The Zero Equation (The Zero Enigma Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

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

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

  “He swore an oath,” I reminded him.

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

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

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

  I met his eyes. “This has to stop.”

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

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

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

  “Yes, Dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “It was only once,” I protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “It isn't fair,” I muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Me too,” Dad said.

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

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

  Chapter Six

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “I told you that,” Dad said, quietly.

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

  But Fairuza ... Fairuza was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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