The Zero Curse

(The Zero Enigma, Book II)

Christopher G. Nuttall

http://www.chrishanger.net
http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/
http://www.facebook.com/ChristopherGNuttall

Cover by Brad Fraunfelter

www.BFillustration.com

All Comments and Reviews Welcome!
Cover Blurb

Caitlyn Aguirre is no magician ...

... But that doesn't make her useless.

After discovering her true talent and uncovering the long-lost secret behind Objects of Power, Cat returns to school intent on showing everyone what she can do. But her mere existence is a threat to the balance of power, convincing some to befriend her, some to try to use her ... and some to remove her. 

And when she and her closest friends become the target of a deadly plot, she must use all her wits to save them and escape before she becomes the first casualty in a deadly war.

Dedication

To Larry Niven, who was kind enough to let me borrow one of his concepts, and Jerry Pournelle, who passed away as I was editing this manuscript.

Rest in Peace.

Author’s Note

Reviews are important these days - the more reviews, the more promotion.  If you liked this book, please review it on Amazon Kindle or Goodreads.

Thank you.

CGN
Prologue

It was a hot summer day when I realised - for the first time - just how vulnerable I truly was.

I was ten at the time and, despite everything, I hadn't given up hope that I might have a spark of magic. It wasn't uncommon for magicians not to show much - if any - signs of magical talent before turning twelve, when they would be schooled in magic. Or so my parents kept telling me, as they tried to teach me more and more arcane disciplines in the hopes of shaking something loose. My sisters were streaking ahead and I ...

... I hadn't even managed to cast a single spell. 

If I hadn't been able to pick up the Family Sword - which could only be handled by my bloodline - I would have wondered if I was truly my father’s daughter. I could sense my father’s disappointment and my mother’s concern, even though they tried to hide it. They had to wonder if I, Caitlyn Aguirre, would bring down the whole family. Our bloodline was strong in magic. A child born without the ability to use it would shame us.

It was a hot month, the hottest on record. My sisters and I would have loved to spend it in the swimming pool or paddling near the beach. Our friends - Alana and Bella’s friends, more accurately - had already decamped, leaving Shallot for their country estates where it was cooler. We wanted to go with them too, but we hadn't been allowed to leave. Great Aunt Stregheria had come to stay.

I still find it hard to believe that Great Aunt Stregheria was my father’s aunt. She was a tall dark woman, the tallest I’ve ever seen, her hair hanging down loosely in a manner that signified she was an unmarried woman. It was easy to understand why. I couldn't help thinking that she looked rather like a vulture, with an angular face and dark eyes that seemed to glitter with malice as she peered down at us from her lofty height. She was one of those unpleasant adults who firmly believed that children should neither be seen nor heard and she hadn't been shy about making her opinions known. She’d been scathing about my failings in magic. And she’d drilled my sisters in basic manners until even Alana was sick of her.

I didn’t know why she bothered to visit us. I still don’t. She complained about everything, from the food to the heat. We were in trouble if we didn't curtsey just right when she saw us and when we deliberately stayed out of her way. She expected us to wear our formal clothes at all times, even though it was far too hot; she expected us to wait on her at table, as if we were common maids. She’d get up late, have a long breakfast and then spend an hour or two with Dad before ... well, we didn't know what she was doing. We didn't really care either. We just wanted her gone. 

One day, the hottest day of the summer, we managed to slip away early. Mum didn't say anything to us, let alone drag us back into the house. By then, I think she was sick and tired of Great Aunt Stregheria making herself at home. She had a home of her own. I rather hoped it was a cave somewhere high up a mountainside, but I doubted it. Why couldn't she go back home and stop bothering us? Great Aunt Stregheria was the sort of person who gave magic-users a bad name.

There was a little marshy pond down by the grove, one we’d paddled in when we were younger. We thought it was just far enough from the house - while still being part of the grounds - to escape detection, at least for a while. Dad hadn't given Great Aunt Stregheria any access to the wards, we thought. She’d have been summoning us all the time if she’d had control. We took off our expensive shoes and splashed through the water, enjoying the cool liquid against our feet. For once, even Alana was too relieved to be away from the witch to indulge in a little malice. We were, just for an hour or two, a normal trio of sisters.

It didn't last, of course.

Great Aunt Stregheria came striding through the grove in high dudgeon, her face twisted with rage. I don’t think she was mad at us, specifically, but she was mad. We froze, fear holding us in place as solidly as any spell, as she stamped towards us. I had no idea where she’d been, or what she’d been doing, but ...

“You little brats,” she snapped. In hindsight, I suspect she wanted to take her anger out on someone. “Get out of there!”

Normally, we would have obeyed instantly. But we were hot and sweaty and very - very - tired of her. We didn't move. 

Great Aunt Stregheria lifted her hand and cast a spell. I saw a flash of brilliant greenish light, an instant before the spell stuck me - struck us. Alana screamed - I might have screamed too, I’m not sure - as magic flared around her. My skin tingled unpleasantly, as if I was caught in a thunderstorm. I had an instant to see my black hand turning green and warty before the world grew larger. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut as I splashed into the water, then jerked them open as my legs started to move automatically. The tiny pool - so shallow that it barely reached our knees - was suddenly huge. 

I broke the water, just in time to see Alana and Bella become frogs. My head swam as I grappled with the sudden change. It wasn't the first time I’d been transfigured, but ... but ... this was far worse. There were no safeties worked into the spell. I could feel the frog’s mind gnawing away at mine, threatening to erode my thoughts. The water was practically hypnotic, pulling at me. If I hadn't been panicking, if I hadn't managed to hop out of the water, I might have been lost.

The spell on me wore off in an hour, although it wasn't until two years later that I understood why. By then, Dad had literally thrown Great Aunt Stregheria out of the hall and ordered her never to return. The spell on my sisters lasted nearly a week before it finally collapsed. Dad was delighted, utterly over the moon. He insisted I had a definite magical talent. I had to have something, he reasoned, to escape such a complex spell. Our parents had been unable to unravel it for themselves.

I knew better. Alana and Bella had been trapped, but neither of them had been in any danger of losing themselves in an animal’s mind. Their magic had even fought the spell when it was first cast. But I had no magic to defend myself. The protective spells Mum and Dad had laid on me had never been anchored properly because there was nothing for them to anchor to. It was sheer luck that I’d survived long enough for the spell to unravel. I was defenceless. Anyone could cast a spell on me.

It was a lesson I should never have forgotten. 

I was a zero. And being powerless was my curse.
Chapter One

The workbench was ugly.

It had been made of dark brown almond-tree wood, once upon a time. It would have gleamed under the light, when it was new; now, it was covered in burn marks and scratches and pieces of mismatched wood where its previous owner had replaced broken drawers and covering with newer material. Half the drawers were tight, so tight that opening them was a struggle; the remainder were so loose that I felt I’d have to replace them sooner rather than later. And I’d found five secret compartments, concealed by careful design rather than magic, one of which had been crammed with gold coins from a bygone era. 

Yes, it was ugly. But it was mine and I loved it.

The workbench had been in the family for centuries, according to my father. It had belonged to Anna the Artificer, once upon a time, before it had gone into storage after her death. Her children hadn’t had the heart to use it for themselves, apparently. None of them had come close to matching their mother when it came to forging talent. If there hadn't been stories of her fighting a duel with a prospective suitor, I’d have wondered if she’d been a Zero. There were no stories about her forging Objects of Power - at least, none that had been passed down through the ages - but some of her Devices of Power had lasted nearly a decade without maintenance and repair. Very few forgers could make that claim.

Dad had given me the workbench, along with a workroom and suite of my very own. He’d said that I was the first person in centuries to live up to Anna’s legacy, the first person to deserve to sit at her workbench and forge. Personally, I thought he felt a little guilty. My sisters - Alana and Belladonna - had long since had their rooms decorated, to mark their progress in magic, but I’d never managed to cast even the simplest of spells. Until recently, everyone had assumed that I was either a very slow learner or a freak. And I was a freak.

Just a very valuable freak, I thought. 

The thought made me smile. It was good to be appreciated, to be something more than my family’s private shame. I still didn't understand why I could forge Objects of Power - where everyone else was limited to Devices of Power - but it gave me a talent none of my sisters could match. Alana had never been a good forger - Bella had been too lazy to learn more than the basics and only then because Dad had pushed her nose to the grindstone - yet it wouldn't have mattered if she spent every waking hour at the workbench. I was the only person who could forge Objects of Power.

“I can still turn you into a toad,” Alana had said, last night. She’d come home from school, along with Bella. “And you can't do that to me without help, can you?”

“No,” I’d said. My sister was a spiteful person, now more than ever. I was careful to wear protective trinkets every time I saw her. “But anyone can turn me into a toad.”

I leaned back and surveyed my new domain. Dad hadn't skimped on outfitting the chamber, either. Two walls were lined with bookcases, sagging under the weight of reference textbooks and a small collection of reprinted volumes from the Thousand-Year Empire. I wasn't the only one who could read them - I’d had Old Script drilled into my head before I’d reached my first decade - but I was the only one who could make use of them. The instructions for making Objects of Power were easy to find, if one had access to a decent library, yet something had been left unsaid. It had been sheer luck that I’d realised that the missing ingredient, something so obvious the ancient magicians had never bothered to write down, had been someone like me. 

Maybe I couldn't use magic personally. It didn't make me useless.

A second workbench, covered with handmade tools, sat near the door, next to a furnace, a kiln, a set of cupboards and a giant translucent cauldron. Dad had crammed one of the cupboards with everything a budding forger would want, while Mum had filled the other with potion ingredients. I hated to think how much it must have cost, even though I knew my family was rich and that my sisters had earned rewards for themselves, over the years. Being best friends with a commoner had taught me more than anyone had realised. I was almost embarrassed at the thought of bringing Rose into my workroom. A single gemstone - like the ones hidden in one of my drawers - would be more than enough to buy and sell her entire family.

I put the thought aside as I carefully pulled on a set of protective robes, tied my hair into a tight bun and inspected myself in the mirror. My dark face was marred by a nasty burn from when I’d managed to splash hot potion on myself, although it was healing nicely. I had a nasty feeling that I’d have forger’s hands - hands covered in burn marks - by the time I was twenty, even though my tutors had drummed safety precautions into me from the very beginning. It wasn't something that bothered me, although Alana had made snide remarks about me not having ladylike hands. It was proof that I was more than just another aristocratic brat entering High Society.

Not that High Society ever really cared about me, I thought.

It was a grim thought. I’d gone to birthday parties, of course, doing the social whirl that ensured that everyone who was anyone in Shallot knew everyone else. But birthday parties for young magicians had been hazardous for me, all the more so as rumours about my magic - or lack of it - had started to spread. Very few people had grasped that I had no magic whatsoever, but it was clear that I was a very late bloomer. No one had wanted to be associated with me, for fear that whatever had laid me low might be catching. I’d had no true friends until I’d gone to Jude’s. Now ...

I swallowed, hard. I wasn’t looking forward to going back to school, even though I’d declined when Dad had offered to let me stay home. Rose was there, after all. I couldn’t leave her alone, not after everything she’d done for me. And maybe things would be better, now I’d beaten Isabella. The school’s honour code was strict. Isabella had been beaten fairly and that was all that mattered. 

Unless she reasoned she hadn't been beaten fairly, after all. It wasn't an unarguable case.

One by one, I removed the protective amulets and earrings I’d forged over the last couple of weeks, placing them on the small table by the mirror. I felt as if I was naked, utterly unprotected, when I was done, even though the workroom was locked. I’d spent the last six years trying - and often failing - to avoid increasingly nasty pranks from my sisters, pranks that I’d never been able to see coming. Even something as simple as sitting down to dinner could turn into a trial if Alana had had time to hex or jinx the chair. Now ... I was protected, as long as I wore the earrings. But I didn't know if I could wear them while forging without ruining my work. 

Buttoning up my robe, I strode across to the workbench and looked down at the longsword, resting in a web of silver netting. It was big, easily too big for me to carry, even using both hands. I wasn’t exactly a weakling - forging requires physical strength as well as dexterity - but it was still too big for me. Sir Griffons, the man who’d commissioned the sword, was easily twice my size. He had muscles on his muscles ... and yet, normally, even he would have trouble carrying the sword. I couldn't help thinking that a Kingsman - a servant of His Most Regal Majesty, King Rufus - wouldn’t consider the longsword a practical weapon. But it did have its advantages.

I smiled as I studied the blade, carefully planning out the next step. Casting the blade itself had been simple, a task that anyone could do. Dad had even offered to have one of his apprentices do it for me, pointing out that I didn't have to waste my time on it. And yet, I’d declined. There was too great a chance that someone else’s involvement would taint the metal, making it impossible to turn the long sword into an Object of Power. I intended to experiment, once I returned to school, to see just how much preliminary work I could pass to someone else without ruining the final effect.

And besides, I wanted to impress Sir Griffons.

The swordsmen of the Thousand-Year Empire had had swords that could cut through anything, according to legend. Their blades had been as light as feathers, in the hands of their true owners; their scabbards had had magic of their own, healing wounds and boosting strength when swordsmen met in combat. And there had been some truth in the legends. I’d seen blades, passed down through the years, that had been magic, when wielded by the descendents of the original owners. My Family Sword, buried in the Family Hearthstone, had powers of its own. You simply couldn't buy a weapon like that for love or money. Even if a family sold off a priceless heirloom - which would have forced them to put a price on ‘priceless’ - the magic wouldn't work for anyone outside the direct line. Whatever rites and rituals had been used to transfer a blade to a new owner had been lost hundreds of years ago.

Sir Griffons had been obsessed with owning such a sword for as long as I’d been alive. He’d been pushing my father to either crack the secret behind the blades or come up with something new, something that would allow a Device of Power to survive against counterspells. Every year, Dad had tried something new; every year, the blade had either snapped in combat or lost its magic at terrifying speed. Dad and his apprentices had gone through the books hundreds of times, trying dozens of variations in a desperate bid to crack the secret. They’d known the reward would be massive, if they succeeded. The Kingsmen needed such blades to do their work. But they’d failed. The problem had seemed insurmountable.

I reached for my notebook and opened it, checking my work one final time. The calculations hadn't been that difficult, although I’d had to adapt some of the runes to adjust for modern-day materials. Whoever had come up with the original swords had been a genius, as well as a Zero. The network of runes that channelled magic into the blade had to be precise or the spell would simply refuse to work. Thankfully, I’d learnt the value of precision long ago. My sisters had enough power to compensate for deviations - often very big deviations - from perfect spellforms, but lesser magicians needed to be precise. Not that it mattered to me, in any case. I could speak a spell perfectly, with all the accent on the right syllables, and nothing would happen.

And yet, I can forge Objects of Power, I reminded myself, as I picked up the etching tool and held it over the sword. I am unique.

I’d forged the etching tool myself, as tradition demanded. I wasn't too sure if it mattered - the harmony most magicians experienced when they used tools they’d crafted themselves was alien to me - but it wasn't a tradition I wanted to abandon. Forging had given me a sense of purpose, of achievement, a long time before I’d realised what I could do. And besides, it kept my mind off uncomfortable truths. There were things I didn't want to think about, even now.

Bending over the sword, I carefully pressed the etching tool against the metal and carved out the first rune. The metal was softer than it should have been - the silver cradle made it easier to carve, although I didn't pretend to understand why - but I still moved with immense care. I didn't have time to start again from scratch, not when I was due back at school in a couple of days. Besides, I wasn't sure what would happen if I melted down the sword to reuse the metal. In theory, it shouldn't make any difference; in practice, I wasn't so sure. I’d seen forging go horribly wrong because the metal had already been tainted by magic.

The first rune fell into place, neatly. I took a moment to catch my breath - sweat was already trickling down my back - and then started on the second. My calculations insisted that the magic wouldn't take effect until the last rune was in place, but I kept a wary eye on the blade anyway, just in case. A surge of magic that seemingly came out of nowhere would be dangerous, not least because I couldn't sense the surge and take cover until it was too late. As far as magic was concerned, I was the blind girl in the kingdom of the sighted. 

My hands were aching by the time I’d worked my way through a dozen runes. I stepped backwards, taking a deep breath. Magicians who forged Devices of Power claimed that the work couldn't be paused, once it was underway, but I’d never had a problem when I’d forged Objects of Power. I rather suspected that my lack of magic actually kept the runes from activating early, too early to let the spellforms take shape properly. It was something else I intended to test, when I had a moment. Rose and I would have a lot of fun testing the limits of my abilities.

And then the lanterns dimmed, just slightly.

I tensed. Someone was outside the main door ... no, someone was trying to use magic to open the main door. It couldn't be my parents. Mum was in the garden, picking herbs for a potion she wanted to try; Dad was playing host to our very unwelcome guest. And besides, they would have knocked - loudly - if they’d wanted to come in. Very few people would enter a magician’s workroom without permission. The servants certainly wouldn't dare. My list of suspects was very short indeed.

Alana, I thought. She’s been quiet - too quiet - since Dad yanked all three of us out of school.

I slipped back to the mirror, moving as quietly as I could. I’d had far too much practice in sneaking around over the years, although it wasn't as much use as I’d hoped. Even a relatively young magician like my sister could cast wards to protect her belongings. Picking up one of the earrings, I cupped it in my hand and walked to the other workbench as I heard the sound of someone opening the door. It was very quiet, so quiet that I knew the intruder meant trouble. There’s nothing quite so alarming as the sound of someone doing everything in their power not to be heard. Alana must have assumed that her silencing spell had actually worked. It had, but the runes I’d carved into the door had drawn on the magic to dim the lanterns, then cancelled the spell.

Good thing she didn't cast the spell on herself, I thought, as I kept the earring pressed against my skin. It shouldn't make a difference, according to the books, as long as it was touching me. She might have noticed that the spell had failed if she’d intended to ensure that she couldn't hear either.

I kept my back to the door as stealthy footsteps echoed down the tiny corridor, even though I wanted to turn - or run. I had too many bad memories of being hexed to feel calm when my sister was behind me. Alana had to be annoyed about something. Our parents had told her, in no uncertain terms, not to use magic anywhere near my workroom. Even Alana would have hesitated, normally, to defy Dad. He wasn't the sort of person anyone defied twice.

“Freeze,” Alana said.

I felt the earring grow warm in my hand, tingling just for a second. Alana made a sound that cut off so sharply that it made me jump. I turned, slowly. Alana was standing there, utterly unmoving. A surprised expression dominated her frozen face. I walked towards her slowly, wondering just how long she’d intended to freeze me. She knew - now - that spells simply didn't cling to me for long. It was very possible that she’d never bothered to calculate just how long her spell should have left me frozen.

And spells do cling to her, I thought, feeling a flash of vindictive glee. Alana was a powerful and skilled magician, for her age, but I didn't think she could unfreeze herself without being able to move her hands. Even an upperclassman would have problems. She might have trapped herself until midnight.

“That was stupid,” I said, doing my best to imitate the tone my mother used when she was reprimanding us for being foolish. “Using magic in here? You could have triggered an explosion.”

That wasn't true, I thought. But as long as she believed it was true ...

I walked around behind her, wrapped my arms around her chest and picked her up. It wasn't easy. Alana was lighter than me, I thought - she was certainly skinny - but she was as stiff and unmoving as a board. I half-carried, half-dragged her out of the workroom door, down the corridor and through the door into the main house. It was quiet, too quiet. I glanced in either direction, then manhandled Alana into the nearest closet and closed the door. She’d be stuck there until someone found her or the spell wore off.

Or if she manages to free herself, I thought. My sister had always been an overachiever when it came to magic. She might just make it.

I shrugged as I turned and walked back to the workroom. It was much more likely that she’d be discovered by one of the maids. They’d been working overtime, the last few days. I rather suspected that whoever found Alana would be tempted to leave her, but the maids would be reluctant to risk being fired. Alana was a vindictive person at the best of times.

And she left me in a cupboard too, hundreds of times, I thought. Perhaps I should have felt guilty. But I didn't. She did far worse to me.

I sighed as I stepped through the door. I had work to finish before dinnertime. My parents would let me work until the wee small hours, if I wanted, but I knew I wouldn't be in the mood. I knew it. Our family has the best chef in Shallot, but I wasn't looking forward to dinner.

Great Aunt Stregheria was coming to tea.
Chapter Two

I was tempted, very tempted, to pretend I hadn't heard the dinner gong, when it echoed through the house. But I knew my mother would not be fooled. She’d spelled the gong to ensure that anyone within the grounds could hear it, even if they were in the library or a sealed workroom. I finished the last of the runes, put my protective charms back into place and then hurried to my bedroom. The maids had already laid my clothes on the bed.

At least they don’t have to worry about me warding my room, I thought sourly, as I closed the door behind me. My sisters could use magic to keep their possessions safe - and unhexed - but I wasn't so lucky. They just have to worry about keeping Great Aunt Stregheria happy instead.

I couldn't help feeling a flicker of sympathy. This time, thankfully, my parents had not insisted that we wait hand and foot on the old crone, but that meant that the duty was shifted to the younger maids. I didn't think there was any crime that deserved such a horrific punishment. If Great Aunt Stregheria was rude and thoroughly unpleasant to us, her nieces, I dreaded to think how horrible she must be to minor family. I wouldn't have been surprised if I’d been told the maids had quit on the spot rather than work for us any longer.

I quickly discovered that the dress was as frilly and absurd as I feared. Mum didn't normally bother making us dress for dinner, but with Great Aunt Stregheria at the table we had to look our best. I glanced wistfully at the shower, then at the grandfather clock my parents had given me after I returned home. There wasn't time to do more than wash my hands and splash water on my face before I got dressed. Being late for a formal dinner - even a dinner that only featured one guest - was the sort of thing that would lead to a frank exchange of views with my mother. She detested Great Aunt Stregheria, but she detested rudeness still more.

I pulled on the wretched dress, then inspected myself in the mirror. The long white gown looked faintly absurd on my lanky form, even though it contrasted nicely with the colour of my skin. I was lucky that mum hadn't joined other High Society ladies when it came to the latest fashions for growing girls. I’d seen dresses that were so absurdly complex that the wearer needed two maids to help them get the dresses on and off. I couldn’t help feeling as though the girls were forced to wear them, which made me wonder why the adults wore similar dresses. But then, the dictates of fashion had always been a mystery to me.

Mum would have to use magic to force me into such a dress, I thought. 

I smiled at the thought, even though it wasn't really amusing. Thankfully, my mother had given me something relatively comfortable. Alana might enjoy wearing ballroom gowns that were really scaled-down adult dresses, but I never had. I was not going to walk around wearing a fanned-out dress so large that sitting down at the dinner table would prove impossible. I’d long since come to believe that the reason society ladies stayed so thin was because they couldn't sit down to dinner, while eating on one’s feet was regarded as bad manners. But perhaps it had something more to do with the formal dancing afterwards.

Pulling my hair down, I braided it into a long ponytail and inspected it in the mirror. Great Aunt Stregheria would sniff, I was sure, if there was even a single hair out of place. She’d probably be looking for some reason to complain, if I knew her. It was a mystery to me why anyone asked her back for a second time. I was fairly sure that my father hadn't invited her, not after what had happened two years ago. But that did raise the question of why she’d come.

And why Dad let her through the gate, I thought, as I clipped on my earrings and concealed a bracelet high up my sleeve. Mum banned her from the estate after she used her magic on us.

The second gong rang, the sound echoing through the house. I swallowed hard - the prospect of facing Great Aunt Stregheria again was enough to make me want to run away - and headed for the door. June, the youngest of the maids, stood outside, looking as if she was nerving herself up to knock. I don’t know why she was so worried. It wasn't as if she was dancing attendance on Great Aunt Stregheria. In her place, I would have been thrilled to be well away from the guest wing.

“You look lovely, My Lady,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said, tartly. The dress might not have been uncomfortable, but it wasn't what I liked to wear. “Leave the room alone. I’ll clean it up later.”

June curtseyed, a flicker of ... something ... crossing her face. I felt a stab of guilt, which blurred into the butterflies in my stomach. It was probably too late to commit some hideous crime that would get me sent to bed without supper. And even if I did, my mother would probably insist that having to go to dinner was a worse punishment than going without. An evening with Great Aunt Stregheria would feel like an eternity.

I touched the bracelet on my arm as I walked down the corridor, passing a long row of portraits that glowered down at me disapprovingly. I’d often wondered just how I fitted into the family, even though I could draw and wield the Family Sword. The Aguirre Family dates all the way back to the Thousand-Year Empire, if you believe our historians. We have always been powerful magicians, counsellors to kings ... sometimes even kingmakers in our own right. My lack of magic had shamed the entire line. Alana had told me, more than once, that I’d be disowned - or worse - the moment she took over the family. There had been times when I feared my parents would disown me well before they died.

And now they know what I can do, I thought. They don’t want to disown me now.

A cold shiver ran down my spine as I reached the formal dining room. It was immense, easily large enough to accommodate a couple of hundred people. The large table in the centre of the chamber looked tiny, faintly absurd compared to the immensity of the room. I would have preferred the family dining room, which was smaller and more comfortable, but my mother clearly had other ideas. Perhaps she was hinting that Great Aunt Stregheria was far from welcome. I rather doubted Great Aunt Stregheria had gotten the message.

My father sat at one end of the table, his face utterly expressionless; my mother sat at the other, her lips so thin with disapproval that they’d practically vanished. Great Aunt Stregheria sat next to my father, her dark eyes cold and hard. Belladonna, my other sister, sat on the far side, as far from our unwelcome guest as she could without being unbearably rude. The tension in the air was so thick that you could cut it with a knife.

“Caitlyn,” Dad said. He rose, indicating the seat next to Great Aunt Stregheria. “Please, take a seat.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My mouth was dry. Sitting next to Great Aunt Stregheria ... I would sooner have sat next to a basilisk. Or a dragon. At least it would have been over quickly. I walked around the table, pausing long enough to curtsey to my mother, then took the seat. Courtesy forbade me from inching the chair away from the vindictive old crone.

Great Aunt Stregheria turned to look at me. I looked back, fighting down the urge to cringe back in my chair. It was hard to believe that she was related to my father, even though I’d seen her wield the Family Sword too. My father was a tall, powerfully-built man; Great Aunt Stregheria was slight, but with an attitude of power and menace that made her look like a vulture eying wounded prey. Her skin was still flawless, her hair as black as night ... I couldn't help wondering if she used magic to keep it that way. My father was twenty or so years younger than her and he was already showing signs of going grey.

Perhaps it’s having us kids, I thought, as I turned my attention to the table. The maids had covered the table with a white cloth, then laid out a dozen sets of cutlery. Great Aunt Stregheria never married, let alone had children.

I should have felt sorry for her, I knew. Even now, Great Aunt Stregheria wore her hair down, signifying an unmarried woman of marriageable age. And yet, she had never married, never had children. It was one of the reasons her brother - my grandfather - had decided to pass the family headship to my father, rather than someone close to them in age. But the nasty part of my mind had no trouble understanding why Great Aunt Stregheria was still unmarried, despite her family ties. There wasn't enough wealth and power in the world to make someone willingly spend the rest of their life with her.

Mum cleared her throat. “Where is Alana?”

Bella looked up. “I haven't seen her all day, Mum ...”

I froze as the realisation crashed into my head. I’d left Alana frozen ... and she was still frozen. It was the only explanation of why she hadn’t made it to dinner. Alana admired Great Aunt Stregheria, even though she feared the old crone too. And besides, she knew better than to be late. Alana had always taken the social niceties more seriously than either Bella or me.

Dad eyed me, suspiciously. He practically had a sixth sense for when one of us had done something Not Allowed.

“Caitlyn?”

I wanted to lie. But I knew better. “I ... I reflected her spell onto her and left her frozen in the cupboard, near my workroom,” I said. “She must still be trapped.”

My father gave me a look that promised trouble later, then rang the bell for the maid. When Lucy appeared, he told her where to find Alana and escort her to the dining room as quickly as possible. I groaned inwardly, kicking myself for forgetting. Alana wouldn't have time to change, let alone do anything else. She’d have to come to the table in her afternoon dress. My parents might not object - much - to us casting spells on each other, but they’d be annoyed if we made them look bad in front of outsiders. And Great Aunt Stregheria would rub it in as much as possible.

We sat in uncomfortable silence until Alana arrived, her face a mask that concealed pure rage. I would have to watch my back for the next few days. Alana would slam a hex into me as soon as she got a chance. And while I could protect myself - now - to some extent, she knew I wasn't invulnerable. She was certainly smart enough to think of a way to get around my protections.

“Be seated,” Dad said. His dark eyes swept the table. “Let us give thanks to our ancestors for our lineage.”

I cupped my hands over the table and muttered the prayer, under my breath. I’d been told that my ancestors looked down on us from the Realm of the Dead, but I didn’t really believe it. My ancestors had probably turned their backs on me a long time ago. And I wasn't sure my father believed it either, although he was careful to keep the family shrine in good repair. But Great Aunt Stregheria would have called him out for dishonouring our ancestors, if he’d missed the prayer.

My father rang the bell, again. “Let us eat.”

I did my best to ignore the looming presence of Great Aunt Stregheria - and the nasty looks Alana sent me from time to time - as we ate our way through a five-course meal. Henry had outdone himself, as always. I would have enjoyed the carrot soup and roast lamb if I hadn't been uneasily aware that the real business would be concluded over dessert. Great Aunt Stregheria had to have a reason to visit, after all. Something had to have changed, recently, to make her visit us - and make my parents let her in the house. And I could only think of one thing that had changed.

“The trade dispute with Salonika has been resolved, in our favour,” Great Aunt Stregheria said. She spent much of her time in Tintagel, the capital of the Kingdom of Tintagel. I couldn't help wondering why King Rufus hadn’t banished her to some distant estate years ago. “You should be seeing more trading ships over the next few years.”

“That is good,” my father said. “And the ... disagreement ... with Valona?”

“It remains unresolved,” Great Aunt Stregheria informed him. “Valona is unwilling to make border concessions until we resolve the issue of access to what remains of the Eternal City.”

Alana leaned forward. “I thought they could just sail around to the inner sea and travel directly to the Eternal City.”

Great Aunt Stregheria sneered at her. “Everyone knows that the waters around the Eternal City are infested with monsters,” she said, in the tone one would use to address a very stupid child. “Sailing ships cannot reach the city with any guarantee of return.”

Alana looked crushed. I was torn between feeling sorry for her and an odd guilty pleasure in her humiliation. She’d treated me poorly for years. I’d spent more time than I cared to think about as a frog, or a toad, or something inanimate, purely because Alana had wanted to practice her hexes. And yet, she didn't deserve to be verbally shredded by a woman old enough to be her grandmother. Great Aunt Stregheria didn't look remotely ashamed. I was very glad she’d never had children.

“We are currently haggling over access rights through the Blyton Pass,” Great Aunt Stregheria continued, ignoring my mother’s sharp look with practiced ease. “But His Majesty is reluctant to allow complete access unless we have the right to inspect caravans leaving the cursed lands.”

“One would consider it pointless,” Alana muttered. She shot me a sharp look. “There’s only one secret to be found, isn't there?”

“Correct,” Great Aunt Stregheria said. She turned to look at me. “And now that secret is out.”

I tried to look back evenly, although she was sizing me up like a piece of meat on the market stall. There was only one secret from the Eternal City that everyone wanted, the secret of how to make Objects of Power. Objects of Power had been what turned a relatively small city in a poorly-populated region into the master of much of the known world, but the secret of how they’d been made had been lost when the city fell. And I’d cracked that secret weeks ago.

And word is spreading, I thought. Dad had taken me from the school immediately after my duel with Isabella, but the rumours had already started. By now, they would be halfway around the world. No wonder Great Aunt Stregheria came to visit.

Great Aunt Stregheria turned her attention back to my father. “It has become common for an aristocratic child to be fostered in the home of a distant relative,” she said. “Such practices are meant to teach the child social graces and introduce the young one to society without the distracting presence of a pair of doting parents. Many of my friends are playing host to children from across the kingdom and even outside it. The youngsters are gaining much from being fostered.”

From being in the capital, I finished. And meeting people who will grow up to be the next generation of rulers and generals and everything else a society needs to work.

I understood how it worked, even though I’d never liked it. I’d grown up in Shallot, where there were hundreds of aristocratic children; I knew everyone who was powerful or likely to become so, when their parents died. And yet, my lack of magic ensured that they had never really been my peers. I had been an outcast. But someone who grew up on a distant country estate might be the only aristocratic child for miles around. Socialising with children far below their lofty birth just was not done. Sending them to be fostered was the only logical solution.

Unless you decide to spend time with the commoners instead, I thought. Rose was a common-born girl and she was my best friend. And she was a powerful magician. She might have been more powerful than either of my sisters, if she’d been trained from birth. But hardly anyone would do that outside school.

Great Aunt Stregheria was still speaking. “Such an arrangement has many advantages for the parents as well,” she added. She sounded faintly amused. “Quite apart from being free of their little darlings for several years, save for the occasional home visit, they gain access to a network of society patrons and clients who are willing to promote them to the king.”

“We are aware of the tradition,” my mother said, flatly. Her voice was toneless, but I knew from bitter experience that that meant she was angry. “Is there a point to this discussion?”

I blinked. Mum was rarely so rude. She must be really upset.

Great Aunt Stregheria looked back at her, then at me.

“Isn't it obvious?” Her eyes bored into mine. I looked away. “I would like to foster Caitlyn in Tintagel.”
Chapter Three

My mouth dropped open in shock.

I had never considered, not even in my wildest dreams, that I would be fostered. There was no real benefit to fostering a city-born child, although I knew that some children from Shallot had been fostered in Tintagel. And my lack of magic ensured that I would only shame more of my relatives if I had been sent to the capital. There had been times when I’d expected to be banished to the country, but that would have been different. People wouldn’t have asked too many questions if I’d been sent to a distant estate and told to stay there.

My heart started to pound in terror. I didn't want to be sent away. I didn't want to be fostered. And I certainly didn't want to live with Great Aunt Stregheria. My parents had been strict at times - and too lenient at others - but I had never really doubted that they loved me. Great Aunt Stregheria didn't love me - or anyone else, as far as I could tell. None of us, not even Alana, came up to her standards. The thought of spending my days trapped with the old crone was nightmarish.

“I know everyone in the capital,” Great Aunt Stregheria said, turning her attention back to my father. “Caitlyn would be introduced to everyone, her talents put to work for the good of the kingdom and the family. She would move in the highest circles, wanting for nothing. I would see to it that her name is on everyone’s lips.”

Alana made a strangled sound. My mother shot her a look that silenced her as effectively as any freeze spell.

I barely noticed. My body was frozen, held in place by fear. I was painfully aware that my mouth was still open, yet I couldn't close it. My parents wouldn't send me to the capital, would they? Not with Great Aunt Stregheria? And yet, I knew that the old woman was right about the possible advantages. A strong family presence in Tintagel would be very useful to us in the future ...

Except this isn't about me or the family, I thought, numbly. It’s about her.

“She would have a suite - a whole wing - of her own,” Great Aunt Stregheria assured my parents. “There would be servants and tutors, all trained to prepare her for entry at the very highest level of society; she would be surrounded by friends who would ease her into the social scene. She would be presented to the king and ...”

“I wouldn't make that decision without consulting my daughter,” Dad said. He sounded oddly amused, although there was a hard edge to his voice. I’d always had the feeling that he disliked his aunt, even though he was very polite to her. But then, he’d often told us that we sometimes needed to be polite to people we didn't like. “And she is quite young.”

“Youngsters have been fostered from five before,” Great Aunt Stregheria pointed out. She spoke as though it was a done deal, as though my agreement and theirs was little more than a formality. “It would be shameful indeed if she waited until she was nineteen before being presented to the king.”

I shivered. Traditionally, young aristocratic girls were presented at court when they came of age to marry, although I’d assumed I would never make my debut. My lack of magic shamed my family. Who would want to marry a girl who couldn't cast a single spell? And besides, I rather doubted my father would take a few weeks off to travel to the capital, just to present his daughters to the court. He was important enough that he didn't need to bother.

“We had always intended to allow our daughters to make their debut when they came of age,” my mother said. The warning in her voice was clear, if Great Aunt Stregheria cared to hear. “They do not have to be presented at court or introduced to His Majesty before then.”

“No,” Great Aunt Stregheria agreed. “But the sooner Caitlyn is presented, the sooner she can take her place in society.”

Alana shifted, but said nothing. Her face wasn't as immobile as she thought. I knew she was fuming, perhaps even planning something stupid. She had looked forward to the day she was presented at court, even if there were two other sisters to steal some of the limelight. Hearing Great Aunt Stregheria planning to present me ahead of time had to sting. It was rare - very rare - for anyone to be granted such an honour. And the only time I recalled it happening in my lifetime had been when the heir challenged his guardian for early emancipation, after his guardian had abused his position.

“Caitlyn is a child,” my mother said, flatly. “And she has no reason to enter society ahead of time. We are still alive. Even if we died tomorrow, my family would assume guardianship until Caitlyn and her sisters came of age.”

“Her talents make her important indeed,” Great Aunt Stregheria countered. “She must be properly prepared for her future role.”

Dad’s scowl deepened. “And you feel you can prepare her?”

“She will have the very best of tutors,” Great Aunt Stregheria said. “I will even take her with me, when I negotiate on behalf of the family. She will learn how to use her talents for us.”

For you, I thought.

“Cat cannot be unique,” Alana pointed out. “Even if there is something about her that cannot be duplicated by a magician, there will be others like her.”

Great Aunt Stregheria smiled, humourlessly. “Can you make Objects of Power?”

Alana lowered her eyes. “No.”

I looked down at my empty plate. Alana was right. I couldn't be unique. The stories of the Thousand-Year Empire had included more Objects of Power than I could make in a thousand years. There had to be other Zeroes out there, somewhere. But finding them might be difficult. It would be easy, all too easy, to find people who had never cast a single spell, but still had a talent for magic. Rose hadn’t been found until she’d turned twelve.

I’d been lucky, I realised dully. I’d been raised in a family where my lack of magic had been noticeable, but also where I’d been trained to do everything from calculate magical runic diagrams to brewing potions and forging artefacts. My family might just have hit the jackpot at million-to-one odds against. If I’d grown up on a farm, like Rose, my lack of magic might never have been noticed. No one would have cared if I couldn't start a fire with a single word.

“Caitlyn,” Dad said. “Do you want to go with her?”

I hesitated. Did I dare say no?

Great Aunt Stregheria took my hesitation for indecision. “You will find that you have many more opportunities for using your talents in the capital,” she said. “And it will make you a very influential girl.”

“And help you too,” I muttered.

“Quite,” Great Aunt Stregheria said. Was that a glimmer of actual approval in her eye? It didn't seem likely. I was probably imagining it. “High Society is about trading favours, young lady. You help me and I will help you.”

You’ll use me as a puppet, I thought. 

It made a distressing amount of sense. I was the only Zero - the only known Zero. Great Aunt Stregheria would praise me, use me ... and then discard me, when I had outlived my usefulness. I knew too much about High Society to feel comfortable in the capital. Shallot was a little more dignified, but there was still far too much back-biting and not-so-covert infighting as the various magical families fought for supremacy. And Great Aunt Stregheria was a mistress of it. She’d practically tie me to the forge and force me to churn out Objects of Power, using them as bargaining chips to raise her status. 

She would have a monopoly, I told myself. I would be too far from my parents for them to intervene. And the sky would be the limit.

“There is much I could do for you,” Great Aunt Stregheria added. “I have connections to many of the greatest families. It would be easy to arrange a match between you and a suitable young man of noble blood, when you come of age.”

Alana made a choking noise. Beside her, Bella had an unconvincing coughing fit. Alana had told me - they’d both told me - that I would never get married. Who would want to marry a girl without magic? The lack of magic might be catching. And yet ...

“I am too young to get married,” I mumbled. I had four years until I came of age. Even then, there was no guarantee I’d get married at once. My parents had been in their twenties when they’d married. My sisters - and I - were aristocrats. Any prospective match would have to be carefully scrutinised by both sets of parents before they gave their approval. Marriage in haste, we’d been told, inevitably led to repenting at leisure. “I can't even ...”

“We could discuss betrothals,” Great Aunt Stregheria said. “I believe ...”

“No,” Mum said, flatly. 

I shot her a grateful look. I knew there were girls and boys who were betrothed from birth, but the custom had been slowly going out of fashion. My parents had discussed such issues with us, during their endless and boring etiquette lessons, yet they’d made it clear that we would have a say in who we married. And a betrothal could cause legal problems, if a grown child decided they didn't want to go through with it. There were families in the city that were still feuding over broken betrothals that had taken place hundreds of years ago.

“As you wish,” Great Aunt Stregheria said. She looked displeased, just for a second. “But there are many other benefits I could offer. You would have friends ...”

“I have a friend here,” I protested. It was true. Rose was the first real friend I’d had, perhaps my only one. I’d managed to get on well with Akin Rubén, but I was all too aware that his family and mine were long-term enemies. And I’d humiliated his sister too. I didn't know how he’d react to that. “I don't want to leave her.”

“A common-born girl,” Great Aunt Stregheria said. Her lips twisted into a cold sneer. “A decent magician, perhaps, but hardly the right sort of companion for a girl of the very highest blood. You should be surrounded by girls from your circle, girls who can educate you in the social graces ...”

I winced. Like Isabella? Or like Alana?

“Your ... friend ... can come along as your maid, perhaps,” Great Aunt Stregheria said. She looked, just for a moment, if she’d sniffed something disgusting. “It is all a person like her is suited for ...”

“Rose is my friend,” I snapped. The hot flash of anger surprised me. Rose had stood by me even when it would have ruined her time at school. I wouldn't have blamed her if she’d attached herself to Isabella or one of the other well-born students, the girls who could have taught her how to use her magic through example. What did I have to offer her? “She isn’t a servant!”

“She is a common-born girl with no prospects,” Great Aunt Stregheria said, bluntly. “What will happen to her when she graduates? She will not find a decent position, let alone a decent match, because she is lowly-born. She has no dowry, nothing to entice a suitor; she has no patron, no one who will shepherd her career. She is alone in the world.”

“She has me.” I fought to control my anger. It wasn't easy. Insults directed at me were meaningless - I’d been called so many awful things that I was used to it - but Rose? Rose was my friend. “And you think that I will be important.”

Great Aunt Stregheria lifted her eyebrows. “Do you think you will be doing her a favour by patronising her?”

I glared. “Yes.”

“You will not,” Great Aunt Stregheria said. “And you will certainly not be doing yourself a favour. One must choose one’s clients carefully.”

“I have,” I said. It wasn’t really true - I’d never thought I’d have a patronage network of my own - but it didn't matter. Besides, Rose would be a worthy investment even if I’d hated the ground she walked on. Untrained and unskilled didn't mean weak. “She’s a good friend.”

“You had no other friends,” Great Aunt Stregheria informed me. “If she comes with you, you will soon abandon her. She has nothing to offer you.”

My temper snapped. “And you have everything to offer and you’re still not married!”

Silence fell, like a hammer. I couldn't believe what I’d said. Nor could anyone else. Great Aunt Stregheria looked stunned, utterly uncomprehending. I wondered, as my thoughts started to gibber in panic, if I could pretend that nothing had actually happened. Perhaps, if I played dumb, she’d think she imagined it ...

She snapped out a word I knew I wasn't supposed to know, let alone say, then jabbed her finger at me. Dad started to say something sharp, but it was too late. A flash of brilliant green light darted from her finger and flashed towards me, blazing brightly ... and then rebounded. I gasped in pain as my earrings overheated - it was all I could do to keep from tearing them off - and then stared as the spell struck the crone. Great Aunt Stregheria’s black skin turned green and warty, just for a second, as she cast a pair of very hasty counterspells. Green light flared around her body, then faded away into nothingness as her skin returned to normal. She’d countered her own spell just in time.

I stared, feeling ... triumph? I knew to be wary around Alana - and Bella could be unpleasant, whenever she bestirred herself to do something nasty - but Great Aunt Stregheria terrified me. Even knowing her spells wouldn't last long, not on me, I was still unwilling to face her. And yet, now ... she’d nearly fallen victim to her own spell. Her attempt to turn me into a frog - again - had failed utterly.

My mother’s voice was icy cold. “I believe I warned you about using magic on my children,” she said. She rose, her hands falling into a casting pose. “You will leave this house.”

“The wards will turn on you,” Dad added. He didn't rise, but he didn't have to. The house saw him as its lord and master. It wouldn't kill Great Aunt Stregheria - she was of the blood, after all - but it would evict her on his command. “You will leave.”

I heard Bella make a stifled sound. Beside her, Alana looked as if she wanted to be somewhere - anywhere - else. Her hair was trying to stand on end. For once, I was glad I couldn't feel ambient magic. The house wards had to be concentrating on Great Aunt Stregheria, threatening to crush her protections and remove her from the estate. Very few magicians could hope to stand up to an old house, protecting its bloodline. And my sisters could feel the pressure building around the crone, as if a thunderstorm was about to begin ...

Great Aunt Stregheria gave me a furious look that - five minutes ago - would have had me cowering, if not begging for mercy. “Did you raise your daughter to be so impossibly rude?”

“Please rest assured that Caitlyn will be punished,” Dad said. “But that does not excuse your actions. I granted you access to the house on the understanding that you would not try to hex my children.”

“Children should mind their manners,” Great Aunt Stregheria snarled. I felt a flicker of guilt, despite the triumph. I’d touched on a very sore spot indeed. Great Aunt Stregheria’s failure to marry and have children might well have cost her the chance to lead the family. “I demand satisfaction!”

“I will deal with my daughter,” Dad said. He stood, clasping his hands behind his back. I knew better than to think that was a placid pose. Dad didn't need to move his hands to cast spells. “You will go straight to the gatehouse and leave. Your trunks will be forwarded to you.”

Great Aunt Stregheria stared at me for a long moment, then pushed her chair back and rose.

“I could have offered you the world,” she said, shortly. I wasn't sure just who she was talking to. My father ... or me? Perhaps she’d believed that she was doing me a favour. “And instead you chose to reject it.”

She stalked out of the room, not looking back. I watched her go, unsure just how I should feel. Unholy glee at beating Great Aunt Stregheria was mingled with fear and guilt and ... I told myself, time and time again, that she was a horrible person. But I’d been horrible to her too.

Great Aunt Stregheria wanted to use me, I told myself. It made me feel a little better. She wouldn't have lowered herself to fostering me - to fostering anyone - if there wasn't anything in it for her.

Alana giggled, a high-pitched noise that grated on my ears. “Cat ...”

“Silence,” Dad said, sharply. Alana shut up, at once. I would have been impressed if I hadn't known that Dad’s tone promised trouble. “Caitlyn, go straight to my study and wait for me there. I will be up shortly.”

I sighed. I’d stepped over a line and now I would have to pay. And yet, I had been provoked. It wasn't fair ...

But there was no point in whining about it. “Yes, Dad.” 
Chapter Four

The door to my father’s study opened the moment I touched it. I couldn't help feeling a flicker of excitement as I stepped inside, even though I knew I was in trouble. Dad’s private workplace had always been off limits to us. The room was so heavily warded that even Mum couldn't enter without permission. I looked around as I walked towards one of the comfortable armchairs and sat down. I might as well try to stay comfortable while waiting for Dad to arrive.

It was a remarkable room, in many ways. Two walls were lined with bookshelves, groaning under the weight of family spellbooks and grimoires; a third was decorated in a detailed family tree leading all the way back to the Thousand-Year Empire. I had no idea how much of it was truly accurate - the family records started to get a little vague a few hundred years back in time - but it looked impressive. My family had given birth to hundreds of movers and shakers over the years. It was hard to shake the impression that neither I nor my sisters would ever live up to them.

I closed my eyes for a long moment, trying to concentrate. Dad was going to be furious, of course. He might well dislike his aunt, but he couldn't condone me being so horribly rude to her. Mum wasn't going to be pleased either. Perhaps I should be glad I was going back to school soon. But I knew, all too well, that my parents had long memories. They’d be happy to put the punishment on hold until the summer holidays.

The door rattled, then opened. I sat upright, bracing myself as Dad stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He didn't look happy, although there was a distant expression on his face that suggested he was communing with the wards. I couldn't help feeling a stab of bitter guilt as I recalled the implications. My talents might have - finally - revealed themselves, but I could never be the mistress of Aguirre Hall. The blood magics woven into the very walls barely even recognised my presence.

“Stand up,” Dad ordered, curtly. “Stand in front of the desk.”

I rose, clasping my hands behind my back to keep them from shaking. Dad gave me a sharp look, then walked around the desk to sit behind it. I moved forward until I was in position and forced myself to wait. Dad didn't normally play petty power games by forcing us to wait for him to speak. He had to be more rattled than he cared to admit.

“Tell me something,” he said, finally. “What - exactly - were you thinking?”

“She was insulting my friend,” I said. I told my hands to stop shaking. They refused to listen. “Dad, I ...”

“And you decided to jab a knife in her heart,” Dad said. His voice was toneless. “You could have jabbed her with a real knife and it would have done less damage.”

I swallowed. “Yes, Dad.”

“I’m really very displeased with you,” Dad told me, flatly. “You will finish the sword tomorrow, correct? After that, you will spend the next two days assisting your mother with the herbal garden. I believe she has a great deal of work which will go quicker with a pair of willing hands.”

I had to fight to keep my face expressionless. My sisters hated gardening and spent far too long thinking of ways to get out of assisting with the herbal garden, but I loved it. Plants didn't care about your magic, or lack of it. Two days doing nothing, but gardening would leave me stiff and sore, yet it wasn't a real punishment. I’d been uneasily anticipating something far worse. Alana had had to spend a week helping the maids after she tried to play a prank on an important visitor.

“Yes, Dad,” I said, when I was sure I could keep the relief out of my voice. Dad knew I liked gardening. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it wouldn't be a nightmare either. “I’ll start as soon as the sword is finished.”

“Very good,” my father said. “Now tell me ... why did you leave Alana in a cupboard for hours?”

“Dad, she trapped herself,” I said, briefly outlining what had happened. “I didn't know the spell would last so long.”

“I imagine she didn't either,” Dad said. He met my eyes. “Should I be punishing you for that too?”

“She did it to me,” I pointed out. My parents hadn't done more than mildly rebuke her, believing that such torments would encourage me to develop my powers. “She did it to me a lot.”

“True,” Dad said. He looked displeased. “Don’t do it again, particularly when we have guests. Your conduct reflects on us, your parents. And while Aunt Stregheria is unlikely to tell High Society precisely what you said to her, the next person you mouth off to may tell the entire world.”

I sighed. “Do we have to bother with etiquette?”

“Politeness makes the world go 'round,” Dad said. He smiled, rather humourlessly. “Being polite can defuse someone’s anger, even when there is no common ground between you.”

He shrugged. “But here is a more important question. What was happening this evening?”

I took a breath. Dad had asked me to analyse dinner meetings and social engagements before, although I’d never been very good at it. Alana had been better, to the point where she’d tried to encourage Dad to take her to more society engagements. Thankfully, Dad had rarely taken her anywhere he hadn't taken the rest of us. It would have done her ego no good.

“She wanted to make use of me,” I said, carefully. “Her offer to foster me in Tintagel was an attempt to put me in her power.”

“Indeed,” Dad said. “Go on.”

I hesitated. “She didn't think of me as a person,” I added. “She was more interested in talking you into allowing me to go than convincing me I wanted to go. She talked in terms of benefits to you and the family, rather than me. Even when she started talking to me, it never seemed to occur to her that I might not want the benefits she was offering.”

“Very good,” my father said. “And why would she do that?”

“Because she thinks she can make use of me,” I said, slowly. “By promoting me to the king, by presenting me at court, she presents herself as my guardian.”

“More or less,” Dad said. He leaned forward. “Do you understand the implications?”

I hesitated, then shook my head. It wasn't entirely true - I thought I understood some of them - but I needed to hear it from Dad. He had far more experience than I did in manoeuvring through tricky political waters. I tried not to think about the fact that Great Aunt Stregheria had more experience than both of us put together.

“A year ago, it was impossible to forge Objects of Power,” Dad said. “You know that as well as I do. Now, someone has discovered how to do it. You.”

I nodded, shortly.

“Normally, there are very few spells that cannot be analysed and duplicated by other magicians,” Dad added. “You know that too.”

“Yes,” I said. I might not be able to cast spells, but my understanding of theoretical magic was better than either of my sisters. There were spells - hundreds of spells - that were tied to specific bloodlines or could only be cast by specific people, yet a skilled theoretical magician could take them apart and rewrite the spells so that anyone could cast them. “But that isn't true of me, is it?”

“No,” Dad said. “I imagine that quite a few forgers are trying to find ways to forge without actually touching the artefact, which will be quite limited even if they do manage to get it to work. But even if they succeed, the only current source of true Objects of Power is you. Word has already leaked out, Cat. The duel you fought has started tongues wagging right across the kingdom.”

“I know,” I said.

“And you really had to pick a fight with Isabella Rubén,” Dad added. “Some magicians don’t believe the stories, but her family? Oh yes, they believe them.”

I tried not to wince. There were spells that could destroy Devices of Power, spells that Isabella had tried to use on me. But I’d forged Objects of Power and her spells had been worse than useless. Some adult magicians probably thought that Isabella had miscast her spells - she was only twelve, like me - but her family wouldn't make that mistake. They knew what I’d done, all right.

“Great Aunt Stregheria is not the only one who wants to make use of you,” Dad told me. He pointed a finger towards a pile of letters, perched precariously on his desk. “I have over fifty letters, ranging from requests for private commissions to demands that you be barred from any further forging. Your talents have the potential for upsetting the balance of power ...”

I stared. “They want to stop me from forging?”

Dad’s lips twitched. “Right now, we have a monopoly on Objects of Power. That gives us an unbeatable edge. The other families won’t like it.”

“They could look for their own Zeroes,” I said. I remembered, suddenly, all the stories about disappointing children who’d vanished from High Society. Had they been Zeroes too? “I can’t be unique.”

“Perhaps not,” Dad agreed. Alana had said the same thing, back at table. “But tell me ... how do you find another Zero?”

I considered it for a long moment. The answer was fairly simple, at least in theory. Cast spells on potential candidates and see how long the spells lasted. My experiments had proved that spells cast on me simply didn't last very long, no matter how much power the caster pumped into the magic. But doing that on people outside the city would be a logistical nightmare. There would be thousands of potential candidates, far too many to sort through in a hurry. 

And some of them will be common-born, I thought. What will High Society make of that?

“We have to work on the assumption that you are effectively unique, at least for the moment,” Dad said. “And that means that you are both a very important person and a very weak one.”

I fought down a flash of anger. People - my sisters, in particular - had been calling me weak for years. I’d grown to hate the word. And now I’d found a way to compensate for my weakness. Maybe I couldn't cast spells. It didn't make me useless. 

“I am unsure if you should be allowed to return to Jude’s or not,” Dad added. “What do you think?”

“Rose is there,” I said, sullenly.

“Yes,” Dad agreed. “But how many of the classes can you actually pass?”

I glowered at him. “You sent me there when it looked like I couldn’t pass any of the classes,” I pointed out. “I can find ways to get through the exams.”

“It would be meaningless,” Dad said. “Would it not?”

I felt another flash of anger. “I may not be able to use magic to brew a potion,” I said, carefully. “But I can forge a stirrer that will let me infuse precisely the right amount of magic to make the potion work.”

“Your mother wishes to talk about some of the older recipes, the ones that no one has been able to brew for a thousand years,” Dad said. “But would using a stirrer of your own design count in the exams?”

“I thought we were graded on how well we’d brewed the potion,” I said. “I don’t think anyone would complain if we used different tools.”

Dad cocked his head. “You didn't want to go to Jude’s,” he said. “And now you don’t want me to pull you out?”

“Rose is there,” I said. I hesitated, then asked a different question. “Was she right about Rose? Great Aunt Stregheria, I mean. Was she right when she said Rose had no prospects?”

“She would probably not rise to the very highest levels,” my father said. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Turning her into a reputable name in society would be a very long-term project, although quite a few of the older families have a lot of commoner blood. But a skilled magician can always find work. I would be quite happy to offer her patronage if she lives up to her promise.”

I relaxed, slightly. “I’m not asking for her to marry the Crown Prince!”

“Glad to hear it,” Dad said, sardonically. “The Crown Prince is already married.”

“I know,” I said. The Royal Wedding had been ten years ago. I had gone, of course, along with just about everyone in High Society, but I’d been so young that I honestly didn't remember any of the details. “It was a joke.”

Dad snorted, then leaned forward. “If you want to go back to school, I will reluctantly allow it,” he said. “Jude’s should be relatively safe ... as long as you don’t brew forbidden potions without permission. Very few families would risk taking hostile action within the school’s grounds.”

My fingers touched my dark cheek, delicately. The regrown skin had stopped itching weeks ago, as it blended into my skin, but there were still times when it didn't feel like me. I’d been lucky - very lucky - that I hadn't accidentally killed both Rose and myself. As it was, we’d come far too close to being expelled. And yet, if I hadn't been brewing the potion, I wouldn't have discovered how my talents actually worked. 

“I will be careful,” I said. A thought struck me and I smiled. “If I’m the only one who can make Objects of Power, does it matter if I don’t get good grades?”

Dad smiled back. “If you don’t get a passing grade, you won’t be allowed to move up a level,” he said. “Imagine being the only nineteen-year-old in first-year classes.”

“Ouch,” I said. The older students - the upperclassmen - might be responsible for policing the junior students, but they certainly didn't socialise with us. There was an invisible barrier between the years that might as well be made of reinforced iron and stone, for all that it was impassable. An older student in a lower grade would be isolated from her age group as well as her peers. “That would be bad.”

“It would be,” Dad agreed. He met my eyes. “Rose could come here, you know. I could hire tutors, if she wanted to continue with her studies.”

I shook my head. Rose would hate it. She’d feel out of place, in a way that I could understand all too well. And it would cut her off from her family ... young girls went into service all the time, but this was different. She would neither be family nor servant, trapped in an ill-defined position that would never resolve itself ...

“No,” I said. Maybe I’d ask him to take Rose on later, if I had to leave the school, but only then. I had no doubt Rose would pass her exams. She might be ignorant, but she was far from stupid. I never had to tell her anything twice. “We’ll stay at the school together.”

“As you wish,” Dad said. He looked down at the desk. “Be careful, Caitlyn.”

I nodded. I was always careful. Having a sister who thought that hexing my chair or bed was a laugh had taught me to be very careful.

“The family name can protect you from a great many things,” Dad added. “But it can't protect you from everything. Like it or not, the world changed the moment you crafted your first Object of Power. We may not see many visible changes - yet - but everything turned upside down. Aunt Stregheria is not the only person who will seek to use you.”

“Yes, Dad.”

My father looked up at me. “Your mother and I believed that you would inherit magic of your own,” he said, sombrely. “You were one of three triplets. Everything we knew about magic told us that you’d have it too, that the three of you would form a triad greater than the sum of its parts. We made the choice - and it pained us greatly - to allow your siblings to ... encourage ... you to develop your powers. And there were enough signs that you did have some form of magic to convince us to continue. We simply didn’t realise what you were.”

I couldn’t speak. My mouth was dry.

“That was a mistake,” he admitted. “We allowed your sisters to bully you relentlessly, for nothing. In doing so, we damaged all three of you. Alana and Bella have bad habits of their own, habits we have failed to curb. In some ways, Aunt Stregheria is right about sending children to out to fostering. A distant relative would be less inclined to put up with unpleasant behaviour.”

I looked down. I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to believe that my parents - who I loved and respected - could make a mistake. And yet, I knew they had made a mistake. Everything they’d done in a bid to bring out my magic had been both cruel and pointless. I had no magic. There wasn't even a spark that could be fanned into a flame.

“We will do what we can to make up for it,” my father told me. “But that will not be easy.”

“I know,” I said. I couldn't meet his eyes. I almost wished he was shouting at me instead. “I ... it wasn't your fault.”

“We knew no better,” Dad agreed. “But that doesn't make it right.”

He rose. “Go back to your bedroom and sleep,” he ordered. “Sir Griffons will be here tomorrow afternoon. I believe he’s looking forward to inspecting your work.”

“Yes, Dad,” I said.

Dad sighed. “And that sword will start an avalanche,” he added. “I wish you’d come to me, when you figured out what you could do. We could have planned out how to tell the world before it was too late.”

I nodded as I turned to leave. He was right. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have let Isabella goad me. But, if there was one thing I had learnt in six years of study, it was that there was no way to call back a spell once it was cast.

And we would just have to live with the consequences.
Chapter Five

The workroom felt uncomfortably hot as I bent over the sword, carefully carving the last set of runes into the metal. Sweat trickled down my back, reminding me just how much was at stake. A mistake now - even a single rune marginally out of place - would render all of my time and effort utterly wasted. Dad would not be pleased.

I finished drawing out the second-to-last rune, then took a step back. The sword seemed to glow, although I was fairly sure I was imagining it. My calculations insisted that the spellform wouldn't take shape until the very last rune was in place. And yet, I wasn't entirely sure. There were too many hints, clues and misleading statements in the ancient books for me to be completely confident in my own abilities. The writers might well have left out more than one crucial detail.

Wiping the sweat from my brow, I put the etching tool down on the workbench and reached for my spectacles. I’d designed them myself, after discovering the limitations of the original designs. It was surprisingly comforting to know that, in some respects, we were more advanced than the ancient sorcerers. We’d had to come up with too many innovative workarounds for our Devices of Power to be anything else.

I perched the spectacles on my nose and peered around the room. The walls glowed faintly, reflecting the magic embedded into the mansion, but the sword was dead and cold. There was no magic flowing through the blade, not yet. I took a step forward and examined the runes, making very sure that I hadn't made a mistake. Magister Tallyman had insisted, when I’d been working as a TA, that it was possible to correct an error if one caught it in time, but I had never succeeded. The ancient sorcerers hadn't thought it was possible either.

“It’s done,” I muttered. I’d gone as far as I could without Sir Griffons. “And now ...”

I stepped into the antechamber and rang the bell. Lucy entered the room a moment later, curtseying hastily to me. It felt weird to have her show so much respect. The maids had never been particularly impressed with me, even though I was their master’s daughter, until I’d insulted Great Aunt Stregheria to her face. Dad might have pronounced a horrific punishment - or at least something most people would consider a punishment - but the maids thought I was wonderful. If Great Aunt Stregheria had been horrible to us, her great-nieces, how had she treated the maids?

“Please find Sir Griffons and bring him here,” I ordered. Family friend or not, Sir Griffons wasn’t supposed to wander our halls without an escort. “It’s time for him to receive his sword.”

Lucy curtseyed again and hurried off. I turned to the table in the antechamber and picked up the latest copy of Forgers Weekly. There was a large painting of me - or someone who was supposed to be me - on the front cover, probably drawn from the family’s official portrait. I looked about five or six years older, my skin a shade or two lighter. It was quite possible that anyone passing me in the street wouldn't recognise me, if that painting was all they’d seen. I supposed that wasn't a bad thing.

The article inside the covers was long on hyperbole and short on actual facts. Whoever had written it clearly hadn't been a witness to the duel. They’d heard everything at second or third hand, ensuring that the fragments of truth were mingled with exaggerations or blatant lies. I had not recreated the Emperor’s Power Stone, nor had I blasted a giant hole in the school’s walls. Castellan Wealden would have expelled me for that, I was sure. 

There was a knock at the door. My mouth was suddenly dry.

“Come in,” I managed.

The door opened. Sir Griffons stepped into the room.

He was immense, easily the largest man I’d met. His blond hair - a fraction too long for society’s pleasure - framed a rugged face that had half the maids swooning whenever he came to call. The silver armour he wore, covered with protective runes, outlined a muscular body; his hands, scarred by countless battles, were large enough to make mine look tiny. I had never thought of him as particularly clever - his attempts at mending his own armour and weapons had frequently made matters worse - but he’d always been kind to me. That alone gave him status in my eyes.

“Lady Caitlyn,” he said, gravely. His voice was deep, commanding. “I believe you summoned me?”

I swallowed. “Your blade is nearly ready, sir,” I said. Sir Griffons was a Knight, a servant of King Rufus himself. I had no idea of his birth, but he deserved respect for his knighthood alone. “I just need your assistance with the final step.”

Sir Griffons bowed. He couldn't hide the anticipation in his eyes. “It would be my honour, My Lady,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

“Exactly as I say,” I said. I turned to open the door. “Come with me.”

I couldn't help feeling concerned as I led the way into my workroom. Sir Griffons meant me no harm, I was sure, yet his mere presence could upset the magic. If he took a step too close to the unfinished blade ... I wasn't sure what would happen then, but I had the feeling I wouldn't like it. Rose’s mere presence had made a highly volatile potion explode so violently it had nearly killed both of us.

“You’ll see the marks on the floor,” I said, pointing to the lines. I’d measured them out carefully, carving them into the stone. “Do not step over them until I give you leave.”

Sir Griffons nodded. I hoped he’d listen. He really wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. But then, he didn't have to be. Hacking away at enemies with a sword didn't require utter brilliance, merely strength, stamina and determination. I’d heard his brother was smarter - and a magical tutor in the capital. No doubt he’d inherited the brains, while Sir Griffons had inherited the brawn. Their parents weren't slouches either.

“The blade is almost ready,” I repeated. It was easier to keep my voice steady when I started to talk about forging. “I have to trigger the spellform to finish the work. For that - in order to bind it to you - I need a sample of your blood.”

I saw a shadow cross his face. I didn't blame him. We were all taught - from birth - to be very careful with our blood. An enemy who acquired a sample of my blood could use it to curse me from the other side of the world ... perhaps. I wasn't entirely sure it was true of me - my nature might make it impossible for the curse to latch on - but it was true of everyone else. I used the blood rituals religiously, just like everyone else. There was no point in taking chances.

“Very well,” he said. “But I’ll want to take the knife afterwards.”

“I can’t use a salve to dampen the pain either,” I said, as I picked up the knife and glass container from the workbench. I’d made both of them myself, washing the knife repeatedly until it was completely clean. I didn't dare risk contamination. “It will sting.”

Sir Griffons lifted his bushy eyebrows. “Worse than having a sword slammed into your leg?”

I giggled, despite myself. Sir Griffons had been through hundreds of battles and suffered countless injuries, if half the stories were true. He wasn't likely to be bothered by me cutting his arm so I could collect some of his blood. But then, I had had paper cuts that had hurt worse than broken bones. I didn't understand how that worked, but it was true.

“No,” I said. I passed him a cloth - I couldn't give him any potions or salves before the ritual was completed - and then stepped towards him. “Roll up your sleeve, then hold out your arm.”

Sir Griffons did as he was told. I braced myself, then pressed the knife against his flesh. A droplet - and then a line - of blood welled up. I fought down the urge to recoil - blood was bad news, even for me - as the liquid started to drop into the glass. Sir Griffons showed no sign of pain. But then, he would sooner have cut off his own arm than show weakness in front of a girl. It would not have impressed the maids.

“Press the cloth against the cut, then wait,” I ordered, once I’d collected enough blood. I’d seriously considered taking more, just in case there was an accident, but working with blood was enough to make me nervous. I would just have to ask him for a second contribution, if I needed more. “Do not use magic to seal the wound.”

“Understood,” Sir Griffons said. He sounded perfectly normal, as if we were discussing the weather instead of working on a ritual. I wouldn't have been so calm if we’d exchanged places. “I will wait.”

I placed the glass on the workbench, then picked up the etching tool and dipped it in the blood. My heart started to beat like a drum as I pressed the tool against the blade, slowly carving out the final rune. If this worked ... it would have been easier, far easier, to forge a sword that anyone could use, but Sir Griffons had wanted something special. The room grew warmer, again, as the rune took shape. I braced myself as I carved the last line. If I’d made a mistake ...

The blade glowed, a brilliant white light that stabbed into my head and sent knives of pain slicing into my brain. I yanked the etching tool away, lifting one hand to cover my eyes as my head started to pound. Sir Griffons let out an oath - I decided it would be better to pretend I hadn't heard it - as the brightness increased, forcing us both to turn away. And then the brightness snapped out of existence, as if someone had blown out the candle.

I blinked, trying to get the spots out of my eyes. My head was ringing with pain, although I wasn't sure why. The light ... the light hadn't been natural. My hands looked as though they were translucent ... I blinked and the effect vanished, leaving my hands as solid as they always were. It made no sense. What had I done?

Think about it later, I told myself firmly.

The sword lay on the workbench, glowing faintly. I reached for the spectacles and put them on, swallowing a word I knew Mum would not have liked when I looked at the sword. It glowed with magic, a spellform that twisted up and down the blade ... it had worked. I’d forged an Object of Power. But it wasn't quite finished yet.

I turned to look at Sir Griffons. “You have to take the blade,” I said. “Pick it up with your sword hand and hold it in the air.”

It would have daunted me, if someone had told me to do that. The blade was so large that it was hard to believe that a grown adult could have lifted it with only one hand. And yet, Sir Griffons took it in his stride. He stepped forward, held his hand over the grip and then picked it up effortlessly. Even his hand looked small compared to the blade, but it rose as if it were as light as air. The gemstone I’d worked into the pommel glowed brightly as he lifted it higher. Faint flickers of magic danced around the longsword as it bonded with its new owner.

“It’s perfect,” Sir Griffons breathed. 

He stepped back and assumed a combat stance, slashing out at an imaginary foe. The sword darted forward and back as if it were made of pure light, flaring brightly as he thrust it outwards. It was so long he would have to wear it over his shoulder, rather than on his belt, but I had a feeling it wouldn't cause him any problems. The blade would practically leap into his hand when he called. And it might even have other powers too.

If it stays with him long enough to develop them, I thought. The ancients had insisted that a magical weapon would grow into the perfect match for its wielder, once it had grown used to him. But my calculations insisted that the spellform would remain stable unless someone damaged the blade. And that would render it completely useless.

I stepped back, sombrely, as Sir Griffons put the longsword through its paces. Magister Tallyman had shown us a similar blade, one forged in the Thousand-Year Empire. It had been a genuine Object of Power, one that had endured until some idiot removed one of the gemstones. Whatever the stone had been worth, the working blade had been worth far more. Now, it was just a piece of scrap metal. I might have been able to fix it, but - if it was bonded to someone else - I’d never be able to use it.

“This is brilliant,” Sir Griffons said. He let out a deep laugh. “This is fantastic.”

He bowed, deeply. “I thank you from the very bottom of my heart.”

“You are welcome,” I said, stiffly. My cheeks grew hot. I was thankful my skin hid the blush. I wasn’t used to praise, not like that. “I designed a scabbard for you, but you’ll have to wear it over your shoulder.”

“I don’t want to put it down,” Sir Griffons said. His smile was so bright that I couldn't help thinking it made him look like a little boy. “What can it do?”

“Cut through almost anything, if you press it against something,” I said. “You do need the intent to cut.”

“It would be embarrassing if the blade was dropped on the floor,” Sir Griffons said. His smile grew wider. “It might cut its way to the planet’s core.”

“That can’t happen,” I assured him. “Your intentions are important.”

I paused, gathering my thoughts. “You should be able to block curses and hexes with the blade - the magic should give you some additional immunity, even if you don’t manage to swat the curse before it strikes you. You should also be able to cut through wards, but a skilled sorcerer could probably design wards capable of trapping or reforming around the blade.”

“I’ve met warlocks who did just that,” Sir Griffons said.

“And you won’t be able to hide the blade,” I added. “The magic is quite distinctive. Once you take it out of the wards, anyone within fifty metres will probably be able to sense its presence.”

Sir Griffons didn't look displeased at the thought of being made a target. If anything, the prospect of everyone seeing him coming seemed to delight him. And yet ... I shook my head, feeling a flicker of disquiet. I couldn't sense the blade, not even if it was right next to me. The effect was predicable - my calculations had indicated that it would be there - yet I would never see it for myself. I was probably the only person in the world Sir Griffons could sneak up on while carrying the blade.

He took the scabbard and slipped the blade in and out, testing how it moved. “Who else can use it?”

“Anyone closely related to you,” I told him. “A brother or sister, a child ... anyone else would simply find it too heavy to lift. You might be able to give it to your cousin, but I don’t know if it would work for him.”

“Good,” Sir Griffons said. He smiled, as one does at a particularly bad joke. “I wouldn't want someone to steal it.”

“No,” I agreed. “And don’t let anyone steal the gemstone either. It would cancel the magic.”

“I understand,” Sir Griffons said. He swung the sword through the air. “This is ... brilliant.”

He reached out and slapped me on the back. “I owe you a boon, young lady,” he said. “You may have anything, anything at all, as long as it is within my power to give it to you.”

Within reason, I added, silently. Dad had taught me to be careful what I promised. Bad things happened to people who didn't keep their promises. Sir Griffons really should have known better. If I asked him for something that conflicted with his other oaths, I might put him into an impossible position. It might even kill him. If I ask for the wrong thing ...

I pushed the thought aside. “If I need a boon, I will ask you,” I said. It wouldn't have been polite to decline the promise. “And I hope you enjoy the blade.”

“Oh, I enjoy it already,” Sir Griffons said. He held it up in front of his face. “This is perfect, absolutely perfect.”

I had to smile. He looked like an overgrown puppy.

“Thank you,” he said, as he picked up the knife and bloodstained container. “And I meant what I said.”

I rang the bell for Lucy, then sent Sir Griffons and her back to the guest wing. I had a feeling Sir Griffons wasn't going to stay, not after bonding with the blade. He’d probably start riding back to Tintagel, just to show off his blade to his fellow Kingsmen. They wouldn't believe it, not at first. And then they’d all want one too ...

And I can make them, I thought, as I started to clean up the workroom. The thrill would fade, I knew, so I determined to enjoy it as long as I could. And who knows what else I can make?
Chapter Six

“I trust you had a good breakfast,” Mum said, in a manner that made it very clear that I was in trouble. “You have a lot of work to do.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Mum had ordered me out of bed at stupid o’clock - the sun had barely been peeking over the horizon - and sent me to join the maids for breakfast before getting changed into gardening clothes. It was a very clear sign that I was in disgrace, even though I knew Mum loathed Great Aunt Stregheria as much as everyone else. I had been unforgivably rude and my parents were not pleased.

But it could be worse, I thought. They could have sent me to clean the bathrooms instead.

Mum looked me up and down, then nodded in grim approval. I concealed my amusement as she shoved a basket of gardening tools into my arms, before turning to march towards the door. Gardening was the only time I was allowed to wear clothes that would have shamed a beggar on the streets. The rough, ill-fitting shirt and trousers made me look like a tramp, but they could endure more abuse than my regular clothes. And when I came back to the house, covered in earth and mud, they could be dumped in the washroom for a thorough cleaning without worrying about damaging them. I tied my hair back into a bun, then followed Mum through the door and out into the garden. The warm air - tinged with a hint of the oncoming winter - brushed against my face as I closed the door.

“Don’t dawdle,” Mum snapped.

“Coming,” I assured her, as I hefted the basket and walked after her. “What are we doing first?”

Mum didn't answer. I sighed and kept walking. I’d find out soon enough.

Our herbal gardens are my mother’s pride and joy. Master Potioneers like Mum prefer to grow as many of their ingredients as possible, even though some of the rarer items - like dragon scales or octopus tentacles - can only be purchased from a handful of very high-class stockists. Mum insisted that being able to produce her own herbs helped keep prices down, although it also ensured that she knew everything about how the ingredients had been produced. Even something as simple as cutting herbs can cause problems if one uses a silver blade instead of an iron knife.

And that can make a difference, I thought. Using a silver blade could make it harder to use a herb in a potion.

I put the basket down as I reached the edge of the herbal garden, my mother chanting a handful of spells to unlock the protective charms covering the chessboard patchwork of herbs and other ingredients. Alana had once tried to break into the garden on a dare; she wound up hanging upside down until Mum had come along to free her, then rebuke her for daring to even consider trying to sneak through the wards. They were designed to keep out pests, but not all pests walked on four legs. Alana had never dared try to enter the garden without permission again.

The wind shifted, blowing towards me. I took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of dozens of herbs mingling together. Mum claimed that gardening was relaxing, and there were times when I was tempted to agree with her. We’d spent many happy hours planting seeds and cutting herbs, back when she’d been trying to use potions to bring out my magic. It had been futile, yet it had actually worked in my favour. I’d learnt the value of precision long before I’d needed to use it.

“Come inside,” Mum said. She pointed to a barren patch of fallow ground. “You’ll be breaking that for me today.”

I picked up a shovel and carried it into the garden. Mum had left the ground fallow for three years, long enough to allow it to recover from whatever she’d been doing there. It had grown hard, unsurprisingly. Breaking it up so that something new could be planted wouldn't be exactly back-breaking labour, not here, but ... it would be boring. And I’d wind up covered in mud.

“Make sure you put any stones to one side,” Mum directed, as I pushed the shovel into the earth. It was hard, resisting stubbornly until I put all my weight on the shovel. “And dig as deep as you can.”

The sun rose steadily as I dug, picking up pieces of earth and breaking them up before dropping them back on the ground. There weren't many stones, thankfully. Mum had cleared the area long ago, back before I was born, and kept it warded ever since. The handful I did find I put aside, save for one that looked like a long-lost gemstone. It was probably nothing, but Dad would want to take a look at it anyway. The hall was so large that we kept finding things former generations had lost or concealed over the centuries.

My hands and back were aching when Mum finally called a halt, passing me a bottle of sweetened lemon juice as I leaned on the shovel. I sipped it gratefully, feeling sweat trickle down my back. The clothes were starting to itch ... I promised myself, silently, that I’d take a long bath when I got back to the hall. Mum would probably insist on it. I’d be washing off so many layers of dirt that I might clog up the pipes.

“Not too bad,” Mum said, grudgingly. She studied my work for a long moment, then pointed me to a second patch. “You can start work there now.”

I nodded sullenly. The sun hadn't even reached meridian, let alone started to descend. It felt like we’d been outside for hours. But there was no point in arguing. I walked to the next patch of ground and started to work. Mum stayed where I’d been, using a smaller towel to dig holes and plant seeds. It would be months before our labour bore fruit, but I was confident it would be worth it. The herbs we didn't use would be packaged up and sold to the local apothecary.

“What you said to Stregheria was cruel,” Mum said, without looking up from her work. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. I knew better than to stop working. “But she was very rude to me ...”

“Yes,” Mum said. “And you shouldn't have let her get to you.”

I looked up. “What would you have done if she’d been insulting Lady Meadows?”

“I might have pointed out that she was wrong,” Mum said. “A common-born magician could make a good apprentice, as you know. Or find something else to do with her life that doesn't include grovelling in the dirt.”

“Yeah,” I said, reluctantly. “But I didn't think of it.”

Mum stood. “I understand that you were angry,” she said. “And I understand that you had reason to be angry. But you cannot let your anger rule your life.”

“I know,” I said.

“You are a child,” Mum said. She dropped the towel back into the basket. “When you are an adult, such behaviour will have far more serious consequences.”

I scowled. “Why doesn't it have any consequences for her?”

Mum smirked. She’d deny it, I was sure, if I asked, but I knew what I saw.

“Stregheria is welcome in very few halls,” she said. “Hosts are very inventive when coming up with reasons why she shouldn't attend formal gatherings. She is very isolated, for all she pretends it doesn’t bother her.”

She met my eyes. “And while that doesn't excuse her behaviour,” she added, “it may go some way towards explaining it.”

“Hah,” I muttered. I wasn't interested in explanations. The only way Great Aunt Stregheria could make me happy was if she never intruded on my life again. “She’s a crone.”

Mum shot me a warning look. “Be careful what you say,” she said. “I dread to imagine what would happen if you had been an adult.”

Feuds have started over less, I thought.

I broke the last patch of ground, then stepped back to admire my handiwork. It didn't look any different from the flowerbeds, but I knew it was bursting with potential. A few dozen seeds, some water and patience ... it would soon give birth to new life. And the herbs we seeded would be turned into ingredients for potions in a few months. I wondered, idly, if any of them would be sold to Jude’s. The school went through more potion ingredients in a day than my mother went through in a year.

“Very good,” Mum said. “And just in time too.”

I turned. Lucy was approaching, carrying a covered basket in one hand and a picnic rug in the other. I smiled at her as she laid the rug on the ground by the edge of the garden, then placed the basket on top and strode away. Mum walked over to the basket, opened it and produced a set of sandwiches. I followed her, shaking my head as I saw just how much food the staff had crammed inside: ham and cheese sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, a selection of apples and oranges and a bottle of ginger juice. I couldn't help wondering if they thought they were feeding a small army.

“Sit down,” Mum said. She passed me a sandwich, then took one for herself. “Are you looking forward to going back to school?”

I took a bite, feeling suddenly ravenous. Gardening had always left me feeling hungry.

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I’m looking forward to seeing Rose again, but ...”

Mum nodded. “I was pretty good at school,” she said, “but I don’t remember it with any fondness.”

Pretty good, I thought, wryly. She was being very modest. Mum had been valedictorian for two years running, then gone straight into a brilliant potions apprenticeship that had catapulted her to fame and fortune. Dad had done very well too. Are any of us going to live up to them?

“It has its moments,” I said. I had enjoyed some of the classes, as well as the chance to learn from some of the most experienced magicians in the world. It was just the other kids I disliked. They’d sensed my weakness and attacked. Perhaps I’d taught them a lesson, when I’d beaten Isabella, or perhaps not. “I just wish ...”

I shook my head as my words trailed off. What did I wish? That I’d been born with power? Or that I’d been raised somewhere where my lack of power wasn't an issue? Or ... I shivered as I remembered Rose’s bare feet. The pockmarks from a childhood disease were too embedded to be removed without magic, yet Rose’s family hadn't had the funds to hire a healer. And she’d been one of the lucky ones. She’d told me that far too many of her peers hadn't lived through their first decade.

“No magic can change the past,” my mother said. Her dark eyes were sympathetic. “All you can do is make the best of it.”

“Or not,” I muttered. Did Great Aunt Stregheria make the best of it? “It just doesn't seem fair.”

“The world is not fair,” Mum said, flatly. “And sometimes bad things happen to good people.”

She finished her sandwich, then pulled a bottle from the basket and put it to her lips. I felt an odd rush of affection, knowing that my mother normally wouldn't do anything as lowly as drinking out of a bottle. But then, she was wearing tattered old clothes and getting her hands dirty too. Dignity and gardening didn't really go together.

“I found several new potion recipes we might want to try,” she said, as she passed me the bottle. “They all require very precise infusions of magic.”

I took a long drink. The ginger tasted strong enough to make me cough. “And perhaps cannot be made by real magicians?”

“Perhaps,” Mum agreed. “You have managed to answer a great many questions, Cat. But you have also given me far more.”

I nodded as I reached for another sandwich. There were hundreds of potion recipes that no one, not even my mother or Magistra Loanda, had been able to make. I’d read the long-winded articles written and distributed by the potioneers guild. Every attempt had either failed completely - dissolving into a muddy sludge that was only slightly more magical than myself - or exploded violently enough to burn through wards and do serious damage. And yet, the promise kept potion masters trying to brew the recipes. A potioneer who managed to get just one of them to work would make his fame and fortune overnight.

Particularly the one that grants superhuman strength, I thought. The ancient tomes insisted that it had been invented in a tiny village, now long since wiped off the map. But no matter how one fiddled with the ingredients, the best anyone had managed to get was a reasonably tasty lobster stew. Something must have been left out of the recipe when it was written down.

“I can design a stirrer for you,” I said. Mum had more than enough control over her magic to charge and use it, I thought. And even if she didn’t, she could practice before she actually tried to use it. “And I’ll forge it over the summer holidays.”

“You could also help me brew them,” Mum said. “This time, you won’t fail.”

I looked down at the ground. I’d brewed countless potions with my mother, but they’d all failed. Without an infusion of magic, a potion was just a collection of exotic ingredients in pure water. I knew now how I could get that infusion of magic, but the memory of those failures still haunted me. Alana and Bella had rubbed them in at every opportunity.

And Bella expects me to help her with her homework, I thought, feeling a flicker of tired amusement. She was just too lazy for school. I dreaded to think what her half-term report would say. Dad would probably hit the roof when he read it. But if I help her, I can get her to help me.

“I hope so,” I said, finally. Mum wouldn't want to be anywhere near when I brewed ‘Caitlyn’s Boost’. The risk of an explosion was just too great. I didn't think Magistra Loanda would let me brew it in school either, not again. I might have to beg Dad to let me set up a potions lab in the summer house. “But ...”

“You won’t,” Mum said. She gave me a smile. “We understand the problem now, dear heart. And we can learn to compensate for it.”

“And find others,” I said. I looked towards the thicket of close-knit trees, unwilling to meet her eyes. The opal garden was hidden behind the trees ... a grim reminder that there were some things I would never be able to do. But it also offered a simpler way to find more people like me. “And who knows what will happen then?”

Mum offered me the last sandwich, then started to munch on a hard-boiled egg. “The world will change,” she said. “And the family will, as always, prosper.”

I took another sip of ginger. “I want to go back to school,” I said. “And I don’t want to go back to school. Is that normal?”

“I was born in Pontefract,” Mum said. She jabbed a finger northwards. “For me, travelling to Shallot for my education was an experience. But I was also homesick, because even if I did manage to get out of the school there was no way to get home in a hurry. My guardians were kind enough, I suppose, but they didn't really understand me.”

I looked up. “You were fostered?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Mum said. “My parents had a friend in Shallot. They gave him and his wife guardianship, just in case something happened that needed urgent attention. It wasn't bad, but ... they weren't my parents. And I didn't live with them, save for the occasional weekend. I can't say they ever really used their authority.”

“Ouch,” I said. I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. If I’d left Jude’s, I could have walked straight home. “What happened to them?”

“They died shortly after I married,” Mum said. She looked sombre for a moment. “They never had children of their own. I was the closest thing to a child they had - and they didn’t really have me. They--” her lips twitched “--probably decided that I was too much work.”

“You must have been naughty all the time,” I said, mischievously.

“I was a very studious child,” Mum said, primly. “My parents often had to chase me out of the house, just to force me to get some exercise.”

“That’s not what grandmother says,” I countered. “She said you only studied so much because you were grounded all the time.”

Mum smiled. “Grandchildren exist to allow grandparents to extract revenge on their children,” she said, wryly. Her face fell. “My guardians barely knew me, to be honest. I was surprised when they remembered me in their will.”

I blinked. “They did?”

“I was left a number of books,” Mum confirmed. “You can find them in the library, if you wish.”

“Oh,” I said. That was a surprise. Books, particularly ones produced before the printing press had been invented, were worth far more than their weight in gold. Mum’s guardians must have thought very highly of her. Unless they really hadn't had anyone closer to them who might inherit. “I’ll look for them when I have a moment.”

“Not for a while, I think,” Mum said. She packed up the picnic basket, then rose. “Shall we get back to work?”

“Yes, Mum,” I said. “How much more is there to do?”

Mum gave me an evil smile. “Guess.”
Chapter Seven

“I hope you have enjoyed your unexpected holiday,” my father said, as he surveyed the dinner table. “It will not happen again.”

I kept my face expressionless as Alana and Bella groaned. A week off school probably wouldn't hurt their grades, not when they were already well ahead of a good third of their classmates. It wouldn’t hurt Alana, at least. My sister might be a spiteful bully on her best day, but there was nothing wrong with her magic. She probably had some of the best grades in the year.

“They’ll be looking forward to us coming back,” Alana said, seriously. She shot me a taunting look. “My friends keep asking what happened to me.”

Because you’re the head of your little gang, I thought. Alana’s name and position had ensured she had a gaggle of giggling cronies surrounding her at all times, once she’d gone to school. Isabella had had a gang too. And if the head goes away for too long, the gang will go away too.

“Pulling you out of school was the best of a set of bad options,” Dad continued. “It was important that none of you were in a position to make the rumours worse.”

“Hah,” Bella muttered. 

“You’ll be going back tonight, then resuming classes tomorrow,” Dad added, ignoring her. “I hope that you will take the time to reflect on your duty to the family, as well as yourselves.”

I peered around the family room as the maids brought in the first course. It was far more comfortable than the formal ballroom, although Great Aunt Stregheria would probably have considered it too undignified for her magnificence. A large fire burned merrily in the grate, a sofa and three armchairs were perched against the walls and lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting brilliant light over the scene. The portraits on the walls showed us, from birth to our last birthday. I couldn't help reflecting that we'd changed a great deal over the years.

Alana was looking at me, her gaze hooded. I wondered, suddenly, just what Dad had said to her while I’d been working in the garden. She hadn't said anything to me since Great Aunt Stregheria had stormed out, not even her usual mockery. And she hadn't tried to hex me either. It made me more than a little paranoid. Alana was bright enough to think of a way to get around my protections, if she put her mind to it. I was sure she was planning something.

We ate slowly, savouring every bite. The food at Jude’s wasn't bad, but the school cooks were trying to feed over a thousand pupils. Henry and his apprentices only had to please the five of us. They could afford to take their time to craft a truly excellent dinner. The hunter’s chicken was perfect, the mashed potatoes fluffy with a hint of cheese, the vegetables coated in something that made us want to eat them ... I finished my plate and held it out for seconds. I definitely wouldn't eat so well at Jude’s.

“I will be inspecting your grades, come winter,” Dad said, as he placed his knife and fork on his plate. “I will not be pleased if your grades do not meet my standards.”

Bella winced. I felt a flicker of sympathy. Even if she worked hard for the next two months, it was unlikely she could bring up her grades in time for the winter holidays. Dad was not going to be pleased, even if there was a good chance she could keep herself from having to repeat the year. Her tutors probably already had a good impression of just how lazy she could be.

“My grades are excellent, Dad,” Alana said, airily. “I won’t have to repeat a year.”

“And I will be very displeased if that turns out to be an empty boast,” Mum said. She signalled the maid to bring in the pudding. “I do not want to have to arrange summer tutoring for you.”

Alana looked downcast, just for a second. For once, we were in perfect agreement. Summers were for playing games, for trying to forget that there was such a place as school. Dad had even promised to take us to the country estate, if we passed all of our exams. A summer of horse-riding, swimming in the lake and hiking through the cool mountains sounded very good to me. Alana probably felt the same way too.

And no one wants to spend their summers cooped up in a classroom, reviewing the material again and again, I thought. I’d learned to dread summer tutoring before I’d gone to boarding school. The tutors my parents had hired had been good, masters of their craft, but they’d been working with very poor material. We have to pass our exams.

“Cat cannot pass her exams,” Alana pointed out. “She can't cast a single spell without help.”

“We’ll take that into account,” Dad promised. “And so will her tutors.”

“But that won’t count,” Alana insisted. “How can she be a magician if she doesn't have magic?”

I felt my temper rise and forced it down, remorselessly. “I might not get a high grade in practical magic,” I said. I probably couldn’t, even though I did very well with theoretical magic. “But does it actually matter?”

“No one asks an apothecary for his charms grade,” Bella added.

Alana blinked in surprise. I felt the same way too. It was rare, very rare, for Bella to challenge Alana. I could count the number of times it had happened on the fingers of one hand. Bella had magic, unlike me, but she couldn't hold a torch to Alana. Alana would have no trouble hexing her into next week, if push came to shove.

“That is true,” Dad agreed. “A single low grade doesn't make you a failure.”

“How true,” Mum commented. “I saw your potions grade.”

Dad smiled, rather dryly. I kept my thoughts to myself. Dad’s potion grades had been average, but his charms and defence grades had gone through the roof. Alana had a great deal to live up to, if she wished to impress her defence tutors. Mum hadn't done badly in either charms or defence, but potions had been her first love. 

And I can’t defend myself without Objects of Power, I thought. I’d better be very careful in the shower.

I touched my sore ear as Dad launched into a long lecture on what one could and couldn’t do with the various grades. It hadn't burnt that badly - and I’d rubbed salve on the burn as soon as I’d left the table - but it was clear the earrings would need to be improved. Great Aunt Stregheria had cursed me so hard that the earring had been damaged, perhaps completely burnt out. I didn't want to think about what might have happened if she’d tried to curse me again, before Dad had ordered her to leave. 

They have to be touching my skin, I reminded myself. I could lower the gemstones and their protective filigree a little, I thought, but that might risk losing the effect. Perhaps I should just stick with the simplest design. They might not reflect any incoming spell back at the caster, but they would last longer. I’ll have to do some more experiments.

Lucy put a cake in front of me. I gaped at it in surprise. Vanilla sponge cake - my favourite - crammed with whipped cream and raspberry jam. A birthday cake? It wasn't my birthday ... and, in any case, I shared my birthday with my sisters. I had never liked my birthdays ...

“It is customary to celebrate when a child shows the first sign of magic,” my father said, into the silence. “And what you have shown definitely counts as magic.”

Alana opened her mouth, probably to say something cutting, but Dad fixed her with a look that would have intimidated Sir Griffons. My sister shut her mouth with a snap. Beside her, Bella was eying the cake eagerly. It might not be her favourite, but she’d eat it anyway. I had often thought, I reflected as I picked up the knife, that Bella was lucky that she was only a little pudgy. She just didn't get enough exercise.

I cut a reasonably-sized slice, placed it on a plate and passed it to Dad. By tradition, the head of the house had to be offered the first slice. Dad made a show of inspecting it, then passed the plate to Mum. She smiled back at him as I cut the next set of slices. Alana took hers with a sharp nod, while Bella was eager to start eating. I could practically see her salivating as I cut the final two slices.

“You may take the remainder back to school with you,” Mum said, as I moved the cake into the centre of the table. “I’m sure your friends will enjoy it.”

My one friend, I thought. Unless I counted Akin too. But he might not trust something that had come out of our kitchens. There isn't enough for the entire dorm.

I sighed as I started to eat my slice. There were nine girls in the dorm, all of whom knew - now - that I couldn't cast a single spell. They no longer doubted, they no longer believed I was a late bloomer ... they knew I didn't have magic. And yet, I had a talent of my own. Who knew how they’d treat me? Perhaps I should share out the cake, but there wasn't enough left to give all nine a reasonably-sized piece. 

And, by tradition, I have to share anything eaten in the dorm, I reminded myself. Jude’s traditions were set in stone. A student who abused the code of honour would be shunned and abhorred by everyone else. Thankfully, some of the traditions worked in my favour. But I’d need more cake.

“This is very good,” Bella said, as she finished her slice. “Can I have some more?”

“I think not,” Mum said, firmly. She eyed Bella, warningly. “I really do hope you pass your exams.”

Because then we could spend hours in the mountains, walking from place to place, I thought, wryly. Mum would stand behind Bella with a whip, if she tried to be lazy over the summer holidays. And Alana won’t be happy either, if we don’t get to go.

“Your trunks have already been returned to the school,” Dad said. I wasn't sure why he’d bothered to have them sent home in the first place. “Go to your rooms and change into your uniforms, then meet me in the entrance hall. And do try not to be late.”

I rose and hurried out the room, trusting that Mum would ensure that the cake was wrapped up and placed in a protective box for the journey. Alana followed me, but did nothing as we hurried up the stairs and into our rooms. I frowned as I stepped into my room and closed the door behind me. She was definitely up to something. But what?

The uniform, freshly cleaned and pressed, lay on the bed where one of the maids had left it. I felt oddly wistful, even though I’d hated the uniform the first time I’d worn it. A black skirt, reaching all the way down to my ankles; black shoes, shining under the light; a black shirt, a black blazer ... a single white band wrapped around my right arm, marking me out as a first-year student. Other than that, everything was black.

I still look like a professional mourner, I thought, as I changed into the uniform. It felt normal, after having worn it for several weeks. I no longer felt ridiculous as I posed in front of the mirror, making sure everything was perfect. All I need is the funeral.

Someone had folded a cloak at the end of the bed. I threw it over my shoulder - there was no point in wearing it unless it was raining outside - and then picked up my bag. I’d made more than just the sword over the last few days, including a handful of Objects of Power that should make life at school a little easier. It was a shame, I reflected, that there was no way to miniaturise the spectacles, although I had managed to create a monocle. But it kept falling out every second minute.

I sighed, then took one last look around the room. It had been bare, only a few short months ago. Now, it was as finely-decorated as Alana or Bella’s room. My parents had promised me that I would have a fine room, as soon as I cast my first spell. I couldn't help thinking as though I’d failed in some way, even though my talents were far more useful than either of my sisters’ magic. Alana could spend the rest of her life in front of a forge, if she wished. It wouldn't let her craft an Object of Power.

The clock chimed, warningly. I turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind me. I didn't bother to lock it. There was nothing in the room I wanted to keep secret, if only because I’d long since learnt how dangerous it could be to hide anything in a room my sisters tried to search every so often. Besides, the maids would need to clean it while I was at school. I just hoped they wouldn't mess up the bookshelves when they returned my books to the shelf.

My father was standing at the bottom of the stairs, wearing his formal cloak and holding a box under one arm. Alana was standing next to him, looking sullen. I joined them and waited, in silence, until Mum and Bella walked down the stairs and nodded to Dad. Mum checked our appearances, gave us all one last hug goodbye, then watched as we walked out of the hall and down the driveway.

“It's dark,” Bella whined.

I rolled my eyes. Beside me, Alana snorted rudely. Dark or not, only a complete lunatic would dare to attack my father. His formal robes alone marked him out as a high-ranking member of Magus Court, which meant he was a powerful magician. And my sisters might have been young, but they were formidable too. I’d been told the streets of South Shallot were dangerous, yet few footpads dared venture into North Shallot. The City Guard would chase them out, if they weren't transfigured into toads by outraged residents first.

The air smelt of fish and brine as it wafted in from the harbour, down in Water Shallot. It made me feel wistful as we walked down the darkened streets. I’d dreamed of travelling, once upon a time, although my real motive had been more to escape my family than to see new places. My family owned several trading ships, but the crews needed magic to steer. I had always assumed that I’d never be able to join a crew. Female sailors, with or without a certain level of magic, were rare.

I saw a gaggle of young men emerge from a tavern as we reached the bridge and crossed the river. They chatted loudly amongst themselves, their words drifting on the air. I thought they were sailors, for a moment, before realising that they were students. Upperclassmen, then; upperclassmen who’d somehow escaped Jude’s wards and gone out for a night on the town. My father sniffed in disapproval, but said nothing. Sneaking out over the walls was an old tradition, one that had never been snuffed out. The iron railings on the walls - designed to make life difficult for any would-be escapees - presented the sort of challenge that the school board felt built character.

And Dad probably slipped out from time to time too, I thought. It was difficult to imagine my parents being young. The portraits of Dad as a youngster might as well have belonged to my brother ... if I’d had a brother. I’d inherited more than just the nose from my father. I wonder if he knew Mum when they were both in school.

I pushed the thought aside - there were things I didn't want to think about my parents - as we reached Jude’s. The iron gates loomed ominously over our heads, topped with wrought-iron features that looked - in the semi-darkness - to be monsters, perched on the metal. I tensed, despite myself. There were formidable defences all around the giant school. If they decided we were unfriendly, we were in real trouble ...

A shadow materialised near the gatehouse. “Report to the Castellan in the ... ah, Lord Aguirre? I didn't expect you so late.”

“We meant to be earlier, Skullion,” my father said. He sounded oddly amused. “Can you not report us to the Castellan?”

“Of course, My Lord,” the man - Skullion - said. I’d heard of the scowling gatekeeper who only came out at night, but I’d never met him. “I’m sure you’re not up to any of your old tricks.”

Dad laughed as Skullion opened a smaller door in the gatehouse, allowing us to walk into the grounds and up the drive. I glanced at Skullion as we passed, recoiling in shock. His face was half-cloaked in shadow, but what little I could see was hideously ugly. He looked as though someone had cursed him repeatedly until his face was a misshapen mess. I couldn't imagine a more intimidating figure on the gates.

We walked up the driveway, feeling a mixture of fear and trepidation. Jude’s looked like a prison in the darkness, the shadows changing position whenever we weren't looking. The main doors were firmly closed, but a smaller door was open, a dark figure waiting inside. I told myself, firmly, that we were in no danger. Jude’s wasn't really a prison.

It just feels like one, I thought.

“Greetings, My Lord,” Castellan Wealden said.

“Thank you,” Dad said.

“Alana and Bella can go straight to their dorms,” Castellan Wealden added. “I need a word with Caitlyn before she goes to bed.”

Dad nodded. “Here’s the cake,” he said, passing me the box. “Good luck, all of you.”

He turned and walked back into the darkness. I wanted to call out to him, to ask him to take me straight home ... but that would have meant abandoning Rose. I couldn't do that, could I?

“You two are dismissed,” the Castellan said, addressing my sisters. “Caitlyn, come with me.”

I sighed. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter Eight

Jude’s hadn't changed at all, as far as I could tell.

I walked behind Castellan Wealden, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. I wasn't in trouble. At least, I didn't think I was in trouble. But the empty corridors and dimmed lights couldn't help but feel ominous. It wasn't that late. The lowerclassmen would probably be in their dorms, even if they weren't in bed, but the upperclassmen should still be roaming the corridors.

The Castellan led the way up a flight of stairs, down a long corridor lined with portraits of Old Boys and Girls who’d made good and into his office’s antechamber. His secretary sat behind her desk, eying me with an expression that suggested she’d smelt something disgusting. I didn't think she was one of my fans. Rumour had it that she was actually a golem the Castellan had brought to life, but no one dared to ask. Personally, I couldn't help wondering if she was related to Great Aunt Stregheria.

Which would make her related to me, I thought, as we stepped through the inner door and into the Castellan’s private office. And I don’t want to be related to her.

“Please, take a seat,” the Castellan said. His voice was calm, as always. He seemed to have aged ten years since I’d last seen him, although he was still quite young for his post. “I assume you ate before you came?”

“We had dinner together,” I confirmed, as I placed my bag on the floor and took a chair. The question surprised me. None of the staff had invited me for dinner before - or any students, as far as I knew. They preferred to have as little contact with us as possible outside the classrooms. “I should be fine until breakfast.”

The Castellan sat, steepling his fingers in front of his face as he rested his elbows on the desk. My father had taught me that that was a sign of confidence, although he’d gone on to warn me that some men - and women too - were careful to project confidence even when they felt utterly unsure of themselves. I rested my hands in my lap and gazed back, trying to look as respectful as possible. There was nothing to be gained from being defiant, particularly when I probably wasn't in trouble.

“Your ... nature has caused us some problems,” the Castellan said. He nodded to a stack of papers on his desk. “The school board has had quite a lot to say about it.”

I nodded, wordlessly. My father had told me that the school board was largely useless - they woke up long enough to confirm the status quo, had a good meal on expenses and then went back to sleep - but they would want to have a say when an important pupil managed to get themselves into trouble. Dad would have roused them from their slumber if I’d been expelled, after the potions incident ... he might have threatened to do just that, after Rose had been expelled. The Castellan would not have wanted to get into an argument with a united board. They could overrule him if they wished.

And the Triad probably had a say too, I thought. But what did they say?

“It is evident that you cannot handle a regular course of study,” the Castellan added, after a moment. “You cannot even hope to get through the practical exams, certainly not without help. On the other hand, you have a rare gift of your own and it is our responsibility to ensure that you have the opportunity to develop it.”

He paused, clearly awaiting a response. But I didn't know what to say. I wanted to stay and I wanted to go. I wanted ... I wasn’t sure what I wanted. To be told that I couldn’t pass the exams, no matter how hard I worked ... it stung. And yet, I knew it was true. If I wasn't allowed to take Objects of Power into the testing chambers, I wouldn’t last more than five minutes.

“We will be creating a customised course of study for you over the next few weeks,” the Castellan said, when it became apparent that I wasn't going to say anything. “You’ll stay in some of your regular classes, I think, and engage in private study for others. We’ll be rearranging the timetables so you’ll have the undivided attention of some of my staff. It will be difficult, at first, but they’re quite looking forward to working with you.”

It was hard to keep from wincing. In one sense, I’d had special treatment all my life; in another, I hadn't had anything different from my peers. I might have had private tutors, but so had Isabella and the rest of High Society. Now ... I would be getting very special treatment, treatment that would not be offered to other magicians. Would having magic - and the ability to hex me at will - keep them from getting jealous?

Probably not, I thought.

“Your new timetable will be ready by the end of the week, I hope,” the Castellan informed me. “We held back on a couple of classes so you and your sisters could attend from the beginning. You’ll understand why when the classes begin.”

I swallowed. “Thank you, sir.”

“It is my duty,” the Castellan said, gravely. He smiled, then leaned forward. “And that leads to a less pleasant discussion.”

He met my eyes. “You are unique,” he said. “That makes you valuable, at least until we locate someone else with your particular gifts. You will discover that a great many people will want to be your friend.”

I didn't believe him, not really. People wanted to be Alana’s friend, not mine. I’d grown more and more isolated from the rest of my peers as my lack of actual magic became apparent. No one wanted to be friends with a failure, for fear the failure might rub off. Rose had been the first person to show me real friendship. And she didn't have anything to lose.

“I advise you to be careful,” the Castellan said. His voice hardened. “And I order you not to leave the grounds without an escort. You are not to try to sneak over the walls and through the wards. I know trying to sneak out is an old tradition - I’ve done it myself - but you are not to indulge in it. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. I’d never planned to sneak over the walls. A young student wouldn't have much of a chance of getting through the wards, not without help. Being trapped would be bad enough, but having the rest of the school laughing at them would be worse. “I won’t leave the school.”

“Make sure of it,” the Castellan said, firmly. “You are too young to understand the dangers, Caitlyn. But rest assured, there are dangers out there.”

I winced. Jude’s was neutral ground. Anyone who tried something on the school’s grounds would become an immediate pariah, uniting the rest of Shallot against them. But outside the grounds ... suddenly, all the horror stories about family feuds seemed very real. It had been a while since the last true conflict - Magus Court tried to keep them from getting out of control - but that could change at any time.

“I understand,” I said. Perhaps that was why Dad hadn't ordered me to stay home. The school was safer. Even families that detested mine would assist us if our enemies violated neutral ground. “And ... I thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” the Castellan said. He nodded to the door. “You may go. I believe your friend is waiting for you.”

I rose, curtseyed to him, picked up my bag and headed for the door. Outside, Rose was sitting on a bench. I ran forward and hugged her, tightly. Tears prickled in my eyes. I’d missed her, more than I’d known. She was the one person who’d been there for me when I’d been utterly alone.

“Cat,” she said, as she hugged me back. “Welcome back.”

The secretary cleared her throat. “Go back to the dorms,” she ordered, curtly. “You can catch up later.”

I took Rose’s arm and pulled her out of the office. “I wanted to be back sooner,” I said, as I closed the door. “I’m sorry I didn't make it.”

“It’s all right,” Rose said. “We’ve been quite busy.”

I looked at her as we made our way down the corridor. Rose looked more ... confident than I remembered, her long red hair glimmering under the lantern light. Her pale skin showed hints of makeup, carefully applied ... her white nightgown fitted her perfectly, drawing attention to her face and bright green eyes. I frowned, puzzled. Rose had never used cosmetics - she’d never been able to afford them. How could she?  And she had her hair down ...

“Everyone has been surprisingly nice,” Rose said, breaking into my thoughts. “Well, except Isabella. She’s been very sullen.”

“It's good to know that some things don’t change,” I said. I’d let Isabella stay in the dorm, after the duel. Perhaps that had been a mistake. “The others have been nice to you?”

Rose’s hand brushed her cheek. “Henrietta helped me with my homework,” she said. “And Ayesha taught me how to use powder on my face.”

I felt a hot flash of jealousy, mingled with concern. Ayesha was one of Isabella’s friends - or had been one of Isabella’s friends, before the duel. No one liked a loser, as I knew all too well ... and Isabella hadn't just lost. Her defeat had had repercussions that had echoed far beyond the school. I would have felt pity for her, if she hadn't been so horrible to me. Her father would have been utterly furious when he found out.

“I hope you’re being careful,” I said. Rose had a right to other friends, didn’t she? It was good that she was finally making headway with the rest of the dorm. And yet ... part of me wanted to keep her all to myself. “What about the others?”

“They’ve been nice,” Rose said. She frowned as we descended the stairs. “It’s been quite creepy, actually.”

I had to laugh. “Maybe someone kidnapped our dormmates and replaced them with identical twins.”

Rose giggled. “That would explain a lot, I suppose.”

She elbowed me. “Akin was asking after you,” she added. “But I couldn’t tell him anything useful.”

“He could just have written to me,” I said, although I didn't know if I’d get his letter. Dad would have had a few things to say, none of them pleasant, about receiving letters from our family’s great rivals. “How is he?”

“Doing well, as far as I know,” Rose said. She rubbed her hand, gently. “He helped me out a lot in forging. I still haven’t got the hang of it.”

“I’ve been doing it for years,” I reminded her. Maybe I should have felt jealous at the thought of Akin spending time with Rose, but it didn't bother me ... not really. He was a good TA. Magister Tallyman had taken us both on as his Teacher’s Assistants. “You’ll have a one-star of your own by the end of your second year.”

Rose sighed. “If I last that long,” she cautioned. “I’m still behind in theoretical magic.”

“I’ll help you with it,” I promised. 

I wondered, sourly, why one of our dormmates hadn't offered to help her learn that. Perhaps it was a worrying sign. A student who didn't have a good grasp of magical theory would never become an upperclassman. Rose could turn someone into a frog - I’d taught her that spell, even though I couldn't cast it myself - but she couldn't keep her victim that way without setting up the spell very carefully. And to do that she needed a working understanding of precisely what she was doing.

They might be pretending to be nice to her, I thought, but they’re not actually being nice to her.

“I’m doing better at potions, too,” Rose added. “But my potions are still not perfect.”

“You just need practice,” I assured her. The basic potions we brewed in class were easy. I’d seen Mum sweating over a steaming cauldron where everything had to be utterly perfect or the potion would explode. “And complete precision at all times.”

I sighed. Mum had drilled those habits into me from Day One. It had surprised me that Magistra Loanda hadn't been quite so obsessed with precision, although most of the basic potions were quite forgiving. She might think that a prospective potioneer would have the sense to read the recipe and instructions - and then prepare the ingredients - before they started brewing the potion. And someone who didn't would learn the hard way when they had to scramble to find something before it was too late.

“I try,” Rose said. “I think it’s the magic that really makes it hard.”

“We’ll see,” I said. I had a whole series of experiments I meant to carry out as soon as possible. Rose would help, of course. Perhaps I could talk Akin into helping too. That would really drive his sister up the wall. “You’re just starting out, again.”

Rose shook her head in frustration. “I used to cook on the stove at home,” she said. “I should be able to brew a potion.”

“I think it’s a little more complex,” I countered. Henry might insist that his cooking was as complicated as any potion, but I had my doubts. Roast beef didn’t care if you cooked it over the spit for eighty-nine minutes or ninety-one. “And you’re infusing magic into the brew.”

We reached the bottom of the stairs and walked down a long corridor. I tensed, despite myself, as I heard footsteps echoing from the far end. A moment later, a pair of upperclassmen walked into view, glaring at us both suspiciously. Rose fished a pass out of her pocket and held it up before they could say a word. They inspected the pass, their eyes flickering over us, then passed it back and walked on. I allowed myself a sigh of relief. We might have permission to be out of the dorm, yet the upperclassmen would have been within their rights to question us. Sneaking out of the dorms was a bad thing, but only if you got caught.

“That was close,” Rose said. “I wasn't sure if the pass covered you or not.”

I had to smile. The Castellan would not have been pleased if two meddling upperclassmen had dragged me back to his office. I had permission to be outside the dorm, at least for as long as it took to walk back. But he would also have had to back up the upperclassmen’s authority ... I wasn't sure precisely how he’d react. I suppose I should have been glad that I wasn't going to find out.

“I’m sure it does,” I said, reassuringly. Sandy would have given Rose the pass, ensuring that she could meet me without being given lines or sent back to the dorm by a prowling upperclassman. But even that might not have been enough, if the upperclassman was in a bad mood. Rose had no family to protest if she was given a particularly harsh punishment. “How is Sandy, by the way?”

“She seems to have mellowed a little, now that Isabella and you have settled your differences,” Rose said. “But I don’t know if that will change.”

I shrugged. I hadn't spent a night in the dorm since the duel. Who knew how Isabella would react? I stopped long enough to open my bag and remove a couple of items, slipping them into my pockets, then closed the bag and slung it back over my shoulder. The earrings alone would give me some protection, if Isabella decided to hex me on sight, but I knew I’d need more. It was clear that there were limits to what the earrings could do.

I’ll have to experiment with that later too, I thought. Rose would have to help. She could make up for my lack of magic. And perhaps I can even improve on the design.

We passed another group of upperclassmen, escorted by a teacher I didn't recognise. They didn’t look remotely happy, something that suggested they’d been caught out of school and marched back to face the music. The City Guard must have caught them, I reasoned as we stepped to one side and tried not to be noticed. Normally, the Castellan and his staff would turn a blind eye to students who actually made it over the wall. I guessed they’d gotten into a fight in one of the bars and wound up being arrested.

And they’d probably be happier staying in the cells, I thought. The Castellan would be furious. They’d dragged the school’s name through the mud. They’ll be in real trouble.

Rose snorted. “That one in the middle,” she said. “He gave me lines for skipping down the corridor.”

I snickered. I hadn't seen the one she meant - upperclassmen all looked the same to me - but I could believe it. Even the responsible ones - like Sandy - acted as though us firsties were so far beneath them we might as well be on the other side of the world. They certainly didn't remember when they were firsties. Five years was quite a long time for a teenager.

“And now he’s in trouble,” I said mischievously, as we reached the door. “I wonder what will happen to him.”

“A million lines, at least,” Rose said. “His hand will drop off.”

I grinned. Sandy had sometimes threatened us with a million lines, but there was no reason to be excessive. A few hundred lines was more than enough to make my wrists ache.

“And here we are,” I said. The door to Raven Dorm looked as forbidding as I remembered, a solid dark mass covered in protective runes. “Shall we go?”

Rose nodded. I braced myself, then pushed open the door.
Chapter Nine

“Welcome home,” Sandy called.

I felt my mouth drop open as my dormmates greeted me. I’d never been popular, even amongst those who disliked Isabella and her cronies. But now, everyone was coming at me, everyone was greeting me. I flinched back as Clarian Bolingbroke and Gayle Fitzwilliam hugged me, while Ayesha and Zeya McDonald shook my hand. It was hard, so hard, to believe that their greetings were sincere. Their hugs might be cover for a hex ...

“It’s good to see you again,” Henrietta Maria said. She smiled at me, charmingly. “I’ve been looking forward to discussing magical theory with you.”

Ayesha ran her hand over my hair. “What did you put in it? It feels wonderful and soft.”

I pulled back. It had taken me years to convince my mother that I didn't need elaborate hairstyles. A ponytail or plaits were enough, I thought, even though I apparently needed a fancy braid for formal occasions. I’d never been comfortable with the maids doing my hair for me, either. I knew Lucy and the others wouldn't deliberately set out to hex me, but my sisters had left me wary of being touched.

“Just shampoo,” I said. I’d never really cared that much for my hair, either. “It’s nothing special.”

“You have to let me braid it,” Ayesha said. “I could do a much better job with hair like yours.” She jabbed a finger at Rose. “Her hair became more manageable after I gave her some proper shampoo and taught her a handful of grooming charms.”

And you let her leave the dorm without tying her hair into a ponytail, I thought, sourly. It was late - and we were in school - but it was the sort of mistake that would have attracted some very astringent criticism from the old biddies of High Society. Or did you think no one would care about her?

“You’re more than welcome to join us for study,” Amber Alidade said. “You can teach us how to forge and we’ll help you with potions and defence.”

I shrugged, feeling a little overwhelmed. Sandy was sitting on her bed, brushing her hair and watching us with an unreadable expression on her face. Behind her, I could see Isabella pretending to be asleep. She was just too tense to be actually sleeping. Someone had moved her bed so she was right next to Sandy. I doubted Isabella appreciated it. Being so close to the older girl ensured she wouldn't get away with anything.

“Perhaps you could join us tomorrow,” Amber pressed. “We’re going to be spending the evening watching netball ...”

Sandy smiled, rather thinly. “I think Caitlyn will have to catch up with her classes,” she said, her voice cutting through the babble. “There’ll be time for netball later.”

“There’s always time for netball,” Amber said. Her voice became sweet with malice. “Isn't there, Isabella?”

Isabella rolled over and looked at me. The cold hatred in her eyes was terrifying. I knew the school’s honour code forbade her taking revenge, now she’d lost a formal duel, but it still worried me. I hadn’t just humiliated her. I’d knocked her right to the bottom of the dorm hierarchy. Her cronies - her former cronies - were above her now, peering down at their former leader with all the scorn and contempt they’d once heaped on me.

She’ll recover, I thought. Isabella was still Isabella Rubén, still one of the heirs to a powerful family. Memories would fade as time went on, giving her a chance to start again. And then ... what will she do?

Sandy cleared her throat. “It is time you all went to bed,” she said. She clapped her hands, loudly. “Shower, dress, bed, sleep. I’ll be dimming the lights in fifteen minutes.”

I shot her a grateful look as I hurried to my bed. I had no sensitivity to magic at all, but I could feel Isabella’s cold gaze watching me. If looks could kill - and there were spells for that - I’d be disintegrated into ash. Rose followed me, her footsteps echoing through the room. Someone had moved her bed too, putting it next to mine. With a little work, we could combine our curtains and share a bigger space.

“She’s been very sullen,” Rose whispered.

I put my bag down on the floor, then hastily checked the drapes for unwanted surprises before I pulled them closed. There were none, not even a single solitary hex. I frowned, concerned that I was missing something. Isabella might be barred from hexing me - although I was starting to think she didn't intend to abide by the honour code - but someone else might have decided to conceal a hex on my bed. It was the traditional way to welcome someone back to the dorm.

“I can tell,” I whispered back. 

I slipped one pair of spectacles from my pockets and perched them on my nose. The world changed colour at once, waves of light pulsing through the stone walls; blurs of light shimmering over the other beds. My dormmates had protected themselves thoroughly, Isabella most of all. My lips twitched. I had the sneaking feeling that even she would have to take several minutes to dismantle her protections before going to the toilet in the middle of the night. Sandy would probably have some problems getting Isabella up in the morning if she overslept.

But my bed was dark and cold. There were no spells; no hexes to zap me into a frog if I touched them with my bare skin, no charms to keep my dormmates from disturbing me with their snores. Even Rose had more protections on her drapes than I did. I felt oddly sure I was missing something, but there was nothing. My earrings didn't even get warm as I sat on the comfortable bed. Someone had taken the time to make up the bed and hide a pair of pyjamas under the pillow - and place my trunk at the end of the bed - but not to prepare an unpleasant surprise for me. I couldn't help feeling uneasy as I stood and pulled the drapes into position. Perhaps I was missing something.

“They were all pleased to see you,” Rose said, after casting a basic privacy spell. I’d taught her to use it at all times. It was very basic, but the kind of spells necessary to break through it were banned in the dorms. “Are you ... are you going to spend time with them?”

It struck me, suddenly, that she was just as uncertain - perhaps even jealous - as myself. We’d been the dorm outcasts, the powerless girl of noble blood and common-born magician who’d been raised in the countryside, herding pigs instead of learning magic. But now ... now I could find friends from my own caste, if I wished them. I’d wondered if Rose would abandon me, now she’d found other friends, but she must have felt the same thing too.

“No,” I said. Netball was boring, at least partly because I couldn't play. I could run and throw the ball with the best of them, but the spells? I’d be hexed out of the game within seconds. “I don’t want to spend time with them.”

I hesitated. “Did Ayesha say anything about wearing your hair down?”

Rose frowned. “No,” she said. “Why ...?”

“You’re not meant to wear your hair down until you’re old enough to marry,” I said. It was late at night, and no one was expected to have their hair braided in bed, but someone would probably have said something if they’d noticed Rose outside the dorm. “When you go outside, make sure you tie it up into a ponytail at the very least.”

Rose’s cheeks reddened. “Thank you,” she said. She touched her hair. “Did she ... did she do that on purpose?”

I shrugged. I doubted Rose’s family cared much for High Society’s rules. They didn't have the time to learn them, let alone the money to spend on proper clothes, etiquette lessons and everything else a youngster needed if they wanted to be seen as a respectable member of society. It was possible that Ayesha had set Rose up for some embarrassment, but equally possible that she simply hadn't considered it important. Or noticed that Rose was leaving the dorm.

“I don’t know,” I said. I emptied my bag onto the bed, then picked up a focusing tool. It was a long wooden wand, decorated with carved runes. I’d thought it would be simple, when I’d decided on the gift, but it had been surprisingly tricky to make. “This is for you.”

Rose took the wand and waved it in the air. Sparks flew from the tip, dancing around her fingertips. I watched, feeling an odd mixture of delight and envy. My gift made me practically unique - and my training would give me an edge, if I ever met another Zero - but I still didn't have magic. Rose would always have opportunities that I’d lack. But then, the reverse was also true.

“It's wonderful,” she breathed.

“It’s designed to help you modulate your magic,” I told her. “With a little fiddling, you can use it to make sure you only use precisely what you need.”

Rose smiled. “Thank you.” Her face fell. “I didn't get you anything ...”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I ...”

She gave me a hug, then settled back to watch as I opened my drawer. A punishment book - a new punishment book - sat there, waiting for me. I rolled my eyes as I picked it up, making sure that it was my name on the front cover. Someone had probably feared I’d leave the old book at home, out of sight and out of mind. They needn’t have worried. Dad had made sure I’d packed it, along with the spellbook and a number of other textbooks. I put it on top of my clothes, then opened my trunk and started to cram my possessions into the drawer. They didn’t seem to fit.

“If you have two punishment books,” Rose asked, “which one is the real one?”

“Good question,” I said. There was a complex linking charm binding my book to a master record, but I wasn't sure which one was the real one. Perhaps the punishments would appear in both books. Or perhaps the charm would get confused, rendering both books invalid. I’d have to experiment to find out. “If I stick my tongue out at Sandy, do you think she’d give me a hundred lines?”

“I don’t know,” Rose said. “She’s been acting weird lately.”

“Everyone has been acting weird since I returned,” I muttered. I put the cake box aside - I’d share it later, outside the dorm - and then reached for my towel. “What’s got into them?”

The weirdness only grew stronger as we walked to the shower. I’d expected a hex or two aimed at me - I’d kept the earrings on, just to be sure - but nothing happened. Instead, my dormmates smiled and waved as though we were the best of friends. I was almost grateful for Isabella’s scowls and glares. At least that was reassuringly normal.

Maybe they’re just glad Isabella got knocked down a peg or two, I thought. The showers didn't look to have changed much, if at all. The only real difference was the addition of a number of bottles of expensive shampoo. Or maybe they’re just trying to lure me into a false sense of security. 

I washed, changed into my pyjamas and walked back to the bed. Sandy was already dimming the lights, marching up and down the room and glaring at everyone who wasn't moving fast enough to suit her. Most of the students were pulling their drapes closed, trying to pretend to be asleep. I doubted Sandy was fooled, but she wouldn't say anything as long as they weren’t blatantly defying her. A student who didn't get enough sleep would regret it the following day.

“Cat,” Sandy said. She nodded to Rose, silently ordering her to her bed. Rose complied without argument. “A word with you, if you please.”

I didn't please, but I didn't have a choice. Sandy led me to the front of the dorm, past a set of closed drapes. I hoped that Isabella was already asleep, instead of plotting revenge. The Objects of Power would give me some protection, but I was grimly aware that they didn't make me invincible. I’d grown up on too many stories of weapons that were supposed to do just that, but turned out to be flawed in some way.

“I had a long talk with Isabella, after the duel,” Sandy said, once we were standing by her bed. She didn’t bother to cast a ward to keep our conversation private. “I told her that I expected her to behave herself - and that I would take steps if she didn’t.”

I swallowed. Sandy hadn’t intervened between Isabella and myself until matters had really started to get out of hand. On one hand, she wanted a quiet life; on the other, we were both from powerful families and alienating us - even just one of us - might have been bad for her future. And yet ... I couldn't help wondering if I would have discovered the truth, if Sandy had squashed Isabella on the first day. I might not have. And if I hadn't, I would merely have been condemned to endlessly repeating the first year again and again, unable to pass the exams that would let me move into the second year.

“I expect the same from you,” Sandy added, after a moment. “You won - well done. Now you and she can move on, without this petty little feud. I will not be pleased if you rub her nose in her defeat, nor will I be happy if she finds a new way to get at you. Do not defy me on this.”

“She started it,” I said. I knew it was childish, but I couldn’t help myself. “I didn't want a rival ...”

“I’m sure she’s pleased to hear it,” Sandy said, sardonically. Having a rival to match yourself against was another school tradition, but it generally only applied to upperclassmen. Besides, I’d always thought it was stupid. Why would I waste time challenging a rival? “And I’m sure you’re pleased to hear that she doesn't want a rival either.”

“Oh, goody,” I said.

Sandy gave me a sharp look. “I don’t care which one of you started it,” she said. Her tone dared me to disagree. “And I don’t care that your families have been feuding for the last umpteen billion years or whatever. You’ll learn to tolerate each other, or I’ll chain you together and put you to work scrubbing the floor.”

“A fate worse than death,” I said.

“How amusing,” Sandy said, archly. Her lips curved into a humourless smile. “Isabella said the very same thing.”

I smiled back, although it wasn't particularly funny. Rose and I had been forced to scrub floors after the potions incident, a task I’d rapidly come to detest. Doing it with Isabella would be far - far - worse. We’d keep exchanging barbs and insults until one of us snapped and tried to hurt the other. And then we’d both get in trouble for not cleaning the floor. I wasn't sure what was worse than being chained to my worst enemy and forced to cooperate, but I didn't want to find out.

“Now, go to bed and sleep,” Sandy ordered. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I started to turn, then stopped myself. “Sandy ... why is everyone acting so weird?”

Sandy gave me a look that suggested she thought I was being stupid. “They’re trying to get on your good side,” she said, in a tone that confirmed she thought I was being stupid. “And they’re trying to do it by buttering you up.”

She jabbed a finger at my bed. “Sleep.”

I walked back to my bed, my head spinning. They were trying to get on my good side? I’d never had that before, not after it was clear I didn't have much magic. Everyone had expected Alana to inherit the family name, title and wealth. They still did, I suspected. I might have a talent of my own, but I still lacked magic. And yet ... I couldn’t help feeling uneasy as I pulled the drapes closed. I’d grown used to people treating me as though I didn’t exist. Now ...

It might be fun, part of me thought. What would Alana say if you had more friends and clients than her?

It might be dangerous, another part countered.

I lay down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. I’d never really wanted to be popular ... no, that wasn't true. I had wanted to be popular, but I’d never been popular. And I wasn't sure how to handle it. Part of me was tempted to push it, to build a circle of friends that would support me; part of me figured that it was a very bad idea. I might be unique - now - but that wouldn't last. There would be other Zeroes.

And being popular didn't work out so well for Isabella, my thoughts pointed out. My blood ran cold as the thought sank in. All her friends deserted her when she lost the duel.

I could hear a faint sound, rising and falling in the night air. Rose was snoring ... she’d forgotten to put up her wards. I felt a sudden rush of affection, driven with an awareness that Rose was a true friend. She’d seen me at my worst - and I’d nearly killed her - and she still put up with me. And I wouldn't have blamed her for leaving ...

Goodnight, I thought. I yawned and closed my eyes as sleep beckoned. I’ll see you in the morning.
Chapter Ten

The weirdness only grew stronger the following morning.

Rose and I got out of bed early, dressed in our uniforms and headed down to breakfast. No one paid much attention to Rose - she was just a common-born firstie - but me? People were staring, even upperclassmen who normally wouldn't have admitted to noticing me unless I was doing something they could punish. Girls and boys who were on the very edge of adulthood - old enough to live on their own, old enough to marry, old enough to walk away from their families if they wished - were watching me. It was ... creepy.

None of them spoke to me, of course. That would have surprised me even more. An upperclassman wouldn't talk to a lowerclassman, not socially. If I’d had older siblings, they wouldn't have talked to me either, not in public. There were lines between the class years that couldn't be crossed on pain of the most sarcastic remarks from one’s peers. But even paying attention to me was odd. It worried me more than I cared to admit.

We picked up our food, then sat down at a table to eat. The upperclassmen kept looking at us - at me - even as we ate, their gazes following me as I lifted the spoon to my mouth. I felt uneasy as I ate my porridge, feeling as though I was being confronted by a whole army of elderly relatives who wanted to criticise my table manners. I had never known that a young girl eating a bowl of porridge could be so fascinating. 

Beside me, Rose ate with gusto and went back for a second helping. I didn't really blame her, even though the porridge tasted rather bland. She’d grown up in a place where the food was worse and second helpings were rare. A bad winter might make the difference between seeing another year and starving to death. I wondered just how many upperclassmen were silently criticising her table manners. Rose wasn’t rude enough to chew with her mouth open, unlike some boys I could name, but it was clear she hadn't been given any formal instruction on how to eat in polite society.

Something we will have to consider, later, I thought. Perhaps I can talk Bella into giving her lessons.

The thought made me scowl. I hated etiquette, but Rose would have to learn if she wanted to pass as a well-born magician. People wouldn't question her birth if she wore fine clothes and spoke like an aristocrat, not unless they wanted to marry her. I had to smile at the thought, even though I knew it would horrify Alana and her peers. Rose was talented enough - as a magician - to be a very worthy prize for a lesser house. They’d overlook her birth if she did nothing to bring it to their attention.

I finished my bowl and sat back, watching as the dining room continued to fill. Jude’s had students from all over the country, a mingling of people of different colours and creeds, united only by magic. A handful of students had even come from outside the country, including a pair of slant-eyed girls from Hangchow. I studied them with interest, trying not to make it obvious. Hangchow was on the other side of the world, their magical learning different enough from others to make sharing information potentially lucrative. It wasn’t easy to get there and back, not in less than six months. I couldn't help wondering why the students had come to Jude’s.

Probably to get an education, I thought, dryly. It wouldn't have been an easy trip. My father owned a handful of trading ships and held shares in several more, but the risk of losing a vessel - and the investment - was terrifyingly high. And then go home to teach other students.

Beside me, Rose stared at them in fascination. Tintagel, thanks to the Thousand-Year Empire, has always been a pretty mixed society as far as the races are concerned, but the Hangchowese still stood out. Their nation had never been a part of the Thousand-Year Empire: they don’t speak the language, they don’t share the heritage, they don’t even share our faith in our ancestors. And yet, they had come to live and study in Shallot. They couldn't be that different.

I looked up as Magistra Haydon strode up to us. “Your timetable for the next two weeks,” she said, holding out a sheet of paper. “I’ll be seeing you this afternoon.”

“Thank you,” I said. 

I scanned the timetable as the Magical Growth tutor walked away. It wasn't as bad as I’d feared. I’d still be sharing most of my classes with the rest of the year, although I’d be engaging in private study while they were practising magic. I was surprised I’d been included in defence classes at all ... I could defend myself with an Object of Power, but I would be helpless without them. And there was a whole new class: Questioning Assumptions. I had no idea what that was ...

“We haven’t had it yet,” Rose said, when I asked. “It’ll be my first time too.”

The bell rang, warning us that classes started in fifteen minutes. I glanced around the room, spotting Alana with her cronies and Bella reading a book. There was no sign of Isabella ... I hadn't seen her at all, not since we’d gone to sleep. I wondered, absently, if she’d bothered to get up. Sandy wouldn't be pleased, but Isabella probably wouldn’t care. I shrugged and led the way out of the hall. We had potions first thing, and Magistra Loanda would be furious if we were late. Her sharp tongue had been one of the first things we’d learnt to dread.

Rose nudged me as we picked our way through the maze of corridors. “Did you become a princess while you were away?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. I had to smile. King Rufus had three daughters, seven nieces and a number of other girls who were in the line of succession and technically had the right to be called princess. But I was unique. “They’re just ... being stupid.”

Jude’s maze of corridors, passageways and stairs never changed, I’ve been assured. But I didn't really believe it. The school had expanded outwards from the first building, swallowing up a multitude of others in its path. I couldn’t help thinking, as we made our way down a flight of stairs that had clearly been designed for a smaller building, that warding the immense school had to be incredibly difficult. Jude’s had just kept expanding to the point where it was threatening to knock down the outer walls. Finding one’s way around was a chore. I’d studied maps, back in my first week, and I still wasn't sure I could confidently find my way from one side of the building to the other without getting lost somewhere along the way.

A handful of students were already waiting outside the potions classroom, reading books or mumbling prayers as they checked their homework for errors. They looked too busy to notice us, but when we joined the line they started to stare too. I braced myself - I wasn't sure for what - as they jostled forward. There was no social stigma in one firstie talking to another.

Magistra Loanda appeared, sweeping past us and opening the door. “Take your seats,” she ordered, as she walked into her classroom. “Caitlyn, take the seat in the far corner.”

I frowned as we followed her into the room. Magistra Loanda had given me a worktable of my own, instead of the table I normally shared with Rose. It wasn't any larger, but just having more space to myself would be wonderful. I’d grown too used to working on my giant workbench at home. An iron cauldron sat on top of a stove, a stove that reminded me of an oil-burning lantern I’d seen once. There had been no magic in it, my tutor had said, when he’d shown me the artefact. It had dated all the way back to the long-lost days before the Thousand-Year Empire. I’d never seen anything like it until now.

Rose took the table nearest to me, looking nervous. I didn’t blame her. She would have been forced to work with someone else while I’d been away, someone who might not have worked so well with her. Magistra Loanda took a dim view of pranks played in her classroom, but she couldn't do anything about more subtle trouble. Rose was learning, yet no one could learn fast enough to match some of our classmates.

I reached into my pocket and recovered the stirrers. Two of them had been charged yesterday, with help from Mum and Dad; two of them didn't need to be charged, if the ancient texts were correct. They’d been harder to make too, I had to admit as I placed them by the cauldron. I'd wanted to make ten, but eight of the finicky little devices hadn't survived the forging process. I hadn't been able to figure out a way to lessen the strain on the wood.

Yet, I told myself.

Magistra Loanda clicked her fingers, a moment after Isabella and Rupert - the latter sitting down next to Rose - entered the room. The door shut with a loud BANG. 

“We will be brewing something more complex today,” she informed us, as she strode back to the front of the class and nodded to the blackboard. A complicated recipe appeared on the board. “How many of you can tell me what sort of potion this is?”

I studied the recipe for a long moment. A base composed of common herbs, the ones that could be found in almost any garden, but active ingredients that included snake eyes and fish scales? A healing potion was the most obvious answer, yet ... two of the ingredients would make the drinker be sick almost at once, while a third would ... unless the different ingredients balanced each other. And that meant ...?

Isabella stuck up her hand. “A precautionary potion, Magistra.”

“Correct,” Magistra Loanda said. She shot Isabella an approving smile. “Druid’s Draught, to be precise. And what - if I may ask - does it do?”

“It strengthens the body against viruses and poisons,” Isabella told her. “And it forces an immediate reaction if someone is infected.”

“Very good,” Magistra Loanda said. She leaned back, addressing the entire class. “Druid’s Draught is useless, I should add, if the victim has already been infected - or poisoned. It is generally only taken when explorers head into the wildlands to the south, where all sorts of deadly diseases can be found. Some people have reported effects when the potion is given, in desperation, to someone who has clearly been infected, but they have been minimal.”

She paused. “So why are we learning to brew it?”

Bella waved her hand in the air. “Because it teaches us skills we need to learn?”

Magistra Loanda raised her eyebrows. “Correct,” she said. “Druid’s Draught is odd because it is unforgiving, yet doesn't have a habit of exploding when the ingredients are mixed up or not properly treated. But don’t get complacent! Anyone caught being careless will regret it.”

Her eyes swept the classroom. “You have ninety minutes. Begin.”

I read and reread the ingredients, making sure I had them memorised before I went to the supply cupboard. Magistra Loanda would not be happy if I had to run back while I was trying to brew the potion, no matter how minimal the danger. Rose joined me a moment later as we went to gather our supplies, joining the throng jostling for space inside the giant cupboard. I made a face as I saw the cockroaches in their cage - they weren't poisonous, but the ones raised for the apothecaries gave nasty bites - and breathed a sigh of relief that we wouldn't be killing and dissecting them for ingredients today. They weren't the worst creatures we had to harvest, but they were certainly the least pleasant.

Rose nudged me. “Will you be alright?”

Isabella overheard. “Will you be alright? Will you be alright?”

I felt my cheeks grow warm. “Yes, thank you,” I said, as politely as I could. Isabella would know I was mocking her, but ... so what? “I’m sure I will be fine.”

We carried the ingredients back to the table, then divided them out. It was important to have everything ready, right from the start. I weighed the seeds, checked the herbs for any unexpected surprises and then finally lit the stove with the firelighter. A firelighter without magic was rare too, as far as I knew. I couldn't help wondering where it had come from.

Magistra Loanda watched us like a hawk as we prepared the base liquid, snapping out instructions, corrections and detentions whenever one of us made a mistake. She was a harsh woman - it was something of a tradition among potioneers - but my mother wasn't much better, when she was trying to teach us the basics. I didn't really blame her. A single explosion could do a great deal of harm, despite the wards protecting the classroom. I didn't want to think about a cauldron of boiling water being blasted in all directions. 

I picked up the first stirrer as the liquid started to bubble and, bracing myself, lowered it into the cauldron. The stirrer grew warm in my hand, an instant before a faint light blazed through the boiling liquid. I pulled the stirrer back and watched, my eyes going wide with relief, as the base liquid shimmered into existence. It was perfect.

“Very well done, Caitlyn,” Magistra Loanda said.

“Cheat,” Isabella muttered.

Her voice was just loud enough to be heard. The room went quiet, very quiet. I had a sudden flashback to the moment I’d insulted Great Aunt Stregheria, the moment when she’d attempted to curse me ...

“Stay behind after class,” Magistra Loanda ordered. Her voice was very cold. “And if your potion isn't perfect, you’ll be redoing it until you get it right.”

I tore my attention away from the scene and started to prepare the second half of the potion, carefully dropping the active ingredients into the liquid one by one. The shimmer grew stronger as the potion started its transformation, but it was hard to be sure it was perfect. I wished - not for the first time - that I could sense magic. The spectacles could help me to see magic, but not sense it. I couldn't manipulate it as effectively as any of my peers.

Bracing myself, I picked up the second stirrer and dropped the final ingredient into the cauldron. The liquid turned green and started to bubble. I lowered the stirrer into the liquid and stirred, carefully counting each clockwise and anticlockwise stir. A normal magician could feel when she’d infused enough magic into the brew, but I couldn't do that. I’d just have to hope my calculations were correct.

There was another shimmer and the potion started to turn into a sickly yellow colour. I took a breath and regretted it, instantly. The stench was awful. That wasn't uncommon for healing potions, I knew from bitter experience, but this one was particularly bad. I wasn't sure I could have forced myself to drink it, even if I needed it. The explorers in the wildlands - which had been left devastated after the Sorcerous Wars - were definitely brave men.

Or they have no sense of taste or smell, I thought, wryly. Perhaps they numbed it deliberately so they could drink the potion.

“Good work,” Magistra Loanda said. “That would be suitable for the healers, I think.”

I jumped. I hadn't noticed her standing there. She moved so silently I hadn't heard her approaching.

“Thank you,” I stammered. “Is it drinkable?”

“It should be drinkable as long as the drinker holds their nose,” Magistra Loanda said. She picked up the used stirrer and examined it, thoughtfully. “I look forward to considering other uses for these.”

I swallowed, suddenly unsure what to say. I’d dreamed of the day I’d be useful, the day people would listen to me ... and now it was here, I wasn't sure what to do with it. Magistra Loanda wanted to play with something only I could provide. I was unique and yet ... I wasn't sure what I wanted. But I had the rest of my life to figure it out.

“I can make more,” I said. “But it will take time.”

“We have time,” Magistra Loanda said. “There are some potions that you might be able to brew using them - or not, without them.”

“My mother said the same thing,” I said.

“I’ll discuss it with her,” Magistra Loanda said. She glanced at Rose’s potion, which was rapidly shading from yellow to purple. “A little too much magic, I think. The cascade reaction is out of control.”

She walked the room. Isabella had managed her potion perfectly - I admit I was a little annoyed about that - but most of the others had failed to brew the potion successfully. I watched and listened as Magistra Loanda pointed out what had gone wrong each time, then explain how to avoid it. Most of them hadn't been precise enough when measuring out the ingredients.

“I need to practice,” Rose said. “How do I do that?”

“Carefully,” I said. I could tell her the theory, but actually doing it ...? Bella wanted me to help with her homework. I could get her to teach Rose in exchange. “We’ll review the theory in the library.”

“Isabella, remain behind,” Magistra Loanda said, as the bell rang. “The rest of you can go.”

“Let’s go,” I said, rising. “We can get something to eat before the next class.”

“Coming,” Rose said. She nudged me as we headed for the door. “You’re looking forward to forging, aren't you?”

I nodded. “Oh, yes.”

DOWNLOAD THE FULL VERSION FROM AMAZON NOW!