The Zero Equation

(The Zero Enigma, Book III)

Christopher G. Nuttall

http://www.chrishanger.net
http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/
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Cover by Brad Fraunfelter

www.BFillustration.com

All Comments and Reviews Welcome!

Cover Blurb for TZE

Caitlyn Aguirre is no magician ...

... But she’s still at the centre of the storm.

Caitlyn and her friends have returned to Jude’s Sorcerous Academy, but all is not well in the school.  The Great Houses of Shallot are on the verge of going to war and the conflict is spilling into the school, while - in the background - powerful and secretive forces prepare to finally reveal their plans to reshape the world.  Caught in the middle, torn between her family and her friends - and burdened with a secret she dares not share - Cat must unlock the secret of the Zero Equation ...

... Or watch helplessly as her family, friends and school are destroyed by war.

Author’s Note

If you liked this book, please review it.  It helps promote the entire series.

Prologue I

I was nine when I touched the Family Sword for the first time.

It wasn't something I was supposed to do.  My parents had made it clear to us that my sisters and I were not supposed to enter the Great Hall without an escort, let alone touch one of our family’s most priceless heirlooms.  But ... well, I suppose I should start at the beginning.

My sisters and I had been studying magic for two years.  We were home-schooled, of course; we weren't sent to primary school for another year.  My family’s tutors saw to it that we were fed a diet of magical theory, ancient languages, magical runes and, of course, practical studies.  My sisters had moved ahead in leaps and bounds, while I ... I had yet to cast a single spell.  I could see the disappointment on my father’s face, even though he tried to hide it; I could see the scorn and contempt on my sisters’ faces when they realised I lacked any spark of magic.  My potions were perfectly brewed, my runic diagrams and magical calculations were perfectly drawn ...

... And it didn't matter.  I couldn't perform even the simplest spell.

One cold winter evening, I stumbled out of the schoolroom feeling as though my head was on fire.  It had been a long session, with a doddering old great-great-uncle for a tutor ... he wasn't a bad sort, not really, but he had a habit of addressing us by names that belonged to our older relatives.  And he’d made me draw out a basic diagram again and again, as if simple repetition would finally lead to magic flowing out of my fingers and into the design.  My head hurt, my fingers hurt ... all I wanted was to catch an hour or two of sleep before dinner.  I could hear my sisters and cousins playing in the snow outside as I reached the top of the stairs, the sound mocking me.  They were animating snowmen and using them to have snowball fights, but ... what could I do?  There was no way I could join them.  The best I could hope for was being turned into a snowman myself.   

I was alone.  It hurt, more than I cared to admit.

The sound behind me caught me by surprise.  I started to duck, too late.  The spell slammed into my back and my entire body froze.  I was utterly unable to move, unable to save myself as I tumbled over and over, falling down the stairs.  My body crashed into the banisters, the sound echoing though the stairwell as an unseen force pushed me further and further down.  I caught a glimpse of Alana standing above me, posing dramatically on the top of the stairs.  Her dark face was alight with glee.

I prayed to all the ancestors that her spell wouldn't snap until I reached the bottom, praying with a desperation I rarely felt.  The freeze spell saved me from feeling any pain, but if it gave out while I was still falling I’d crash straight into the banisters and that would do real damage.  My body kept flipping over and over - Alana must have combined her hex with a locomotion spell - until I crashed into the Great Hall and rolled over the marble floor.  I hit the statue of Aguirre Primus and stopped dead, looking up at the stone face.  My distant ancestor’s statue seemed to be glowering down at me in disapproval.  How could one of his bloodline be so weak?

The spell held me firmly, keeping me still as Alana inched her way down the stairs.  I could hear her footsteps tap-tapping on the stone, pausing every so often to make sure no one was coming.  Alana might be the favoured of the family, the one deemed most likely to succeed my father as Aguirre Matriarch, but even she would be in trouble if she was caught in the Great Hall.  Dad would be angry, and Mum would be furious.  The Great Hall was for impressing guests, not a play-area for little girls.  I tensed inwardly as I heard her walking over towards me, bracing myself for another cruel hex - or worse.  And then she leaned over and glared at me.

“You are pathetic,” she said, nastily.  A faint mark on her dark cheek glimmered with an unearthly light.  She’d had a potions accident and the remnants of the brew had yet to wear off.  It wasn't dangerous, but it made her look silly.  “You can't even cancel a simple spell.”

I wanted to snap out a response, but I couldn't move a muscle.  She was right.  I knew she was right.  The freeze spell we’d been taught was among the simplest of hexes, the easiest to cast - and to cancel, if you knew how to focus your magic.  I’d watched from the upper levels as the extended family romped around in the snow, freezing each other with complete abandon.  And I’d wanted to join them, even though I knew I couldn't ...

Alana leaned forward, as if she had something important to share.  “You want to know a secret?  You’re not our sister.”

I had to fight to stay calm.  I wanted to scream.  It was hard to believe, sometimes, that I could really be the daughter of Joaquin and Sofia Aguirre.  My parents were amongst the most powerful magicians in the kingdom, perhaps even the world.  But I didn't have any magic at all.  

“Dad just wanted to claim he had triplets,” Alana added, in a sweet tone that didn't fool me for a second.  “He took a foundling girl and ...”

The spell snapped.  I started upwards, too late.  Alana leapt back with commendable speed, one hand raised and ready to cast a spell.  She knew better than to be within arm’s reach.  Forging had made me strong for my age.  I wanted to lunge at her, to break her nose for the second time, but ... she’d get me before I managed to strike.  I dreaded the thought of what she’d be like after she went to school.  She was quite bad enough now, with only a handful of spells at her disposal.

“I look like Dad,” I said.  It was true.  My face was solidly feminine, but I looked more like my father than my mother.  “I ...”

“There are glamours that can change a person permanently,” Alana reminded me.  “Given time, they soak into the skin.”

I bunched my fists, feeling hot tears prickling at the corner of my eyes.  She was lying.  She had to be lying.  And yet, there was a quiet nagging doubt at the back of my mind.  What if ... what if she wasn't?  A foundling girl would be defenceless.  She’d have no family to come to her aid.  No one would care if someone took her into their family and wrapped her in a glamour ... no one would question her bloodline, if she was formally adopted.  My father could have done that to me ...

“That’s why you have no magic,” Alana said.  She tried to sound regretful and failed utterly.  “You’re not one of us.”

I tried to think, even though I wanted to cry.  What if ... what if ... a thought struck me and I turned, looking for the Family Sword.  It was embedded in a stone anvil, the visible part of the blade glowing faintly with a pearly white light.  My father’s family had owned the sword since we’d joined the Thousand-Year Empire.  We - those who shared a bloodline that dated back nearly two thousand years - were the only ones who could lift it.

“I’ll show you,” I said.

I heard her gasp as I walked towards the glowing sword, half-expecting to run into a protective spell.  Dad would be furious if he knew I’d touched the blade.  I’d be grounded for life or sent to bed without supper or ... maybe he’d take one of Great Aunt Stregheria’s particularly unpleasant child-rearing suggestions.  Her children didn't exist and I still felt sorry for them.  No magic snapped at me as I clambered onto the anvil, no ward held me in place while summoning the master of the house; I wrapped my dark fingers around the hilt and pulled.  It came out of the stone easily.

Alana gasped a word that Mum would have washed her mouth out with soap merely for thinking, let alone saying.  I almost echoed her.  The sword was huge, taller than I, yet I had no trouble holding it upright.  It felt as light as a feather.  The blade glowed brightly in my hands.  I jumped down, holding the sword upright.  It seemed to hum as I waved it through the air.

“You’re going to be in big trouble,” Alana said.

She jabbed a finger at me, casting a spell.  A brilliant hex flashed through the air ... and exploded harmlessly against the blade.  The sword had moved in my hands, cutting the spell out of the air.  I could feel it twisting, readying itself to deflect another spell.  A trickle of unease ran through me as my body shifted, not entirely as I wished.  The sword seemed to be controlling me, not the other way around.  It felt as if it was going to slash out at Alana ... no matter what I wanted.  I was no longer in control.

Alana took a step backwards, fear flickering over her face.  “I think you should put the sword back,” she managed, her voice quivering.  “Cat ...”

My legs moved forward of their own accord.  The sword hummed louder, pulling me onwards.  I tried desperately to let go, but my fingers seemed to be sinking into the hilt ... it felt as though the sword was becoming part of me.  The horror stories I’d been told about the dangers of Objects of Power suddenly felt terrifyingly real.  I’d made a horrific mistake.

“Stop,” Dad’s voice said.  He was behind me.  The sword froze in my hands.  “Put the blade down.”

I obeyed.  The sword no longer felt like it was a part of me.  Its light dimmed the moment I let go of the hilt.  And then I swung around and hugged my father, desperately.  I knew he was going to be angry, I knew I was going to be punished, but ... I wanted to hold him.  I wanted to know it was going to be alright.  I wanted ...

“That was unwise,” Dad said, lifting me into his arms.  “You’re nowhere near ready to touch the sword.”

“But I could touch the sword,” I said, plaintively.  Alana had been wrong.  I was my father’s daughter.  “I’m one of the family.  Right?”

“Oh, Caitlyn,” Dad said.  He held me tightly.  I heard a faint choke in his voice.  “Was that ever in doubt?”

I couldn't answer.  Not then.  But we both knew the truth.
Prologue II

The night I returned to the school, after the kidnapping and our escape, I dreamed of the dragons.

Not the nasty beasts that inhabit the Desolation, the dull creatures we hunt for potions and alchemical supplies, but the Great Drakes of legend.  Giant golden creatures, wings shining in the sun as they flew.  I dreamed I flew beside them, sharing the ancient wisdom in their eyes.  I knew I was dreaming.  And yet, it felt so real.

I could see more than just dragons.  I could see castles built of clouds and giant floating cities, so large that they plunged the land below into permanent darkness.  I could see huge buildings reaching up to the skies, great machines glowing with power as they transformed the land.  I could see giants and genies and sprites and elementals and so many other legendary creatures; I could see magicians, flying through the air as if they were light as birds.  Wizards walked through the clouds, taking their ease; witches rode on brooms, laughing as they soared above the clouds.

And I could see the magic.

I’d often dreamed of having magic - and then awakened to stare down at my powerless fingers - but this was different.  The magic pulsed like a living thing, wrapping the entire world in its embrace.  Colourless light seemed to shimmer around me - around everyone, giving them power.  It looked as if it would last forever ...

And then it was gone.

The genies and elementals winked out, as if someone had blown out a candle.  They were gone before I quite realised what had happened.  And then everyone - everything - was falling.  The cloud-buildings dissolved into mist, their occupants falling to the ground far below; the flying cities plummeted, hitting the ground with terrifying force.  Flying witches and wizards screamed as they fell, roaring and chanting spells in a desperate - and futile - attempt to save their lives.  The magic was gone.

I saw it all.  The giants, suddenly collapsing under their own weight; the great machines, flickering and failing.  The population panicking, looking around in numb horror, utterly unable to comprehend what had happened.  The most powerful amongst them, the ones who had lived amongst the clouds, were already dead.  And none of the survivors knew how to live without magic.  They couldn't do anything without magic.  I floated high above and watched their world die.

And then I found myself beside the largest of the Great Drakes.  It was lying on the ground, its wings flapping helplessly as it tried to return to the skies.  But it was hopeless.  A creature that size simply couldn’t survive, let alone fly, without magic.  Its eyes stared at me pleadingly, as if it knew I was there, then finally started to close.  Pity tore at my heart as it died.  The creature had been majestic, a true being of magic.  And yet, the age of magic was over.

I awoke, screaming.  Sweat ran down my forehead as I gasped for breath.  It had been a dream, just a dream.  I’d never had a True Dream in my life.  The talent had been lost so long ago that some scholars believed it had never existed.  And yet, I could still hear the screaming as I wiped sweat from my brow, still see the dead and the dying when I closed my eyes ...

 It felt so real.  
Chapter One

I awoke, to a soft insistent tapping on the other side of my drapes.

“Coming,” I said, sitting up and swinging my legs over the bed.  My watch said it was ten o’clock in the morning.  Sandy had let us sleep in.  “Sandy?”

“Yeah,” Sandy said.  Her voice sounded muffled.  Rose had cast silencing charms on my drapes, but they hadn't lasted.  “You’re wanted in the changing room down the corridor.”

I winced.  I’d been trying to forget that Rose and I had been summoned to Magus Court for the inquest into our kidnapping.  It had been a week since we’d been returned to the city and it hadn't been easy getting back to school.  But then, school hadn't been easy in the first place.  Even now ...

“Cat,” Rose said, from outside.  She sounded as tired as I felt.  “Can I come in?”

“Yes, please,” I said, pulling a small bag from under the bed.  “How are you feeling?”

“Rotten,” Rose said, as she pushed the drapes aside and stepped in.  “How are you?”

I looked up and winced, again.  Rose looked pale, so pale that her red hair was even more striking than usual.  She’d been having nightmares, I knew; nightmares that left her feeling as though she hadn't had any sleep at all.  I was surprised that Sandy hadn't insisted that Rose sleep somewhere else, if she wasn't going to take anything to help her rest.  Or, perhaps, attend counselling with Magistra Haydon.  My father had offered to let Rose speak with one of the family’s experts on mental health, but that would have to wait until after the hearing.  I didn't think she’d enjoy it very much.

But she might need it, I thought.  I’d had problems with the shrinks - they’d assumed that I was deliberately repressing my magic, magic I didn't have - but Rose was a far simpler case.  They might be able to help her.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, then stepped through the drapes.  The other beds were empty, suggesting that our dormmates had gone down to breakfast or found something else to do.  Sandy might have chased them out, I supposed.  Normally, weekends were lazy days ... even with exams coming up.  But no one would argue with Sandy when she was in a bad mood.  I’d heard that she’d received a tongue-lashing for letting Rose, Akin and myself be kidnapped.  It wasn't her fault, but I knew the staff were in desperate need of someone to blame.

“They’re in the changing room,” Sandy said, jerking a finger towards the door.  Her stern expression softened, just slightly.  “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” I said.  I’d reassured Sandy that I didn’t blame her, but my word counted for nothing.  “We’ll see you this evening.”

Sandy shrugged, then lay back on her bed.  I hesitated, trying to think of something to say, but none of the etiquette lessons Mum had forced me to take had covered this situation.  Sandy hadn't made a fool of herself, unlike a few upperclassmen I could mention, nor had she been deliberately malicious ... and yet her future had been ruined anyway.  No one would want to offer her an apprenticeship now.  I wished there was something I could do for her, but nothing came to mind.  My father was hardly likely to listen to my pleading on her behalf.

I felt oddly exposed as I walked through the door and down the corridor.  My hair hadn't been washed, let alone braided.  Mum would have pitched a fit if she’d seen us, even though there was no reasonable chance of being seen by the adults.  And if I was seen ... I’d be the talk of the town, not in a good way.  There were just too many people who wanted to embarrass our house.  They’d gleefully dissect my etiquette failings for the rest of the year.

Not that it matters, I thought.  They spent the last three years dissecting my failures in magic.

The familiar, bitter resentment welled up inside me as we reached the changing room and stepped inside.  I’d had no magic - no apparent magic - for six years, while my siblings had developed their magic at a terrifying rate.  Even now, even after discovering what I could do, I still felt a little resentment.  The kidnappers - Fairuza and her mystery patron - had treated me as an object, rather than a person.  And too many others felt the same way.  They were more concerned with what I could do for them than what they could do for me.

“Cat,” Alana said.  Her pinched face  narrowed into a disapproving frown. “You look terrible.”

I tensed, automatically.  Alana had been my tormenter for six years, regularly hexing and jinxing me for her own amusement.  Our relationship had never been pleasant.  Even now, I was wary of her.  She’d veered from regarding me as a ball and chain around her future prospects to fearing that my unique talents would make me outshine her.  Dad might have ordered her and Bella to help us prepare for the hearing, but ... I hoped she’d have the sense to behave herself.  Dad was on the warpath.  

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” I told her.  It might well be true.  I wasn’t ugly, but my face had more character than traditional beauty.  “Are you well?”

Alana’s dark face twisted into an ugly scowl.  “Get in the shower and wash,” she ordered, flatly.  “We’ll be ready when you come out.”

I looked from Alana to Bella, then shrugged.  It was hard to believe, sometimes, that we were really related.  We had the same eyes and skin tone, but Alana’s face was sharper than mine while Bella’s had grown pudgy.  They took more after Mum than Dad, something I supposed was lucky for them.  I had inherited his cheekbones.  Mum had told me that I’d grow into my looks, but I rather suspected it was the kind of thing mothers told their homely daughters.

“Fine,” I said.  The sooner we were washed, the sooner we could get dressed and have our hair braided.  “You get set up here.”

Rose followed me into the shower.  She looked as nervous as I felt, even though she knew she needed Alana and Bella more than me.  I could braid my own hair, given time.  I could even devise Objects of Power to help me braid my hair.  But Rose had grown up in the country.  Everything she said, every move she made, marked her as someone of no account.  She needed to be dressed properly, if nothing else, or she’d be dismissed as hopelessly gauche.

And yet, that would be simpler, I thought, as I stripped down and stepped into the warm water.  If I’d grown up on a farm ...

I shook my head.  If I’d grown up on a farm, no one would have thought there was anything odd about my lack of magic.  But it wouldn’t have been an easy life.  Rose had told me enough horror stories about life on the farm to convince me that it wasn't something I wanted for myself.  And yet ... I wasn't sure what I did want.  I’d wanted to be famous - and now I was famous - but it had come at a price.  My life would never be my own.

Rose muttered a drying cantrip as we stepped out of the shower and back into the changing room.  Alana and Bella had been unusually efficient; they’d set up the dressing tables and hung the dresses behind the door, rather than leave them in the bags until they were actually needed.  I hesitated, unwilling to let Alana any closer than absolutely necessary, then sighed and nodded to the dress.  Better for Bella to work on Rose than risk Alana hexing my friend when her back was turned.  I didn’t think Alana would be stupid enough to anger Dad that badly, but she’d done stupid things before.

“Get this on,” Alana said, shoving an undershirt at me.  “We have to hurry.”

“We have time,” I said, soothingly.  “They’re not going to start without us.”

“They’ll notice if you’re late,” Alana countered.  She unhooked the dress and carried it over to me.  “I hope you haven’t put on weight.”

Bella made a small sound of protest.  I winced in sympathy.  Bella wasn't exactly overweight, but she was pudgy enough for it to be noticed.  Thankfully, she had the patience to help Rose don unfamiliar undergarments.  I didn't know what Rose had worn on the farm, but I was fairly sure it was something simple.  She’d had a great deal of trouble with the school uniform when she’d first arrived.  I’d had helped her get dressed more than once.

I ignored her as I studied the blue dress.  It was a miniature version of a dress Mum wore on special occasions, right down to the runes sewn into the silk and the family crest on my left shoulder.  No one would fail to recognise me.  Alana helped me into it, tightening fastenings and doing up ribbons.  I tried to keep the dismay off my face as I inspected myself in the mirror.  The dress looked nice, but it wasn't designed to be easy to remove.  I was going to have real problems when we returned to the school.

“We should be coming with you,” Alana said, once she’d finished.  “You know ... show off to the crowd.”

“Dad said no,” I reminded her.  Dad couldn't keep either Rose or myself from attending the hearing, but he’d put his foot down when his other daughters had been invited.  “You can ask him if he wants to change his mind.”

Alana shook her head, hastily.  I hid my smile as I sat down in front of the dressing table and braced myself.  Sisters braided each other’s hair all the time, I’d been told, but I wasn't too keen on allowing Alana anywhere near my hair.  She’d once hexed my barrette to fall out at a particularly embarrassing moment, which would have been bad enough, but it had somehow undone my braids at the same time.  Mum had been furious.  Alana had been lucky not to be grounded for so long her grandchildren would still be stuck in the bedroom.  Three weeks had been getting off lightly, under the circumstances.  

I had to smile.  That had been a very peaceful summer.

Alana’s reflection scowled at me.  “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I said, quickly.  I made a show of looking at the clock.  “Hurry?”

Alana nodded, then went to work with a smooth comb.  My hair - our hair - had never been easy to keep under control, but my mother had charmed our combs and brushes to work out the tangles and other problems without a long struggle.  I tried to stay calm as Alana brushed out my hair, then started to work it into long dark braids.  If she hexed my hair ...

She wouldn't be that stupid, I told myself, again and again.  My father knew how my talents actually worked.  He knew he’d made a dreadful mistake by allowing Alana to hex me repeatedly in hopes of bringing out my magic.  She wouldn’t be allowed to get away with it any longer.  And besides, we were going to Magus Court.  If Dad was humiliated in front of his rivals ...

I shivered.  Akin was going to be there - and so was his father.  Lord Carioca Rubén had been working steadily to undermine my father’s position since they were both young men.  Akin had told me that Carioca Rubén had been delighted when it had seemed I didn't have magic, then horrified when he realised the truth.  It would be hard, almost impossible, for us to be unseated if we were the only source of new Objects of Power.  Dad had wondered if Carioca Rubén had backed the kidnappers, even though he’d sworn an oath denying it.  They had every reason to try to remove me before my mere existence shifted the balance of power permanently against them.

And we have their Family Sword, I thought.  I’d hidden it under my bed, locked away in a box I’d designed myself.  I didn't know if Akin had told his father about the sword.  I knew I hadn't told my father.  That won’t make our lives any easier.

“Nearly done,” Alana said.  Her fingers worked their way through my hair.  “You do remember your manners, don’t you?”

I smiled.  “Shake hands with the left hand, stick my tongue out at the guests, run off as soon as decently possible ...”

Alana didn't see the funny side.  “Well, if you want to be disowned ... go right ahead.”

“I remember how to behave myself,” I said.  Mum - and my aunts - had put us through hour after hour of etiquette training.  The formal dinners I’d shared with my cousins had been nightmarish.  Putting the slightest foot wrong had been grounds for a long lecture on precisely why we were meant to behave in a specific fashion.  I knew it was important, but ... I’d hated it.  “And we’re not going to a wedding.”

“Thank the ancients,” Alana said.

Bella coughed.  “I heard that Susan of House Fitzwilliam is getting married to Jan,” she said, tersely.  “We’ll be invited, of course.”

I groaned.  Weddings were hard enough at the best of times.  But a match between a Great House and a New Man?  They were always awkward.  The Great Houses understood the importance of new blood, but there was always someone who would look down on the newcomer.  And there was probably no way to get out of it, if we were invited.  Mum and Dad would make us go.

“I’ll try to come up with an excuse,” I said.

Alana snorted.  “You know what they say,” she said.  “If you’re on your deathbed, bring your deathbed with you.”

Rose giggled.  She clearly thought Alana was joking.  I knew better.  Weddings were the social event of the year, as far as the families were concerned.  Anyone who didn't attend would be deemed to have snubbed the families, something that would have thoroughly unpleasant repercussions further down the line.  I’d heard enough horror stories to know that a feud that started at a wedding would linger for centuries, long enough for everyone involved to forget what actually started it.

“Done,” Alana said, shortly.  “What do you think?”

I looked at my reflection.  The braid was perfect, not a single hair out of place.  Alana had placed a couple of clips into the hair to hold it firmly in place, but I doubted they were necessary.  She’d done a very good job.  The blue dress looked striking, although I had the feeling it was going to get crumpled by the time we reached Magus Court.  Thankfully, the family dressmaker had charmed the material to ensure it didn’t get rumpled - or dirty.

Those charms might not last, I reminded myself.  I’d discovered that charms fed off a magician’s personal magic, but - as far as I knew - Rose and I were the only people who knew it.  And I was the only person who knew the source of magic.  The dress might start getting dirty halfway through the hearing.

“Good enough,” I said, unwilling to praise her too much.  “Rose?”

“She’s ready,” Bella said.  

I glanced at Rose.  She looked as if she didn't dare to move.  The green dress my parents had sent her was expensive, very expensive.  My family could afford a hundred such dresses and never notice the cost, but Rose’s family could no more buy silk from Hangchow than they could purchase an Object of Power.  If she tore it ... I shot her a reassuring look.  The dress was charmed to keep it intact and Rose, unlike me, had plenty of raw magic to power the spells.  She wouldn’t be able to damage the dress unless she used a pretty destructive spell.  

“You look great,” I told her.  She did.  Her red hair was tied into a pair of neat pigtails, drawing attention to her pale face and the client crest my father had given her.  It was unusual for someone so young to be taken on as a client, but it would give Rose a little extra status at Magus Court.  “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” Rose said.

“There's food in the cooler,” Alana said.  She opened the box to reveal a selection of sandwiches.  “Eat quickly.”

I felt my stomach growl, so I took a sandwich and ate it as fast as I could.  It tasted like ashes in my mouth.  We were going to Magus Court ... the butterflies in my stomach were multiplying at terrifying speed.  Normally, I wouldn't visit the court while it was in session, at least until I was old enough to have my Season.  A mistake made in front of everyone who was anyone would haunt me for the rest of my life.  Alana would spend the rest of her life rubbing it in.

“You’ll be back before you know it,” Alana told us.  “Try not to embarrass the family.”

“Thank you,” I said, sourly.  

I opened my bag and removed a pair of protective bracelets, glinting under the light.  I slipped one onto my wrist and passed the other to Rose.  Magus Court was supposed to be protected against all threats, from subtle mind-altering charms to outright death spells, but I knew better than to place my faith in Devices of Power.  Too many magicians would be working hard trying to find ways to circumvent the wards.  Even Objects of Power could be beaten if one knew how to do it.

And I can't even sense magic, I thought, as I snapped the earrings into place.  I’m vulnerable.

There was a sharp rap at the door.  Alana opened it.

“The carriage is waiting for you,” an upperclassman I didn't recognise said.  Her blue eyes flickered over us for a long moment, her lips twisting in a mixture of stern disapproval and bitter envy.  “Are you ready?”

I looked at Rose, who nodded.  “Yeah,” I said, standing.  “Let’s go.”
Chapter Two

I couldn't help feeling, as I walked down the stairs and into the courtyard, that I was going straight to my own funeral.  The dresses we wore might have looked good, but they were strikingly out of place at Jude’s.  Everyone stared at us.  It was a relief when I saw my father’s coach in the courtyard, the driver waving cheerfully to us from his perch behind the horses.  A pair of family armsmen were standing in front of the coach, looking around with wary eyes.  It would be a long time before anyone took Jude’s security for granted again.

The valet, standing beside the coach, bowed politely and opened the door.  I glanced at Rose, who looked terrified, then clambered up the steps and into the vehicle.  My father was sitting on the cushy bench, wearing a white suit and a black wig that had been shaped into an extremely complicated arrangement.  Everyone knew it was a wig, of course, but everyone knew that everyone else wore a wig too.  High Society insisted that men and women alike had to shape their hair to show that they were rich and powerful enough to hire personal stylists, although the men tended to cheat.  My mother had never been very happy about it.  She’d made sure we girls knew how to take care of our hair, instead of relying on the maids.

“Caitlyn,” Dad said.  His gaze moved past me.  “Rose.”

“Sir,” Rose said, nervously.  My father intimidated her.  He intimidated most people.  “Thank you for inviting me.”

Dad laughed, rather humourlessly.  “Magus Court invited you,” he said, kindly.  “Please, sit down.”

We did as we were told.  At the valet's barked command, the vehicle lurched forward and out of the courtyard.  I wanted to peer through the windows, but the drapes had been pulled tightly closed.  Dad wanted to talk to us, then.  Normally, the glass was charmed to allow us to see out without being seen.  It wasn't as if there was anything else to do.  I’d learnt to hate riding in carriages from a very early age.

“The hearing has been ... taken over,” Dad said.  His dark eyes bored into mine.  “You’ll be questioned, perhaps extensively.  When you’re on the stand, tell the truth - and nothing but the truth.  When you’re off the stand, remain quiet; speak only if you’re spoken to.”

I nodded, sourly.  Children were expected to accompany their parents to Magus Court, if there was a prospect of them becoming the next Family Head, but it was rare for anyone to be taken before they turned sixteen.  It was a chance to learn how power really worked, I’d been told, yet it was also boring.  I didn't think I’d be able to sit still for hours, unable even to twiddle my thumbs.  But if I behaved badly, it would reflect badly on my father.  His children might be denied the chance to become matriarchs in their own right.

Not that there was ever much hope of me becoming Matriarch, I thought, dryly.  I have no magic. 

I sucked in my breath as the true meaning of his words sunk in.  “Dad ... who’s taken over the hearing?”

“The Crown Prince,” Dad said.  “I expect you to be on your very best behaviour.”

I blinked in surprise.  Technically, I’d seen the Crown Prince at the Royal Wedding, ten years ago, but I remembered almost nothing.  My sisters and I had been only two years old at the time.  I’d seen portraits of the happy couple and their children over the years, but I had no idea how accurate they were.  My portrait made me look like the sweetest little girl imaginable.  The artist had painted to a romantic ideal, rather than trying to depict me as I was.

“Yes, Dad,” I said, trying desperately to remember royal protocol.  I should have brushed up on it ... I would have brushed up on it, if I’d known the Crown Prince was coming.  I was surprised I hadn’t heard about it well ahead of time.  It normally took months to sort out questions of protocol and precedence when the king or his eldest son visited the city.  “Why did he come so quickly?”

Dad looked displeased.  “King Rufus feels that a matter of such importance, one touching on the two greatest houses in the city, should be handled by a member of the Royal Family.  It is annoying, but understandable.”

I nodded.  My father was the most powerful man in the city - and Akin’s father was a close second.  A very close second.  They might have worked together to find us, after we’d been kidnapped, but they would never like each other.  Worse, Dad had openly speculated that Akin’s father - or someone else within his family - might have planned and carried out the kidnapping, risking the life of his son and heir to get their hands on the only known Zero.  I didn't believe it, but I understood the logic.  Akin might be the heir, pro tem, yet he wasn't the only candidate.

And Lord Rubén doesn’t want a female heir, I reminded myself.  It was odd, but House Rubén was the oldest of the Great Houses.  They made a point of continuing traditions the rest of us had long-since abandoned.  Their founder had only wanted patriarchs, so the modern generation also wanted patriarchs.  I didn't blame Isabella for being angry at her father’s casual dismissal.  I just wished she hadn't taken it out on me.  One of his brothers could have plotted the kidnapping, hoping to remove both me and Akin in a single blow.

Dad reached forward and pulled back the drapes.  I peered through the glass, just in time to watch the carriage rattle over the bridge into North Shallot.  A small army of guardsmen seemed to be patrolling the streets, spellcasters at the ready; the shops and guildhouses were closed, as if their owners expected trouble.  I thought I caught a glimpse of a Kingsman in his magnificent silver armour, but it might have been one of the prince’s household guards.  He would hardly have come alone.

I looked at Dad.  “Did the prince take Magus Court?”

Dad’s expression managed - somehow - to darken further.  “He’s currently staying in the Westland Lodge,” he said.  “It has been quite awkward.”

“Ouch,” I said.  The Westland Lodge was a royal residence in all but name.  And yet, it was also used to host meetings on neutral ground.  No doubt a great many conferences had had to be cancelled in a hurry, just so the staff could prepare themselves for the prince’s visit.  “Is that going to cause problems?”

“Let us hope not,” Dad said.

I looked at Rose, who'd shrank back against the cushions as if she was afraid she'd be whipped.  I pointed out of the window, telling her about some of the older buildings in the centre of the city in the hopes of distracting her.  Most of the buildings dated all the way back to the Thousand-Year Empire, although none of them had actually flown.  Shallot had been established as a trading town well before the fall of the empire and no one had ever believed it would grow into a significant city.  It probably wouldn't have, if the empire hadn't collapsed.  A combination of luck, good judgement and careful planning had taken the city through the dark ages and allowed it to claim a unique position within the kingdom.  And my family had been at the centre of it.

Or so we are told, I thought, and shivered.  I knew, better than anyone, just how many secrets had been lost - or deliberately destroyed - in the past.  How much of the history we take for granted was rewritten over the years?

I pushed the thought aside as Magus Court came into view.  It looked remarkable, for a place with such a foreboding reputation.  It was a palace, a fairytale palace, made out of something that looked like glass or marble, but very definitely wasn't either.  The secret of whatever had been used to make the building was long gone, unfortunately.  Magus Court looked fragile, so fragile that a single gust of wind might be enough to smash it, yet the building had endured everything from rogue warlocks to storms blowing in from the sea.  The building was over a thousand years old.

“Wow,” Rose said.  “This is ...”

Her voice trailed away.  It struck me that she might never have seen the building before.  She’d gone to Aguirre Hall, but we hadn't given her a tour of North Shallot.  I promised myself I’d take her over the summer holidays, if I could get permission to invite her to stay in the city.  We could meet up with Akin and have a proper tour.  Our fathers wouldn't be happy, but I thought they’d understand.  Rose was my closest friend.  I hadn't had a proper friend since it had become clear that I couldn't do magic.

I reached for my spectacles and put them on as the carriage passed a pair of armsmen and turned into the courtyard.  Instantly, the scene was transformed.  I could see threads of magic running through the entire building, drawing on the magic field to hold the building together.  I sucked in my breath as I realised, slowly, just what I was seeing.  Magus Court - all of Magus Court - was a single, giant Object of Power.  My heart started to race as I tried to grasp the sheer scale of the project.  I couldn't have done it, not alone.  Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of Zeroes had to have worked on the building.

We’ve got a long way to go, I thought.  As far as I knew, I was still the only Zero.  How many people would've been needed to build Magus Court?

I started to try to figure it out, then stopped as the carriage lurched to a halt.  I took the spectacles off and returned them to my pocket.  The door opened a second later, revealing a set of steps leading down to the cobbled ground.  Dad walked down first, followed by the two of us.  I held my head high as I’d been taught, even as the guards stared at me suspiciously.  The combined scrutiny of city guardsmen and the Crown Prince’s personal armsmen was not comfortable.  I could practically feel Rose shrinking behind me.

Dad nodded to the guards, then led the way through the main entrance and into a giant chamber.  There were small groups of people scattered over the floor, each one centred on a family head.  Everyone who was anyone had been invited to the hearing - and even if they hadn't been invited, they would have tried to come anyway.  It was the networking event of the year.  My lips twitched at the thought.  I’d never liked networking - no one had wanted to network with me until my talents had manifested - but I’d been the catalyst for a great many other discussions.  I wondered, absently, just how many of them would turn into something significant.

Rose tapped my shoulder, gently.  “Akin,” she whispered, as I looked at her.  “He’s over there.”

I followed her gaze.  Akin was standing next to his father, wearing a miniature version of his father’s purple robes.  House Ruben was the only house to wear purple, a colour that had once been reserved for the Emperor and his closest family.  It was meaningless now, I thought, but they refused to let go of it.  My eyes met Akin’s, just for a second, and he winked at me.  I winked back.  

“We should go say hello,” Rose said.

“We can't,” I muttered back.  There just hadn't been time to teach Rose everything she needed to know about formal etiquette.  We couldn't simply walk over and say hello.  Akin was, to all intents and purposes, his father’s client.  My father would have to speak to his father before we could speak to our friend.  “Just stay close to my father.”

The room slowly filled with the great and the good - or at least the powerful and influential.  I picked out a number of faces I’d been told to memorise: matriarchs and patriarchs, guild leaders, merchants with trading interests spread all over the world ... even a handful of foreign ambassadors.  The latter seemed particularly interested in me.  Their gazes bored into me whenever I looked in their direction.  If Mum hadn't drilled me so intensely in formal etiquette, I would have cringed under their gaze.  It made me want to hide.

Chin up, I told myself, firmly.  They can't be as bad as the grand dames of society.

I smiled, despite myself.  The grand dames didn't seem to do anything, as far as I could tell, apart from attending tea parties and criticising children.  A single hair out of place would be grounds for a full interrogation as the dames demanded to know why I was letting the family down.  One of them had even had the nerve to walk into my father’s workroom and demand to know why I wasn't wearing a dress while I practiced forging.  Did she really think anyone would forge in an expensive dress?

“He’s coming over,” Rose whispered.

“Don’t speak until you are spoken to,” I whispered back.  Lord Carioca Rubén was walking towards us, Akin trailing him like a lost puppy.  He looked to have recovered from the kidnapping, although there was no way to be sure.  If he was having nightmares, he’d do everything in his power to keep his dormmates from learning about them.  “We have to be polite.”

“Lord Aguirre,” Carioca said.  “It is a great pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Dad said.  Neither man sounded particularly sincere.  “I trust that your son has recovered from his experiences?”

“My son has indeed recovered,” Carioca said.  His gaze flickered over Rose, but lingered on me.  “And your daughter and her friend?”

“They have returned to school,” Dad said, which wasn't an answer.  “I have yet to discover the guiding hands behind the plot.”

“I have not discovered anyone, either,” Carioca said.  His voice was very stiff.  “I request the honour of a private discussion, after the hearing.”

My father’s face went blank.  I glanced at him, then Akin.  My friend was red and embarrassed.  There was no way he could hide his feelings on his pale face.  I had the feeling he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.  I understood entirely.  Parents could be so embarrassing.  

“It will be my pleasure,” Dad said, slowly.  “Please book a suitable room.”

Carioca nodded, curtly.  I thought I understood.  The last thing he wanted was to appear a supplicant, certainly not to my father.  I was sure he’d cast a privacy ward around us, as soon as he approached, but too many eyes would have seen him walk over to Dad.  There was no hiding the fact that it had been he who’d requested the meeting.  That would make life harder for him.  

Perhaps, I thought.

Trumpets blew.  I turned, just in time to see a trio of Kingsmen enter through the door.  Their silver armour seemed to glow with a radiant light, a reminder that the armour dated all the way back to the empire too.  I wondered, absently, if I could make it myself.  The silver wouldn't be too hard to work, but carving the correct runes into the various pieces would be difficult.  And then it would have to flow into a single Object of Power ...

“Great Lords and Ladies,” the herald bellowed.  “Henry, Crown Prince of Tintagel!  Princess Saffron of North Cairnbulg!”

I knelt.  Everyone knelt, save for the matriarchs and patriarchs.  I kept my head bowed, but managed to look towards the Crown Prince and his wife.  They made a stunning pair.  The prince wore golden armour that shone so brightly it was actually hard to see his face, while his dark-skinned bride wore a white gown that outshone every other dress in the room.  Her skin was lighter than mine - she’d been born on the northern side of the Great Minima Desert, while my ancestors had been born in the south - but her hair was actually darker.  I hadn't believed that possible.  Maybe it was just a charm.  The courtly fashions of Tintagel were always a month or two ahead of Shallot.

The Crown Prince walked forward slowly, looking neither left nor right.  I concentrated, trying to force my eyes to see through the glow.  He was blond, strikingly blond; I wondered, darkly, if he was related to Akin and Isabella.  His hair was cut in a simple style, rather than shaped into an elaborate hairstyle; he didn't even wear a wig.  He was stunningly handsome, with muscles on his muscles; his blue eyes were practically glowing with life.  I couldn't help feeling that it was too good to be true.  A glamour?  I wanted to slip on my spectacles, just to take a look.  But I didn't dare try to put them on in front of the entire room.

He couldn't hope to fool everyone in the city, I told myself.  Traditionally, glamours were respected - cancelling someone’s glamour was regarded with the same kind of horror reserved for ripping off someone’s clothes - but I wasn't sure that rule applied to the Crown Prince.  They’d know he was using a glamour.

The Crown Prince seemed to look at me, just for a second.  I looked down, hastily.  When I looked up again, he was making his way into the courtroom.  Perhaps I’d imagined it ...

“The formalities are concluded,” the herald informed us.  “You may rise, and enter the courtroom.”

Dad helped me to my feet.  “You’ll be in the witness box,” he reminded me.  “Remember what I said.”

“I will,” I promised.  The butterflies in my stomach were growing worse.  “And afterwards ...”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Dad said.  He squeezed my hand, reassuringly.  “It's going to be fine.”

“I hope so,” I muttered back.
Chapter Three

Rose walked behind, so close she kept bumping into me, as we entered the courtroom and made our way down towards the witness box.  It was a large chamber, yet it wasn't anything like big enough to accommodate everyone who wanted to attend.  Great Lords and Ladies were standing against the wooden walls, while others - of lesser rank - were being told to watch from the balcony or stand outside and listen through scrying spells.  I allowed myself a sigh of relief as I saw Sir Griffons sitting in the witness box, wearing the sword I’d forged for him.  At least we wouldn't be completely alone.

“I don’t know which of us will be called first,” he told us, as we took our seats.  Akin joined us a moment later.  “We’ll just have to wait.”

I nodded, stiffly.  It wasn’t precisely a trial, but there would still be consequences if we lied ... or did anything else that might embarrass our fathers.  Dad had drilled us in basic legalities, yet I knew just how much I didn't know.  I’d considered becoming a lawyer, when it had become increasingly apparent that I would never be a sorceress, but it would have been easy for my opponents to subtly hex me to ensure I lost the case.

Rose shivered as she sat down next to me.  I took her hand gently, then looked around.  The room was heaving.  Even the balconies were standing room only.  I gritted my teeth as I spotted Great Aunt Stregheria sitting on one of the upper levels, surrounded by a handful of other ladies of a certain age.  She looked more like a vulture than ever, her dark eyes circling around the chamber as if she were looking for carrion.  I didn't dare meet her eyes.  My amulet should have protected me from anything nasty, but I knew - all too well - that Great Aunt Stregheria was formidable.  I wouldn't have put it past her to find a way to embarrass my father in public.

I returned my gaze to the front of the room.  The Crown Prince was sitting in the judge’s seat, flanked by his wife and an odd-looking man in an elaborate wig.  Below him, the five quaestors were waiting for the inquest to begin.  Their faces were so blank that I knew they were nervous.  Questioning children wasn't an easy task at the best of times, but Akin and I both came from powerful families.  Irritating both families would probably cost the quaestors their careers.

The doors closed with an audible BANG.  The funny-looking man stood.

“In line with the standards laid down by the first assembly of mages, nine hundred years ago, I declare this hearing open,” he said.  He had to be the clerk, probably the Crown Prince’s personal clerk.  I’d never seen him before.  “I call Lead Quaestor Mathis to the stand.”

Mathis stood.  I studied him with some interest.  He was a tall thin man, with light skin and dark hair slowly turning grey.  It was hard to be sure, but I thought he was around ten years older than my father.  He didn't seem to care about his appearance, even though he could have dyed his hair or simply used a glamour.  But then, quaestors were devoted to the truth.  Mathis probably thought that using a glamour was a lie.

“We are gathered here today to conduct a hearing into the abduction of three children from Jude’s Sorcerous Academy,” he said.  His voice was as dry as dust.  “It was decided, under the circumstances, that the hearing would be conducted publicly.  Therefore ...”

I did my best to listen as he droned on and on, discussing the progress the quaestors had made so far and running through an entire series of legal caveats that left me wanting to close my eyes and go to sleep.  The Crown Prince managed to look interested - I couldn't help feeling a little envious - but others seemed to be having trouble keeping their eyes open.  It was a relief, almost, when I was called to the stand.

We needed to practice, I thought, as I walked forward.  I was painfully aware that every eye in the chamber was watching me.  And we didn't have time.

“Place your hands on the wood,” the clerk said.  I did, feeling my amulet grow warm as my finger touched the wood.  There was a charm carefully woven into the stand, almost certainly a truth spell.  And probably designed to encourage me to talk freely too.  I hoped my amulet could deflect it.  There were too many details I didn't want to share with anyone.  “Tell us one truth and one lie.”

“My name is Caitlyn,” I said.  “And I’m twenty-five years old.”

The air around me turned green, then red.  I winced, inwardly.  The colour should have been brighter ... perhaps it was merely a function of the spell.  I’d lied, but not with malicious intent.  Or maybe the amulet was already countering the spell.  I couldn't feel any impulse to talk, but that was meaningless.  A good truth spell would be designed to ensure that the victim didn't know she was enchanted.

“Thank you,” Mathis said.  “Would you please tell us, in your own words, what happened during the abduction?”

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, choosing my words carefully.  I told them about Rolf and his friends luring us out of the school’s wards, then detailed everything from the moment we’d woken up in Fairuza’s clutches to our daring escape.  The room seemed to echo with gasps as I told them about the Eternal City, then how we’d managed to make our way up the coastline until we’d finally been rescued by the Kingsmen.  I carefully didn't tell them anything about the magic field.  They didn't need to know.

The quaestors waited until I was finished, then tossed a series of questions at me.  They were lighter than I’d expected - I’d feared they’d ask more about just how Rolf had managed to lure us out of the school - but I still had to think carefully before answering them.  I didn't want to lie directly, yet if I gave them a reason to suspect I was trying to mislead them ... sweat poured down my back as I chose my words.  A mistake now could prove fatal.

“We thank you,” Mathis said, finally.  It felt as though I’d been on the stand for hours.  “Does anyone have any points to raise?”

I gritted my teeth as the various senior magicians started to ask their own questions, then arguing amongst themselves.  One magician would ask a question, only to have another shout it down before I could answer.  The Crown Prince seemed oddly amused by the whole display, even as he tried to calm them down.  It would have been funny, I was sure, if I hadn't been in the witness box.  I wanted a glass of water and a chance to sit down, not wait for them to decide what questions I was actually supposed to answer.

The Crown Prince finally managed to restore order, only to have Great Aunt Stregheria signal for attention.  “It cannot be denied that my niece has conducted herself well,” she said, in a poisonously sweet tone.  “However, she cannot defend herself against attack.  I believe she should be taken into protective custody at once.”

I felt my legs threaten to buckle.  Great Aunt Stregheria had tried to take me into her home once before, offering to foster me ... she’d talked a good game, but I knew, all too well, that she wanted to make use of me.  My mere existence threatened the balance of power.  Too many people might have been secretly relieved if the kidnappers had slit my throat in the dark.  

Dad rose, glaring at his aunt.  “It has been decided that Caitlyn will continue at Jude’s for the immediate future,” he said.  He sounded displeased.  I had a feeling that a number of high-level discussions had taken place, concerning me, as soon as we’d been rescued.  “The school’s security measures have been reviewed and should prove suitable.”

“That has been agreed,” the Crown Prince said.  His voice was polite, but firm.  “Caitlyn will remain at Jude’s until a final decision is made.”

I was torn between relief and annoyance.  On one hand, I wouldn't have to leave the school immediately.  But, on the other hand, they were talking about me as though I was an object, rather than a person.  My fate wasn't in my hands.  It might never be in my hands, even after I had my Season.  The kidnappers might have failed to keep me prisoner, but someone with more forethought might be able to construct an inescapable prison.   They’d certainly have a better idea of what not to do.

“Thank you, Lady Caitlyn,” the clerk said.  “You may return to your seat.”

It was all I could do not to sag as I made my way back to the bench and sat down.  I felt sweaty and uncomfortable ... I needed a shower, perhaps even a bath.  The charms on the dress had clearly failed already, no matter what the seamstresses had promised.  I hoped Rose would have an easier time of it.  Her spells should last for the rest of the dress’s lifetime.  

The clerk called Akin to the stand.  I braced myself, half-expecting to have someone calculate the timeline of events and realise I’d left out part of the story, but nothing happened.  Akin ran through his version of events, then answered a handful of questions.  It was clear that his father had forced him to practice, time and time again.  His answers were crisp, brief and left very little room for further questions.

His dad probably started to train him as soon as he was old enough to walk, I reminded myself, before I could start wondering why my father hadn't tried to prepare us.  Akin was pretty much the designated heir right from the start.

Akin sat down.  Rose was called up.  I gritted my teeth as it became all too apparent that Rose didn't have the slightest training in public speaking.  Even in the charmed courtroom, her voice was so quiet that the clerk had to tell her to speak up several times.  But her story accorded with ours on almost all of the points, leaving no reason for the quaestors to start wondering about missing time.  What had I been doing when Akin and Rose had been trapped in the ruined house?

They don’t know they lost any time either, I reminded myself.  I still didn't know how that had been done.  A magician could freeze someone in her tracks - Alana had done it to me more times than I could count - but the victim would still be conscious.  Akin and Rose never realised they were enchanted.

There was a pause once the quaestors had finished questioning Rose.  I half-expected Great Aunt Stregheria to question Rose’s story, on the grounds that Rose was a common-born girl instead of a great magician, but she kept her mouth shut.  Hardly anyone asked her a question, even after the quaestors opened the floor to the audience.  Perhaps they didn't take her seriously.  There was no way Rose could be mistaken for a nobly-born girl.  

“Thank you,” the clerk said, dismissing Rose.  “Sir Griffons?”

A rustle ran through the room.  Technically, Rose should have been given time to sit down before the next witness was called.  Sir Griffons rose, but stayed where he was until Rose sat down.  He didn't look pleased as he took the stand.  I squeezed Rose’s hand, then looked at Akin.  He looked as tired as I felt.  And it wasn't even noon!

I leaned forward, interested, as Sir Griffons began to speak.  He sounded calm, but very confident.  His voice admitted of no doubt, not even the vaguest feeling he might be wrong about something.  I couldn't help admiring his demeanour.  I wanted to be that calm when I grew up.

“We were alerted to the kidnapping when the three victims did not return to their dorms at Lights Out,” Sir Griffon told us.  “We immediately checked the other dorms and discovered that a handful of upperclassmen had also vanished, although it was hard to be certain they were involved as it was the weekend.  By that time, the kidnappers had had several hours to move their victims to a warded location and transport them to the Eternal City.”

I was too tired to keep from smiling, although I knew it wasn't really funny.  Upperclassmen were not supposed to leave the school, even on weekends, but most of them sneaked out anyway.  It was an old tradition, one that had exploded in the faces of anyone unlucky enough to be playing truant when we’d been kidnapped.  The Kingsmen would not have been gentle to anyone who had been missing from the school.  Sandy had told me that she’d been subjected to truth spells and potions before she’d finally been cleared of any direct involvement in the affair.  I doubted the others had fared any better.

The thought made me wince.  The poor upperclassmen might blame me for their interrogations.  They’d be looking for excuses to give me lines until they graduated ... unless, of course, they wanted me to make Objects of Power for them.  I’d been trying to put together a favour network of my own before the kidnapping.  But I’d learnt my lesson about doing that.  Rolf wouldn't have lured me out of the school so easily if I hadn't been so desperate to have him and his friends owing me favours.

Maybe they’ll just take it out on Akin or Rose instead, I thought, dragging my attention back to Sir Griffons.  Or Alana and Bella.

“We interrogated the upperclassmen who did return, but none of them were involved with the kidnapping,” Sir Griffons said.  “Our attempts to search for the victims via magic were largely unsuccessful, even after we obtained a blood sample.  We drew a blank until we - finally - got a lead on their location.  Afterwards, we discovered that the kidnapped children had managed to escape the concealment wards on their own.  We deployed at once and headed east.”

He paused, dramatically.  “Even in our armour, it took several days to travel to their location.  It was sheer luck that we were able to find them and capture a number of the kidnappers when we finally reached them.  The kidnappers clearly didn't expect us, but ... their masters planned well.  None of the surviving captives remember anything.  Their minds have been wiped clean.”

The Crown Prince leaned forward.  “You do not know, then, who was behind the plot?”

“No, Your Highness,” Sir Griffons said, grimly.  “We have interrogated the families of the missing upperclassmen carefully, but none of them have been able to shed any light on the affair.  Nor have we been able to determine who trained Fairuza, if indeed Fairuza is her real name.  A half-Hangchowese girl should be easy to find, but it’s starting to look as though she wasn't born in Shallot and never attended Jude’s.  All the students who might have matched her description have been accounted for.”

I nodded, slowly.  Hangchowese were rare in Shallot.  Children with only one Hangchowese parent were even rarer.  They rarely knew anything about their fathers, which made it harder for them to establish themselves in the city.  I’d only met three of them - including Fairuza - in my entire life.  It was quite possible that Fairuza had been born and trained outside the country, which meant ...

No wonder the Crown Prince is involved, I told myself.  If Fairuza had worked for Galashiels or Balamory instead of one of the Great Houses, all hell might be about to break loose.  The kidnapping could have been an act of war.

“They will be found,” the Crown Prince said.  I wasn't sure if he was reassuring himself or his audience.  “But there is a more important issue.  Lady Caitlyn was forced to work for them for three weeks.  What did she make for them and what can they do with it?”

Sir Griffons tensed.  “There is a full list attached to the briefing notes, Your Highness, but the short answer is that she made them a number of Objects of Power.  If handled carefully, they could be used to take over a city - Tintagel, for example.  Or they could be used to bring down a Great House.  They could certainly cause a great deal of damage in the wrong hands.”

I was suddenly aware of everyone looking at me.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to tell them that I hadn't had a choice.  Fairuza and her allies had forced me to work for them, turning my closest friends into prison wardens.  It had taken me too long to plan an escape, but there had been no other way out.  What else could I have done?

“The backer might be a commoner, then,” the Crown Prince mused.  “Someone who had less reason to fear indiscriminate retribution than a nobleman.”

The crowd started to mutter.  They seemed to believe him.  I wasn't so sure, myself.  A commoner would have plenty of reason to want Objects of Power that could be turned against a Great House - and fewer qualms about kidnapping children from Jude’s - but whoever was behind Fairuza had known a great deal about magic.  I doubted Fairuza had volunteered to have her mind wiped, if she fell into enemy hands.  No, whoever had hired her - and perhaps trained her - had considered her disposable.  They certainly hadn't made any attempt to rescue her.

They may already consider her dead, I thought.  If someone loses all of their memories and personality, is anything left of them?  Or are they dead?

I shivered, helplessly.  I didn't know.
Chapter Four

“That was not pleasant,” Rose said, as we left the courtroom.

I nodded in agreement.  There had been a short break for lunch, which had tasted marginally better than ashes, then we’d reassembled in the courtroom and the families of the missing upperclassmen had been hauled in to testify.  They’d looked pitiful as they were interrogated, one by one, by the quaestors, who hadn't shown them any deference at all.  None of them had known anything about Fairuza, let alone their children’s involvement in a plot against the Great Houses.  It made me wonder just how little time they’d had to spend with their children.

“They were just pawns.”  Rose sounded pained.  “I don’t think they knew what they were getting into.”

“Perhaps not,” I agreed.  I found it hard to believe that Rolf and his friends had just thrown away a set of promising careers, but that was exactly what they'd done.  They’d be outlaws for the rest of their lives, assuming they weren't already dead.  The Kingsmen hadn't found the bodies, but that was meaningless.  “And yet they did kidnap us.”

Rose looked as if she wanted to say more, but Dad came over before she could open her mouth.  “Cat,” he said.  “I need you to accompany me.  Sir Griffons will escort Rose back to the school.”

I wanted to argue, but there was no point in trying when Dad was clearly in a bad mood.  I didn't really blame him, either.  Too many secrets - and things Dad would have preferred to keep quiet - had been openly discussed in the courtroom.  I rather suspected that I’d be blamed if - when - the Objects of Power made their reappearance, even though I’d been forced to make them.  Great Aunt Stregheria might not be the only person insisting that I be taken into protective custody by the end of the day.

“I’ll see you back in the dorms,” I said to Rose.  “We have a lot of catch-up work to do.”

Sir Griffons strode up to us, looking tired.  Dad spoke briefly to him, then took my arm and led me through a side door and down a long corridor.  The walls were panelled with wood, artfully designed to make it look as though the wood was holding up the ceiling.  I suspected that whoever had designed the original building had crafted the outer wall and supporting beams, then worked wood and plaster into the interior to hide its true nature.  I’d certainly never heard anything about Magus Court being an Object of Power.  I hoped no one would try to dig too far into the walls.  Removing even a single concealed gemstone could cause the entire building to collapse.

Something to talk about with Dad, later, I told myself, as we walked up a flight of stairs and into a small tearoom.  But we couldn't duplicate it without more Zeroes.

Lord Carioca Rubén was sitting in a comfortable armchair, holding a steaming cup of tea to his lips.  Akin sat next to him, looking miserable.  I felt a flicker of sympathy, but I didn’t dare try to signal it ... not when his father was so close.  I doubted Carioca was happy that Akin and I had become friends.  His family and mine had been rivals for far too long.

“Please, be seated,” Carioca said.  His voice was very calm.  “Akin will pour the tea.”

I glanced at my father, then sat on the smaller chair.  Akin moved with easy grace, pouring two cups of tea and passing them to us.  Dad made a show of drinking without bothering to check for poison first, something that would have impressed me more if I hadn't known it was very hard to deliberately harm someone in Magus Court.  In hindsight, that should have revealed the building’s true nature years ago.  The generalised wards necessary to prevent such an unspecific threat practically had to be focused on an Object of Power.

“You answered their questions very well,” Carioca said, once I had taken a sip of my tea.  “I don’t think you could have done better.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, carefully.  My tea tasted perfect - milk, a hint of sugar - but I was wary.  He hadn't asked us both here to give me compliments.  “It was not a pleasant experience.”

“My son will be arguing for his clients one day,” Carioca said, nodding to Akin.  “It’s a skill all should learn.”

“Magister Niven will teach you rhetoric later,” Dad said.  He was looking at Carioca, his eyes never moving from his rival’s face.  “We can train for the courtroom too, if you wish.”

I kept my face under tight control.  Carioca was right.  The Family Head would spend a lot of time in the courtrooms, supporting his clients.  It was a tradition that could not be gainsaid.  And yet, it wasn't something I ever wanted to do.  I didn't think Akin wanted to do it.

“Your friend definitely requires proper training,” Carioca added.  He shot my father an unreadable look.  “It would be our honour to arrange it, if she wishes.”

“Rose is one of my clients,” Dad said, stiffly.

“But we owe her too,” Carioca said.  Beside him, Akin shifted uncomfortably.  “It is a debt that needs to be repaid.”

“She’s young,” Dad said.  “And besides, she might need a favour from you one day.”

I saw ... something ... flash across Akin’s face.  I thought I understood.  In theory, Rose could accept patronage from both families, but - in practice - it would put her in an impossible position.  Clients were supposed to support their clients against their rivals ... which side would Rose be on?  And what would happen if she failed to support one of her patrons?

Better to have them repay her in some other form, I thought.  A gift, perhaps ...

“She might,” Carioca said.  It took me a moment to realise that he was answering Dad’s point.  “But I would prefer to repay the favour as soon as possible.  Perhaps she would appreciate marriage to a young man of good standing ...?”

He looked at me.  I frowned.

“Rose is not going to be old enough to marry for five years, sir,” I said.  “It’s far too early to be talking about her marriage.”

Particularly as she isn’t here, I added, silently.  I’d always known that my marriage would be discussed heavily by my parents before I was even consulted - if anyone wanted to marry a magic-less girl - but Rose had grown up in a different world.  She might not want to even consider marrying a stranger.

I forced myself to consider it.  Carioca was in a good position to arrange a very advantageous match for Rose, perhaps to a husband who would boost her social standing ... there were girls I knew who would have traded one of their eyes for such an offer.  But the marriage might well come with a sting in the tail ... and, in any case, Rose was far too young to even think about getting married.  It could wait.

“As you wish,” Carioca said.  He took another sip of his tea.  “There is, however, another matter that must be discussed.”

“Quite,” my father said.  He’d never been a fan of small talk.  “We do have to take the children back to school before sunset.”

Carioca nodded, then leaned forward.  “You have my Family Sword.  We want it back.”

Dad looked surprised.  I kicked myself, mentally.  I’d meant to tell him about the sword ... I hadn't meant to keep it a secret ... but it had slipped my mind.  I’d thought we could discuss it after the hearing, somewhere well away from prying ears.  But Akin had told his father ... I swallowed a word that would have had Mum washing my mouth out with soap.  I should have informed Dad at once.  He was not going to be happy.

He looked at me.  “Explain.”

I swallowed, hard.  “Magister Tallyman gave me an old sword - an Object of Power - to repair,” I told him.  “I succeeded--” - Dad’s eyebrows crawled up “--but no one could handle the sword until Akin touched it.  He was the only one who could lift it.”

Dad’s face went very still.  “Indeed?”

“Yes, Dad,” I said.  He was going to kill me.  Or ground me for the rest of my life.  Or ... I really should have told him.  He wasn't going to thank me for letting him get blindsided by his rival.  “It’s their Family Sword.”

He studied me for a long moment.  I didn't dare look away.  A Family Sword was literally priceless - or at least it had been, before I discovered my talents.  And yet, it was useless to anyone who didn't have a blood tie to the family.  No one could even move such a sword without being a relative.  I’d had to use a cradle of metal to move the sword into a box, then carry it upstairs to the dorm.

“We shall discuss this later,” he said, in a tone that froze my blood.  “Where did you get the blade?”

“Magister Tallyman gave it to me,” I said, again.

“That’s true, sir,” Akin said, hastily.  “We didn't know who owned the sword until I touched it.”

“We are not accusing your daughter of stealing the sword,” Carioca said, smoothly.  “However, as I’m sure you can understand, we want the sword back.”

“I see,” Dad said.  I could see the tension in his stance as he looked back at his rival.  I wondered if they could see it.  “How did you lose it?”

“The family records state it was lost during the House War between Rubén and Caldecott, two hundred years ago,” Carioca told us.  “It was never actually recovered.”

I forced myself to think.  That House War had been particularly bloody, if I recalled correctly.  House Rubén had been trying to force its way back to the top and House Caldecott had stood in the way.  Rubén had won, decisively.  The remnants of House Caldecott had fled the city, leaving their clients to make whatever terms they could with the victors.  But no one had ever mentioned a missing sword.

The blade was damaged, I recalled.  It was difficult to damage an Object of Power, particularly when it was in use, but ... someone might have done it.  Magister Tallyman had assumed that the owner had tried to remove a gemstone ... perhaps, instead, someone had done it deliberately, knowing it would render the sword useless.  One final burst of spite from the defeated house?

“One would assume you gave up ownership,” my father said, smoothly.  He seemed to have recovered, although I wasn't fooled.  I was in deep trouble.  Dad might just rethink his position on some of Great Aunt Stregheria’s suggested punishments.  “It certainly doesn't belong to you now.”

“But my son is the only one who can use it,” Carioca countered.  “The sword is ours.”

It certainly isn't any use to us, I thought.  Technically, it was mine; practically, Carioca was right.  The sword wasn't any use to me.  But Dad won’t want to give it up without a fight.

“You lost the blade, somehow,” Dad snapped.  “It’s Cat’s, now.”

Carioca looked at me.  “Name your price.”

Dad reached out and tapped my hand, hard enough to sting.  “We will consider the matter,” he said.  “But it isn't something that can be decided immediately.”

“The sword is ours,” Carioca repeated.  “And if you don’t hand it over, we will sue you for custody.”

You make it sound as though the sword is a child, I thought.  

“You could try,” Dad said.  “But the chain of ownership was broken.”

I frowned.  Magister Tallyman hadn't known who’d originally owned the sword.  Or had he?  How much of what he'd told me had been true?  If he’d lied about that, what else had he lied about?  Was he a Caldecott?  Perhaps the last survivor of a dead house?  I considered it, then dismissed the thought as absurd.  Magister Tallyman certainly wasn’t old enough to have fought in the House War.  Maybe one of his ancestors had fought in the war.

He could have been one of the Caldecott clients, I thought.  Someone who changed his allegiance after the end of the war, but kept his mouth shut about the sword.

“I believe that a court may disagree with you,” Carioca pointed out.  “Who deliberately throws away a family sword?”

“We shall see,” Dad said.  “Do we have any other business?”

“Not at the moment,” Carioca said.  “Are you still planning to visit the Guardhouse?”

“Perhaps,” Dad said.  He stood.  “I’ll inform you of what, if anything, happens.”

I looked at Akin.  He met my eyes, just for a second.  I saw embarrassment, and horror, and something else clearly written on his face.  I doubted he’d known that his father intended to confront my father.  He would have warned me.  I thought he’d warn me.  Isabella would certainly not have warned me, just to watch us flail, but Akin had struck me as a decent person.  He still struck me as a decent person.  We’d been through too much together to simply become enemies overnight.

His father might not have told him what he had in mind, I thought.  I wasn't sure when Akin had been picked up from Jude’s, but he’d definitely been there over the last week.  He wouldn't have had many chances to talk to his father in private.  Akin might not even have mentioned the sword until today.

“Cat, come,” Dad said.

I rose and followed him out of the room.  It was clear he wasn't pleased.  I had to practically run to keep up with him as he reached the top of the stairs and strode down to the hall.  A handful of noblemen - all of lesser houses - were gathered at the bottom of the stairs.  They started babbling as soon as they saw us, calling out questions and requests for alliances and other things I didn't understand.  Dad barely slowed as he reached the bottom, forcing them to jump aside.  I followed in his wake, grimly aware I was in real trouble.  Dad had become patriarch because he was good at handling people.  Now, he was ploughing through them in his haste to get away.

“I need you to repair my family’s heirloom,” someone I vaguely recognised called.  “I will pay ...”

Dad glared at him.  “Later!”

The crowd parted.  Dad resumed his walk.  I followed him through the corridors and out into the warm autumn air.  Winter was coming, in theory, but Shallot wouldn't have snow for months to come.  I wondered if playing with the snow - and having snowball fights - would be more fun when I was wearing a protective charm or two, instead of being a sitting duck for every hex hurled in my general direction.  My distant cousin had managed to animate a string of what he called Snow Goons and send them out to do battle on his behalf.  I would have enjoyed it more if I’d been given a fair chance to play.

Dad spoke quickly to a guardsman, then waited outside Magus Court.  I tried to ignore the shocked looks we were getting from the staff, who’d probably expected more warning of our departure.  They’d get in trouble, under normal circumstances, if the carriage hadn't been ready for us ... now, I thought they’d be fine.  It was me who was in trouble.  

The carriage came 'round from the back, the horses looking around with interest.  I stepped back as the carriage came to a halt, careful not to stand too close.  I’d never really liked horses, although Mum and Dad had insisted that I learnt to ride.  Alana had kept casting spells to make me fall off the poor beasts and land on my rear.  I fully intended to build a proper flying machine of my own, later on, and fly everywhere.  I’d already built one somewhat-working model.

“Get inside,” Dad ordered, as the valet opened the door.  His voice was sharp enough to cut lead.  “I’ll be along in a moment.”

I scrambled up and into the carriage, trying not to jump as the door was slammed closed .  Dad really wasn’t pleased.  I hadn't seen him so angry since ... since Alana had pulled a particularly nasty practical joke on one of our clients.  The poor guy had been badly shocked, to the point where he’d almost broken ties with us altogether.  Dad had practically threatened to disinherit her if she ever did anything like that again.  And now ...

The bench was cushioned, but it felt hard as I sat.  I wished I’d brought a book or something to distract me, but I doubted that anything would distract me.  Dad was angry ... and he was right to be angry.  I’d inadvertently caused him a serious problem.  The butterflies in my stomach were getting worse, even though we were leaving Magus Court.  I was tempted to clamber out of the coach and sneak back to school.  Dad could hardly get madder at me.

Of course he can, I told myself.  You were kidnapped once, from one of the most heavily-warded buildings in the country, and now you’re planning to walk out alone?

I flinched as the door opened.  Dad climbed into the coach and sat down opposite me.  A moment later, the carriage shook and rattled away from Magus Court.  It wouldn't be long before we were back at Jude’s.  Unless Dad had somewhere else he wanted to go, or just told the driver to take the long way back to the school.  He’d need plenty of time to give me the telling-off of my life.

I sucked in my breath.  It was time to face the music.
Chapter Five

“Start from the beginning,” Dad commanded.  His eyes were fixed on me. “Where did the sword come from?”

“Magister Tallyman,” I said.  I’d told him that already, hadn't I?  Did Dad think I’d lied to Akin and his father?  Or him?  “He said he didn't know where the sword came from originally.”

Dad’s brow furrowed.  He didn't look convinced.  “And he just gave it to you?”

“He said I could try to repair it,” I told him.  “And if I succeeded in repairing the sword, I could keep it.”

“I see,” Dad said, in the same tone he’d used when my sisters and I had tried to talk ourselves out of trouble with a wild and unbelievable story.  “And you had no idea it belonged to them?”

“There wasn't a crest on the sword,” I recalled.  “Dad ... it could be his mother’s family sword, not his father’s.”

“They’d still have a claim on the blade,” Dad said.  His voice hardened.  “Why didn't you tell me?”

I winced.  “I ... I didn't want to write it down,” I said.  “I planned to tell you after ... after the hearing.  I didn't think Akin would tell his father.”

Dad gave me a sharp look.  “And would you not have told me, if things had been reversed?”

I made a face.  Would I have kept my mouth shut if I’d rediscovered a long-lost family heirloom?  And a sword, blood-bonded to my family?  A sign of our bloodline as well as a weapon of tremendous power?  I wanted to think I wouldn't have betrayed my friend for my family, but I was honest enough to admit that I might have had no choice.  Fundamentally, Akin’s father had a point.  The sword was theirs.

“I might have done,” I said.  “I ...”

“You should have done,” Dad said, sharply.  “An Object of Power that belongs to us, by rights?  Yes, you should have told me.  And Akin should have told his father.  And that allowed him to blindside me.”

I lowered my eyes.  “I’m sorry.”

“So you should be,” Dad said.  He sounded more reflective than angry.  I wasn’t reassured.  “You do realise that this changes everything?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“There are thousands of broken Objects of Power lying around,” Dad added.  “How long will it be before their owners start asking you to repair them?”

I said nothing.  It was sheer luck I’d been able to repair the sword.  If the spellform had collapsed violently, when the gemstone had been removed, the remainder of the sword might have been rendered irreparable.  Another Object of Power might be impossible to repair, assuming I could figure out how to repair it.  I’d been able to work out how to save the sword, but some of the other Objects of Power?  It would take months, perhaps years, to even work out where to begin.

Dad had another concern.  “And merely repairing one or more of those broken Objects of Power will shift the balance of power,” he warned.  “There are factions that would react violently to any suggestion that they should be repaired.”

I swallowed, hard.  “We ... we could just give them the sword.”

My father snorted, rudely.  “I suspect they wouldn't want us to just give them anything,” he said.  “They’d be happier finding a way to force us to surrender it.  The obligation we could demand in exchange for the sword ...”

He shook his head.  “You are not to let them have it, understand? “

I hesitated.  If I simply gave the sword to Akin ...

Dad tapped my shoulder.  “You are not to let them have it,” he repeated.  “Not until we work out a way to use it, or at least defuse the problems mere possession of the sword will cause us.  Perhaps we can work out some form of trade.”

He met my eyes.  “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Dad,” I said, sullenly.

I took a breath.  “Dad ... this feud needs to stop.”

Dad made a strangled sound.  It took me a moment to realise he was trying not to laugh.

“I quite agree,” he said.  “But, right now, we’re on top.  They will never be satisfied being second best.”

He leaned back against the wood.  “The sword changes things,” he said.  “If we just give them the blade, as you suggested, it will imply that they’re supplicants, coming to us for succour.  It will practically make them our clients.  They will want - they will need - to find a way to balance the scales.  But what can they give us that matches the sword?”

“Perhaps they have a broken Object of Power I could repair, one they could give to us in exchange,” I said.  “Would that not maintain the balance?”

“Perhaps,” Dad echoed.  “But there’s another problem.  Tensions have been rising, as you are well aware.  We may be looking at another House War.  And if we are ... I really don't want to give them the wretched sword!”

I swallowed, hard.  “They’re not going to fight us!”

“They’re an immensely competitive family,” Dad said, wryly.  “They’re not going to accept us as their betters indefinitely.”

I wanted to argue, but I knew he had a point.  Isabella was immensely competitive, even after I’d bested her in a duel.  And Akin wasn't so showy about it, but he was competitive too.  I didn't want to believe that he’d continue the feud, if he succeeded his father as patriarch, yet he might not have a choice.  Too many of his relatives and clients would demand that he make a bid for supremacy.

And if they had the sword ...

I felt sick.  I didn't know precisely what the sword could do - its full powers would only manifest for its wielder - but I knew what other such blades could do.  Cut through wards as if they didn't exist, slice through armour as though it was butter, slash hexes and curses out of the air ... even protect their wielder from offensive magic.  It wouldn't have been a significant threat in the days of the Thousand-Year Empire, but now ... it could give House Rubén a significant advantage.  And if the blade had some of the more mythical powers ... it could win them the war.

“It gets worse,” Dad told me.  “Remember last year?  They believed ... they believed there was something wrong with our bloodline.  Our clients were even starting to get cold feet.”

“Because of me,” I said, numbly.

“I’m afraid so,” Dad said.  He rested his hand on my shoulder, just for a second.  “They thought ... they thought that they had an opening to displace us.  Now ... thanks to you ... we are stronger than we’ve ever been.  But it will take time for that power to manifest.  That gives them a chance to bring us down before you can really come into play.”

“They might lose,” I pointed out.

“They will lose anyway, once you start mass-producing Objects of Power,” Dad pointed out, curtly.  “Even a handful of new Objects of Power - the really legendary Objects of Power - would change the world.  Carioca may not want to start something, but you can bet your allowance that his relatives will.  It’s quite possible that one of his relatives was behind the kidnapping, Cat.  Akin’s death wouldn't necessarily have been a bad thing for them.”

“Because their own children might inherit,” I said.  Traditionally, each successive patriarch had to come from each successive generation.  “Or ... they might have a chance to inherit themselves.”

“Quite,” Dad said.  “And I’m sure they’ve convinced themselves that Carioca would approve, if he knew about it.”

“He swore an oath,” I reminded him.

“Yes,” Dad agreed.  “But if he doesn’t know he’s lying, the oath won’t bite him.”

It wasn't a pleasant thought.  I’d had the dangers of reckless oath-taking drilled into me since I started my education in magic.  Deliberately cheating an oath wasn't easy.  One could evade the letter of the oath, but still fall prey to the spirit.  And yet ... someone who didn't know they were cheating an oath would get away with it, even if they found out the truth afterwards.  Carioca might just suspect the truth, but not do anything to uncover it ...

But his only son was kidnapped, I reminded myself.  He can’t take that calmly, can he?

I met his eyes.  “This has to stop.”

“I quite agree,” Dad said.  “Now ... how do you plan to make it stop?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.  “But there has to be something.”

Dad smiled, humourlessly.  “I’m sure they’d accept a negotiated offer of surrender.”  His tone was as dry as dust.  “But I’m also sure you can understand why we won’t be offering one.”

“Yes, Dad.”

I looked down at my dark fingers.  Perhaps there was something ... but nothing came to mind.  We were on top and wanted to stay on top; they wanted to climb to the top themselves, which would mean pushing us down.  And if they thought they were on the verge of losing ...

“Maybe I should just ... go away,” I said, miserably.  I didn't want to leave the city, but if it kept the peace ... Rose and I could sail away to somewhere that had never heard of my family.  “If there was no prospect of more Objects of Power ...”

“They know the secret now,” Dad reminded me, quietly.  “The search for other Zeroes has already begun.”

I didn't look up.  “It will take them time to train, surely?”

“Yes, it will,” Dad said.  “But they’ll have every incentive to learn.”

I groaned to myself.  He was right.  It was only a matter of time until someone discovered another Zero.  And then ... the balance of power would shift, once again.  I’d studied magical theory and forging for five years, but I’d wasted a lot of time trying to spark power I didn't have.  Someone who actually knew what they were might be able to learn the ropes far faster than myself.  Whoever was the first to find a second Zero would be well placed to learn from my experiences.

They may already have found one, I thought.  House Rubén presumably hadn't, or they wouldn't be so concerned about the balance of power, but they weren’t the only Great House in Shallot.  House Alidade or House Bolingbroke could give us a run for our money if they secured a Zero of their very own.  And there would be outsiders too.  What happens when Galashiels and Balamory find a Zero?

“I have seriously considered simply pulling you out of Jude’s,” Dad said.  “The only reason I let you return to the school, after you were kidnapped, was because ... others had an interest in keeping you where they could see you.  You’re not forging half-forgotten weapons from the mythical past when you’re attending classes and sneaking grub out of the kitchens for midnight feasts.”

“It was only once,” I protested.

“You’ll have to work harder,” Dad said.  He smiled.  For a moment, he looked almost like his old self.  “I had four midnight feasts in my first year alone.”

I shrugged.  The first and last midnight feast had ended in disaster.  Isabella had betrayed us ... I thought she’d betrayed us.  She’d been the most logical suspect, but her reaction - in hindsight - suggested she was innocent.  Perhaps Rose and I had simply had a stroke of bad luck.  Or someone else had caught wind of what we were planning and tipped off the upperclassmen.  Or ... maybe the upperclassman who’d caught us had been lying.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

And if people are pressuring Dad to keep me in school, I thought as the true meaning of his words sank in, what will they pressure him to do next?

Dad leaned forward, his face hardening.  “You should have told me about the sword at once,” he said.  “If ... if it happens again, I expect you to tell me immediately.  The Castellan will get a secure message to me.  There won’t be any danger of anyone intercepting it.  What you did ... what you did was stupid.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.  I didn't blame him for being angry.  I’d inadvertently caused him a serious problem.  “I won’t do it again.”

“I should hope not,” Dad said.  He met my eyes.  “If you’d done that as an adult, Cat, you would probably have been disowned.  The family council would insist on formally stripping you of any ties to the family.  They wouldn't want to take the risk of you doing something even more careless.  If you had children ... they would probably have been removed from your care.  As it is, I honestly don’t know how to punish you.”

I felt miserable.  Tears prickled at the corner of my eyes.  It wasn't fair.  I’d disappointed him for years ... and now, when I’d finally made him proud of me, I’d disappointed him again.  I bit my lip, hard, to keep it from wobbling.  I would sooner have been grounded for life - or forced to spend the summer holidays working in the gardens - than face my father’s disappointment one final time.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated.  I could feel the tears running down my cheeks.  “Dad, I ...”

“My father told me that the difference between childhood and adulthood was that the adult often ended up having to deal with the consequences of his actions for the rest of his life,” Dad mused.  He sounded as though he was talking to himself, rather than me.  “The adult cannot be punished and then forgiven.  He has to live with what he did, forever.”

He looked down at me.  “You might have to live with what you did too,” he said.  “And I can't protect you from it.”

“It isn't fair,” I muttered.

“The world isn’t fair.”  Dad sounded surprisingly sympathetic.  “You can do everything right, Cat, and still lose.  And something done in total innocence can still come back to haunt you.”

He reached out and squeezed my hand, then removed a handkerchief from his robes and held it out to me.  I took it and wiped my eyes, trying to calm myself.  I didn’t like crying, considering how often my sisters had made fun of me for it.  And yet, there was a lump in my throat that refused to go away.

“Parents are supposed to protect their children, Cat,” Dad said.  “And I have failed you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said, as reassuringly as I could.  I didn't like Dad tearing himself apart with self-reproach.  I’d almost sooner have him shouting at me.  “Dad, you didn't know ...”

Dad’s face twisted.  “I know,” he said.  “And I also know you didn't know who originally owned the sword.  But that won’t keep you and I from having to deal with the consequences of our mistakes.  Or the fact that our fates may not be in our own hands.”

Because the Crown Prince is involved, I thought.  And through him, the King.

I looked down at my hands.  “Is there nothing we can do?”

“Not yet,” Dad said.  He sounded frustrated.  His hands were twisting in his lap, a sure sign of agitation.  “If we knew who’d backed the kidnappers ...”

I nodded in agreement.  Whoever had kidnapped Akin and I had made an enemy out of both houses.  And none of the other Great Houses would be happy at the thought of children being kidnapped from Jude’s.  The kidnappers had risked angering the entire city, just to obtain a handful of Objects of Power.  There was no way they could sell them now, not when everyone knew what had happened.  They must have had something else in mind.

And those Objects of Power are still out there, somewhere, I reminded myself.  Fairuza might have chased us across the countryside, but her allies had had plenty of time to remove the Objects of Power and destroy the evidence before the Kingsmen arrived.  What are they doing with them?

“Be very careful, Cat,” Dad warned.  “If things had gone differently today ...”

I’d be in protective custody, I thought.  The Crown Prince wouldn't hurt me, I thought, but I’d be a prisoner again.  Or worse.

I looked up, forcing myself to meet his eyes.  I didn’t want to know, but I had to ask.  “How ... how are you going to punish me?”

Dad gave me a regretful look.  “I told you,” he said.  “You’ll have to live with the consequences of what you did.  And so will the rest of us.”

He patted my shoulder.  “It’s called growing up too soon,” he added, softly.  “And I would spare you, if I could.”

I sighed as the carriage lurched around a corner.  I was lucky, compared to lesser family ... and commoners.  They went into service at a very young age, living below stairs and trading their services for low wages and an education they couldn't hope to afford.  They never really had a chance to be children.  But me?  I’d never had to work a day in my life, save for when my parents had assigned chores as punishment.  I had never felt lucky, but now ... I thought I understood.  Rose had known all along.

“I understand,” I said.  I wanted him to know that, if nothing else.  “And I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Dad said.

The carriage lurched to a halt.  Moments later, the valet started fumbling with the door.  I hastily wiped my eyes again, checking my appearance in the mirror someone had concealed in one of my pockets.  I didn't look as though I’d been crying, but it was clear I’d been upset.  The valet would probably notice too, unfortunately.  He’d been trained to notice the little details.  There was no point in trying to slip anything past him.

“We’re here.”  Dad stood, as the door opened.  “Brace yourself.  This isn't going to be pleasant.”
Chapter Six

The smell struck me the moment I jumped out of the carriage, the faint stench of vaporised potions mingled with fear and despair.  I wrinkled my nose, then looked up at the towering building in front of me, my eyes widening with surprise as I realised where we were.  I’d never been to the Hospice, and Dad hadn't told me we were going now, but I’d heard the stories.  The healers who worked at the Hospice handled everything, from common colds to curses, hexes and strange diseases from the far side of the Great Ocean.  My mother had worked at the Hospice for a year, after she obtained her mastery.  She’d told me that it was an exciting place to work.

“This way,” Dad said.  “Stay close to me.”

I followed behind him as he strode through the gates, down the driveway and into the giant building.  A handful of guards stood by the desk, their faces hidden behind silver armour; they tilted their heads towards us, but made no move to prevent us from walking through the inner door.  My amulet grew warm as we passed them, warning me they were probing us with spells.  They would have blocked our path if we weren't permitted to enter.

Dad led me straight to a stairwell that led down into the earth.  My amulet grew warm, again and again, as we passed a whole series of powerful wards.  The Hospice was clearly determined to keep its patients inside and any unwanted intruders outside.  I hadn't sensed so many wards at Magus Court.  The Hospice took security seriously.

I caught up with Dad as we reached the bottom of the stairs.  “Where are we going?”

“A secure ward,” Dad said.  A solid metal door, covered with nasty-looking runes, opened to allow us to proceed.  “Normally, someone your age would never be permitted to come here.”

I looked at his retreating back.  “So why did you bring me here?”

“You’ll see,” Dad said.  “This place has a special guest.”

My amulet heated, again, as we passed through another metal door.  A grim-faced healer nodded to us from behind the desk, then pointed to an open doorway.  Dad glanced at me, then led the way to the doorway and peered inside.  I followed, wondering if I should be ready for anything.  The room was simple: a bed, a set of chairs and a single glowing orb of light, floating high overhead.  And in the bed ...

I sucked in my breath.  Fairuza!  I could only see her face - her body was concealed under a sheet - but it couldn't be anyone else.  Her eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling.  I tensed, half-expecting her to sling a curse at me, but she didn't move.  She was so immobile that I wondered, just for a moment, if she’d been frozen.  And then I realised that her breasts were rising and falling as she breathed in and out.

A healer stepped up behind me.  “Thank you for bringing Cat,” he said, as he stepped into the room.  “I’ll help her to sit up.”

Dad rested his hand on my shoulder, holding me steady, as the healer stepped up to the bed and lifted Fairuza into a sitting position.  Her body flopped, as if she’d been turned into a stuffed toy.  The healer was a strong man, but he had to fight to keep her upright.  I almost felt sorry for her, despite everything she’d done.  She’d lost everything.

Her eyes met mine, just for a second.  I recoiled in shock.  There was nothing there: no anger, no fear, no disdain ... nothing.  Fairuza’s mind must be gone, leaving behind a discarded body.  I swallowed, hard, as Fairuza flopped forward.  She hadn't shown any reaction to me at all.  

I found my voice.  “What happened to her?”

“Everything has been wiped,” the healer said.  He carefully placed Fairuza back on the bed, then drew up the sheet to preserve her modesty.  “And I mean everything.  She’s little better than a newborn baby.  Her memories haven't been locked away, we think; they’ve been wiped so completely that she doesn't even recall how to take care of herself.  We’ve tried a handful of techniques that are normally successful in retrieving locked memories, but ... we don't think the memories are there to recover.”

“I told you that,” Dad said, quietly.

My mouth was dry.  Dad had told me that, but I hadn't understood.  Not really.  I knew there were memory charms, of course, but they just made it impossible to recall something.  And they could be circumvented, if the victim realised he’d been charmed and started probing the gap in his memories.  Dad had made us all learn the technique, back when we’d started to study magic.  I’d actually been better at it than my sisters.  

But Fairuza ... Fairuza was gone.

“We hoped the sight of you would spark something in her,” Dad added.  “But she showed no reaction.”

The healer nodded.  “There wasn't even a jump in her vitals,” he agreed.  “She’s gone.”

I forced myself to swallow.  “What ... what will happen to her?”

“She’ll probably spend the rest of her life here,” the healer told me.  “There’s no way she can stand trial for her crimes.  The mind healers will try to teach her how to live again, but she’ll be starting from scratch.  I don’t know if she’ll ever be normal.”

“A child in a woman’s body,” I muttered.

The healer had sharp hearing.  “Correct,” he said.  “And there is no way she can ever lead a normal life.”

I reached for my spectacles and put them on.  Instantly, the room was awash in light.  Fairuza was surrounded by a dozen wards, just waiting for her to do something stupid.  I could see enough of the spellforms to know that she wouldn't have a chance to cast a single spell before they froze her solid.  Other spells floated nearby, monitoring everything from brain activity to her heartbeat.  And Fairuza herself ... there were no spells on her person at all.

They would have stripped her wards and protections the moment they captured her, I thought.  The Kingsmen wouldn't have wanted Fairuza to wake up until they were ready to deal with her.  And now she’s got nothing.

I tried to move closer, but Dad’s grip tightened, preventing me from moving.  There was no point in trying to argue.  Besides, the wards surrounding the bed might snap at anyone who entered without permission.  I took one last look, but saw nothing.  Fairuza had a great deal of magic potential, yet she didn't appear to have any active magic.  Or anything.

“There’s nothing for us here,” Dad said.  He nodded to the healer.  “We thank you.”

“You are welcome, My Lord,” the healer said.  He bowed to my father, than to me. “And thank you for trying.”

I returned my spectacles to the pouch as we retraced our steps, then looked at Dad.  “Will we do anything to her?”

“It might be interesting to try to figure out what potion was used to wipe her mind so thoroughly,” Dad said, absently.  “But countering it may prove impossible.”

I nodded.  I was sure there was nothing left in Fairuza’s mind to recover.  She barely seemed to remember how to breathe.  I suspected she’d need help to go to the toilet.  Perhaps she was in diapers ... I would have laughed at the thought, if I hadn't known it was deadly serious.  This was no practical joke.  Fairuza, to all intents and purposes, was dead.

We might as well try to bring back the dead, I thought.  There were always stories of magicians resurrecting the dead, but none of them had ever been confirmed.  You can't undo a spell that kills the body - or the mind.

He said nothing else until we were back in the carriage.  “I’ll take you back to the school now,” he said.  “Please extend my apologies to Rose for sending her back early.”

“I will,” I said.  It had been impolite to send Rose back, but I was relieved that she hadn't been there to witness Dad’s cold anger.  “What else do you want me to do?”

“Just ... try to act normally,” Dad said.  He leaned against the wooden panelling as the carriage lurched into motion.  “I know ... it won’t be easy.”

“No,” I agreed.  “Will I ... will I be called to testify again?”

“I don’t think so,” Dad said.  “I filed a fairly strong brief arguing that you and your friends are underage, thus you shouldn't be questioned repeatedly.  So did Carioca, to give the man his due.  The Crown Prince may want to talk to you again, but legally he has to go through us first.  I’ll make sure you have plenty of warning.”

If you can, I thought.  The hearing had been set up before we'd even escaped, with the intention of determining precisely how Rolf and his friends had managed to snatch us out of the school.  It had changed, rapidly, as soon as we’d made it back home.  The Crown Prince may not give you the time.

I looked down at the carpet below my feet.  “What if he tries to talk to us without you?”

“Legally, he can’t.”  Dad frowned as if the thought hadn't occurred to him.  “If he does, inform him that you want your father to be present.  Make sure Rose knows to ask for me too.”

I smiled.  “Perhaps you and Carioca should both patronise Rose,” I said.  “It would make it harder for you two to fight.”

Dad smiled back.  “Rose isn't important enough to balance the houses,” he said.  “If she was another Zero ...”

“I know,” I said, feeling a trace of the old resentment.  Rose had power, but as yet no skill; I had skill, yet no power.  But ... I had another source of power.  I’d never be able to snap my fingers and turn someone into a frog, but I could build Objects of Power that could.  “It was just a thought.”

“And not a bad one,” Dad said.  “Just ... impractical.”

He cleared his throat.  “There’s one other matter I wanted to raise with you,” he added.  “I want you to talk to your sister.”

I froze.  I knew which sister he meant.  

“I don’t want to talk to Alana,” I said.  She’d left me alone since we returned from the Eternal City and I was grateful.  Maybe she couldn't hex me at will any longer.  That didn't mean I wanted to spend more time with her than I had to.  “Dad ...”

Dad held up his hand.  “I understand she hasn't made your life very easy,” he said.  “But she was shocked, honestly shocked, when you were kidnapped.  If she hadn't given us that blood sample ...”

“She got that sample by tearing an earring out of my ear,” I said, savagely.  Too late, I remembered I wasn't going to tattle.  I’d already deflected Dad’s questions about precisely where the blood sample had come from.  “Dad, I ... I already took revenge.”

Dad frowned.  “You and Alana have to grow up,” he said.  “You can't spend the rest of your life at daggers drawn.”

I started to giggle, hysterically.  Alana had spent six years humiliating me in every way she could imagine, just because I didn't have magic.  My mere existence weakened her claim to the matriarchy.  After all, if there was something wrong with me, perhaps there was something wrong with her too.  And then - and then - she’d discovered that I had a gift of my own, and she’d started to envy me instead.  She still resented me.  She still hated me.

“She hates me,” I said.

“If she hated you, she wouldn't have given me the blood sample,” Dad pointed out.  “I could have forced her to tell me precisely how she took it.”

I didn't want to admit it, but he had a point.  Taking a blood sample without permission was a serious crime.  Alana had taken a considerable risk when she’d handed it over to Dad, knowing that he might force her to admit what she’d done and then punish her.  Dad would not have been amused.  A blood sample in the wrong hands could be used for all sorts of nastiness.

Perhaps that was what she had in mind, I thought.  I wasn’t sure if a spell keyed to my blood would get through my protections - and I wasn't even sure if it would affect me, given my lack of magic - but I didn't want to find out the hard way.  She wouldn't have kept the blood if her intentions were pure.

I looked down at my hands again, searching for words.  Too much had passed between Alana and I for me to feel comfortable opening up to her.  She’d made it clear that when - not if - she inherited the matriarchy, she’d banish me.  Or do worse.  I’d been defenceless, more or less.  She could have turned me into an animal or a statue and used a Device of Power to keep me that way.  I would sooner have turned my back on Isabella than Alana.

“She was horrible,” I muttered.  It wasn't fair, again.  “Dad, I can't ...”

“I failed to curb her behaviour,” Dad told me.  “I believed that it would be for the best, in the long run, if you learnt to defend yourself ...”

“I couldn't defend myself,” I snapped.  “I had no magic!”

“I know that, now,” Dad said.  His voice was calm.  Too calm.  “Cat ... I understand that I’ve made mistakes.  I’ve made a lot of mistakes.  You have no idea just how many mistakes I made when I was only a few years older than you.  Alana ... she’s young.  She has a chance to grow out of her ...”

I looked up.  “Horribleness?”

“Exactly,” Dad said.  “Please.  Try to talk to her.”

I groaned.  I was nervous about talking to Bella, let alone Alana.  I’d ... I’d even invited Bella to join our little revision club.  But Alana?  I’d be frightened to turn my back on her.  She was smart as well as unpleasant.  She’d figured out the problem with using earrings - and turned it against me - before it had ever occurred to me.  And I was the forger.

But I couldn't refuse.  “I’ll try,” I promised, with the quiet understanding that I’d try as little as possible.  “If she’s still a spiteful--” I took a look at Dad’s face and hastily revised the next word “--witch, I won’t try anymore.”

“That is all I can ask,” Dad said.  “I did have a word with her, after your talents were discovered.”

That wasn't enough to convince her to be nice to me, I thought, sourly.  That had been before she’d ripped an earring out of my ear and left me bleeding.  What would convince her to behave herself?

“I’ll try,” I promised, again.  “But I don’t know if I can ever forgive her.”

“You forgave Bella,” Dad said.

“Bella didn't torment me for six years,” I reminded him.  Bella had hexed me a few times, but her heart hadn't really been in it.  She’d been more interested in satisfying her greed than making my life miserable.  “And she’s discovered she needs to study to pass her exams.”

“Quite,” Dad said.  The hint of desperation in his voice silenced the remainder of my protests.  “Please try, Cat.  I can ask no more.”

I nodded.  It seemed a good moment to press for a favour of my own.  “Dad ... can Rose stay with us for the summer?”

“She may want to go see her parents, you know,” Dad reminded me.  He gave me a look that suggested he knew perfectly well what I was doing.  “But yes, if she wants to stay she will be welcome.”

I let out a breath.  It would have been easy for Dad to say no.  Mum wouldn't object to Rose staying, but some of our relatives definitely would.  They’d expect Mum and Dad to spend their time with their children, not a common-born girl with no family connections worth mentioning.  But Rose had saved my life.  I owed her.  We owed her.

“Thank you, Dad.”

Dad nodded, then glanced at his watch.  “It’s nearly dinnertime,” he said.  “Make sure you get plenty of rest, Cat.  You’ll be starting classes again tomorrow.  And exams aren’t that far away.”

I shrugged.  There was no point in taking the exams, as far as I could tell.  I could ace theory, but never practicals.  The examiners would have to revise the entire curriculum to give me a chance to succeed.  Or accept that I was allowed to de facto cheat.  The Castellan had told me that chunks of the curriculum would be changed for me, but so far I hadn't heard anything beyond a handful of minor suggestions.  The revisions were probably still in committee.

“I have to do some revision,” I said.  I probably didn't have to do it, but Mum and Dad had hammered the importance of proper preparation into my head from a very early age.  Besides, I might see Akin in the library.  I wanted to talk to him desperately.  “I’ll probably go to the library after dinner.”

“Very good,” Dad said.  If he knew what I had in mind, he said nothing.  The carriage lurched to a halt.  “Try to change first.”

I made a face.  The dress was already getting grimy.  The magic had faded, the sewn runes slowly coming undone.  Even the colouring looked somewhat diminished.  I made a mental note of the rough timings for later reference, then smoothed the blue fabric down as the valet opened the door.  We were back in the courtyard, where we’d started.  It felt as though I’d been gone for days.

“Cat,” Dad said.  I looked up at him.  “Be careful.”

He gave me a tight hug.  I hugged him back.

“I’ll be very careful,” I promised.  “And thank you.”

Dad gave me a bleak look.  “For what?”
Chapter Seven

Rose had already changed back into her school uniform, I discovered when I returned to the dorms.  She was sitting on her bed, looking a great deal more comfortable as she slowly parsed one of the textbooks she’d borrowed from the library a few days after our return.  I waved to her as I entered, then hurriedly pulled the drapes around my bed so I could change in privacy.  The dress looked strikingly drab, the blue almost completely gone.  I placed it on the bed for later attention and pulled on my weekend dress, then stepped back out from behind the drapes.  Rose looked as tired as I felt.

“Sir Griffons got me back safely,” she said.  “And everyone wanted to know what happened.”

I winced in sympathy.  The entire story would be all over the city by now.  I was sure I’d seen broadsheet writers in the balcony.  The Crown Prince might try to keep a lid on rumours, but that would only make them worse.  Everyone who was anyone had been at the hearing, along with their senior clients.  They’d have no trouble putting out a fairly trustworthy version of events.

“I didn't tell them anything,” Rose added.  “I wasn't sure what I should say.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I told her.  “They’ll know the full story soon enough.”

I glanced from side to side, making sure that the remainder of the dorm was empty, then leaned forward.  “Have you seen Akin?”

“No,” Rose said.  “He was with you, wasn't he?”

“We had to leave,” I said, reluctantly.  I’d assumed Akin’s father had taken him straight back to Jude’s.  Perhaps they’d gone to eat first.  “He’ll be back tonight, won’t he?”

Rose shot me an odd look.  “You’re asking me?”

I looked down.  “Sorry.”

“He’ll be back for classes tomorrow, surely,” Rose said, reassuringly.  “His father wouldn't keep him back.”

“I hope not,” I said.  I really needed to talk to him.  “I ...”

The dinner bell rang.  I straightened and waited for her to grab her blazer before we headed down.  A handful of other girls poured out of the dorms and joined us as we walked down the stairs, but the majority of students would be in the Arena.  The hearing wouldn't have put a stop to sports.  Besides, it was Sunday.  Dining times were a little more flexible on the weekend.

I looked around for Akin - or Magister Tallyman - as we entered the dining hall, but there was no sign of either of them.  We took our trays of food and found a place at the firstie table, then sat down to eat.  I was all too aware of older students watching me, perhaps trying to determine just what had happened during the hearing.  If I was any judge, a whole string of absurd rumours had already wafted through the school.  I couldn't help wondering how much money was already changing hands.  The smarter students might have bet on us being taken into protective custody.  

“This is good food,” Rose said, between bites.  “But it’s too fancy.”

I shrugged.  I didn't have the heart to tell her that it was bland, compared to the food I had at home.  I wouldn't be the only one to think it was bland, too.  But I wasn't going to spoil it for her.  She would be lucky to get half as much to eat when she went back home.  Unless she stayed with us ...

She won’t fit in with her family any longer, I thought grimly.  And yet, she won’t fit in here either.

I ate my food quietly, slowly gathering my thoughts as I watched for Akin.  But there was still no sign of him.  Alana entered, her face as sharp as ever; I remembered my promise to Dad, then decided it could wait for a day or two.  I wasn't in the mood to trade barbs with my sister.  Her eyes flickered over us for a second, then she turned away.  I watched her go with a mixture of relief and regret.

“I’m going for seconds,” Rose announced.  “Do you want more?”

I shook my head.  “I’ll wait for you,” I said, as I pulled my notebook out of my pocket and laid it on the table.  “Eat what you want.”

Rose nodded and walked off, taking her plate.  I found a pencil and started to sketch out what I’d seen at Magus Court, drawing out the translucent spellform pervading the giant fairytale castle.  It was fascinatingly complex, almost beyond my ability to comprehend.  No matter how I looked at it, I couldn't see any way to duplicate it alone.  I definitely needed more than a handful of other Zeros.

Which raises the question of what happened to Tyros’s peers, I thought.  If Tyros had survived the fall of the Eternal City, surely others could have survived as well.  They might not even have been in the city when it fell.  I doubted they’d been recalled for the celebrations when their mere existence was a secret.  Why didn't they try to rebuild?

I puzzled over it for a long moment while Rose ate her second plateful, then decided there was no point in wondering.  Tyros had died nearly a thousand years ago.  The others wouldn't have lasted much longer, if at all.  It made me wonder if some had been living and working in Shallot during the Civil Wars.  But surely they would have traded the knowledge of how to produce Objects of Power for shelter and protection.  The City Fathers would have understood the importance of what they were being offered.

“I won’t ever know,” I muttered.

Rose glanced at me.  “What?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I said.  She’d almost finished her meal.  I poured myself a glass of water and waited for her to finish the last bites.  “Shall we go?”

I took one last look around the hall as we handed our plates back to the staff.  The room had filled while I’d been working, but there was still no sign of Akin.  I gritted my teeth in frustration - I doubted his sister would take a message for me - and followed Rose out of the chamber.  A handful of upperclassmen eyed her nastily, but said nothing.  They’d seen me follow her.

The stairwell felt oddly empty as we made our way up to the library.  I saw a couple of students hurrying down, but otherwise there was no one in sight.  I couldn't help feeling nervous, clutching the protective bracelet around my wrist as I looked from side to side.  But no threat materialised until we entered the library.  A grim-faced librarian was glaring at a second-year who’d dared to bring back an overdue library book.

“The study rooms are all reserved,” she called to us.  “You’ll have to use the tables at the back.”

“Reserved?  Now?”  Rose looked surprised.  “What’s happening?”

“The upperclassmen will be taking their mocks in a week or two,” I said.  I hadn't been following their schedule particularly closely, but we were coming up to exam season.  “If they do badly in the real exams, they can use the mocks to argue that they should get better grades.”

Rose lifted her eyebrows.  “And if they do worse in the mocks, does that mean they have to argue they should get worse grades?”

I had to laugh.  “For some reason, no one ever argues that,” I said.  I vaguely recalled Dad saying something about mock exams being used to catch cheats, but I hadn't been paying close attention.  Anyone clever enough to circumvent the anti-cheating spells on the examination rooms would probably be given a sharp kick up the backside and an automatic pass.  “It’s really a way to convince them that they have to study hard.”

“Oh,” Rose said, deadpan.  “Don’t they already know it?”

I shrugged.  “They’ve been at school for seven years,” I said.  “If they don’t know it by now ... well, this is their last chance.”

We collected a handful of books, then hurried over to find a table at the rear.  I didn't want to run into a stressed upperclassman, not when it would probably lead to us getting lines just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Rose opened the first book, then recovered her notebook and started to copy down a runic diagram.  I reached for a book on complex potions theory and started reading through the latest set of formulas.  Some were only theoretical.

But I might be able to create them, I thought.  I lacked the ability to infuse magic into the liquid directly, but I could forge an Object of Power that would produce a precise amount of magic for the potion.  There would be no risk of an explosion through accidentally overcharging the spell.  I wonder if I’ll be allowed to try ...

“I don't get this,” Rose said, as she drew out a second diagram.  “Why don’t the four runes go together?”

“Because they keep reversing the polarity of the magic flow,” I said, glancing at her work.  “Those two runes basically keep the magic flipping between them, rather than actually doing anything.  The other two actually make it worse, because they hold the first two in place.”

“But at least the runes won’t burn out,” Rose said.

“Not in a hurry,” I agreed.  “But you’re not going to be able to do anything with it either.”

“They could have said that in the textbook,” Rose grumbled.  “It kept implying that it was possible to make it work.”

I shrugged.  “It does work,” I said.  “It just doesn't actually do anything.”

“I am too tired for that to make sense,” Rose said, rubbing her forehead.  “Why even bother drawing the diagram in the first place?”

“Same reason we brew useless potions,” I pointed out.  “The idea is to practice our skills, rather than just cast magic.  If the runes weren't perfect, the entire diagram would come apart very quickly.”

Although you could probably use it to store magic, I thought, slowly.  And if you built something to channel the magic afterwards ...

I considered it for a long moment, then dismissed the thought.  The trick was workable, but there were other - better - ways to conserve and store magic.  They just didn't last very long without constant maintenance.  Unless ... I wondered, absently, just what I could do if I built an Object of Power designed to store magic.  It wouldn't be difficult.

Footsteps echoed towards me, loud enough to break into my thoughts.  I looked up, feeling a flicker of hope.  Akin?  No, it was a fourth-year girl with a freckled face and plaited brown hair that was slowly starting to turn grey.  I blinked, torn between surprise and disappointment.    Grey hair on a fifteen-year-old?  A curse?  I found it hard to believe that it was a fashion statement.

“Caitlyn,” she said.  “I’m Val.  Pleased to meet you.”

“And you,” I said, automatically.  She was strikingly forward.  Not someone raised in a Great House, then.  “What can I do for you?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you for a quote,” she said.  “I’m currently writing a story about the brawl in the hearing and if you ...”

I frowned.  “The brawl?”

“Sure,” Val said.  “The brawl in front of King Rufus.”

Rose snickered.  I had to look down until I was sure my face was under control.  “There was no brawl,” I managed.  It was hard to talk clearly.  “And King Rufus wasn't there either.”

Val’s face fell.  “You’re sure?”

“I was there,” I reminded her.  “And ... what do you want to do with the story, anyway?”

“I’m trying to get a post at one of the broadsheets,” Val said.  “And if you gave me an exclusive I could ...”

“Definitely not,” I said, flatly.  It made sense, I suppose, but I wasn't feeling inclined to cooperate.  There hadn’t been a brawl.  And the king hadn't been there either.  “I’m trying to study.  Please, could you go away?”

Val ignored me.  “It might be very useful to have the broadsheets on your side,” she insisted, firmly.  “A reporter who actually favoured you ...”

I shook my head.  No one in High Society paid any attention to the broadsheets, although they always seemed to know what was in them.  Val could write a story that was completely truthful and no one would believe it ... if, of course, she was allowed to publish it.  The truth just wasn't spectacular.  And besides, the readers would be more interested in the Crown Prince and his wife’s tour of the city.

“Please,” Val said.  “I ...”

A bulky upperclassman walked over, looking like a bear with a toothache.  “Are you bothering these students?”

Val reddened.  “I ...”

“Go back to your dorm and write five hundred lines,” the upperclassman snapped.  “I will not bother students who are trying to revise.  Hand them in tomorrow evening.”

I felt a flicker of pity.  Five hundred lines would take hours.  Val would have an aching wrist by the time she was finished.  And there would be no getting out of it either.  Even if the upperclassman forgot he'd ordered her to do the wretched lines, her punishment book would not forget.  I wasn't sure what would happen if she didn't do them, but I doubted it would be pleasant.  

Val shot me a pleading look - I’m not sure what she thought I could do - and then slunk off in the direction of the door.  The upperclassman hesitated, looking strikingly awkward for a man of his bulk, then sat down on the far side of the table.

“I need a favour,” he said.  He looked at Rose.  “Scram.”

“Anything you say in front of me can be said in front of her,” I said, flatly.  I had the vague feeling that I’d met the upperclassman before, but I couldn't remember where.  Probably one of Dad’s tedious dinner parties.  In any case, I wasn't in the mood to let him push me and my friends around.  “What do you want?”

“I need you to forge me an Object of Power,” he said.  “I will pay ...”

I tensed.  Rolf had lured me out of the school by convincing me to forge him an Object of Power.  I’d forged a number of small Objects of Power for various students, in exchange for future favours, but now ... I wasn't sure I wanted to do it again.  And yet, I hadn't had the chance to think about what I’d say when someone asked me - again - to make one.

“I don’t have the time right now,” I hedged.  I didn't want him getting angry and handing out lines.  “What exactly do you want?”

“I’ll tell you later,” the upperclassman said.  “But I will pay ...”

I shook my head.  “I don’t have time right now,” I said.  “I have to prepare for my exams.”

The upperclassman eyed me nastily.  “I can give you lines ...”

“Then you’ll get a selection of lines and no Object of Power,” I said, sharply.  If he wasn't prepared to tell me - and Rose - what he actually wanted, I doubted it would be anything good.  A couple of the requests I’d been given had been dubious, to say the least.  “I won't do you any favours if you try to force me.”

I watched him warily for a long moment.  He could give me lines ... or throw a punch at me.  I was stronger than the average firstie, thanks to the years I’d spent forging, but I doubted I was strong enough to best him.  Or he could try to hex me ... that would probably get him in trouble, if his hexes actually defeated my protections.  I was fairly sure they wouldn't.

“We will discuss it again when you are not so busy,” he said.  “Goodbye.”

He stomped off, earning himself a sharp shushing noise from the librarian.  I was surprised he had the sense to realise that trying to force me to do something - anything - for him would be pointless.  I wouldn't rat him out for dumping thousands of lines on me - or hundreds of detentions - but someone would notice and start asking pointed questions.  Who knew what would happen then?

Rose glanced at me as I settled back into my seat.  “What was all that about?”

“I have no idea,” I said.  I was going to have to think of something, though.  That upperclassman wouldn't be the last to ask for an Object of Power.  What was I going to tell someone intelligent enough to realise that the exams were pointless for me?  “I guess he wanted something illicit.”

“Another way to get out of the school?”  Rose stroked her chin, thoughtfully.  “Or maybe a weapon of some kind?”

“Or just a protective amulet,” I guessed.  I’d had some very odd requests, but this had been the first one where he’d flatly refused to tell me what he wanted.  I wondered, absently, if he thought he could force me to swear an oath to keep my mouth shut.  “Or ... maybe he wants a pair of stirrers.”

“Makes sense,” Rose agreed.  “An upperclassman who hasn't learnt how to moderate his magic in potions is going to be in trouble.”

I shrugged.  I could make him a pair of stirrers, if he wished, but Magistra Loanda would have no trouble spotting and confiscating them.  They were cheating, as far as she was concerned.  And she was right.

“I don’t know,” I said.  I yawned.  Lights Out was still an hour away, but I was tired.  And I needed to be up early in the morning.  “Shall we go to bed?”

Rose yawned too.  “It would probably be a good idea,” she said, as she started to tidy away the books.  “Monday can't be bad, right?”

“We’ll be back in class,” I pointed out.  Hopefully, Akin would be there.  I tried not to think about the prospect of his father pulling him out of school for good.  “I’m sure it will be fun.”
Chapter Eight

“I’m glad to see that some of you are continuing the proud school tradition of stumbling into class five minutes after the last bell rings,” Magister Tallyman said.  He sneered rudely at the latecomers, resting his muscular arms on his hips.  “Do you have something resembling an excuse?”

I barely heard him.  I was too busy being relieved.  Akin was back!  He hadn't been at breakfast, but he’d made it down in time for Forging.  Maybe his father had kept him at Rubén Hall overnight and brought him back in the morning.  No one was going to say anything to him about it.

Magister Tallyman kept speaking.  “Your mocks are a bare two months away,” he reminded us, sharply.  “Those of you who didn't know anything about forging when you entered my class will be tested - oh, yes; you will be tested - on what you have learnt since summer.  If you don’t practice, you won’t pass.”

His gaze swept the room.  It wasn't like him to snap so badly at latecomers.  Something must have happened ... and I thought I knew what.  My father had probably already had a long chat with him about precisely what he’d been thinking, when he’d given me the sword.  Come to think of it, Akin’s father had probably had a chat with him too.  Magister Tallyman hadn't been alive when the sword had been lost.  Who knew how many hands had held it before the sword ended up in Magister Tallyman’s classroom?

“We’re going to be practicing nexus wiring today,” Magister Tallyman added, after a long moment.  “By the time the bell rings, I expect each and every one of you to have put together a perfect nexus.  You’ll be using them for the rest of the year, so it is a skill you have to master.”

I kept my face expressionless as groans echoed around the room.  I’d mastered nexus wiring long ago.  It wasn’t difficult, as long as one was careful, but it was fiddly and the slightest mistake could render the entire nexus useless.  Trying to do it in a hurry was asking for trouble.  And I had never been able to test my work.  I’d had to get Dad’s apprentices to test them for me.

“There’s a diagram on the blackboard,” Magister Tallyman said.  He gave us a thin smile, revealing that he’d lost a tooth sometime in the last few days.  An experiment must have gone spectacularly wrong.  “And if you didn't do your homework ... believe me, I’ll know about it.”

Rose nudged me as we hurried over to the supply cupboards.  “What does he mean?”

“The homework covered how power is channelled through the nexus wiring,” I said.  No wonder he’d told us he wouldn't be marking the homework.  If we hadn’t read the books and done the exercises, our nexuses were going to be subpar.  Thankfully, Dad had made me go over it again and again when I’d started to forge.  “He’ll know we didn't do the homework if we can't get the nexus point to work.”

“Ouch,” Rose said.  She smiled, rather wanly.  “And to think I stayed up all night working on that essay.”

I snorted and looked around the supply cupboards.  They were bulging with everything from wood and metal to gemstones and dragon scales.  The mocks were coming up, I reminded myself.  Magister Tallyman wouldn't want to risk running out of supplies when the upperclassmen were practicing everything, time and time again.  He probably reserved a ton of materials for the exam rooms, just to make sure there was no prospect of running out during the exam itself.  The examiners wouldn’t give the upperclassmen a simple diagram to follow.  They’d set them a problem to solve instead.

And we’d better be careful not to accidentally touch their work, I thought, as I looked at the locked cupboards.  They’d go mental.

Magister Tallyman intercepted us as we made our way back to the workbench.  “Cat, I want you to watch everyone on this side of the room,” he said.  “Akin can handle the other side.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.  I’d made enough nexus points for Magister Tallyman to have no doubt about my abilities.  I had earned that qualification.  There was no point in having me do it again - and again - when I could be helping other students.  “I ... can we talk after class?”

Magister Tallyman gave me a long look, then nodded reluctantly.  I allowed myself a moment of relief as I moved to the first workbench and watched Amber putting together a nexus link.  She’d clearly been practicing over the last few weeks.  Her fingers, once better-suited for sewing than forging, put the link together with confidence.  I was almost impressed.

I moved to the next table.  Isabella shot me a nasty look, twisting her body to conceal her work.  I hesitated, then decided that if she didn’t want help, I didn't have to offer it.  Besides, her brother was Magister Tallyman’s other assistant.  She could swallow her pride and ask Akin for help, if she needed it.  I could feel her eyes watching me as I made my way slowly to the third workbench.  My back itched, expecting a hex at any moment.  Isabella seemed to have recovered from the drubbing I’d given her in the duel.

She can't do anything to me in the dorm, I reminded myself, sharply.  But she can try to harass me in the corridors.

I touched the protective bracelet, gently.  Isabella wasn't stupid.  She knew that firing hexes at my back would be pointless.  But that wouldn't stop her trying to find a way to get at me.  I’d humiliated her in front of the entire school.  Her family name would stop her falling too far, but it wasn't enough to keep her from being a laughingstock.  She’d have to find a way to rebuild her reputation somehow or she’d never have the chance to reach for power.

Not that her father would let her have the chance, I thought.  He wants a male heir.

The class started to drag as I moved from table to table.  Forging was normally my favourite class, but it was almost a relief when the bell finally rang for lunch.  Magister Tallyman glared at a couple of boys who’d made an immediate dash for the door, then supervised as we returned our tools and supplies to their boxes.  I was pleased to see that Rose had managed to forge a perfect nexus link.  All that practice was finally paying off.

“Can you wait for me outside?”  I kept my voice low as Magister Tallyman dismissed the class with a final warning about keeping up with our homework.  “I need to speak to Magister Tallyman.”

Rose nodded and headed for the door.  I thought I saw Akin outside, just for a second; I wanted to hurry out and try to catch him before he went to lunch.  But he was surrounded by a handful of other boys ... it hurt, somehow, to know he had friends apart from me.  I couldn't show too much interest in him, or people would talk.  Mum’s lessons had made that clear.

People are meant to come to me, not have me come to them, I thought.  A thought struck me as Magister Tallyman cleared his throat for attention.  Maybe they're going to him ...

“Cat,” Magister Tallyman said.  “What can I do for you?”

I studied him for a long moment.  His bare arms seemed to have acquired even more scars, somehow.  The leather apron he wore bore mute testament to the force of the explosion that had wounded him.  I wondered, as I tried to choose my words carefully, just what he’d been doing.  Magister Tallyman’s obsession with recreating long-lost Objects of Power had driven him to take dangerous chances before.

My mouth was dry.  “Did you ... did you know who owned the sword?”

“Who used to own the sword,” Magister Tallyman corrected.

I looked up at him, trying to gauge what he’d said.  Ownership was sometimes hard to define, particularly when Objects of Power were involved.  Magister Tallyman wouldn't want to set a precedent for having to surrender a repaired Object of Power back to its original owners, particularly when they’d lost the sword over two hundred years ago.  And yet, the blade was practically useless to anyone who didn't have a blood-tie to its original owner.

“That sword is the long-lost Rubén Sword,” I said, suddenly too tired to be polite.  “Did you know what it was?”

He looked back at me for a long, cold moment.  I half-expected to be unceremoniously dismissed from the classroom, or given lines to write, or - worst of all - be stripped of my assistantship.  I was being rude, unforgivably rude.  And yet, it had to be said.

Magister Tallyman let out a long sigh.  “I had my suspicions, Cat,” he said.  He pressed his fingers together, as if he were lost in thought.  “But there was no way to prove it.”

“You had me repair it,” I reminded him.

“I didn't think you could succeed,” Magister Tallyman admitted.  “The damage was quite extensive.”

I was torn between feeling stung at his lack of faith in me and a dull admission that he had a point.  The sword had been badly damaged.  I’d had to replace more than just the gemstone to make it work again.  A little more damage and it might have been easier to build a new sword from scratch, rather than try to repair the old one.  The slightest flaw in the blade would render it useless - or dangerous.

“I did succeed,” I said, miserably.  “And it’s their sword.”

“I’m impressed the blood-bond survived the sword’s death and rebirth,” Magister Tallyman said.  His scarred face twisted, oddly.  “Did you give it to him deliberately?”

I shook my head.  “No, sir.”

“And you couldn't have done it by accident, either,” Magister Tallyman added.  He turned away, striding towards the rickety bookshelves on the far wall.  “There must have been a trace of blood that survived the sword’s destruction.”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed.

I wanted to giggle.  I’d made mistakes during my training - everyone did - but there were limits.  There was no way I could blood-bond a sword by accident.  It required blood ... no one would even give me their blood unless they knew precisely what I intended to do with it and watched me like a hawk.  They’d be wary even if they were sure I couldn't perform some of the nastier workings.  Blood magics could get through some of the most powerful wards in the world.

And I’ll have to find out if they work on me, I thought.  Tyros’s scroll had made it clear that the werewolf curse didn't affect Zeros, although I wasn't about to let myself be bitten just to see if that was actually true.  Werewolves were rare in Maxima.  But how do I experiment with something like that?

Magister Tallyman picked a well-thumbed book off the shelf and opened it.  “The older swords were apparently forged in the blood of their intended users,” he said, as he found a page and scanned it quickly.  “It was believed that this would infuse their essence into the blade.”

“But I didn't have to do that when I made Sir Griffon’s blade,” I objected.  I’d needed a blood sample, of course, but nothing more than a drop or two.  “Why did they do it?”

“Maybe they had some reason we have yet to figure out,” Magister Tallyman told me, holding out the book.  “Or maybe they just wanted to limit the number of blades.”

I took the book and read through the short description.  It was close - very close - to what I’d done for Sir Griffons, but there were some differences.  Magister Tallyman hadn't been joking.  The sword was quenched in blood.  I shook my head in disbelief.  It had been hard enough to get a blood sample from Sir Griffons.  He wouldn’t have given me enough blood to quench a white-hot blade.  It didn't look remotely practical.

Unless there’s something missing from the instructions, I reminded myself.  None of the ancients had bothered to tell their successors about Zeros.  Who knew what else they’d considered so obvious that it didn't need to be written down?  Maybe they cultivated blood to use for the blade.

I considered it for a long moment.  Mum had taught me how to brew blood-replenishing potions, although - naturally - I’d never been able to get them to work.  I supposed someone could donate a pint or two of blood, drink a potion and donate some more blood, but I didn’t think they’d be happy about it.  Perhaps the ancients had kept the forgers under very tight control, just to make sure that none of the blood leaked.  Tyros had practically been a prisoner in the Eternal City.

And I was a prisoner too, I thought, shivering.  Will I be a prisoner again?

I passed the book back to Magister Tallyman.  “I don't want to experiment with blood.”

His eyebrows rose.  “Even if we found a willing volunteer?”

I shook my head.  No matter what he said, I doubted we’d find a willing volunteer.  They’d get a blade out of the deal, but ... I shrugged.  None of the adults I knew would take such a risk.  The slightest mistake could mean utter disaster.  

“We can talk about it later,” Magister Tallyman said.  He dropped the book on the nearest workbench.  “Going back to your original question, I wasn't sure who owned the blade.  And I don’t think they have any claim on it.”

“Lord Rubén disagrees,” I told him.  “It isn't as if they deliberately discarded the blade.”

“No,” Magister Tallyman agreed.  “Particularly as we don’t know precisely what happened to the sword.  We know some idiot removed the gemstone, but who?  And why?”

I considered it, thoughtfully.  Prising the gemstone out of the hilt wouldn't be easy, not when the spellform was intact, but it was doable.  Someone could have killed the bearer, then destroyed the sword when they discovered they were unable to move it.  Or perhaps they’d taken out the gemstone in the hopes of putting the sword back together in a safer place.  I doubted anyone actually knew the truth.  House Rubén certainly hadn't known what had happened to the blade.

“They want it back,” I said.

“I don’t blame them,” Magister Tallyman said.  “But the chain of ownership was thoroughly snapped.  I acquired the blade in good faith, then gave it to you ... also in good faith.  Legally speaking, the blade is yours.”

“And practically, the blade is useless to me,” I muttered.  I could move the blade, if I used a cradle, but I couldn't wield it.  “If I sold it to them ...”

“Offer to trade the blade for a handful of favours,” Magister Tallyman suggested.  “Or ask if they have any other broken Objects of Power.”

I shook my head.  House Rubén wouldn't agree to vague terms, no matter how seemingly advantageous.  They’d want to make certain they understood precisely what they were trading for the sword.  And then ... I sighed.  Anything we might reasonably want in exchange for the blade was nothing they’d want to give us.  There was no hope of using it to forge a permanent peace.

“I don’t know,” I said.  I looked up at him.  “You had your suspicions ...?”

“There aren't that many such swords unaccounted for,” Magister Tallyman said.  “Certainly not ones that were destroyed so long after the empire fell.  And very few of them would come anywhere near Shallot.”

I nodded slowly, although I wasn't convinced.  It was rare for a Great House to discard a broken Object of Power, even though it was useless.  They tended to bury them in the vaults and pretend they’d never existed in the first place.  After all, someone might figure out how to actually repair them.  House Rubén’s sword had been lost in combat.  Or ...

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the trouble I have inadvertently caused you,” Magister Tallyman added.  He sounded genuinely regretful.  I suspected that the Castellan had certainly told him off, even if my father - or Akin’s father - had said nothing.  “And I will do what I can to make up for it.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said.  

I made a mental note to think about what I could ask for, carefully.  Him owing me a favour ... I sighed.  A year ago, I would have asked for an apprenticeship.  It would have given me a place to go, if I was kicked out of the family.  But now ... it was hard to think of anything I actually needed.  A bigger workroom?  Better supplies?  Magister Tallyman could even give me private tutoring ... although I wasn't sure how much use his lessons would be.  The techniques devised to produce Devices of Power weren't designed to produce Objects of Power.

Maybe he could help me forge the next flying machine, I thought.  He’d insisted on going through everything I’d done to make our makeshift flying machine when we’d returned to Jude’s.  Building one of those would be fun.

“I think we should find out just who the next broken Object of Power belongs to before we try to repair it,” I said.  The dinner bell rang, again.  I’d kept Rose waiting long enough.  If we were too late, we wouldn't get any dinner before potions class.  “I’d better go.”

“See you this evening,” Magister Tallyman said.  “If you still want to use the workroom ...”

“I do,” I said.  “I have a couple of other Objects of Power I want to try.”

I turned and hurried through the door.  Rose was standing outside the door, waiting for me ...

... And Akin was standing next to her.
Chapter Nine

My heart started to race as I closed the workroom door behind me.  I’d wanted to talk to him, but now ... now I didn't know what to say.  He looked equally nervous, clasping his hands behind his back to keep them out of my sight.  I thought they must be shaking.  His blue eyes seemed to be having trouble meeting mine.  Rose looked from him to me and then back again, rolling her eyes.  To her, we must have seemed very silly.

“You’re looking well, Akin,” she said, briskly.  “Should we start talking about the weather?”

Akin chuckled.  I giggled, helplessly.  The ice was broken.

“Father insisted that I have my hair restyled,” Akin said.  He ran a hand through his short blond hair.  “But I really didn't like the wig.”

I lifted an eyebrow.  It was common for children to be dressed as miniature adults, but it was odd for a young boy to have to wear a wig.  Akin’s father must be trying to remind him, once again, that one day Akin would rule the family.  Unless House Rubén’s council thought someone else would be a better fit.  Akin’s father must be very confident in his ability to give Akin the role after his death.  Even my father would have trouble convincing the council to accept one of his daughters without a fight.

“I had to spend last night at a dinner party,” Akin added, after a moment.  “It was ... unpleasant.”

“It sounds like fun,” Rose said, wistfully.  “All the girls keep talking about them ...”

“They’re nightmarish,” I said.  “Believe me, you’d be happier eating in your room.”

Rose didn't look as though she believed me, but it was true.  Dinner parties could be thoroughly unpleasant.  I preferred the adult dinner parties to the childish gatherings - there were fewer hexes being thrown around - but they were, at best, tedious.  Children who were unlucky enough to be invited were expected to be seen, not heard.  If we were lucky, we were confined to the children’s table; if we were unlucky, we were expected to sit next to our elderly relatives and be scolded - sharply - for using the wrong fork.

I looked at Akin.  “What was the party about?”

Akin frowned.  “Father summoned all his senior clients to dine with him,” he said.  “They ate and drank, then retired into the smoking room and I was sent to bed.”

I wondered, grimly, just what they’d discussed after dinner.  It was rare, at least for my father, to summon all of his clients to a single dinner.  There was too great a chance of facing massed opposition.  I couldn't imagine that it was any different for House Rubén.  A gathering of clients boded ill for the future.

They may be testing the waters before they sue for the sword, I thought.  Or planning something worse.

Akin sighed.  “I told him about the sword,” he said.  “And I’m sorry.”

I felt ... I wasn't sure how I felt.  It was hard not to feel as though Akin had betrayed me, even though I hadn't asked him to keep the sword secret.  And he probably hadn't had any choice, but to tell his father.  My father would have been furious if I’d kept something like that from him.  He had been furious ... it wasn't our sword, but its mere existence had caused all sorts of complications.  I couldn't really blame Akin for telling his father, yet I still felt as though he’d betrayed me.  It was ... complicated.

“It’s alright,” I said, softly.  I wasn't sure it was, but ... it would have to do.  “Did he tell you he planned to ask for the sword?”

Akin shook his head, miserably.  “He just listened to me, but ... he didn't tell me what he had in mind.  I thought he would ask for the sword eventually, not ... not try to confront your father.”

Rose frowned.  “Confront Cat’s father?”

“Akin’s father demanded the sword,” I told her.  “That’s what he wanted to talk about.”

“Ah,” Rose said.  She cocked her head in puzzlement. “Why don’t you just sell it to them?”

I shared a look with Akin.  “It isn't that easy,” I said.  I’d have to explain later.  “The price would be very high.”

“I’m sorry that your father was surprised,” Akin said.  “Was he very angry with you?”

“Yeah,” I said.  I didn't want to go into details.  “What about your father?”

“He wasn't happy either,” Akin said.  “He seemed to think I shouldn’t have touched the sword.”

I snorted.  “How could he possibly have known that it was his sword?”

Akin shrugged.  “I don’t think he knew,” he said.  “I certainly never recognised it.”

Rose cleared her throat.  “So ... you two are friends again?”

Akin coloured.  I felt my cheeks heat too.  Thankfully, my dark skin made it impossible for anyone to tell.  Neither of us had any way to know what would happen when Akin touched the sword.  It had caught us - and everyone else - by surprise.  And then I’d compounded the problem by allowing my father to be blindsided by Akin’s father.

“Yes,” I said, briskly.  I didn't want to fight with Akin.  “Aren't we?”

“Yeah,” Akin said.

Rose grinned.  “Then we’d better go to lunch,” she said.  “I’m starving.”

We hurried down the corridor and up a flight of stairs.  The chambers were nearly empty, save for a pair of upperclassmen who appeared to be checking the runes carved into the stone walls.  We slipped past them, trying not to be noticed, and down another flight of stairs, passing through one of the points where two buildings had been linked together and turned into one.  Jude’s was an old building, one that had been expanding and swallowing everything in its path for years.  I had a feeling that, one day, it would swallow up the entire city.

It’s already big enough to house the city’s population, I thought.  Jude’s was immense, with hundreds of classrooms and sleeping chambers that hadn't been touched in years.  We really should go exploring again.

I looked at Akin.  “This weekend, do you want to explore some more of the school?”

Akin grinned.  “Why not?”

Rose nodded in agreement as we passed through a set of wooden doors that wouldn't have been out of place in one of the Great Halls.  The ballroom inside was completely deserted.  It was normally used for formal dances - and practice - but there wouldn't be any dances until after the mocks, when the upperclassmen would have a chance to relax.  I checked my watch, then motioned for them to move faster.  If we were late for dinner, we wouldn't be fed.

And then we’ll have real problems in potions class, I thought.  I ...

Something moved, at the corner of my eye.  I tensed, one hand dropping to the spellcaster on my belt, an instant before I saw the thing move closer.  A frog, hopping on the ground, warty hands reaching for attention.  I recognised the motions and held up a hand to keep Rose from getting too close.  Someone was signalling for help.

“They must have lost a duel,” Akin said.  “Should we help?”

“He’s asking for help,” I pointed out.  I’d been turned into a frog myself too many times to feel anything but pity for the victim.  Besides, there was no sign of whoever had cast the spell.  They’d just walked away, leaving the victim alone.  “Try and undo the spell.”

The frog stood still as Akin waved his hands in a cancelling gesture, but nothing happened.  I blinked in surprise.  Akin was good at cancelling spells.  Growing up with Isabella had probably encouraged him to learn as many as possible.  And yet ... nothing happened when he cast the spell for a second time, then tried a cantrip that was normally only taught in second year.  The frog didn't change.

I frowned.  I’d once tricked Alana into thinking she’d turned me into a frog permanently, by hiding a real frog in her room.  She hadn't been amused.  The frog was signalling, but ... were we being tricked?  Had someone taught the frog to make human signals, then let it go to see who’d stumble across it?  I didn't think it was actually forbidden, largely because it was hard to imagine anyone stupid enough to try.

And yet ... I reached for my spectacles and put them on.  The frog glowed with light, a spell holding the transfiguration firmly in place.  It was powerful, a spell well above the capabilities of a firstie.  No wonder Akin was having no luck cancelling the spell!  Rose tried too, adding her power to his, but it didn't work.  I could see that it wouldn’t work.

I removed the dispeller from my belt and pressed it against the frog.  There was a flash of light and an older girl - wearing a fifth-year uniform - appeared in front of us, on her hands and knees.  She straightened up hastily, brushing her brown hair back into plaits.  Her face was deathly pale.  I couldn't help wondering just how long she’d been a frog.

Akin gasped.  “You’re an upperclassman?”

I was just as surprised.  I’d thought upperclassmen didn't hex each other for fun.  They were too busy bossing us lowerclassmen around, when they weren't studying for their exams.  But the girl was definitely at least four years older than we were.  There were aging potions, but I couldn't imagine anyone actually taking them.  The risks were too great for anything other than dire need.

“... Yes,” the girl stammered.  I saw a trace of fright in her eyes as she looked at me.  “I ...”

She stood up, clearing her throat.  “Get along to lunch or I’ll give you lines.”

Akin looked at me, then shrugged.  “Let’s go.”

We walked through the door and down the corridor.  “That wasn't very grateful of her,” Rose said, as soon as we were out of earshot.  “You’d think she’d say thanks, at least.”

I shrugged.  “We’re firsties,” I pointed out.  “She was probably cringing with horror at the thought of having to beg us for help.”

“Yeah,” Akin agreed.  He laughed.  “Getting turned into a frog - and trapped as a frog - would be bad enough at her age, but being helped by a trio of firsties ...”

“It’s stupid,” Rose protested.  “What does it matter?”

“Everyone will be laughing at her, later,” I said.  “Or they would be laughing, if they knew the truth.  They’d certainly never take her seriously.”

“But I couldn't lift the spell,” Rose said.  “Akin couldn't lift the spell.  You had to do it, with an Object of Power.”

“That won't be included in the retelling,” Akin pointed out.  “They’ll keep focused on us.”

“Stupid,” Rose muttered.

I nodded in agreement - I’d grown up knowing that children five years younger than me had more magic in their fingernails than I had in my entire body - and then frowned as the implications struck me.  I hadn't had a chance to take the spellform apart, but I’d seen enough of it to know that it was an adult-grade spell.  It reminded me of the spell Great Aunt Stregheria had used on me and my sisters.  Who’d cast it?  An older student?  Or had the poor girl simply stumbled over a trap someone had hidden in a disused part of the school?

“We won’t mention it to anyone,” I said, as we walked into the dining hall.  A number of students were already filing out, probably heading down to the common rooms before the bell rang for class.  “And we’ll do our best to ignore her if we see her again.”

“Unless we need a favour from an upperclassman,” Akin said, practically.  “She’ll pay us to keep our mouths shut.”

Rose rolled her eyes.  “Would anyone believe us if we told?”

“Point,” Akin agreed.

I took a tray from the kitchen hatch and looked around for a place to sit.  Half the students appeared to be missing, but there was something hanging in the air.  Normally, conversation would be loud, despite the wards thrumming in the air; now, conversation was quiet and stilted, students huddling together in small groups.  Hostile looks were being exchanged between some of the larger groups, all centred on scions of the aristocracy.  Akin and I seemed to be attracting some attention too.

Rose nudged me as we sat down at the firstie table.  “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered back.  We were the only firsties in the hall.  “Akin?”

Akin shrugged listlessly, then tucked into his sausage and mash with every evidence of enjoyment.  I glanced around, feeling unfriendly eyes resting on me, then dug into my own meal.  We’d dawdled so long that we only had twenty minutes to finish before the bell.  I didn't want to have to run to class on a full stomach.  And yet, I felt as if they were watching me as I ate.  It was worse than attending one of Mum’s practice banquets, with the grand dames just watching and waiting for me to make a mistake.

“Maybe they lost a duelling contest,” Akin speculated, once he’d cast a privacy ward around our little bubble.  “Or maybe they got caught cheating.”

Rose took a bite of her food.  “Wouldn't they be expelled for cheating?”

“It depends,” I said.  It might depend on who and what their parents were, but I wasn't going to tell her that.  Rose had come far too close to being expelled in her first months because of me.  “If they actually managed to fool the anti-cheating spells, they might get rewarded ...”

“They’d also be in deep trouble,” Akin pointed out.  “They’d lack the background to actually understand what they were doing.”

I nodded in agreement.  Magic rarely allowed shortcuts to power and success.  It was why the handful of really powerful Objects of Power were regarded as being incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands.  One of those rare objects could kick a man right to the top, as long as he was wearing it.  But without one, the only way to survive and prosper as a sorcerer was to learn the fundamentals first before moving on to the more advanced spells.  An ignorant magician who’d somehow managed to cheat his way through school would be exposed soon enough.

“Maybe they just lost a football game,” I speculated.  I didn't think the upperclassmen were allowed to play sports in the morning, but I’d never paid that much attention to their timetables.  “Or ...”

I frowned as I finished my meal, allowing my eyes to roam the room.  There were several groups eying the others warily, their faces showing varying degrees of hostility.  It didn't look as though one side had lost a match.  Maybe they’d been forced to compete against each other or something.  I’d heard the upperclassmen were supposed to learn and work in groups.

“Ah,” Rose muttered.  “Cat ...”

I looked up.  Isabella had entered the room and was now striding over to us, her long blonde ponytail glinting in the light.  Her blue eyes flickered over us, lingering on me just long enough to make me feel uncomfortable, then focused on Akin.  He looked back at her, evenly.  I didn't think he wanted to listen to her.

“I need a word with you, brother of mine,” Isabella said, icily.  She glanced at me, then shrugged dismissively.  It would have hurt if I hadn't known I was unique.  “Alone.”

“I’m eating my dinner,” Akin said.  His voice was very calm, but I heard the edge in it.  He didn't want to talk to her any more than I did.  “Go away.”

“You can stuff your face later,” Isabella told him.  She rested her palms on the table, glaring at him.  “We need to talk.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither one willing to back down.  I wondered just who would win if they started trying to hex each other, although I doubted their father would be happy if they got into a very public fight.  Families were supposed to support each other in public ... the thought cost me a twinge of pain.  My sisters had never supported me.  I supposed Alana resented me as much as Isabella resented Akin ...

“We’ll talk tonight, after class,” Akin said, firmly.  He made a show of taking another bite of food and chewing it slowly.  “I don’t have time now.”

“Father says you should talk to me,” Isabella hissed.  Two red spots appeared on her pale cheeks.  I had the impression she would have started shouting if we hadn't been surrounded by upperclassmen.  “Akin ...”

“Later,” Akin snapped.  “Go away.”

Isabella lifted her hand, then stopped herself before she could cast a spell.  “After class,” she said, coldly.  “Immediately after class.  And alone.  None of your ... friends.”

I tensed, wondering which friends she meant.  Akin’s hangers-on?  Or us?  Maybe both.  Isabella clearly had something she wanted to discuss.  And it was probably meant to be private.  I’d once thought I’d share secrets with my sisters and no one else, the three of us against the world.  Six years of being powerless had put a stop to that.  

“As you wish,” Akin said.  “I’ll meet you in Room 4B.”

Isabella shot Rose and I a final venomous look, then turned and walked away.  I felt sweat prickling down my back.  Something was clearly bothering Isabella, but what?  

Rose coughed.  “What was that all about?”

“I have no idea,” Akin said.  He didn't sound too concerned.  “I suppose I’ll find out tonight.”

I nodded, then asked the question that had been bothering me.  “Which one of you is the better spellcaster?”

Akin looked pained.  “She is,” he said.  “I was never so interested in charms and hexes.”

The bell rang before I could think of a response.  “Come on,” I said, picking up my tray and carrying it to the hatch.  “We’d better get moving.”
Chapter Ten

It was sheer luck, I decided as we hurried into the potions classroom, that Magistra Loanda was busy talking to Magister Von Rupert when we arrived.  We were two minutes late, but she couldn't take official notice of it as long as the class hadn't actually begun.  Or so I hoped, as we sat down at our desks.  It was quite possible Magistra Loanda would give us detention - or lines - anyway.

“I have reviewed your homework, save for those of you who were unavoidably detained,” Magistra Loanda said, as soon as the door was closed.  I winced.  We were among the unlucky students who would have to make up missed homework later.  “Most of you successfully grasped the intersectionality of magical essence from the listed ingredients, although a number of you parroted back what you read in the textbooks rather than trying to put it into your own words.  It is hard to tell how many of those students really understand the material.”

She gave us a humourless smile.  “Accordingly, we will be brewing Wakefulness Potion this afternoon,” she said.  “Those of you who actually comprehended the material will have no trouble producing the potion within the next hour, at which point you will be dismissed early--” a gasp ran around the chamber “--and you can go make a start on your next homework assignment.  I’ll need that time to work with those who didn't understand the assignment.”

I tried to look around the room without making it too obvious.  Alana looked confident, unsurprisingly.  Potions weren't her forte, but Mum had forced her to practice time and time again until she knew the basics by heart.  Bella, sitting behind her, didn't look anything like so happy.  Her homework assignments were largely done at the very last minute, particularly when I wasn't around to help her.  And Isabella looked pleased ...

“You must be careful not to drink the potion until it has been tested,” Magistra Loanda warned us.  “The brew is largely harmless, but a sip may well be enough to keep you awake for the next few days until it wears off ... at which point, you will collapse in a heap and sleep for a long period.  Repeated doses can be very dangerous, as the potion builds up in your bloodstream.  Too many students have tried to keep themselves awake to study, only to accidentally sleep through the exams.”

I had to smile.  That would be embarrassing.  

“Read the recipe carefully,” Magistra Loanda said.  She waved a hand at the blackboard.  A list of ingredients and instructions appeared in front of us.  “Collect your ingredients, then get to work.  Alone.  There is to be no collaboration on this potion.”

I winced.  Wakefulness Potion wasn’t particularly powerful, as potions went, but it was finicky.  There were no less than thirty steps, the last ten of which had to be done in quick succession.  Mum had made me brew more complex potions, but Rose hadn't had a chance to practice.  I’d expected to be brewing with her.  

Magistra Loanda tapped her desk.  “Cat, come with me.  The rest of you, get to work.”

I blinked, then hastily stood.  What did she want with me?  Did she think I’d help Rose?  Or that Rose would help me?  Or ... I couldn't think of anything as I followed Magistra Loanda into a little backroom.  It was a small potions lab, complete with a selection of wall-mounted cupboards, a table and a stool.  An old book lay on the table, held open by a piece of cloth.  I could smell the old pages right across the room.

“Question,” Magistra Loanda said.  “What are the second term potions designed to do?”

I hesitated.  “To teach students how to infuse a precise amount of magic into the brew.”

“Your mother has taught you well,” Magistra Loanda said, without irony.  “It is also designed to give me an understanding of your capabilities.  I don’t dare introduce anyone to the third term potions until I know you can handle it.  But in your case, you can't infuse the magic directly into the liquid.”

“I can make stirrers to do it,” I said, quickly.  “They work ...”

“I know they work,” Magistra Loanda said.  “But there’s no point in trying to gauge skills and powers you don’t have.”

She pointed at the book.  “The recipe here requires a very precise infusion of magic, young lady.  No Potions Master or Mistress has been able to produce it for the last thousand years.  I want you to try.”

I swallowed.  “Is it ... what is it?”

“It’s supposed to provide a magic boost,” Magistra Loanda said.  “But, as you can see, it isn't easy to brew.”

I sat down on the stool and scanned the book.  The recipe was written in Old Script, the letters so small that I had to strain to make them out.  It actually looked relatively simple, save for the quantities of magic.  I parsed it out slowly, silently grateful that Dad had forced me to learn Old Script from a very early age.  The language was immensely complex and it was very hard for an adult to learn.

“It’s not that complicated,” I mused.  “Can't you find a way to compensate for the magic requirements?”

“None of my experiments have worked,” Magistra Loanda said.  She sounded just like Mum, when she’d made the same complaint.  “It’s possible that one or more ingredients were left out of the recipe.”

I winced.  Mum had complained about that too, so often that I knew the spiel by heart.  A skilled Potions Master might be able to deduce what was missing - either from the recipe or the instructions - but it was never particularly easy.  Mum had once spent several months trying a succession of different ingredients to get a healing potion to work before finally stumbling on the answer.  I doubted I’d ever be half as good as she was.  My lack of sensitivity ensured I’d never develop the instincts to become a Potions Mistress.

At least I can follow the recipe, I thought, as I reached for my notebook.  And maybe I can figure out what’s missing.

“Be careful, Cat,” Magistra Loanda said.  “I don’t expect you to finish the brew today.”

“I understand,” I said.

I read the recipe again as she retreated.  It was impossible to be sure, but I was fairly certain that something was missing.  It just didn't look as though the end result would give anyone an energy boost.  Unless ... I dug through my memory, trying to see how the different ingredients would intersect together.  Perhaps the magic would transmute itself again and again ...

Clever, I thought, as the pieces slowly fell into place.  Mum would like this.

I smiled to myself.  The brew was odd, but it looked workable.  It certainly explained why some aspects of the instructions appeared to make no sense.  The ingredients would become a potion, I thought, but the transformation would be very slow.  I’d never seen anything like that before, not outside horror stories I’d been told to remind me to be careful.  And this was on a far subtler scale.

Mum had taught me to copy out the recipe before I actually tried to brew, particularly if the instructions were in a different language.  I opened my notebook and copied the lines one by one, translating as I went along.  Thankfully, the original writer hadn't tried to charm the book to make it impossible to copy the words.  Those spells rarely lasted long, but they could be dangerous.  There was a book in Dad’s collection that blinded anyone who tried to open it without permission.  I wasn’t sure if the curse could be undone.

I went through the calculations twice, just to be sure I’d got them right, then gathered the ingredients and carefully adjusted the stirrers to ensure that the brew received the precise amount of magic.  I’d need to make more soon enough, I thought, just in case Magistra Loanda wanted me to keep working with the impossible potions.  They weren't hard to make, but they tended to be difficult to adjust more than a few times.  I had a feeling the spellform didn't like being altered.

“Let’s go,” I said, as I filled the cauldron with water.  “This should work ...”

The potion seemed to work, right up to the moment I added the last ingredient.  There was a surge of blue light - I hastily threw myself backwards as the glow got brighter and brighter - and then a sizzling sound.  I forced myself to wait, counting to three hundred under my breath.  Normally, a cauldron would explode very quickly if it was going to explode at all, but I couldn't rely on it.  If the magical surge that turned the brew into a potion was going to happen very slowly, the crawl towards an explosion might happen slowly too.  But nothing happened.  Slowly, ready to dive for cover, I stood and looked at the cauldron.  A faint wisp of brown smoke was rising up, but nothing else.

I inched forward and peered into the cauldron.  The base was covered in a sluggish brown liquid that appeared to be nothing more than mud.  I poked it gingerly, but nothing happened.  I guessed the surge had come too fast, eating up all the magic in less than a second instead of triggering the transformation.  Shaking my head, I picked up the last stirrer and checked it carefully.  There was no sign there was anything wrong with it.  Perhaps the instructions had been deliberately altered.

Or it might have been a mistake, I thought, ruefully.  Whoever wrote the book copied the wrong detail down or transposed their figures or something.

It wasn't impossible.  There were quite a few ancient tomes that were clearly copies of copies, with the original spells and potion recipes written down in a hurry.  Dad had told me that some of the books even included spells that were nothing more than sheerest fantasy.  They weren't just altered, they were unworkable.  Perhaps there was a key to unlocking the hidden truth behind them, as many researchers had speculated, or ... maybe they’d just wanted to waste someone’s time.  Anyone who wanted to cast a Spell of Unlimited Power would cause less trouble if they were wasting their time trying to get an unworkable spell to work, rather than finding a more effective way to gain power.

And it would probably work, I thought.  If Alana had been prepared to risk curses as she sneaked into Dad’s private collection, I had no doubt a warlock would take equal or greater risks in his bid for power.  It would ...

The ground shook.  I threw myself to the hard ground instinctively, covering my head with my hands before quite realising what had happened.  The cauldron hadn't exploded.  I would have been screaming in pain - or dead - if it had.  And yet ... I rolled over and stood as I heard someone scream.  The explosion had been in the classroom!  I hurried to the door, just in time to see Magistra Loanda cast a stasis spell on Bella and float her over to the door.  Her face was badly scarred.

Magistra Loanda passed Bella to a pair of passing upperclassmen, with strict orders to take her directly to the healers, then turned back to the class.  The look she gave us - even me - was so cold that I shivered.  It made me feel guilty, even though I didn't know what had happened.  Bella had been injured, but ... but how?

“When I find out who cursed her potion,” Magistra Loanda said, in a voice so icy that I half-expected our potions to freeze instantly, “I will have that person expelled.”

I shivered, again, as Magistra Loanda’s eyes passed over me.  I knew I was innocent.  She had to know I was innocent.  And yet ... part of me quailed under her gaze.  The class seemed to draw back as she looked at them, like mice confronting an angry cat.  Old she might be, but Magistra Loanda was powerful - and angry.  We were in deep - deep - trouble.

“This is one of the most dangerous classes in school,” Magistra Loanda said.  Her voice was still cold.  “It does not have to be more dangerous.  Who did it?”

We all cringed.  None of us would tattle, I thought ... even though cursing a boiling cauldron was not a harmless little prank like turning someone into a frog.  Bella had been hurt ... I winced in sympathy, remembering when Rose and I had both been caught in a potions explosion.  At least Bella wouldn’t face the possibility of being expelled as well as seriously injured.  But she’d still be in a healer’s bed for a few days, perhaps a week ...

“I will find the person responsible,” Magistra Loanda warned us.  “And that person will regret it.”

Silence fell.  No one spoke.  I felt sweat prickling on the back of my neck.  If Magistra Loanda knew who to blame, that person was dead.  Perhaps literally.  And if that person didn't confess ... not, I supposed, that it mattered.  That person had come within a hairsbreadth of killing one or more students.  Confession or no confession, that person was going to be expelled.

“I see,” Magistra Loanda said, after long minutes had crawled by.  It felt like we’d been in the classroom for hours.  “Seeing the person responsible isn't going to confess, you can all be punished.  Clear up your desks, then grab cleaning supplies.  I want this room scrubbed from top to bottom before any of you get anything to eat.  And then I want a three-thousand-word essay on precisely why this class is so dangerous.”

I took a shuddering breath as the class began to mutter angrily.  Cleaning a classroom for a detention ... even if all of us pitched in, it was going to take hours.  Our uniforms would be practically ruined by the time we were finished.  And we would not be able to go to dinner until it was done ... it was going to be ghastly.  I looked from face to face, trying to see who looked relieved, but no one appeared to be particularly guilty.  Even Isabella looked shocked.

It could be an act, I thought.  She’d be the most likely suspect.

I mulled it over as I helped Rose clear up her desk.  She’d been midway through the potion when Bella’s cauldron had exploded, forcing her to discard her brew into the disposal and then pick up a cleaning cloth.  No one appeared to know where to begin.  Alana and Isabella got into an argument, while two of the boys started pushing and shoving at each other.  I met Rose’s eyes and sighed while Magistra Loanda bellowed for order.  It was going to be a long afternoon.

“We need to get this done,” Ayesha McDonald said, sharply.  “If half of us do the floor, while the other half do the walls, it will be done before dinnertime.”

“And who put you in charge?”  Alana demanded.  “I don’t want to ruin my uniform ...”

“You have seven more complete uniforms in your trunk,” I snapped.  I was too worried about Bella to care about Alana’s dignity.  Besides, it wasn't fair.  I’d been in the backroom when the cauldron exploded.  “Why was I being punished too? You can afford to send one of them away to be cleaned.”

Alana glared at me, but took one of the cloths and started wiping the nearest wall.  I sighed as the rest of the cloths and buckets of water were handed out, then took one myself and started to wash the floor.  The water turned an odd colour as the remnants of exploded potions started to come off the floor, worrying me more than I cared to admit.  Something that soaked into my skin might just bypass my protections.  Ayesha McDonald bossed us around with striking efficiency, telling us precisely what to do.  I would have complained if I hadn't known she was doing her fair share of the work.

I nudged Rose as we rubbed the floor.  “Did you see who did it?”

Rose shook her head.  “I didn't know anything was wrong until I heard the explosion,” she said.  “Did she make a mistake?”

“I don’t think so,” I said.  Exploding cauldrons was hardly an irregular occurrence, but ... Bella wasn't that incompetent.  “None of the ingredients are particularly volatile.”

And Magistra Loanda thinks it wasn’t an accident, I added, silently.  I had no doubts about her competence.  Magistra Loanda was one of the greatest Potion Mistresses in the city.  If she thought someone had cursed Bella’s cauldron, someone had cursed Bella’s cauldron.  But who?  Her wards didn't catch whoever hurled the spell.

I puzzled over it as we wiped up the water, trying vainly not to get it on our skirts.  The wards should have detected and contained any hex within the classroom, then tattled on whoever had cast the spell.  But they hadn’t.  I couldn't think of any way to circumvent the wards without making it blindingly obvious that something was wrong.  Magistra Loanda would be very aware of her protective wards.  She would know instantly if someone had managed to bring them down.

“I feel icky,” Alana announced.  She glared around the room.  “What now?”

I would have laughed at her, if I hadn't been a mess myself.  My skirt was drenched in water and the remains of dead potions, while my shirt looked as though I’d been splattering paint over myself.  It was probably a write-off.  Sandy was going to shout at us for messing up the shower when we finally got back to the dorms.  And ...

“Go get changed, then try and see Bella,” I said.  “And then we might have to write to Mum and Dad.”

“You are dismissed,” Magistra Loanda said icily, before Alana could reply.  “And when I find the person who cursed the cauldron, that person will still be expelled.”

I shuddered as we hurried for the door.  I had no doubt she meant it.