Cursed
	
	(Schooled in Magic XVII)

	Christopher G. Nuttall

	

	

	

	

Cursed
This is a work of fiction. All concepts, characters and events portrayed in this book are used fictitiously and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 Christopher G. Nuttall
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the permission of the publisher and copyright owner.
First Edition, May 2019
Cover art by Brad Fraunfelter
Published in the United States of America.

Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Epilogue
About the author

Prologue

Cabiria didn’t want to remember being sixteen. But she couldn’t help herself.
She had always loved House Fellini’s library. It was a monumental collection of books, all the more remarkable for the texts having been written, published and purchased well before the printing press had been invented and thousands of books had become available to all and sundry. Cabiria loved to stand by the shelves and run her hands over the books, yanking her hand away when charms and curses threatened her. As she’d grown older, she’d  learned to read some of the oldest books in the world, ones that had been written by magicians whose names had passed into legend. She spoke five languages fluently and read three more, two of which were only spoken by a handful of scholars. It was easy to believe that all the knowledge of the world was concealed within the library stacks. She could have happily spent all of her life in the wonderful room.
But, as she’d aged, she’d come to realize that not all answers were found within the collection of aging books.
She had never doubted she would have magic, not until puberty had come and gone without even a hint of power crackling around her fingers. She’d muttered spells and chanted long incantations, drawn runes and performed rituals — including some she wasn’t supposed to know existed — without summoning enough magic to light a candle. Her parents had told her, at first, that it was just a matter of time. Later, when they’d thought she couldn’t hear, they’d fretted about their youngest daughter’s lack of magic. It wasn’t uncommon for a child to have less power than her parents, particularly if her family had put bloodlines over breeding like so many magical families had before they discovered that it actually weakened the magic, but for a child to have no magic at all? It was almost completely unprecedented. Cabiria herself was the only known case within recorded history.
Not that her family was cruel to her, of course. Cabiria’s parents never even hinted at disowning her, despite hints from some of their more distant family members that — perhaps — Cabiria should be sent elsewhere. Her father had fought a duel with a distant relative after he’d suggested, perhaps a little too loudly, that his wife had cheated on him. Cabiria’s sisters had protected her, as had her cousins. She still smiled at the memory of Cousin Alexi nearly killing one of his friends — his former friends — after the brat had played a particularly spiteful prank on her. But ...
Cabiria sat in the library, trying to remember the feeling of wonder she’d once felt when she’d gazed upon the bookshelves. She was sixteen, old enough to expect an invitation to Whitehall or Mountaintop or even — perhaps — Stronghold. But the invitation would not come if she couldn’t draw even a spark of magic from her powerless bones. She would grow into adulthood and then ... what? She would never be a part of magical society, not without power. She would be forever on the sidelines, looking in. Her family would be good to her, she knew, but ... it wasn’t what she wanted.
And my one hope of being normal, she thought, is to take a terrible risk.
She heard the door open, heard someone walk towards her. She didn’t have to lift her head to know that it was Allophone, her eldest sister. Allophone was everything Cabiria wanted to be, a girl who had been favored with everything from good looks to powerful magic. And she wasn’t even cruel. Allophone treated her young and powerless sister as if she were made of fine china.
“They’re ready,” Allophone said, quietly. She placed a hand on Cabiria’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do this, you know?”
“I do,” Cabiria said. 
The words hung in the air between them. She had never told her sister — could never tell her — but she resented her kindness and decency more than she cared to admit. She wasn’t a helpless child. She didn’t need to be coddled, to be wrapped in protective spells and guarded every time she walked out of the mansion. And yet, she knew she was vulnerable. She was the blind girl in the kingdom of the sighted, forever at the mercy of those who could use magic. Better to take the risk of death — or worse — than spend the rest of her life without power.
“It’s risky,” Allophone said. “Uncle Alanson said ...”
“I know what he said,” Cabiria snapped. 
She caught herself, biting her lip hard. Uncle Alanson, Patriarch of House Fellini, had been even more driven than Cabiria’s parents to find a solution to her woes. It had been he, more than anyone else, who had drawn up the rituals to try to find, somewhere within her, a spark of power. Cabiria loved him for it. He could have pushed her parents to disown her. The hell of it was that he might have been right. House Fellini could not afford whispers about weak blood and powerless magicians. Too many people were already starting to talk.
“Come on, then,” Allophone said.
Cabiria stood, ignoring her sister’s attempts to help her up. Gods! She wasn’t a cripple. Her legs worked fine. She didn’t need a flying carpet to get up the stairs, or sneak down in the middle of the night for a snack. Allophone let out a faint sound — Cabiria didn’t care to wonder what it was — and followed Cabiria as she stalked out of the room. The hallway felt ... cold, as always. Cabiria knew they were surrounded by powerful wards, spells that her family had been weaving for generations, but she couldn’t feel them. There were parts of the mansion where she simply couldn’t go without walking into danger. The last time she’d triggered a trap, she’d been frozen for hours before her parents had found her.
The spellchamber felt creepy, as always, as she walked into the underground chamber. Her uncle stood in the exact center, carefully drawing out a handful of chalk runes on the stone floor. He’d wanted to use iron, claiming that it would help channel the power, but Cabiria’s parents had said no. It was too dangerous, they’d insisted. Cabiria’s cheeks burned as she remembered the discussion. Allophone had been experimenting with more dangerous substances than cold iron well before she’d gone to Whitehall ...
“Cabiria, my favorite niece,” Alanson said. He was a handsome dark-haired man, with a roguish smile that belied his kind nature. He’d never married, even though his family had expected it. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, Uncle,” Cabiria said, as she took her place in the circle. Uncle Alanson was the only person who treated her as if she was a living person, rather than a fragile doll. She loved him for that, too. He hadn’t spent the endless rehearsals talking about risks. “I’m ready.”
“Be careful,” Allophone said. She retreated towards the door as Uncle Alanson raised his wand. “And good luck.”
Cabiria felt a flicker of nervousness, even as she braced herself for another crushing disappointment. Her parents and close relatives kept trying, but ... she feared, deep inside, they were starting to give up. The mystery of her lack of power might never be solved, nor might she ever have magic. 
To hell with the risks. She would take her chances. And if she died, she died.
“And now,” Uncle Alanson said. Bright light flared around him. “We begin.”
Cabiria felt, just for a second, as if her skin were on fire. Something was ... crawling over her, something she could feel even though she couldn’t see anything. The light grew brighter, forcing her to squeeze her eyes tightly shut. And yet ... she found, to her horror, that she couldn’t move. Someone screamed, the sound echoing through her ears and pounding into her skull. She thought it was her, but ... she wasn’t sure. The world spun around her, as if she was standing on the deck of a ship during a storm ...
... Someone was laughing. She could hear someone laughing ...
... And then her mother pulled at her arms, yanking her up. “Cabiria! Cabiria!”
Cabiria opened her eyes, unsure of when she’d closed them. Her memories were so confused, so blurred, that — for a moment — she thought she must have dreamed everything. And yet, as she forced herself to sit up, it was clear the spellchamber had been devastated. The runes and glyphs on the walls were gone, wiped out of existence by the forces Uncle Alanson had unleashed. The walls were scorched black, even though they’d been designed to stand firm against the strongest and deadliest of magics. And the floor was covered in black ash ...
She looked down at herself, wonderingly. Her robes were covered in ash and soot, but otherwise intact. Her skin was unmarked. She was alive ...
“He’s dead,” a voice said. It took Cabiria a moment to realize that her father was talking, his strong voice echoing in the giant chamber. “Alanson is dead. Burned to ash!”
“And he nearly took Cabiria with him,” her mother snapped. “No more experiments, do you understand me? No more!”
Cabiria looked down at her fingers. They had always been long and thin — magician’s hands, Uncle Alanson had said — but now ... they felt different. She had always hated her hands — their mere existence mocked her — yet ... they tingled, as if power was spreading through her skin and bones. Quietly, wonderingly, she muttered a spell. The room filled with brilliant white light.
Her father shouted and her mother cried, but Cabiria barely noticed. Her fingertips were sparkling with power. Light danced over her bare skin. She could feel the power within her. She had power. She finally had power. 
No, not power.
Uncle Alanson had died to give her magic.
Chapter One

Emily sat in bed, staring at her fingers.
They were long and slender, the skin pale and smooth despite six years of magic and mayhem. Magician’s hands, they’d been called. Emily could have been a surgeon or a pianist on Earth, but instead ... she was a magician. She took a long breath, then started to chant a spell that she’d memorized six years ago. Her fingers moved in perfect lines, crafting and directing the spell, but nothing happened. No power crackled around her fingertips. No magic sparked forth to do her will. She might as well have been playacting.
I was a magician, she thought, numbly. A week of being powerless, of being without magic, had left her feeling drained and numb. Her thoughts moved sluggishly, when they moved at all. It had been hard to get out of bed, let alone attend to the growing list of problems she had to handle. I was a magician and now I’m ...
She closed her eyes, going all the way back to first principles. She’d been taught how to build a spell up from scratch, how to shape the magic before she’d grown used to channeling her power instinctively, as easily as she’d breathed. Her magic had been a part of her, something she could move at will. Now ... she felt crippled. The power within her, the power she’d  learned to sense and cultivate, was gone. Her senses felt muffled, blind. She knew the stone walls were crawling with wards — some designed to keep her safe, some designed to hide her condition from unfriendly eyes — but she couldn’t sense them any longer. It reminded her of the days when she’d first come to the Nameless World, when she’d been scared to touch anything for fear of setting off a trap. Now ... she was afraid to touch anything. Again.
The spell echoed in her mind. She cast it carefully, with all the precision she could muster after six years of training, giving it the care and attention she’d never had to after she’d managed to get in touch with her magic. The casting was perfect — she knew it was perfect — but nothing happened. 
A wave of despondency crashed over her as she dropped her hands into her lap. The knowledge she’d gathered over the last six years, some of it dangerously won, was useless. 
She was powerless. 
Emily closed her eyes for a long moment, then opened them and looked around the room, searching for a distraction. But the room’s mere existence taunted her. The lanterns glowed with magical light, but she hadn’t cast the spells. She hadn’t carved the runes on the walls. She hadn’t even lit the fire in the fireplace! It wasn’t her room. Alassa had promised her a suite of her own, but ... it wouldn’t be hers. She was nothing more than an unwanted guest.
You’re being unfair, she told herself. Alassa had been nothing but kind to her over the past week, even though she was very busy. The civil war might be over, yet there was no shortage of work. Reconstructing Zangaria would take years. Alassa offered to host you forever.
It was a bitter thought. Alassa meant well. Emily was certain of it. She had no doubt that her friend would do everything in her power to help. But the stone walls felt like a prison, a mocking reminder that Emily no longer had the power to shape her future. She was vulnerable, vulnerable in a way she hadn't been in six years. She felt as if she’d lost her confidence along with her magic. What was the point of struggling, she asked herself, if there was no hope of winning?
There was a tap on the door. Emily tensed, despite herself. Alassa and Jade had woven hundreds of protections into the castle, but they couldn’t keep out everyone. How could they? Castle Alexis wasn’t just the monarch’s home, but the center of government for an entire country. The lower levels were crammed with everything from aristocratic parasites to common-born bureaucrats, the former trying to convince themselves that they were still important while the latter felt utterly underappreciated by their superiors. Emily was all too aware that someone with bad intentions probably could get into the castle, with a great deal of effort. Why not? It had happened before.
The door opened. Lady Barb stepped into the room.
Emily felt an urge to shrink back as her former teacher — the closest thing she’d ever had to a mother — closed the door and strode over to the bed. It was hard to escape the feeling that Emily had failed Lady Barb in some way, as if things might have been different if Emily had listened to the older magicians who’d told her to stay out of the civil war. But ... Emily knew, all too well, that she couldn’t have made any other choice. Alassa and Jade were her friends. Emily had owed it to them to stand beside them when they’d gone to war against Alassa’s father. She could not have turned away.
Lady Barb had been badly injured during Fulvia’s attack on Whitehall, but now ... it was hard to believe she’d ever been more than scratched. She was still tall and muscular, with long blonde hair and a stern — almost patrician — face. The robes she wore were loose, designed to allow her to move freely; the sword at her belt was a sign she knew how to defend herself with and without magic. And her utter confidence in herself was daunting to those who didn’t know her. Only a handful of people had ever underestimated Lady Barb, Emily knew, and none had made the same mistake twice. There were girls at Whitehall who wanted to be Lady Barb when they grew up. Emily knew how they felt.
She looked down, unwilling to meet her tutor’s gaze. Her body felt ... wrong, somehow. She’d been hurt — badly — during the fight with Mad King Randor, but the injuries hadn’t healed as quickly as they should. The healers had done all they could, mending broken bones and repairing damaged tissues, yet they hadn’t done a perfect job. Emily wondered, morbidly, if her magic had helped her heal every other time she’d been badly injured. Magicians lived a long time, even without life-prolonging spells. Perhaps their magic countered the onset of old age.
“Emily,” Lady Barb said. Her voice was stern and unyielding, but Emily could hear the hint of compassion. “Look at me.”
Emily looked up, reluctantly. She felt ... she felt vulnerable. Too vulnerable. She knew Lady Barb would never hurt her, would never do anything to her that was not for her own good, but she still felt vulnerable. Defenseless. All of her weapons, magical and mundane alike, were gone. The healers had even confiscated the virgin blade she’d carried in her sleeve. She knew why they’d done it — the waves of despondency and depression had only grown stronger since she’d lost her magic — but she resented it. There was no way she could put up even a token fight against someone who wanted her dead.
She should be pleased to see Lady Barb. She knew she should be pleased — and relieved — to see Lady Barb. But ...
“Tell me what happened,” Lady Barb said. Her expression was compassionate. It didn’t help. “Please.”
Emily took a breath and rattled through the whole story, starting with the discovery that King Randor was practicing necromancy to the final desperate battle inside the castle. She left out nothing, knowing — from long experience — that the older woman wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than the complete truth. Lady Barb listened, saying nothing, as Emily told her about the final seconds, before Randor exploded and she blacked out. She remembered nothing between her collapse and waking up in Alassa’s bed.
“I don’t think you burned yourself out,” Lady Barb said, when she’d finished. “You’d probably be insane by now.”
Emily choked down a sound that was both a laugh and a sob. She was insane, by the standards of her new world. The natives didn’t understand her reasoning, didn’t understand her social attitudes ... they didn’t understand why she befriended commoners, or helped them to succeed, or ... or anything. She’d grown up on a world where social mores were very different. How could she share their attitudes toward life?
“I don’t feel insane,” she managed. “But ...”
She looked around the spare room. Normally, lying in a healer’s bed would have driven her mad. She would have demanded something to do, even if it was just being given a stack of books from the castle’s library. She wouldn’t have minded — much — if someone had provided her with a stock of cheaply-bound blue books from the nearby printers, if it gave her something to keep distracted. But instead ... she’d practically spent the last week in bed, staring up at the barren ceiling. Her friends — even Cat, her semi-boyfriend — hadn’t been able to get her out of her funk. She’d been too depressed to care.
“You’re not screaming at the walls or lashing out at the maids,” Lady Barb said. “And we’re not shipping you off to the Halfway House.”
Emily snorted. She’d heard too many horror stories to take that entirely seriously. “And there are so many people who do abuse the maids that they might just be the sane ones.”
She felt her eyes narrow. “Are you going to send me to the Halfway House?”
“No,” Lady Barb said. The Halfway House was — in theory — a place for people who had been afflicted with unbreakable curses, who could neither be cured nor allowed to live freely. In practice, it was more like a bedlam straight out of Oliver Twist. “I don’t think they’d be able to do anything to help you.”
“I don’t know if anyone can,” Emily said. “I just feel ...”
Lady Barb’s lips thinned. “I have to examine you,” she said. “Get up.”
Emily hesitated, but she knew better than to disobey. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, feeling her legs threatening to buckle as she smoothed her nightdress. It felt alarmingly thin. Lady Barb looked her up and down, frowning in disapproval. Emily felt a stab of guilt, mingled with fear. Lady Barb was a product of her society, too. What must she feel when confronted with a cripple? The Nameless World wasn’t kind to cripples.
It isn’t kind to anyone, Emily thought. The aristocrats and magicians had power, but they also had social obligations. Commoners ... had no rights at all. They sometimes lived so close to the edge they had no choice but to discard anyone who couldn’t work. A cripple would be lucky if he wasn’t put outside to starve. What will happen to me when the truth comes out?
She gritted her teeth as Lady Barb produced a long silver wand and started to wave it over Emily’s body. No one, apart from her closest friends, knew what had happened to her ... but it was only a matter of time until the truth came out. She was — perhaps — the most famous person in the Nameless World, with a string of titles she’d been given by bards and broadsheet writers. There were probably already rumors spreading through the Nameless World. And someone — sooner or later — would try to test them.
“Interesting,” Lady Barb said.
Emily cursed under her breath. Her skin should have tingled as the wand performed its magic. She should have felt something. Her magic should have responded to the probe. God knew there had been times when she’d been told to hold her magic under firm control while the healers had done their work. But now ... there was nothing. She shivered helplessly, despite the warmth from the fire. A first-year student could turn her into a frog with the snap of her fingers. She hated to think what an adult magician could do.
“Interesting indeed,” Lady Barb said. “Have you had any other problems? Aches and pains? Trouble with going to the toilet? Anything?”
“Nothing apart from having to use a chamberpot,” Emily said. She didn’t care what anyone said about it. Chamberpots were disgusting. But the castle had been built long before anyone had seen the wisdom in installing toilets, let alone hot and cold running water. “Some of the potions didn’t seem to work quite right, though.”
“They must have been brewed for a magician,” Lady Barb said. She motioned for Emily to turn around, then ran her finger down Emily’s spine. “They’re not always so effective on mundanes.”
Emily flinched. “I didn’t know ...”
“It’s something healers and alchemists learn, when they start their apprenticeships,” Lady Barb said. She squeezed Emily’s arm, gently, then muttered a handful of spells. Nothing happened. “The potions you were taught to brew in school were very basic, but these ... these can be quite sensitive to levels of ambient magic.”
She let out a long breath. “Sit down.”
Emily sat, feeling drained. “What did you find?”
“Something that doesn’t quite make sense,” Lady Barb said. “You should be a magician. You should have magic. But I can’t detect any magic. It’s odd.”
“Odd,” Emily repeated. It was a matter of life and death. She wanted to shout, but she was too tired. “What does it mean?”
Lady Barb’s voice was somber. “Alassa told me that your ... familiar is still a bracelet,” she said. “How are you maintaining the spell?”
Emily blinked in shock. Her familiar — Aurelius the Death Viper — spent most of his time as a transfigured bracelet. Emily might be safe from his poisonous touch, but anyone else who picked him up would be lucky if they only lost a hand. Death Vipers were amongst the most dangerous beasts known to exist. But the spell should have run out of magic and faded to nothingness a long time ago. Emily hadn’t protested when they’d taken the bracelet away. It was better to make very sure that no one got near it.
But if the snake was still a bracelet ... she felt a flicker of hope. Where did the magic come from? Her?
“It’s possible that the snake’s own magic is maintaining the spell,” Lady Barb said, mercilessly. “But it is odd, to say the least.”
Yeah, Emily thought, as the hope faded and died. It is odd ...
“I think Randor hit you with a death curse,” Lady Barb said. “Casting a spell powered by his own death would be difficult, but ... he was not inept. He knew he was going to die and ... thanks to his necromancy, he had power to spare. Death curses are nasty things. They can be dangerously unpredictable.”
Emily swallowed. She’d heard some of the stories. There were others, she’d been told, that were never told to unqualified magicians. It was hard to imagine what sort of horrors were kept concealed, not when the stories were told to warn magicians of the dangers they faced on a regular basis. Death curses were rare. It required a special kind of magician to shape the spell, knowing that his death was only seconds away.
And knowing that he has made his death certain by casting the spell, Emily thought. King Randor had never struck her as someone who was prepared to accept his own death. He’d fought savagely to preserve a social structure that was already doomed. He put his own daughter in prison rather than admit that times were changing ...
“Beyond that, I’m not sure,” Lady Barb said. “It’s possible that it might have stripped you of your power, although the shock should have driven you insane. It’s also possible that the curse might be drawing on your power, ensuring you can’t do anything else. Or ... it might have simply blocked you from using your magic. There are spells that do, as you know.”
“Spells that wear off,” Emily said. “Or spells that can be removed.”
“Yes,” Lady Barb said. “But I tried a couple of counterspells and neither of them produced anything. That means ...”
She paused, significantly. “If your ability to use magic is blocked, Emily, it will ... it will build up inside your head. Right now, you don’t even have any wards you can use to channel and absorb the power. Sooner or later, the power will burst out of you.”
“It might take the curse with it,” Emily said, hopefully.
“It might take you with it,” Lady Barb said, flatly. “No, it will take you with it. There have been cases — a handful of cases — where someone had their powers blocked and they ...”
She kept talking, but Emily barely heard her. She’d lost her powers. And she might be about to lose her life.
“Emily,” Lady Barb said. “Are you listening to me?”
“Go away.” Emily slipped her legs back under the covers, then reached for the blanket. She just wanted to hide. “Please.”
Lady Barb snorted. “Emily ...”
“Go away,” Emily repeated.
The older woman seemed to hesitate — Emily could almost see the wheels spinning inside her mind — and then left the room. Emily watched the door close with a sensation of relief, as misplaced as she knew it was. She wanted — no, needed — to be alone. She wasn’t sure what she wanted. She could feel despair bubbling up at the back of her mind as she pulled the covers over her head. She could hear voices outside the room, too low for her to make out what they were saying, but she didn’t care. It would be easy, so easy, to simply give up ...
There was a crash as the door opened, then shut. Emily looked out, surprised.
“Cat?”
Chapter Two

Cat looked ... unchanged, for someone who’d been badly hurt in the same fight that had stolen Emily’s powers. She hadn’t seen him since then, save for a couple of brief conversations that had been cut short by the endless demands on Cat’s time. Alassa didn’t have many magicians she could trust and Cat, to judge by his comments, had been doing everything from strengthening wards to following up on reports of illicit magical activity. She had wondered, despite herself, if he was avoiding her. They’d been lovers for the past four months.
Not that I would have welcomed his advances, if he’d made them, she admitted, sourly. She hadn’t been in the mood to do anything. But he could have tried harder to see me.
She forced herself to sit up, despite the lethargy threatening to send her falling back to the bed. Cat had recovered far faster than she had, and whatever he’d been doing over the past couple of weeks hadn’t made much of an impression on him. His close-cut dark hair and dark eyes looked just as she remembered, from the day they’d first met until the final battle with King Randor. He wore a simple black tunic and trousers, marking him as a sorcerer without showing any trace of his allegiances. Emily wondered, absently, why Alassa hadn’t given him a title and lands of his own. Cat deserved to be rewarded heavily for his role in the war.
Cat looked her up and down, his face expressionless. Emily felt herself flush as his eyes traveled over her face and down her nightshirt. She’d never grown used to being naked in front of anyone, even when she’d been at the height of her powers. Now ... she kicked herself, mentally, for not wearing something a little looser. The nightgown wasn’t that tight, or translucent, but it left very little to the imagination. She felt vulnerable, although she knew that Cat had seen it all before. She trusted him and yet ... she felt nervous as he sat down on the bed. It was all she could do not to lie back and draw the covers over her head.
There was a long pause before Cat spoke. “Get up.”
Emily blinked at the harshness in his tone. Cat wasn’t good at being considerate — Caleb had been much more empathetic, although he’d had weaknesses of his own — but she had thought he’d be understanding. He’d been wounded, too. She wondered, suddenly, how much it grated on Cat that he’d been knocked out, taken out of the fight with a single punch, while Emily had gone toe-to-toe with a maddened necromancer. Cat wouldn’t take that lightly. If he’d been able to join the fight, perhaps it would have gone differently.
Sure, the sarcastic part of her mind said. It could have been two magicians who lost their powers instead of one.
She took a breath, feeling a wave of hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm her. Cat ... didn’t want her. Cat ... didn’t care about her. He was already inching away from her, as if he could no longer bear to be in her presence. Her loss of power might be contagious. Emily had seen it before, back on Earth. A man who lost his job was shunned by all his former friends for fear it might be catching. Cat had to look at her powerless figure and fear he might go the same way. If he lost his powers ...
“You’re being pathetic.” Cat’s voice was noticeably sharper. “Get up.”
Emily found her legs swinging over the side of the bed before her conscious mind quite caught up with what was happening. Cat knew how to command, of course. He’d been a leader at Whitehall, he’d led men into combat ... he’d even grown up with servants. She wondered, as she caught herself, if he’d slipped a little magical compulsion into his voice, but she knew he hadn’t. Her body was just snapping to obey his commands.
She shook her head. “I can’t ...”
Cat gave her a sharp look. She was suddenly very aware of just how much bigger and stronger he was. She’d always known it — she’d always known that training could only go so far, particularly when her opponent had the same training and was stronger and more experienced to boot — but she’d never quite felt it so viscerally. Emily could see his muscles flexing under his shirt, a sure sign he was planning something. She forced herself to stand on wobbly legs, more to put some distance between them than anything else. Cat had always been more ... edgy than Caleb, but ...
Another wave of despondency threatened to overwhelm her. Nothing was ever going to be the same, ever again. Cat was merely the first of her friends to start pushing her out of his life. Alassa, Imaiqah, Caleb ... even Frieda ... it wouldn’t be long before they started excluding her. How could they not? Emily wasn’t the person she’d been only two short weeks ago. She was just a powerless mundane, no better than the fishwives and peasant girls she’d passed in the streets. It was only a matter of time until Alassa took the barony away and gave it to someone useful, someone who could serve the crown ... Emily let out a long, bitter gasp. Perhaps suicide was the answer. It would put an end to her suffering.
Cat held up a hand. “Are you really going to let this beat you?”
Emily rounded on him, feeling a hot flash of anger that — for a brief second — burned through the growing depression. “I don’t know how!”
The anger faded away. “It’s useless,” she said. “I don’t — I can’t — I don’t know how to fight.”
Cat’s eyes narrowed. He was disgusted with her, she saw. She wasn’t surprised. She was disgusting. She’d lost her powers. It was only a matter of time before madness claimed her, if it hadn’t already. Or before someone tried to kill her. No, they’d do better than try. The assassin who’d tried to kill her during the war would have succeeded if Emily hadn’t had magic. She wouldn’t have lasted a year, on the Nameless World, without magic.
“Tell me something.” Cat’s voice was very cold. “What happened to the girl I ... to the girl I met and liked?”
Emily shook her head, sadly. “She lost her powers.”
“The girl I knew wouldn’t give up,” Cat said.
“That girl is dead!” It was true. Emily knew it was true. “She died and ...”
Cat reached out, lightning-fast, and caught her by the wrist. Emily had no time to protest before he yanked her forward and threw her over his left knee, using his right leg to pin her firmly in place. She struggled, as soon as she realized what he’d done, but it was futile. He was too strong and she ... she was too weak. And then Cat smacked her — hard — on her bottom.
“This is what life is going to be like from now on,” Cat hissed. He smacked her again, harder. “You will be helpless, utterly at the mercy of someone stronger than you. You will have nothing, nothing he does not allow you. All your brains — all your smarts — will be useless against his strength. He may be strong in arm” — his hand came down, once again; she yelped in pain — “or strong in magic, but it doesn’t matter. You will be his slave.”
“Let me go!” Emily flailed about, trying to break free, but it was useless. Cat caught her arms and pinned her wrists to the small of her back. She could barely move. “Cat, let me go!”
Cat’s voice hardened. “Make me.”
Emily felt a surge of anger and frustration as she struggled against his strong arms. It was impossible. He was holding her in a position that made it difficult, if not impossible, to leverage her strength to break free. Rage flared through her as she tried to kick him, even though she was helpless. She wasn’t going to let him get away with it, she wasn’t ... the despondency reached out for her, again. It was ... it wasn’t her.
Her body sagged. Cat was right. It was only a matter of time until someone captured and enslaved her. She was helpless, unable to defend herself against a strong man or a first-year magician. The best she could hope for was Alassa treating her as an invaluable resource, shutting her up in the castle and ... her friend would do it, too. Emily understood, better than she cared to admit. The secrets in her head, magical and technological, were already changing the world. Sole possession of Emily would make Zangaria the most powerful kingdom in the Allied Lands. Alassa had a ruthless streak. She would do it. Emily knew she would do it. And the hell of it was that she couldn’t even blame her friend.
“It’s hopeless,” she muttered.
Cat smacked her again. “That’s the curse talking,” he said, sharply. “Don’t listen to it.”
Emily blinked. “What?”
“That’s how curses work.” Cat’s voice grew darker. “They convince their victim that there is no point in trying to fight, let alone survive. If you can’t muster the determination to fight back, how can you break it from the inside?”
“There are unbreakable curses,” Emily managed. It hadn’t been that long since she’d seen the Halfway House. “I could be ...”
Cat pinched her bottom. Hard. Emily had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.
“You’re giving in,” he said. The ice in his voice chilled her to the bone. “The girl I met would never have let this slow her down. She would bend all her knowledge, all her ingenuity, all the friends and resources she’d gathered over the past six years to break the curse. You are not alone, Emily. You have people who ... who love you and will do anything to help you, but you have to be willing to fight. Or you can simply give up and wait to be turned into a puppet by the first person who realizes you can’t defend yourself.”
He smacked her, then reached down for the hem of her nightgown. “If I have to teach you this lesson the hard way, I will ...”
Emily realized, in a moment of horror, just what he intended to do. A wave of humiliation burned through her mind, followed by anger. How dare he? How dare he? She was no ... she was no ... what was she? She forced her head forward and bit his leg as hard as she could. Cat let out a gasp of pain, his grip on her loosening. Emily rolled over and fell off his knee, landing hard on the carpeted floor. She scrambled back, ignoring the dull ache in her wrists. Her virgin blade was gone, and her magic was outside her reach, but she wasn’t helpless. If Cat thought she was going to just lie there and let him beat her, he had another think coming.
I’m not helpless, she thought, as she stood. And I can fight back.
Cat studied her for a long moment. “Feeling better?”
Emily glared at him as she rubbed her bottom. “You’re a bastard.”
“Of behavior, not of birth.” Cat didn’t seem offended, although calling someone a bastard was one of the worst insults in the Nameless World. His eyes smiled, even though his face was impassive. “It’s good to have you back, Emily.”
“I still can’t touch my magic.” Emily could feel the despondency at the back of her mind. It wasn’t natural. Cat was right. The curse was working overtime to keep her from finding a way to break it. It would be easy, so easy, to just give in. Emily banished that thought with all the anger she could muster. She might bend, but she would not break. She would never give in. “I won’t give up.”
“Glad to hear it.” Cat’s voice was very dry. “And you should know that your life isn’t hopeless.”
Emily met his eyes. “Have you ever heard of someone losing their magic and then regaining it?”
Cat looked back at her, evenly. “There are potions that dampen magic, for short periods of time. You’ve taken them yourself.”
“Had them forced down my throat,” Emily corrected.
“It’s possible that someone managed to craft a curse that had the same effect — or something similar,” Cat said. “The potions do tend to wear off as they are ... expelled ... from your body, but a curse might last longer. That doesn’t mean we can’t find a counterspell.”
“I know,” Emily said. She’d been told, time and time again, that every spell had a counterspell. It was just a matter of finding it. She managed a shy smile. “It isn’t hopeless, is it?”
“No,” Cat said. “And even if you don’t recover your powers, there are still options. You’re a baroness, one of the most powerful aristocrats in the kingdom; you’re an inventor, with ideas that you can turn into reality ...”
Ideas I plagiarized from Earth, Emily thought. She would have given half her fortune for a handful of engineering textbooks, or even a copy of a child’s guide to machines. There were so many things she knew to be possible, thanks to her schooling, yet ... she had no idea how to turn them into reality. She rather suspected she needed to make the machines to make the machines and she didn’t have the slightest idea where to begin. We have a long way to go before we match Earth.
“And you would make a great theoretical magician,” Cat added. “You know magic, intimately, unlike so many of the old duffers who think they can make a career out of telling us mages what to do. You’ve already changed the world. What could you do if you concentrated on theory full-time?”
“I don’t know,” Emily said. She had ideas, but ... she hadn’t had a chance to try to turn them into reality. It shouldn’t be that hard to craft a teleport spell, now she’d cracked the secret of setting up temporary portals. “I can try and find out.”
“And the first thing you’re going to do is try and find a solution to your current problem,” Cat said. “And if you give up ...”
“You’ll beat me?” Emily met his eyes. She wanted — she needed — to be utterly convincing. “If you do, I’ll castrate you.”
“No,” Cat said. He looked down. “I’ll give up, too.”
On me, Emily thought, morbidly. Cat had made it clear, more than once, that they couldn’t have a long-term relationship. She didn’t pretend to understand why — it was something to do with his family — but it grated more than she cared to admit. She wanted a relationship that was more than just sex. You’ll go and leave me behind.
“I won’t give up again,” she promised. Now she could tell that the depression was unnatural, it was easier to drive it out of her mind. “And we will find a cure.”
“Good.” Cat smiled at her. “Very good.”
He clapped his hands. “Her Most Gracious Majesty has invited us — yes, both of us — to dinner in her chambers and a council of war.” He made a show of looking at the clock. “You’re expected there in an hour or so. I do trust that’s enough time to get dressed.”
Emily flushed. “And what would you have done if I’d stayed in bed?”
“Picked you up and carried you there,” Cat said. It was impossible to tell if he meant it. “Or maybe we would have held the dinner in here instead.”
“I’ll be there,” Emily said. An hour ... she didn’t need an hour. It wasn’t as if she intended to wear a dress that was impossible to put on, let alone take off, without help. She’d never understood why the aristocratic women insisted on wearing clothes that made going to the toilet an utter nightmare, although she supposed they imposed a barrier between them and their male partners. “I assume Alassa has taken her father’s rooms?”
“Indeed. She has,” Cat said. He gave an expansive shrug. “They are hers by right, are they not?”
Emily shrugged. King Randor and Queen Marlena had lived apart, as if they merely shared an apartment rather than being man and wife. She could understand the need for some distance from one’s spouse, although there were limits ... she wondered, knowing it was none of her business, just how Jade would cope. Perhaps that was why King Randor had only ever had one legitimate child. The royal couplings were so bound up in ceremony that Marlena had been too tense to conceive. Emily didn’t blame her. She would hate to have the entire court know when she slept with her husband or when she was on her period ...
Jade’s a man, she reminded herself. It helped that Jade and Alassa were a love match, rather than an arranged marriage. They’ll expect something different from him.
“I’ll be there,” Emily said. She glanced towards the washroom. “And you can get out.”
Cat rose, giving her a sweeping bow. “No regression,” he said. “Do you want me to send a maid into the room? Or ask Lady Barb to come back?”
“No, thank you,” Emily said. She really didn’t need help to get dressed. And she’d never been comfortable with having maids waiting on her hand and foot. “But you can wait outside if you like.”
“Shout if you need me.” Cat headed for the door. “And Emily ...”
Emily glanced at him. “Yes?”
“You’re strong,” Cat said. He sounded as if he was trying to be reassuring, although he didn’t quite know how. “You’ll get through this. We will find a solution.”
Yes, Emily promised herself, silently. Cat left the room, closing the door behind him. We will.
Chapter Three

The washroom was more than just a washroom, although it was clear that it had been designed for someone with magic or an unlimited supply of servants. King Randor and his ancestors had never seen the value of something as simple as hot and cold running water and, while Alassa did understand its importance, she could and did use magic to heat the water for her bath. Emily looked at the metal tub, feeling a pang of wistfulness, then pushed the thought out of her head. She’d always felt bad about asking servants to carry water from the kitchens to her bathroom and now ...
Ask Cat to heat the water later, she told herself, as she slipped off her nightdress and examined herself in the mirror. We can share a bath and ...
The thought made her feel ... she wasn’t sure how it made her feel. She’d always assumed that she would leave Zangaria as soon as the civil war was over and go to Void to take up her promised apprenticeship. There wouldn’t be much time for a relationship while her mentor taught her advanced magic. Lady Barb had made that clear when they’d talked through Emily’s options, pointing out Emily would be very busy for at least two years. Cat might not wait for her ... no, he wouldn’t wait for her. Emily had no illusions about their long-term prospects as a couple. They simply didn’t exist. He’d made that clear.
And he doesn’t want to babysit me either, Emily thought. He made that clear too.
She pushed the thought out of her mind as she studied herself in the mirror. The healers had done a good job. Physically, she looked little different than the girl who’d left Whitehall four months ago. She was stronger and healthier than she’d been on Earth, thanks to Sergeant Miles and Lady Barb; her skin looked unblemished, without the scars and pockmarks that would have marked her out as a member of the lower classes. Her skin was still pale, she noted sourly; it was patchy-white in places where the regrown skin had yet to take on a natural color. And her bottom was tinted red.
Emily felt her cheeks grow red too as she examined the damage. Beating wives was perfectly legal on the Nameless World, but it was almost unknown amongst magicians. A husband who beat a magical wife would be lucky if she only hexed him into the next world. But now ... Emily’s heart clenched as she realized what Cat had been trying to teach her. She had to regain some power for herself, no matter how, or she would be a puppet — or worse — to someone else. Perhaps stripping her of her magic had been Randor’s final desperate swing at her, something he knew she’d consider a fate worse than death. God knew he’d had reason to want to make her suffer.
She splashed cold water on her face, then walked into the next room. A handful of dresses waited for her on a rack. Queen Marlena had selected them ... thankfully, she’d finally come to understand that Emily simply didn’t like elaborate dresses she couldn’t put on herself. Emily pulled on a pair of silken undergarments, then selected a simple dress and pulled it over her head. It felt strange against her skin, as if it was no longer what she wanted to wear. The temptation to change it for a set of magician’s robes was almost overwhelming.
But I’m not a magician any longer, she thought, as she brushed her hair and donned a pair of shoes. She hesitated before removing the snake-bracelet from its drawer and snapping it into place. I’m ... I don’t know what I am.
She glanced at herself in the mirror, then headed back into the bedroom and out the door. Cat was leaning against the wall, reading a penny-dreadful with a lurid cover. Emily lifted her eyebrows as Cat hastily put the book to one side. She was surprised that Cat was reading a book about the adventures of a combat sorcerer, one written by someone who clearly had never been a combat sorcerer. Cat shouldn’t have had any trouble picking out the many — many — inaccuracies in the text.
Cat cocked his head at her. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Emily said. She nodded to herself. “Shall we go?”
“Of course.” Cat held out his arm and she took it. “Let us be off.”
The castle felt ... different these days, Emily noted as they walked down the long stone corridor. King Randor was dead and Alassa had already started putting her stamp on her ancestral home. Chunks of the castle had been destroyed in the final battle, but repairs were already well underway. She couldn’t help wondering how many of the royal family’s secrets had been exposed by the fighting. Randor had an entire network of secret passages and chambers that might have been revealed. Alassa might not even know the full extent of them.
Her father might have told her in confidence, Emily thought, as they passed a pair of courtiers. Was it her imagination or were they staring at her? Or she might have to get Jade and Cat to break the protections and open the passageways by force.
“There have been some changes,” Cat commented. “And a few things have stayed the same.”
Emily nodded. The courtiers, already sensitive to the ever-shifting political climate, had exchanged their hyper-masculinized outfits for something a little more sedate. Randor had presided over a court where the male virtues were encouraged — Emily had heard that he’d allowed several noblemen to duel over petty offenses in front of the whole court — but Alassa clearly had other ideas. It wouldn’t do to have noblemen flexing their pectorals in front of the queen and her consort. Emily’s lips twitched at the thought. The courtiers might fancy themselves swordsmen, but Jade would eat them for breakfast. Lady Barb would eat them for breakfast. There was a world of difference between a controlled duel between swordsmen, following rules laid down by duelists, and a real fight. She’d  learned that the hard way.
She kept her face impassive as they entered Alassa’s private chambers. There were no guards on the doors, but that didn’t mean the chambers were unprotected. Technically, Alassa should have had someone on the doors, even if they were nothing more than a show of strength. Emily wondered if the guards had been sent away for the night or, more worryingly, if Alassa didn’t have anything like enough soldiers and armsmen. The civil war had been costly, particularly in its final weeks. It had also set off a series of smaller conflicts across the country.
“Emily,” Alassa said. She sat at the head of the table, wearing a long white dress. It was cut to show off her swelling belly. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You too,” Emily said. She felt a lump in her throat as she looked up and down the simple table. Jade, Lady Barb, Cat ... a friend, a lover and a mentor. “Is Imaiqah ...?”
“Still in bed,” Alassa said. There was no hint of condemnation in her voice, but Emily heard it anyway. “The healers say she won’t be out of it for another week, at least.”
Emily felt a stab of guilt. Imaiqah had been stabbed with a cursed blade two weeks ago, during the peace conference that had been nothing more than cover for a sneak attack. She’d been incredibly lucky to survive long enough to reach the healers. Emily swore under her breath for not asking sooner. She was powerless, but at least she was alive and mobile. Imaiqah was trapped in bed. And she’d been Emily’s first real friend.
“I’m glad to see you, too,” Jade said. “It’s been too long.”
“Too long,” Emily agreed. When had she seen Jade last? Before the desperate ride to Alexis? She couldn’t remember if he’d looked in on her when she’d been recovering from the final battle. It wouldn’t have been proper for him to visit without an invitation. “I’ve missed you all.”
“Take a seat,” Alassa said. “The maids are already on their way.”
“And the vultures are gathering outside,” Jade added. “We haven’t had a private dinner for weeks.”
“Ouch,” Emily said. The monarch was not supposed to eat alone. He — no, she — was meant to either eat in the Great Hall, where the courtiers could see her, or invite a handful of favorites to eat with her in a smaller dining room. Anyone who wasn’t invited would feel slighted. “You can’t even share breakfast together?”
“Only every so often.” Alassa smiled, but it didn’t quite touch her eyes. “We don’t get any privacy these days.”
“We’ll leave you alone after dinner,” Cat offered, mischievously. “Lady Barb and I can test our swordsmanship. Emily can referee.”
“It might be better if you stayed here and we went elsewhere,” Jade said. “But we have other problems at the moment.”
Emily looked up as the doors opened, allowing a trio of maids to wheel a trolley into the chamber. She recognized Mouse — judging by her tunic, the maid had been promoted for her service during the civil war — but the other two were strangers. Mouse gave Emily a shy smile as the food was placed on the table, then hurried away at Alassa’s quiet dismissal. Emily took a breath, feeling her stomach rumble as she smelt the stew. It was something she would have expected to eat at Whitehall, not in Zangaria. King Randor’s tastes had always leaned towards overcooked roast meats and little else. Alassa had more refined tastes.
“They’ll be saying things about you serving the food,” Jade said, as Alassa picked up the ladle. “I can do it ...”
“They’ll be saying things about you serving the food, too,” Alassa said. “I think I can trust everyone in this room to keep the dread secret to themselves.”
Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Alassa wasn’t joking. If the courtiers heard that Alassa had served her husband dinner, they’d be saying that her husband was really in charge of the kingdom. It was stupid — and Emily found it hard to accept that anyone was stupid enough to believe it — but it was true. And if they heard that Jade was doing the serving instead, they’d be saying unflattering things about Jade’s masculinity instead. 
And none of them would be complaining if he carved the meat, she reminded herself. King Randor had always carved his own meat, a subtle demonstration of his power. They’re just ... idiots.
“Just start eating,” Alassa said, as she put a bowl in front of Emily. “And we can talk while we eat.”
“Thank you,” Emily said. She took a bite of her stew. It tasted of chicken and cream, with a hint of spice. “Did the cooks rebel when you asked them to make stew?”
Alassa smiled. “They had to look up the recipe,” she said. “But then, they had to make enough stew for the entire castle.”
“Parasites, the lot of them,” Jade said. “You should put them to work.”
Alassa sighed. “I wish I disagreed.”
Emily looked up. “What happened?”
“Oh, a bunch of noblemen swore loyalty to me as soon as father’s death was confirmed,” Alassa said. “And I insisted they send a child to stay in the castle, just in case.”
Hostages, Emily thought. “And what are you doing with them?”
“Nothing,” Jade said. “They’re just hanging around, getting into trouble. I had to speak quite sharply to one of the lads when he” — his face reddened — “well, that’s a tale for another time.”
“You could set up a college for them,” Emily said. “Or teach them some basic skills and suchlike.”
“That would keep them out of my hair,” Alassa agreed. “They’re not the worst, though. I have a bunch of noblemen with titles and nothing else pestering me for everything from money to lands. You should have killed Viscount Hansel and his brother. They just keep demanding rewards.”
Emily stared. “For what?”
“Siding with me, it seems.” Alassa’s smile was predatory. “And never mind the fact they tried to betray me.”
“They don’t see it that way,” Jade said. “They think they did the right thing.”
Emily winced. Viscount Hansel and his brother had formed an alliance with the Levellers when the civil war had come to their lands. And then — and then — they’d been foolish enough to turn on their allies the moment the bullets had stopped flying. Emily had stripped them of their power, but she’d saved their lives. She rather suspected that the pigheaded noblemen would have preferred her to have killed them instead. A nobleman without lands or wealth had nothing, save for his title, to set himself apart from the common herd.
“And you can’t give them anything to do,” Emily mused. It wasn’t a question. Viscount Hansel was useless, as far as she could tell. “There’s nowhere you can send him where he wouldn’t cause any harm?”
“I haven’t found anywhere,” Alassa said. “And I couldn’t trust him anywhere important.”
Emily nodded in agreement. “How’s the kingdom?”
“The good news is that father killed a number of the more ... problematic nobles,” Alassa said. Her lips quirked into a humorless smile. “Many of their relatives were purged, too, clearing the way for reform. But others ... the smart ones are trying to hold on to what little power they can keep, while the dumb ones are causing problems. And that’s just the noble snakes in the grass. The Levellers have been causing problems as well.”
“I’m not surprised,” Emily said.
“They’ve been building up their influence over the last week or so,” Alassa added. “I think they’ll have a majority in the Assembly, even if I put forward candidates of my own. And then we might run into more problems. No taxation without representation, they say.”
And they didn’t get that from me, Emily thought. It had been part of the reform movement’s platform well before she’d come to the Nameless World. And they’re right.
“At least you can work with them,” Jade said. “And the coalition is likely to start fracturing now the war is over.”
“We will see,” Alassa said. She met Emily’s eyes. “I may need you — or Imaiqah — back in Cockatrice soon enough.”
Emily made a face. “You don’t trust them to handle their own affairs?”
“I don’t trust them to handle my affairs,” Alassa said. “And they might listen to you.”
“I’ll do my best,” Emily said. It would be hard to do anything once the truth leaked out. A sorceress was normally treated as a man, to all intents and purposes, but a noblewoman without magic was a very different kettle of fish. Emily understood why, even if she didn’t want to admit it. What did a sheltered noblewoman know about the real world? A nobleman might at least be expected to know something. “What about Alicia?”
Alassa grimaced, as if she’d bitten into something sour. “In light of her ... service ... I’ve confirmed her as Baroness Winter Flower. Her ... brat ... has been formally acknowledged by Lord Burrows as his get, so ... there shouldn’t be any problems from that quarter. I’ve made it clear to Alicia” — the name was almost a curse — “that the child is not to be made aware of his true parentage. That’s how civil wars start.”
“She did help us win the war,” Emily pointed out. “We couldn’t have broken into the castle without her.”
“I know,” Alassa said. Her mouth was set in a determined line. “I gave her everything she could reasonably expect.”
And probably more than she did, Emily thought. Alassa hated Alicia, even though Alicia hadn’t had a choice when King Randor took her to his bed. No one, including the king himself, had expected her to get pregnant. And she’d given birth to a little boy ... Emily had no doubt that Randor would have put Alassa aside if his daughter hadn’t been his formally-acknowledged heir. Alassa had no doubt of it, too. She could have had Alicia’s entire family executed and no one would have stood in her way.
“Things will settle down soon,” Emily said. 
“We have been doing everything in our power to calm them down,” Cat agreed. He looked a little bored. “I dare say the kingdom will be safe enough, or as safe as it ever gets, by the time the little one is born.”
Alassa looked down at her chest. “We will see,” she said. “But I do intend to pass the kingdom to my child when the time comes, intact.”
“Change is inevitable,” Emily said, quietly. She finished her stew and put the bowl to one side. Beside her, Cat had already finished. “You just have to ride the waves into the future.”
“And towards an unknown destination,” Alassa said. They’d spent hours, once upon a time, talking about how monarchies had changed over the years on Earth. “My child will inherit a throne that means something.”
She looked around the room. “Is everyone finished?”
Emily had to smile. No one was going to say no, now the queen herself had finished. It wasn’t as if they couldn’t have something else, later. The castle kitchens were open at all hours. A servant could be summoned to bring food at any moment. It was just like living in a fancy hotel.
But with worse accommodations, Emily thought, as Alassa stood. The castle would probably get poor reviews from visitors. And no hot or cold running water.
“We’ll go into the Smoking Room,” Alassa said. She looked directly at Emily. “And then ... we have to decide what to do about you.”
Emily felt her heart sink. “Yes,” she said. Was she already being sidelined? Or was she just too sensitive? “I have to decide what to do.”
Chapter Four

Emily had never been in King Randor’s Smoking Room before, not even when she’d been a noblewoman in good standing with the king. It was accepted practice, for better or worse, for men and women to separate themselves after dinner, with the men going to the king’s chambers and the women staying with the queen. Emily couldn’t help looking around with interest as she followed Alassa into the room, noting how the armchairs had been carefully placed to give the suggestion that one of them — higher than the others — was a throne. She felt an odd little pang as she realized just how friendless Randor had been, even before the civil war had broken out. There had been no one he could meet as an equal.
“So,” Alassa said, once the maids had served drinks and withdrawn. “What do we know?”
Lady Barb glanced at Emily, silently asking permission. Emily nodded.
“I performed an extensive series of tests,” Lady Barb said. “The results were ... odd. Emily should have magic, but she either doesn’t have magic or she is simply unable to access the magic she has. I tend to believe the latter as the snake bracelet” — she pointed a finger at the bracelet on Emily’s wrist — “remains intact. The spell holding it in place may be drawing on the Death Viper’s inherent magic, but it might also be drawing power from Emily herself.”
“Which would be channeled through the familiar bond,” Jade mused. “Are we sure the spell is firmly in place?”
Lady Barb gave him a sharp look. “Right now, the only thing we can be certain of is that we can’t be certain of anything. The snake may remain a bracelet for the rest of time or it may revert to normality in the next five minutes. Frankly” — she turned her gaze to Emily — “I would suggest not wearing the bracelet until you get your powers back. You cannot rely on the bond to save your life.”
Emily’s fingers played with the bracelet uneasily. A Death Viper’s mere skin was extremely dangerous. A single touch might be enough to cost someone a finger — or worse. She was supposed to be safe — the familiar bond ensured that Aurelius couldn’t hurt her, directly or indirectly — but was that still true? If the snake reverted to normal, it was quite possible that she’d lose her arm. And if Aurelius bit her, she’d be dead before she could hack off her own arm to save her life. Cold logic told her that Lady Barb was right ...
... But she didn’t want to give up the snake.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, finally.
Lady Barb gave her a long look, then addressed the room. “I believe the curse in question was a death curse, powered by the king’s own death. It will not be easy to remove.”
“Shit,” Jade said, quietly.
“It is possible that the curse is feeding on Emily’s magic to the point that she has nothing to spare for anything else,” Lady Barb continued. “That is not ... unprecedented, although I haven’t heard of a magician actually being cursed in such a manner. It normally happens when someone has too many wards and other protections in place and discovers that they have drained their power to the point that they cannot even cancel the spells they have already cast. In such circumstances, it is fairly easy for an outsider to dismantle a handful of spells ...”
“Emily doesn’t have any wards or protections on her.” Cat’s voice was blunt, his face grim. “I would have noticed.”
“Quite,” Lady Barb agreed, tartly. She didn’t like being interrupted. “The curse appears to be designed to hide itself as well as suppress Emily’s magic. Doing both appears to be consuming all her power.”
“It was also trying to convince me that the situation is hopeless,” Emily said. The depression was still there, like a fog that threatened to fall over her thoughts. “It doesn’t want to be removed.”
“Most curses are designed to make them hard to remove,” Lady Barb said. “This one is clearly no exception.”
“But you don’t know.” Alassa sounded tired. “The snake’s own magic could be powering the transfiguration spell. Emily ... Emily might have lost her powers permanently.”
No, Emily thought.
“We are in uncharted waters,” Lady Barb admitted, “but the spells would not say that Emily has magic if she didn’t. Someone who lost their powers permanently would not be a magician.”
Jade sighed. “If she burned herself out ... what then?”
“There would be very visible damage,” Lady Barb said, curtly. “And she would be on the verge of going insane. She is neither damaged nor insane.”
“Just depressed,” Emily said, wryly.
Lady Barb cleared her throat. “The real danger is that there will be a build-up of magic within Emily’s mind. The curse may manage to absorb and channel the excess power or it may not. If it can’t ... there might be an explosion.”
“Which would kill me,” Emily said. She sucked in her breath. “How long do I have?”
“I don’t know.” Lady Barb looked pained. “You were — you are — immensely powerful for your age. It will take time for your power levels to reach the danger zone, even without the curse draining your magic. I simply don’t know.”
“But that would make the curse more noticeable,” Jade said. “We’d be able to get a proper look at the spellwork.”
“That’s true,” Lady Barb agreed.
“We could try to drain the magic ourselves, somehow,” Cat said. “There are rituals ...”
“Which would require Emily’s participation,” Jade pointed out. “Without it ... we’d need necromancy. And that would be utterly disastrous.”
Emily nodded. “The risk isn’t worth taking.”
“It isn’t a risk,” Lady Barb said. “We know the results will be disastrous.”
“What if we’re wrong?” Cat leaned forward. “We’re assuming the curse is preventing Emily from using her magic, right? What if it’s nothing more than a very powerful compulsion? She might have simply been compelled to be unable to use her magic. That would explain why we can’t get a good look at it.”
“It’s possible,” Lady Barb said. “If the curse is actually a form of soul magic ...”
She looked at Alassa. “How did your father learn magic?”
“I don’t know,” Alassa said. “I assume he had tutors, back before he took the throne. He never went to Whitehall. I think he was pretty reluctant to send me to Whitehall, even though” — her face colored, slightly — “I was a little brat.”
A smiled played around Jade’s lips. “I’m glad he sent you.”
“Me too.” Alassa shared a look with her husband, then glanced up. “I rarely saw him use magic. I never had the impression that he had designed and built the wards that protected the castle. Even at the end ... an experienced magician would have known better than to experiment with necromancy. I truly believe he wanted the best for his kingdom. I simply think we had different ideas on what was the best for the kingdom.”
She looked down at the floor, her eyes sad. Emily felt a pang of sympathy. Alassa had had a father, even if he’d treated her as a pawn for most of her life. It couldn’t be easy to turn against one’s parent, no matter the cause. King Randor hadn’t been the best father in the world, but at least he’d been there. Emily’s father was a mystery she knew she’d never solve. Alassa — on some level — had to regret her father’s death.
Cat had no doubts. “He would have drained the kingdom dry if he hadn’t been stopped.”
Alassa shook her head, slowly. “Father was hardly a theoretical magician. I don’t believe he ever modified a spell to suit himself. The handful of spells I saw him use were all fairly standard, the sort of spells we all  learned when we were sixteen. Either someone taught him how to use the spell, which isn’t too likely, or he  learned it from a forbidden book.”
“I would hate to be the sorcerer who told a powerful king that he couldn’t learn a spell, even if it was illegal,” Cat commented.
“Death curses are forbidden for a reason,” Lady Barb said. “Any sorcerer powerful and skilled enough to cast one would understand the dangers.”
“My father would have understood the dangers,” Alassa said, stiffly.
“He also knew he was about to die,” Emily pointed out. “Why not take one last swing at me?”
“It was an impressive feat,” Cat noted. “But also one that sacrificed all prospect of him surviving.”
Alassa slapped her knee. “The point is that the knowledge had to come from somewhere,” she said. “And I don’t think anyone taught him how to cast death curses. I think we should start by probing his book collection, the one he kept in his secret chambers. If we find the curse written down, if we can study the spellwork without putting Emily’s life in danger, we should be able to devise a counterspell.”
“The king — or someone — also made the cursed blade that nearly killed Imaiqah,” Jade added, grimly. “If we can find the person who made the knife, we might also find the person who taught the king the spell.”
“We might.” Lady Barb didn’t sound confident. “Forging a cursed blade isn’t actually illegal. Whoever forged the knife might just have been following orders.”
And “I was only following orders” is a perfectly legitimate defense, Emily thought. No one on the Nameless World would blame a liegeman for following orders, even if they involved looting, rape and atrocities that would make a necromancer blanch. As long as Randor gave the orders, the people who carried them out cannot be touched.
“Checking the king’s book collection is probably a good place to start,” she said, feeling a flicker of hope. The problem wasn’t intractable. “He had to get his lessons from somewhere.”
“We can also check the libraries in Whitehall and Mountaintop,” Lady Barb continued. “And I should be able to get access to the Halfway House’s library, too ...”
Emily felt her heart sink. MageMaster Zed would probably let her inspect Mountaintop’s vast collection of books, particularly the ones his predecessor had hidden from the rest of the world, but she doubted Grandmaster Gordian would be anything like so accommodating. Emily had left Whitehall on bad terms and she knew, all too well, that Gordian disliked and distrusted her. If he knew what had happened, if he knew she was powerless ... what would he do? She was no longer his student. He might just deny her permission to return to Whitehall to consult the library.
Or he might tell everyone, Emily thought. How many people will want to capture — or kill — me once they know I’m powerless?
“There’s the handful of books the Grandmaster left me,” Emily temporized. The books had been damaged, when her house had been invaded, but she didn’t think any of the texts had been stolen or destroyed. “And we can probably get in touch with Mountaintop.”
“That’s something, at least.” Alassa gave Emily a sharp look. She’d always been perceptive — and she knew something was wrong. “And Whitehall?”
“I’d prefer not to get in touch with anyone at Whitehall,” Emily said. She still had friends there — Frieda and the Gorgon would be sitting their exams now — but she didn’t want them involved. Gordian was probably looking for an excuse to expel the pair of them. “That can wait until we’re desperate.”
Alassa arched an eyebrow. “I thought we already were desperate?”
“We can check the books here first,” Emily said. “The king won’t have let the really dangerous ones out of his chambers, will he?”
“I don’t know,” Alassa said. “It’s a shame the necromantic rite is so easy.”
Emily nodded. There were dark rituals and spells that took years to learn — years when the prospective caster had plenty of time to realize the dangers — but necromancy was so dangerous because practically anyone with magic could do it. A weak magician could boost his power in an instant, if he was prepared to pay the price of utter madness. Randor had been a formidable personality, one of the strongest men Emily had ever met, but he’d eventually fallen to madness anyway. She’d read books speculating that necromancers went mad because they were already a little insane before they performed the rite for the first time. It wasn’t something she wanted to test.
But you’d have to be insane to want to use the rite, she thought. Anyone sane enough to realize that it would be a really bad idea wouldn’t do it.
Lady Barb frowned. “Could he have devised it on his own?”
“I don’t think so,” Alassa said. “But I could be wrong.”
Jade nodded. “What other possibilities do we have?”
Demons, Emily thought. She pushed that thought aside, hard. Better to remain powerless than rely on demons for anything. Demons simply could not be trusted. There would be something wrong with her new powers, if she risked making a deal with a demon. And it would come back to bite her, hard. I can’t trust a demon.
“We could try to overpower the curse,” Cat said. “If the spell really is a compulsion, couldn’t we compel her to break it? Command her to use magic? Or simply to break the spell?”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” Lady Barb said. The look she shot Cat was far from benevolent. “At best, it would be completely pointless. Emily could not be compelled to do something she couldn’t do. And, at worst, you’d break her mind. People have died because sorcerers tried to counter compulsion spells with more compulsion spells.”
Emily swallowed, hard. “The risk would be to me ...”
“And everyone else, if you went mad.” Lady Barb didn’t sound happy. Emily suspected Cat was going to get an earful later. “We don’t even understand what’s happened to you. We shouldn’t try anything desperate unless we run out of other options.”
“Tomorrow, we search the king’s books,” Jade said. “And then we decide what to do next.”
“Tomorrow,” Emily echoed.
Alassa sucked in a breath. “There’s another problem,” she said. “The White Council will be sending a team of investigators to find out what actually happened during my father’s final moments. You might have to testify.”
“Oh.” Emily wasn’t sure what, if anything, she could tell them. “When are they coming?”
“I’m not sure,” Alassa said. “Father is dead, so urgency has been replaced with a bureaucratic desire to ensure that the inquest is as impartial as possible. I can probably stall for a while ...”
“Tell them to get lost,” Cat suggested.
“That would be a diplomatic nightmare,” Alassa said. Her tone suggested she wanted to do just that. “I don’t need the headache when we have too many other problems to worry about.”
Emily felt her stomach shifting uncomfortably. What was she going to tell the inquest? It would be difficult to answer their questions, even if they kept focused on the final battle. And she knew, without having to ask, that they’d widen the scope of the investigation as much as possible. They’d want to know how she managed to open a portal into the Tower of Alexis and rescue her friends without months — if not years — of careful preparation. Hell, the mere act of creating a stable — and temporary — portal was remarkable. She would find it hard to evade their questions, let alone conceal her lack of power. And once the inquest knew, the world would know.
“I’ll see what I can tell them,” Emily said, finally. She had assumed that she’d leave the kingdom and go straight into her apprenticeship, once the civil war was over. “But ...”
She looked at Lady Barb. “I could ask Void ...”
“Don’t,” Lady Barb said. “Whatever you do, do not tell Void.”
Emily blinked. Void had saved her life, practically adopted her ... even promised her an apprenticeship after she left Whitehall. She had every reason to be grateful to him. She knew Lady Barb hated Void, with reason, but ...
She found her voice. “But he might know how to help.”
Lady Barb shook her head. “Emily, if you never listen to anything else I tell you, listen to this. Do not tell Void anything, not now. If he asks, if he calls you to him ... you can tell him then, but not before. You do not want him to know until the problem is solved.”
“But ...” Emily shook her head. “He might know ...”
“Don’t tell him,” Lady Barb repeated. “You do not want him involved.”
“He could always shelter Emily,” Cat suggested. “If she left the kingdom, she wouldn’t have to testify ...”
“No,” Lady Barb said.
She sat back in her chair. “Tomorrow, Emily and I will go through the book collection. And then ... we’ll do what seems best.”
“Very well.” Alassa stood. “Jade and I have plans for this evening, if you don’t mind ...”
Emily nodded. “I have to go see Imaiqah,” she said. “And then I need to go to bed.”
“I’ll walk you down,” Cat said. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I know,” Emily said. She’d hoped that Lady Barb would make the offer. She wanted to talk to the older woman alone. “And then ...”
She shook her head as she stood, brushing down her dress. “Let’s go,” she said. “I’ll see everyone else at breakfast?”
“I have to be in the garrison before dawn,” Jade said. “Cat, are you still coming with me?”
“Of course,” Cat said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Emily felt a pang, even though she understood. “I’ll see you later, then,” she said. “And thank you.”
“We will work our way through this, somehow,” Alassa said. “I promise.”
But that, Emily knew, was a promise Alassa might not be able to keep. 

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