  It would land them both in hot water, at least if they did it before the wedding.  They’d definitely become more than friends.

“They know about your ... talents,” I said.  I wanted to know how he’d react.  “You do realise you’re practically unique?”

Callam smiled.  “So I’ve been told.”

I nodded.  “Do you like forging?”

“It is ... interesting,” Callam said.  “And it is very useful.”

Isabella tensed.  I didn’t think anyone else, even Callam, would have noticed.  It was very hard to see, but it was there.  I wondered if Callam really liked forging.  He might not take any real delight in his work, unlike Cat.  Or me.  Isabella might not have done him a favour, when she’d helped him to discover his talents.  He might find himself forced into a life he didn’t want.

He clearly likes Isabella, I thought.  And he’s willing to help her.

I cocked my head.  There were issues I’d have to discuss, with Isabella and Callam and our parents and ... probably his parents, too.  I chatted to him for a while, talking about nothing in particular.  His sisters had gone to Jude’s, weirdly enough.  I hoped they had the sense not to mention their powerless brother to anyone.  There were factions in the school who bitterly resented Cat’s decision to live and study elsewhere.

“I have to get back to work,” Callam said, finally.  “Isabella, will you be joining us for dinner?”

“I think I need to eat with my brother,” Isabella said.  She looked strikingly like our mother at that moment.  “Can we catch up tomorrow?”

I looked away, pretending not to hear the brief kiss.  Rose had done as much for Cat and I ... I sighed inwardly, again.  Rose could get in real trouble if our parents found out about that ... I looked back as Callam left, closing the door behind him.  He clearly hadn’t enjoyed our chat very much.  I didn’t blame him.  There was a reason most marital settlements were hashed out by the parents - and their lawyers - before the happy couple tied the knot.  I’d have to go through the whole ghastly business myself in a few weeks.

Isabella’s lips thinned.  “You didn’t have to be so hard on him.”

“I needed to know what he was made of,” I said.  I thought father would approve.  “He’s a good man.”

“He saved my life,” Isabella said.  “And don’t you forget it.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” I assured her.  Isabella had told me about a potion that had almost killed her ... would have killed her, perhaps, if Callam hadn’t saved her life.  Uncle Ira had been a madman, as well as a warlock.  “And I hope you haven’t forgotten how to act in polite society.”

Isabella turned red.  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said, so primly I almost laughed.  “Callam and I understand ...”

“You’ve been living here for so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be under constant supervision,” I reminded her.  “If you sit so close together back home, in the city, mother and father will be furious.”

“Fine,” Isabella snarled.  She made a visible attempt to compose herself, then stood.  “Come on.  You may as well see the rest of the estate.”

“I’d be delighted,” I said.  “And then I have to send a message home.”

Isabella gave me a sharp look.  “Saying what?”

“Father and I came up with a dozen theories about what could be happening here,” I told her, reluctantly.  “And most of them were ... considerably worse than the truth.”

“I see.”  Isabella said nothing for a long moment.  “Come with me.”

My muscles ached, again, as we walked up the stairs and out onto the lawn.  The grass was unkempt, as if Isabella couldn’t be bothered to hire a team of proper gardeners.  I hadn’t seen anything like it since my first visit to Lamplighter Hall, what felt like a millennium ago.  A bed of wild roses sat on the edge of the lawn, marking the boundary between the gardens and the rolling estate itself.  I couldn’t help thinking that something had churned the land up, thousands of years ago.  Isabella’s domains veered sharply between craggy hills, clumps of forest and patches of water that looked to have pooled in rough lakes.  It was hard to believe that anyone could make a living here, yet Isabella clearly had.

“You came at just the right time,” Isabella said.  “It’ll be raining again shortly.”

I shivered as a cold wind blew down from the distant mountains.  Shallot was normally warm and sunny for nine months in every year.  Kirkhaven, on the other hand, was often wet or bitterly cold or both.  Isabella’s letters had described so much snowfall, in winter, that the hall had practically been buried.  I hadn’t believed her, not until now.  The cold was so sharp that it seemed to freeze its way through my warming spells.  Isabella seemed unbothered.  I guessed she’d gotten used to it.

A thought struck me.  “I left the horse outside,” I said.  “Can I put him in the stable?”

Isabella held up a hand, then sent a vapour message.  “The stable girl will take care of him,” she said.  I thought I saw a smile on her lips.  “How long did it take to get here?”

“Most of a day,” I said.  My entire body was aching now.  I needed a hot bath and a multitude of potions.  “I swapped horses several times.”

“Lucky beasts.”  Isabella laughed.  She’d always liked riding.  “You’ll be staying the night?”

“If you’ll have me,” I said.  Tradition demanded that the distant estates kept a room open for unexpected guests, if they were family, but Kirkhaven Hall was a mess.  I didn’t know if Isabella had any rooms that could be put aside for guests.  “If not, I can go to the inn.”

“And what would father say,” Isabella asked, “if I left you to ride home in the rain?”

I glanced at her.  “It isn’t raining.”

Isabella indicated the darkening sky.  “It’ll be raining in ten minutes at the most or my name’s not Rachael Masterson.”

I had to smile.  “Your name isn’t Rachael Masterson.”

“Well, don’t tell anyone,” Isabella said.  She showed a glimmer of her old self as she winked at me.  “That’s the name I use to sign forms.”

The air rumbled.  I glanced up - the clouds were forming so rapidly I wondered if there was magic in their creation - and followed her to the greenhouses.  They were resting within a hollow, resting on a framework of brick and surrounded by a field of protective spells.  The design puzzled me.  Isabella could have built something larger and simpler if she’d wished.  It made no sense.

“You haven’t lived here,” Isabella said, when I asked.  “They’re designed like this to keep water from pooling above or below them.”

I followed her into the greenhouse.  It was hot inside, the warmth maintained by ... my eyes narrowed as I realised there were no obvious spells keeping the temperature level.  There had to be an Object of Power somewhere within the room, a clue - for those who thought outside the box - to what Isabella was really doing.  My eyes wandered along the rows of trays, feeling a flicker of admiration.  Isabella had designed it to make sure her plants never fruited at the same time, ensuring she had a steady supply of fresh ingredients.  There was nothing too exotic within eyesight - I was relieved she wasn’t growing mandrakes or poison sumac - but I had no doubt she could order whatever she needed.  She wouldn’t need that much, I supposed.  Callam could have helped her cut the recipes down to the bare essentials.

There was a flash of light outside, followed by a sudden rattling as rain crashed down on the greenhouse.  Isabella hadn’t been joking, I realised.  The rainfall was heavy, heavier than anything I’d seen back home.  I stared at the glass, hoping it was stronger than it looked. Cat blew glass for some of her experiments, charmed glass that never broke.  I didn’t think Callam was that advanced, although I could be wrong.  He might have taken his studies in a very different direction.

Isabella opened the door.  The noise suddenly grew louder.  The ground was wet, droplets of water hitting the soil and splashing in all directions.  I had the sudden absurd thought that someone was tipping a bathtub over us, allowing sheets of water to plummet to the ground.  Isabella laughed, cast a protective spell and stepped into the rain.  I followed her, muttering the charm under my breath time and time again.  The downpour was so heavy it kept threatening to overwhelm the spell.

I glared at her as we splashed our way to the second greenhouse.  “Are you mad?”

“This is a good day,” Isabella shouted back.  She opened the door and led me inside.  The heat was a relief, after the cold wind and colder water.  “It gets worse!”

“Really?”  It was hard to believe.  I’d kept the spell in place and yet my clothes were still drenched.  The spell hadn’t failed so much as it had been simply overwhelmed.  My socks were sodden and squishy.  “Is that even possible?”

“Yeah.”  Isabella’s face was suddenly illuminated by a flash of lightning.  The thunder that followed was so loud I covered my ears.  “It can get a lot worse.”

“Great,” I snarled.  I cleared my throat.  “What do you want to do?  I mean, do you want to stay here and get wet?  Or do you want to go home, where the rain’s lovely and warm?”

Isabella laughed.  “You make a convincing case.”

I rubbed my shirt, kicking myself for not having worn something tougher.  Isabella had complained about the rain often enough, when she’d written to me.  I should have taken her seriously.  It wouldn’t have been that hard to purchase something suitable in Caithness, if I hadn’t wanted to bring it with me.  I forced myself to put the thought aside.  I’d been through worse.  And Isabella had been here for six years.  I felt a stab of pure sympathy.  She deserved better.  Whatever she’d done, she deserved better.

The thought nagged at me.  “Seriously, what do you want to do?  Go home?  Or ... or what?”

“I wish I knew,” Isabella said.  The thunder rumbled again.  “Akin, I just wish I knew.”

Chapter Eight: Isabella

What did I want?

I mulled over the question as I showed Akin the rest of the estate - once the downpour had stopped - and then showed him to his room.  I wasn’t sure what I wanted.  To go home, to hold my head up high as I walked the streets, or to stay where I was and accept, deep inside, that Kirkhaven was home?  I didn’t know.  I wanted ... I wanted too many things, all of which were contradictory.  I wanted the freedom to come and go as I liked, to be myself and ... I made my way down to the workroom, my thoughts churning.  I knew I could have anything I wanted, if I brought Callam into the family.  And yet, I wasn’t sure what that was.

Or what he wants, I reminded myself.  Callam had never shown any interest in moving to Caithness, let alone Shallot.  I thought he’d stay with me, but ... would he want to accompany me to Shallot?  Or ... I didn’t want to think about it, but I had no choice.  What’ll he choose for himself?

Sandy nodded to me as I entered the workroom, her eyes wary.  Callam had probably already told her Akin had arrived.  I doubted she thought it was good news.  Anyone arriving without an appointment was pretty much always bad news.  I gritted my teeth as I nodded back, silently indicating the door.  Akin had told my father - our father - about Callam.  It was just a matter of time until the family started asking pointed questions.  I supposed I should be glad Akin had given me a few days warning.

“Isabella.”  Callam glanced at the door - Sandy had left without a word - then shrugged.  “How did it go?”

“I think he was impressed,” I said, although I wasn’t sure that was true.  I’d done well for myself, but my operations were on a very small scale.  The family owned miles upon miles of plantations that grew an endless supply of potion ingredients.  “I ...”

I took a breath.  “They know about you.”

Callam frowned.  “What’ll they do?”

“I don’t know,” I said.  “Some of them will try to use you.  Some of them will try to pretend you don’t exist.  Some will try to kill you.”

“My death is being plotted by people I’ve never met,” Callam said.  He sounded wondering, rather than concerned.  “What has my life become?”

I had to smile, despite the coiling sensation in my gut.  Callam’s world was very small.  He’d travelled from place to place as a child, but he’d never really grasped the immensity of the kingdom or the sheer power of the aristocracy.  He wasn’t used to thinking of himself as important, despite his talents.  The idea he might become a person of importance was completely alien to him, even though I’d told him - outright - that the Great Houses or the Monarchy would give him whatever he wanted in exchange for his services.  Or kill him, to keep him from falling into enemy hands.  If they’d been prepared to kidnap Cat, the child of a Great House, they’d have no problem doing the same to Callam.

He met my eyes, evenly.  “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”  I sat on the chair, resting my hands in my lap.  It had been a very long day and it wasn’t over yet.  “Father knows.  He’ll want to make use of the knowledge.”

Callam sat next to me.  I leaned against him, then caught myself, then told myself I was being silly.  Akin was in his room, well away from us.  Everyone else would keep their mouths firmly shut ... I grimaced.  I hadn’t realised just how used I’d become to simple physical affection until my old life had intruded into the new.  Mother would scream and shout if we showed such affection in public, even after we were married.  I’d never seen her so much as hold hands with my father, let alone ... embrace in front of us.  It was something we were going to have to discuss.

The thought caused me a pang.  My mother hadn’t so much as written to me over the past five years.  Father wouldn’t have forbidden her to write ... he just wouldn’t.  Was she so ashamed of me she couldn’t put pen to paper?  Or was she afraid of making matters worse?  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.  I’d never doubted my mother loved me, even though she’d been a distant presence in my life.  Akin and I had spent more time with our governesses than our parents.  I felt a sudden flash of pure envy.  Akin had spent more time with our father, over the last year, than I’d spent in my entire life.

“We can’t stay here.”  I forced myself to think logically.  “They’ll come for us.”

“The estate is supposed to be secure,” Callam reminded me.  “We could keep them out.”

I shook my head.  Kirkhaven’s wards were too old and too unreliable to stand up to the armsmen if they decided to attack.  The armsmen were largely distant blood relatives.  It was unlikely the wards would keep them out, particularly if they obtained an Object of Power and used it to break into the estate.  Hell, they could just lay siege to the estate and wait for us to starve.  It would take time, but they’d have it.

“We can either go there, to see what the family wants, or leave completely,” I said.  The thought of walking away from everything I’d built was terrifying, but there might be no other choice.  I’d made enough contact with underground smuggling rings to be fairly sure we could get out of the country.  “What do you want to do?”

“Stay with you.”  Callam smiled, then hugged me.  “You’re the first true friend I ever had.”

My heart twisted again.  He was the first person I’d met who didn’t have a reason to be my friend.  I’d never been short of friends back home, but none of them had stayed in touch after I’d been sent into exile.  My parents might be shocked at our friendship, let alone what it had become, yet I valued it too highly to let it go.  I hugged him back, then sighed.  Whatever we did, things were going to change.

“Your brother seems decent enough,” Callam said.  “And he came all this way to warn you?”

“Yeah.”  I had to smile.  I’d spent enough time on horseback to know just how badly Akin had to be suffering.  I hoped he wouldn’t have any trouble with the bath.  “We’ll have to discuss everything with him.”

“If you want to go back to the city, I can come with you.”  Callam frowned.  “If you’re not ashamed of me ...”

I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry.  It was hard to deal with Akin and Callam in the same room.  They represented two very different parts of my life.  And yet, I had absolutely no illusions about which one of us was really important.  Callam would be welcome in Shallot.  I doubted they’d be anything like as pleased to see me.

A hot flash of anger rushed through me.  I’d made a mistake.  There was no point in trying to hide from the truth.  And yet, I’d made something of myself.  I wanted to go home and rub my success in the family’s collective face.  Kirkhaven Hall might be small, compared to the family’s vast estates, but it was mine.  I’d turned my exile into a successful business.  Akin hadn’t done that.

I kissed him, lightly.  “We can’t do this in the city.  Not in public.”

And probably not in private either, I thought, as he kissed me back.  We’ll be chaperoned until we tie the knot.

“I understand,” Callam said.  “How much time do we have?”

“I don’t know.”  I stood, brushing down my trousers.  I’d have to change for dinner.  “Will you join us tonight?”

“Mum wanted me home,” Callam said.  “Do you want ...?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I promised.  I bent down and kissed him, then headed for the door.  “And thank you.”

The hall felt ... older, somehow, as I made my way to the dining room.  It was hard not to look at it through Akin’s eyes.  The building looked as if it had been stripped of everything important, then abandoned to the elements.  The walls were bare, scarred with traces of where paintings had once hung; dust lay on the floor or drifted in the air.  The floorboards creaked under my feet as I walked.  It was the sort of place I would have liked to visit and explore, if I hadn’t been sent into exile.  The hall was home and yet ...

Akin must be shocked, I thought.  I’d often considered hiring a small army of maids and cleaning the building from end to end, but it had seemed pointless.  The majority of the hall was just empty rooms.  He probably never realised how grotty the hall had become.

I stepped into the dining room and smiled.  My brother was standing in front of the fire, enjoying the heat.  I didn’t blame him.  The dining room was small, no bigger than my bedroom back home, but it leaked heat like a sieve.  Heating spells simply didn’t work for very long, thanks to the hall’s ancient wards.  Uncle Ira had never bothered, as far as I knew, to try to fix them.  It was well beyond me.

“If mother saw this place, she’d have a fit,” Akin said.  “You don’t have room for any guests.”

I snorted.  “How many guests do you think I have?”

“Not enough,” Akin said.  He took the seat I offered and looked at me.  “Do you eat all your meals here?”

“No.”  I shook my head as I sent a vapour message to the kitchen.  “I normally eat in the kitchen.”

Akin shot me an odd look.  I winced.  Eating in the kitchens was Not Done.  Even entering the kitchens was Not Done.  The thought of my mother cooking our meals, then washing the pots and pans ... I almost giggled.  Mother would sooner wear rags and sell the family silver than work in the kitchen.  It was hard to imagine any aristocrat lowering themselves to menial work.  Morag and I were the only ones I knew who’d done it and we’d both been sent into exile.

“It’s the best place to eat,” I said, struck with a sudden urge to justify myself.  “And there’s no point in keeping this place open when there’s just me.”

He didn’t look convinced.  I understood why.  He’d spent most of his life in Rubén Hall.  He would have done some work at Jude’s, taking care of himself, but the staff would have handled most of it.  The thought of Akin washing his own clothes ... I scowled.  I’d had to learn how to do that, during my first year in exile.  I’d eventually wound up spending a chunk of my allowance on clothes that could be cleaned by magic.  It had been the only way to keep things under control.

My heart sank as the maid appeared, carrying a tray of food.  She was doing her best, but she looked utterly untrained.  I didn’t care ... normally.  Akin had to be horrified.  A bad servant was a sign of a bad house, of a mistress who didn’t have the skill to run it.  Mother had drilled me in housekeeping skills, but ... what was the point?  I’d never thought I’d be hosting real guests.  I’d never thought ...

The maid placed the tray in front of us, then withdrew as silently as she’d come.  It wasn’t remotely proper ... I told myself, sharply, that the maid didn’t know any better.  I hadn’t bothered to train her in the proper form, in the correct way to act around her betters ... I wouldn’t have hired her at all if the housekeeper hadn’t been getting on in years.  I understood, suddenly, why so many society matrons were so mean to their servants.  A bad servant was an embarrassment.

“The food is a little bland here,” I said.  I wasn’t sure why I’d said that.  “But you’ll find it filling.”

I stood and carved the chicken, careful to ensure that I took just enough and no more.  I’d never realised just how much one could do with a roast chicken, as long as it remained untouched.  The bird on the table could have fed five or six people without anyone feeling they were undernourished.  The remainder of the meat would be served again, later in the week, while the bones and fat would be rendered down to make stock.  It was yet another reality I’d never known existed, at least until I’d been sent into exile.  No wonder Morag had been so grumpy all the time.

“It tastes good,” Akin assured me.  “My compliments to the chef.”

“Really?”  I made a face.  “I’m glad.”

I tasted my own food, trying to imagine how it must taste to him.  Shallot was the centre of a global trading network.  Our ships roamed the seas from Maxima to Minima, from the distant Spice Isles to the Silver Islands and Hangchow.  Akin had grown up eating food seasoned with exotic spices, trying meats and vegetables from all over the world.  One could find anything in Shallot, from traditional meals to ethnic food and fusion meals created by mixing elements from different continents into one.  The roast chicken was good, no doubt about it, but ... bland.  Akin had to be being polite.  He had to be.

“I sent father a message,” Akin said.  “He’ll be relieved, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” I echoed.  Father might be ... probably would be, even.  But he’d also be aware that Callam’s existence opened up a whole new can of worms.  “Can we talk about something else?”

Akin nodded.  “What did Uncle Malachi say to you?”

I blinked.  “Since I went into exile?  Nothing.”

“You’re sure?”  Akin sounded concerned.  “Nothing at all?”

“Akin, the only person who wrote to me regularly was you,” I snapped.  I wasn’t about to tell him that I’d saved all his letters.  “Father wrote a few times, and the family council forwarded me a few newsletters, but that was it.  Uncle Malachi never wrote to me.  The last time I so much as saw him was just before we went to school.”

“He encouraged Francis to put a knife in my back,” Akin said.  “I still don’t know what he was thinking.”

“Francis?”  I snorted.  Francis and I had never really gotten on.  “I don’t think he was thinking at all.”

Akin nodded.  “He let Malachi do his thinking for him.”

“Probably,” I said.  It was hard to come up with any real feeling for either Malachi or Francis.  They’d both cut me out of their lives when I was sent into exile.  “Why do you ask?”

“Malachi died under suspicious circumstances,” Akin said.  “And there are - there were - all sorts of strange rumours about him.”

“There always are,” I pointed out, crossly.  There were people who thought I was a super-powerful warlock, just because I’d killed Uncle Ira.  They thought ... I shook my head.  The rumours had gotten so absurd, so quickly, that they hadn’t had any real impact on my life.  “If he’s dead, does it matter?”

Akin - very visibly - changed the subject.  “Lucy Lamplighter and I have become friends,” he said.  “I think you’d get along with her.  You have a lot in common.”

I frowned.  I couldn’t recall ever meeting Lucy Lamplighter.  House Lamplighter hadn’t been one of our close allies, back before my exile.  The society papers had insisted she was getting married to a commoner, horror of horrors.  My lips twitched at the thought.  Callam was a commoner too, although one with a nearly unique talent.  The Great Houses had always been careful to invite talented newcomers to marry into the family.  Mother had been a very talented student when her marriage had been arranged.

“I look forward to meeting her,” I said.  “What does Cat think of her?”

Akin smiled.  “Lucy was kind enough to let us snatch a few seconds together,” he said.  “Cat likes her.”

I grinned.  I had no trouble reading between the lines.  Akin and Cat had been alone, unchaperoned, long enough for a kiss or two ... dozen.  Perhaps even a little more ... I made a mental note of it, just in case Akin decided to report Callam and me for kissing.  I thought my brother would be smart enough to keep his mouth shut about that ... not, I supposed, that it mattered.  Callam could be a horrible person, so ghastly he made Stregheria Aguirre look like a sweetheart, and my family would still do whatever it took to bind him to us.  I’d known people, men and women alike, forced into unhappy matches because blood and power spoke louder than human decency ...

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said.  “What else has happened, since you last wrote?”

“Louise has won election to Magus Court,” Akin said.  “Do you remember her?”

I frowned.  Louise was twelve ... no, she’d been twelve.  I recalled the know-it-all she’d been very clearly.  She’d been loud and obnoxious and friendless and ... I shook my head.  She’d done well for herself, for all her radical politics and hatred of the aristocracy.  She’d certainly done better than me.

“I remember the child she was,” I said.  “Do you like her?”

“I may have helped her,” Akin said.  He sounded unsure if he’d done the right thing.  “She had me tutoring her in the ways of High Society.”

“Aha,” I teased.  I hoped no one guessed what he’d done.  Even if Louise was completely ineffectual, High Society would still be looking for someone to blame.  “No wonder she hates us so much.”

Akin, very maturely, gave me the finger.

Chapter Nine: Akin

When I woke, my room was bitterly cold.

I sat up, shivering.  It was supposed to be summer.  High Summer was only a few weeks away.  And yet, it was so cold I half-expected to see ice on the window.  Isabella hadn’t been kidding, I decided, when she’d advised me to wear heavy pyjamas when I went to bed.  I’d cast a bunch of heating spells when I’d entered the room and closed the door, yet they were almost completely useless.  There was something about Kirkhaven Hall that interfered with magic.  The wards were so old they’d practically sunk into the stonework.  I honestly didn’t understand why Isabella hadn’t taken the wards down and replaced them.  Perhaps they were the only thing keeping the hall from falling down.

The thought wasn’t funny, I told myself, as I stumbled into the bathroom, stuck my fingers in ice-cold water and muttered a heating spell.  We’d had hot and cold running water for generations, yet whoever had built the hall - and then abandoned it - didn’t seem to have believed in it.  It looked as though large amounts of infrastructure had simply been torn out of the hall when it had been abandoned.  Isabella probably couldn’t replace the missing piping without doing a lot of damage.  It would probably be cheaper to knock the entire building down and start again.

I undressed, slipped into the tub and washed quickly, then dried myself with a spell before the cold could start to bite again.  Someone - one of the maids, probably - had left a pile of clothing on my bed while we’d been eating dinner, including a set of starkly unfashionable trousers that looked nice and warm.  The fur itched, but the cold started to recede.  I thought I heard the sound of hoofbeats outside as I made my way down to the dining room, wondering - again - how Isabella had managed to make a life for herself in the hall.  It felt like she was living inside a tumbling ruin.

Isabella looked as if she hadn’t slept at all when I stepped into the dining room.  We’d chatted for hours, catching up on the news from home, and gone to bed very late, but ... I guessed she’d been unsure what to do.  She smiled at me, then indicated a chair.  I sat and poured myself a mug of coffee.  It tasted foul, but jerked me awake.

The housekeeper entered and dropped a curtsey.  “My Lady, there is a letter for you.”

I saw a shadow cross Isabella’s face as she took the envelope.  Magic sparkled across the paper, tiny spells touching her fingers and confirming her identity.  My eyes narrowed when I saw the family crest on the seal.  Father had known I was going to Kirkhaven.  He wouldn’t have written so quickly ... would he?  The letter had to have been dispatched shortly after I’d left, perhaps even before.  And that meant ... what?  Father would have told me if he’d written to Isabella ...

“It’s from the family council,” Isabella said.  She sounded as if she didn’t want to know what was inside.  “Did father tell them about ...?”

About Callam, I finished.  It wasn’t likely.  Father would have kept the whole affair a secret until he knew what was actually happening.  The last thing anyone needed was for the council to panic and do something stupid, secure in the knowledge my father would either sort out the mess or take the blame.  Father wouldn’t have told them.  Not yet.

“I don’t think so,” I said.  “Open it?”

Isabella frowned, then tore open the seal.  The letter inside was written on charmed paper, family magics blended into the writing to prove the identity of the senders beyond all doubt.   I watched her face, carefully, as she read the short note.  A mix of emotions ran over her, from delight to fear and a grim uncertainty about the future.  All of a sudden, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what it said either.

“They want me to come home,” Isabella said.  She swallowed, hard.  “Why?”

I took the letter and read it, quickly.  It was nothing more than an invitation for Isabella to return to Shallot to face the family council, bringing anyone she wanted along with her.  I stared down at it for a long moment, utterly confused.  The timing made no sense.  The family council wouldn’t have recalled her unless it had some reason to recall her, yet - as far as it knew - there was no reason.  Father could have told them about the mystery Zero, I supposed, but he wouldn’t.  My thoughts ran in circles.  The whole affair made no sense.

“They know,” Isabella said.  “They must know.”

“Unless it’s a wild coincidence,” I mused.  “Uncle Stephen wanted his daughter to return home.  They could have made a deal.”

Isabella frowned.  “That might have made sense a week ago,” she said.  “But not now.”

I studied the letter.  The timestamp suggested it had been written shortly after I’d left Shallot and probably given to a messenger, rather than sent via the mail coach.  Uncle Stephen had some clout, I mused.  It was possible he’d talked the council into recalling Isabella as a sign of good faith.  I didn’t know what his daughter had done, but it couldn’t be worse than betraying the family.  Father would have no room to object if his own daughter came home.

“I don’t know him that well,” I said.  “And yet, why would he invite your friends as well?”

Isabella gave me a pitying look.  “How many of us travel alone?”

I flushed.  I’d ridden alone to Kirkhaven, but that was rare.  Vanishingly rare.  My father was always escorted by armsmen, my mother always surrounded by a small army of maids.  The richer you were, the more clients and servants you were supposed to keep around.  Alana had spent most of her schooling surrounded by friends and cronies.  Isabella would have been the same, if she’d stayed in school.  Father had told me off, more than once, for not paying close attention to my network of clients ...

“I suppose you might just have had a maid,” I said, crossly.  Isabella didn’t look as if someone dressed her every morning, let alone painted her face before the rigours of the day, but someone had to wash her clothes.  “It still doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” Isabella agreed.  “But if I refuse to go ...”

I made a face.  Technically, Isabella was meant to stay within the estate and the lands surrounding it.  Practically, it was unlikely anyone would care where she went as long as she stayed out of Shallot itself.  And yet, if she refused to return to the city when called ... who knew what would happen?  It might end badly.  She’d escaped execution because she’d been a child, six years ago.  No one had considered her solely responsible for her fall.  Now?  The council would be justified in declaring her permanently banished - or worse - if she defied them.

And yet, they’d bend over backwards to get Callam on their team, I thought.  Do they know about him?

“If I go ...”  Isabella seemed uncertain of herself.  “I could show Callam the city.  Perhaps he’d like it.”

“Perhaps,” I agreed.  “And his existence would make it hard to banish you again.”

“Yeah.”  Isabella shaped a vapour message, then dispatched it.  “If he wants to go.”

I read the letter for the third time as I waited.  Isabella was going to find it hard to adjust back to the city, after spending so long in the countryside.  She’d picked up bad habits ... I hoped, prayed, that she wouldn’t be too close to Callam where someone could see.  The maids might report whatever they saw to my mother, for fear of what she’d do if she found out they’d kept something from her.  Cat had told me her maids weren’t entirely trustworthy.  I believed her.

Callam entered, looking concerned.  I studied him thoughtfully as Isabella explained what had happened, then the possible implications.  I’d know country folk who wanted to live in the big city, from rural aristocrats to commoners, but Callam didn’t strike me as someone who’d be happy in Shallot.  Rose had explained, once, that she’d needed years to get used to the big city.  And she’d been a great deal younger when she’d entered Shallot for the first time.

“It might be nice to visit,” Callam said, when Isabella had finished.  “Do you want to go?”

Isabella still seemed uncertain.  “It might be nice,” she echoed.  “But we don’t know what’s really going on.”

I nodded in agreement.  Either we’d had an incredible stroke of good luck or ... or we were missing something.  But what?  If the whole thing was a ploy to lure Callam into the city ... it struck me as over-complicated.  Uncle Stephen was up to something, I was sure.  Maybe he did want his daughter home.  Maybe ... maybe what?  I didn’t know.

“There are several points,” I said.  “First” - I nodded at the letter - “you have been summoned to face the council.  They can hardly complain if you return to the city at their invitation.  If you refuse to attend, they can banish you permanently ... perhaps even order you to leave the country completely.  There’s no way you can afford to ignore the request without paying a steep price.  Second ...”

I took a breath.  “Second, if they agree to revoke your banishment, you would be able to take your place in High Society and Callam would be able to study in the Workshop.  He’d be able to learn from another Zero, not from someone who cannot even touch a piece of work without ruining everything.  It would allow him to reach his full potential.”

Callam shot me an unreadable look.  “And what if we stay here?”

“Third, like it or not, Callam is going to be a target.”  I met his eyes.  “I don’t know if someone else has figured out the truth, or if this is just a wild coincidence, but there’s no way you’ll be left undisturbed.  The family may leave you alone, on the grounds they don’t need you.  The remainder of the world will not.”

“And you think he’ll be safe in Shallot?”  Isabella’s voice was hard.  Something was bothering her.  “Remind me, who got kidnapped with Cat and Rose?”

“Me,” I said.  Everyone had assumed Jude’s was safe.  Stregheria Aguirre and her cronies had proved it wasn’t.  “I haven’t forgotten.”

I glanced around the room.  “If you stayed here, could you defend yourself?”

Isabella gave me a nasty look.  I knew what she was thinking.  The hall was impossible to defend.  The only reason it hadn’t been attacked in hundreds of years was that no one had thought there was anything worth taking.  That was about to change.  Isabella might be able to keep out small groups, but not entire armies or master assassins.  It was just a matter of time until someone came for Isabella and Callam and took them.

“They can’t make me work for them,” Callam protested.  “Can they?”

“They’d hold a knife to Isabella’s throat to make you obey,” I said.  I knew from Cat that spells simply didn’t cling to Zeros, although no one was sure why.  “And they’ll keep hurting her until you do as they wish.”

Callam paled.  He did like my sister.  I would have been more reassured if I’d known what was going on.  Someone was moving pieces around in the shadows, preparing for ... for what?  The letter in my hand mocked me.  What was really going on?

“We can head back home, where you’ll both be safe,” I said.  “And you” - I nodded to Callam - “can get some proper lessons.”

Isabella’s face darkened.  It struck me, suddenly, that she was jealous.  Jealous of ... I groaned, inwardly.  Cat and Callam were going to be spending a lot of time together.  I wasn’t sure I liked it either.  Cat had often spoken of how much she’d like to meet a peer, someone who had the same talents and love for forging.  My heart sank in dismay.  What if ...

I told myself I was being silly.  Cat and I had risked social death to kiss ... not, I supposed, that Cat really needed to worry about social death.  A Grande Dame who tried to make her life miserable would be in deep trouble when her family realised what she’d done.  Hell, I wasn’t a slouch myself.  My family was known for bearing grudges.  I might not set out to avenge myself on a rumourmonger, but everyone would certainly fear I would.  Father - and Isabella - certainly would go to a great deal of trouble to exact revenge.

And yet, I couldn’t help feeling worried.  I knew how the world really worked.  Love simply didn’t enter into an aristocratic marriage, not when family interests were at stake.  Father had been blunt, when he’d explained the facts of life to me.  Cat and I were expected to marry to preserve the alliance between our families.  We could do whatever we liked in private - be lovers or take lovers - as long as we acted the perfect couple in public.  I knew Cat liked me - she could easily have avoided being alone with me, kissing me - but I couldn’t help feeling ...

There’s no choice, I told myself, savagely.  Callam needs training.  Proper training.

“I’ll come with you,” Callam said, to Isabella.  “I’ll have to let my parents know.”

“They could come too,” I said.  My parents would want to meet Callam’s, sooner or later.  If nothing else, they’d have to sit down and discuss the marriage settlement.  “We’d have to get a coach anyway ...”

“No,” Isabella said, quickly.  “The fewer, the better.”

Callam nodded.  I wondered, idly, if his parents knew how close Callam and Isabella had become.  What would they say, when they heard the news?  Their lives would be turned upside down by sheer random chance.  I was tempted to suggest they came anyway, but I had to admit Isabella had a point.  We really didn’t know what was waiting for us.  If something funny was going on ...

You’re being silly, I told myself.  We’re not going to have to run from an army of angry uncles and aunts.

“Callam and I will go pack,” Isabella said.  She looked down at her hands, as if there was something she didn’t want to say.  “There are some ... things ... I want to take back to the city.  Can you go speak to Alice and arrange for a coach?  We should be able to get there in a couple of days, if we swap horses at the post stations along the way.”

“It might be better to proceed with a little more care,” I said, warningly.  “No need to murder the poor horses.”

Isabella nodded, then stood.  I hoped she’d have the sense to pack dresses, rather than trousers.  And other clothes she wouldn’t be ashamed to wear in Shallot.  The family council was definitely up to something.  Perhaps the whole scheme was a plot to embarrass my father.  It was possible.  There were wings of the family that had long wanted to displace mine as the core bloodline, an easier task now that I was the only viable heir.  I smirked at the thought as they left.  They were in for a shock.  Isabella had been in disgrace, when she’d left the city, but she was coming home with a priceless asset.

I stared down at the letter, wondering just what had happened in that meeting.  None of the councillors could have made that decision unilaterally.  Father hadn’t been able to get a majority behind him, not on that matter ... how, I wondered coldly, had Uncle Stephen succeeded?  What deals had been made, behind the scenes?  What calculations - whose calculations - indicated my father would be unable to stand in their way?  Just what in the hell was really going on?

The hall felt colder, somehow, as I made my way down to the housekeeper’s office.  I disliked politics, particularly intra-family politics.  My father was one of the most powerful men in the city, yet I didn’t think it had made him happy.  He’d been unable to change the rules, despite his daughter’s growing resentment.  He hadn’t even been able to save his young daughter from a very adult punishment, one that could easily have been a great deal worse.  I wished, just for a moment, that Francis had been a reasonable person.  He could have taken the reins from me and I could have spent my life pushing the limits of the possible in the forgery.

“My Lord.”  Alice curtseyed to me.  I was amused to note her office was practically identical to her counterpart’s, back home.  The family never changed tradition, even when it made no sense.  “What can I do for you?”

“Please arrange a coach to take myself, Lady Isabella and ... Callam to Shallot,” I said, slowly.  “And prepare us a packed lunch for the day.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Alice said.  “Was there anything else?”

I glanced around, wondering if Isabella and Callam would return.  It was hard to believe they’d want to leave Shallot.  Isabella had been happy in the city, before she’d been sent into exile.  She’d told me she wanted to go home, in her first set of letters.  And Callam ... once he saw the city, I was sure he would never want to leave.  There was just so much to do.

And there will be people who’ll want to make sure he doesn’t leave, I reminded myself.  In hindsight, perhaps it would have been wiser to travel with a small army of armsmen.  And one of them just happens to be your betrothed.

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