The Princess in the Tower

by Christopher Nuttall

  Emily shook her head. “Alassa is my friend.”

  “And you got her out of her prison,” Void told her. “I’d say you did all you needed to do.”

  He waved a hand towards the men. “This war–their war–is none of your concern. It doesn’t matter to you who sits on the throne, let alone what they do to their people. Your concern–your sole concern–is developing your power and facing the necromancers. Not using tricks that reveal far too much to help one side in a petty little power struggle.”

  “This isn’t a petty little struggle,” Emily said. “The future is at stake.”

  “Cockatrice is a small barony in a relatively small country, one of many,” Void reminded her, coldly. “Whatever happens here will not affect us, Emily. Nor will it affect the enemies of everything. The necromancers will not care who wins this conflict. They will look, instead, for ways to break through the chokepoints and overrun the Allied Lands.”

  And I might have shown them how, Emily thought. A full-fledged necromancer, perhaps one who duplicated Dua Kepala’s trick to keep himself relatively sane, wouldn’t need a battery to open a freestanding portal. If they ever learn to work together, or one of them comes out on top, they could open portals into the rear of the Allied Lands and invade.

  “It doesn’t matter who sits on the throne,” Void repeated. “Our concern is elsewhere.”

  “Randor has to be stopped,” Emily said.

  “But not by us,” Void said. “There are reasons we senior magicians are not supposed to interfere. The Compact binds us. You may not have broken the letter of the law, Emily, but you have certainly evaded the spirit. Your status as a baroness may give you a legitimate reason to meddle, yet...”

  He shook his head. “I believe I offered you an apprenticeship,” he said. “It’s time we began.”

  Emily felt her heart sink. She wanted the apprenticeship, she wanted to learn what Void could teach her, but she couldn’t leave her friends in the lurch. Alassa, Jade and the others might be able to prevail without her, yet she couldn’t take that for granted. Cockatrice would fight for her, perhaps, but not for Cat or Imaiqah. She didn’t dare leave.

  Void held out a hand. “Come,” he said. “Leave them to their scrabble.”

  “No,” Emily said. Her heart started to pound. “Are you...are you saying that it’s now or never?”

  “You shouldn’t be involved in this, Emily,” Void said. His face was very firm. “At best, it is nothing more than a distraction from your true purpose.”

  Emily forced herself to meet his dark eyes. “And if I refuse to come now, will you take me when I do come?”

  Void looked back at her for a long moment. “If I choose to wait for you, it will not be forever.”

  “I understand,” Emily said.

  “No, you don’t,” Void told her, bluntly.

  “I can’t leave my friends in the lurch,” Emily said. It was growing harder to hold his gaze. “I...they need me.”

  “Maybe,” Void said.

  He stepped back, breaking eye contact. When he spoke, his voice was so toneless that she couldn’t even begin to read his emotions. “You have a year, no more. And when I call you a second time, there will be no third chance. Come then or don’t come at all.”

  Emily bowed her head, wondering if she’d made a mistake even as she knew there was no choice at all. She didn’t want to abandon her friends. She couldn’t abandon her friends, even if it meant giving up the apprenticeship. She’d made a commitment to help Alassa and she would see it through.

  “I understand.” Her throat was dry. “When this is over, I will come to you.”

  Void’s lips twitched into something that might–charitably–be called a smile. “I don’t think you do,” he said. “And I think you will have to pay a price for your involvement in their affairs. And, even if there is no obvious price, it will earn you more enemies. I understand why you want to stay, Emily, but people like us cannot afford to be ruled by our hearts.”

  He lifted one hand in salute, then vanished in a flash of light.

  Emily stared at the spot where he’d been, unsure what had happened...unsure, even, if she was making a mistake. Void was old enough, she thought, to recall the days of chaos that followed the Faerie War. He’d seen kingdoms rise and fall. To him, perhaps, Zangaria was just another country that had risen to power and was now on the verge of sinking again...

  ...But to her, it was a land of real people. People she’d met, people she knew...people who didn’t deserve to have their world torn apart by kings and noblemen fighting for power. The common folk didn’t deserve to have their homes destroyed, their men slaughtered or conscripted, their women and children raped or murdered...they deserved a chance to live for themselves. Alassa was their only hope. And Emily was doing the right thing.

  Wasn’t she?

  Epilogue

  “SIR XAVIER SENDS HIS COMPLIMENTS, YOUR Majesty,” Nightingale said. “The Crown Princess and her followers have been reported at Swanhaven.”

  He stopped talking, fast, as Randor glared at him. Alassa had been reported at Swanhaven, had she? How long had she been there? It had been a week since the planned execution had gone so badly wrong, a week that could easily have been used to cause a lot of trouble...he silently admired Sir Xavier for being smart enough to send the message through the wretched Nightingale. No doubt his spies had told him that the king was in a foul mood.

  “Swanhaven,” he repeated. “And what are they doing there?”

  “Preparing for war, Your Majesty,” Nightingale said. “They don’t have the men to succeed...”

  “Be silent,” Randor growled.

  He stood and started to pace the chamber, thinking hard. The Noblest–damn them all–had somehow managed to conspire with Alassa. There could be no other explanation for their attack, mounted at the worst possible time. Sir Roger had given them a bloody nose, beating back their attack on the city’s walls, but they’d still distracted his men by presenting them with two problems. Now, half the city was in revolt and the other half was only kept under control by the presence of his men. And even though the Noblest had lost the first battle, he was morbidly certain his castles were already under attack. They’d want to take and hold as much as they could before Randor rallied his troops and counterattacked.

  The losses were almost too great to comprehend. Matilda was dead; her allies, the Black Robes, hadn’t had the presence of mind to preserve her head before she lost too much blood and died. The Tower of Alexis had been badly damaged, his guards had taken a beating...and he looked weak. That, in many ways, was worst of all. His enemies would take heart, while his allies would begin to shuffle away. A king could not afford to look weak.

  “Stay still,” he barked at Nightingale, when the man started to shuffle nervously. “Don’t move a muscle!”

  He didn’t have to demand a map to visualize his country. Alassa held Swanhaven–probably Cockatrice too, by now–and she was just far enough from the Crown Lands to make it difficult for him to raid her territories without exposing his rear to the Noblest. There was a good chance they wouldn’t be able to strike at him–Sir Roger really had given them a painful lesson in the power of gunpowder weapons–but he couldn’t take it for granted. And yet, it would take Alassa time to build up an army of her own. He had time to strike at the Noblest himself...

  Unless something else changes, he thought. He’d thought the Tower was impregnable...and it had been, until someone–Emily–had changed the rules. Somehow, she’d opened a portal inside the Tower. Who knows what she’ll do next?

  His mind ran in circles. He could strike at the Noblest now; hell, he really had no choice but to strike now. They couldn’t be allowed time to regroup, finish taking his castles and ready themselves for another strike on the capital. But even a successful campaign against a rebel baron would risk exposing his rear to Alassa. If the campaign bogged down into a long hard slog, Alassa would attack and that would be the end. She was his dau
ghter. She would double-cross her allies in a heartbeat if that was what she had to do. He needed to win quickly.

  I need an advantage, he thought. An idea crossed his mind. It was dangerous, very dangerous. It would unite the Allied Lands against him if the secret ever got out. But it wouldn’t matter if he lost the war. Zangaria needed him. I will do whatever it takes to secure my throne.

  He glared at Nightingale. “Come with me,” he ordered. “And be quiet.”

  The secret passageway opened at his command. He could practically taste Nightingale’s excitement, mingled with fear, as they made their way into a set of hidden chambers that only Randor knew existed. Nightingale was right to be concerned, he thought wryly; it simply wasn’t healthy to know the secrets of a king. Randor had killed many, some probably innocent, just to make sure his secrets remained his own.

  He walked into the workroom and searched the table for the knife. It had been passed down through the generations, a remnant of the time when humanity had been forced to unleash the darkest of arts in a desperate bid for survival. The handle tingled against his palm as he picked it up, a faint sensation of unease running through him. His father and grandfather and all of his ancestors had known to study the blade, but not to use it. He was the first of his line to seriously consider it.

  Nightingale shuffled, uneasily, as Randor removed his armor. “Your Majesty...”

  Randor spun around and punched him in the stomach, hard. Nightingale doubled over, all the breath knocked out of him. Randor kicked him, watching dispassionately as his body fell to the stone floor. He hadn’t had a proper fight in years, not when very few men would actually try to beat him, and hurting Nightingale was almost satisfying. It wasn’t quite as good as he wanted–the crawler wasn’t even trying to fight back–but it felt good to let off a little frustration.

  “You live to serve me,” Randor growled, as he picked up the knife. The ritual was already shaped in his mind. “And you will serve me in death.”

  He slashed Nightingale’s throat. Red fire blazed around the blade, leaping through the stone and up into his mind. Randor screamed as flames burned through his thoughts, a surge of pain threatening to drag his mind into the next world; he wanted to draw back, he wanted to escape, but he knew it was already too late. Flames were all around him, burning his flesh and soul and...

  I am a king, Randor thought. He concentrated, gritting his teeth against the pain. I rule this kingdom. Every last man, woman and child is mine. And I can rule myself too.

  The magic was burning. He was on fire. And yet...slowly, very slowly, he regained control of his mind. The flames faded, but...he could still feel them, dancing along the edge of his mind. His thoughts felt fragile, as if they were on the verge of shattering–or burning–the moment he looked away. He kept concentrating, holding himself together by sheer force of will. His magic was his...

  ...And the power flowed through him.

  Randor opened his eyes, unsure when he’d closed them. His workroom was scorched and pitted, his clothes were charred rags, Nightingale’s body was ash...but his body was unharmed. Of course he was unharmed. It was his power. It could no more harm him than he could cut his own throat. It was his to command.

  He laughed, unsteadily, as he walked around the edge of the room. He’d never known what it was like to be a really powerful magician, not until now. And yet, he understood how to use magic. He could do anything, anything at all...as long as the power held up. But there would never be any shortage of victims. He snapped his fingers, focusing his mind. Robes materialized from nowhere, hiding his nakedness. He laughed, again. No one would know what he’d done until it was far too late.

  And, when he inspected himself in the mirror, he saw a pair of red eyes looking back.

  End of Book Fifteen

  Emily Will Return In:

  The Broken Throne

  Coming Soon.

  About the author

  Christopher G. Nuttall was born in Edinburgh, studied in Manchester, married in Malaysia and currently living in Scotland, United Kingdom with his wife and baby son. He is the author of twenty-six novels from various publishers and over fifty self-published novels.

  Current and forthcoming titles published by Twilight Times Books

  Schooled in Magic YA fantasy series

  Schooled in Magic — book 1

  Lessons in Etiquette — book 2

  A Study in Slaughter — book 3

  Work Experience — book 4

  The School of Hard Knocks — book 5

  Love’s Labor’s Won — book 6

  Trial By Fire — book 7

  Wedding Hells — book 8

  Infinite Regress — book 9

  Past Tense — book 10

  The Sergeant’s Apprentice — book 11

  Fists of Justice – book 12

  The Gordian Knot – book 13

  Graduation Day – book 14

  Alassa’s Tale – book 14.5

  The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire military SF series

  Barbarians at the Gates — book 1

  The Shadow of Cincinnatus — book 2

  The Barbarian Bride — book 3

  Chris has also produced The Empire’s Corps series, the Outside Context Problem series and many others. He is also responsible for two fan-made Posleen novels, both set in John Ringo’s famous Posleen universe. They can both be downloaded from his site.

  Website: http://www.chrishanger.net/

  Blog: http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ChristopherGNuttall

  The Family Shame

  Isabella Rubén is a traitor - at twelve years old.

  Disgraced, abandoned by her friends and shunned by her family, Isabella is sent into exile with scant hope of returning to her former home. Her destination, Kirkhaven Hall; a stone mansion miles from civilization, inhabited only by a pair of older exiles. Existence as she knew it is over.

  But as she tries to settle into Kirkhaven Hall, and a life far from the one she enjoyed before her fall from grace, she discovers that the hall has secrets. Intruders on the grounds, ghostly shadows moving at night ...

  ... and a plot that may destroy everything she once held dear.

  Dear Reader

  This story may require some explanation.

  I was midway through writing The Zero Curse when it crossed my mind that I could write a handful of stand-alone stories set in the Zero universe. A number of ideas occurred to me, some of which I plotted out at once, but I had to put them aside while I finished the first trilogy. I was, in fact, writing The Zero Equation when it occurred to me that I could hang an entire story on Isabella Rubén, allowing me to show that she was a more complex character than she might have appeared and, perhaps more importantly, allowing me to explore different aspects of the universe. The story in front of you is the result.

  If this is your first foray into the Zero universe, all you need to know is that twelve-year-old Isabella Rubén - manipulated by Stregheria Aguirre - betrayed her family to outside forces and, after the crisis was concluded, was summarily sentenced to exile. The story opens with her in a carriage, driving away from the only home she’s known ...

  ... And making her way into an uncertain future.

  As always, I welcome comments, feedback, and reviews.

  Christopher Nuttall

  Edinburgh, 2018

  Excerpt

  The Family Shame

  By Christopher Nuttall

  Prologue

  IT WAS A TRUTH OFTEN ACKNOWLEDGED, Lord Carioca Rubén thought grimly, that House Rubén was the oldest Great House in Shallot. House Rubén could trace its lineage all the way back to the Senatorial Families of the Eternal City, a claim that none of the other Great Houses could make. Indeed, House Rubén was also the only Great House to cling to the customs and traditions of a long-vanished world that had, as far as the rest of the city was concerned, outlived their usefulness long ago. He’d seen it, once, as pro
of that they were different, as proof that they were born to eventually take supreme power.

  Now, the traditions were a noose around his neck.

  He stood in the center of the Chamber of Judgement, his hands clasped behind his back as the arbiters took their places. Their faces were concealed behind black cloaks and powerful wards, their identities hidden even from the Patriarch himself. They would be men, of course, but beyond that ...? Carioca understood the logic behind the tradition - he would have tried to bribe or threaten the arbiters, if he knew who they were - and at one point he would have supported it. Now ... he would gladly throw tradition out of the window, if it would save his daughter’s life. He’d been very lucky that Isabella simply hadn’t been executed on the spot.

  “We have discussed the matter of Isabella Rubén at great length,” the lead arbiter said. His voice was muffled by the wards. No one, not even the other arbiters, would know who he was. A friend, an enemy ... or merely someone who’d lost confidence in Carioca’s leadership? “It is beyond doubt that she committed treason, against both the family and the kingdom itself. And that she acted without direction from a senior member of our family.”

  Carioca felt his heart clench. Isabella wouldn’t have been expected to defy a senior member of the family, if he’d ordered her to follow his instructions. She was twelve. She wasn’t expected to make decisions for herself. If she had even a flimsy excuse to blame her actions on someone older, wiser and more powerful than herself...

  “Worse, she chose to ally herself with Stregheria Aguirre,” the arbiter continued. “It is impossible to believe that she thought she was acting in the best interests of the family, or even that she was trying to secure the family’s future in the event of Crown Prince Henry’s coup succeeding. Isabella would have claimed power over the remainder of the Great Houses, assuming Stregheria Aguirre actually honored her side of the agreement, but there would be little left to rule. House Rubén would be left broken in the wake of the coup.”