The Zero Equation (The Zero Enigma Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  I shook my head. “No, sir.”

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

  “Yes, sir,” I agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “They want it back,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Thank you, sir,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ... And Akin was standing next to her.

  Chapter Nine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Rose frowned. “Confront Cat’s father?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Yeah,” Akin said.

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

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

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

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

  Akin grinned. “Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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