(The Zero Enigma Book 6) The Family Pride

by Christopher Nuttall

  Chapter One

  The corridor leading to my father’s office seemed endless.

  Isabella and I used to joke, in happier times, that Father used magic to deliberately extend the corridor. It wasn’t impossible. House Rubén was so old, magic had seeped into the very bones of the mansion. The inside was bigger than the outside, in places; there were staircases that went up to the basement and corridors that twisted in odd ways, threatening to go in directions the human mind couldn’t grasp. Father could have extended the corridor for miles, if he had wished, but I doubted it. I simply didn’t want to reach the far end.

  I felt my heart pounding in my chest as I made my way along the corridor. Isabella and I - and all the other children - had been told, in no uncertain terms, that we were not to enter the office floor unless we were specifically invited. And we were only invited when we were in trouble. I didn’t think I’d done anything that might get me in trouble, certainly not in the last few weeks of summer, but ... I couldn’t help reviewing everything that had happened, wondering what Father might have found offensive. Perhaps someone had seen Cat and I exchanging brief kisses, when we’d last met. We might be betrothed, yet there were limits to how far we could go. We’d been chaperoned, but ...

  That was two weeks ago, I reminded myself. Father would have told me off by now, if he was going to tell me off at all.

  I pushed the thought aside as I came to the first set of family portraits. The first one showed my parents, Lord Carioca Rubén and Lady Jeannine Rubén, on their wedding day. I stopped to look at them for a long moment, before heading on. Everyone said my father and I looked alike, but I couldn’t see it. Father was taller and more dignified than I would ever be. The next portrait showed Isabella and I as children. We’d been five when the portrait had been painted ... I smiled, as I walked past a series of portraits, each one painted a year after the last. Isabella and I really had looked alike, back then. We’d joked that we could swap clothes and no one would notice the difference.

  My good humour faded as I reached the eleventh portrait. It was the last one that showed Isabella before her disgrace. She looked young and pretty, dressed in her school uniform ... I swallowed, hard, as I remembered the House War and Isabella’s role in it. She’d betrayed the family, she’d thrown her lot in with Stregheria Aguirre ... she whose name was never spoken. Isabella had been young, young enough to avoid execution, but not young enough to avoid punishment. My sister had been in exile for the last six years. I’d only seen her once in all that time. Her letters had been upbeat - reading between the lines, I thought she’d found something to do - but something was missing. A little of her fire, her passion for life, her determination to be great, had died with Stregheria Aguirre.

  And the Crown Prince, I thought. He died, too.

  I swallowed, hard, at the thought. I’d killed the Crown Prince with the family sword. It was currently resting in a scabbard attached to my back, the scabbard charmed to make the sword difficult to see unless someone’s attention was drawn - specifically - to its presence. I had the right to wear it - the blade had bonded to me, once Cat had repaired it - but not everyone liked the idea of me carrying a priceless Object of Power everywhere I went. It was silly - it wasn’t as if students my age didn’t know a handful of killing spells - yet ... there was no point in arguing. Besides, the sword was - technically - a betrothal gift. It was going to get sticky if the betrothal fell through and Cat’s family demanded the sword back.

  I touched the hilt - it felt reassuringly solid against my skin - and forced myself to walk further down the corridor. The portraits changed, showing me - and me alone. There was no sign of Isabella. I might as well be an only child, for all the acknowledgement my parents made of their daughter. She was lucky they’d kept her childhood portraits. I knew that some of the family elders had demanded they be destroyed. Isabella had betrayed the entire family. They would forgive a great deal, but not that.

  And if they hadn’t pushed so hard, Father might have given them what they wanted, I thought, as I reached the final portrait. He couldn’t let them browbeat him into submission.

  I stopped and stared up at the final portrait. Cat and I stood together, flanked by both sets of parents. Cat’s sisters were missing, no doubt a diplomatic measure to conceal Isabella’s absence. We both looked older than we were, but ... I smiled, feeling a rush of affection. I’d always known my parents would choose who I married, yet ... I’d been lucky. Really, I had been lucky to know Cat before our match was arranged.

  My father’s door was solid wood. Privacy charms - some basic, some quite nasty - crawled across the wood, their mere presence daring me to tap the door. I braced myself, then lifted my hand and knocked. There was no sound, but I could feel the vibrations as they echoed through the aether. There was a long pause, just long enough for me to wonder if Father had been called away on short notice, before the door swung open. Uncle Davys stepped out.

  “Akin,” he said, sternly.

  “Senior.” I bowed, quickly. Uncle Davys - my father’s twin brother - was very insistent on proper protocol being followed at all times. It was no surprise to me that Cousin Francis, Davys’s son, was a little hellion. “Father summoned me ...”

  “Quite.” Uncle Davys didn’t sound pleased. I knew he’d been one of the loudest voices demanding that Isabella’s sentence be made permanent. “You may enter.”

  He walked past me and strode down the corridor. I glared at his retreating back, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out. My father and his brother had fallen out long ago, before they’d married and had kids, but they couldn’t ignore each other. Uncle Davys had been the Heir Primus, until I was born; even now, he still had power and position within the family. I was surprised that Francis and I got on, most of the time. It helped, I suppose, that we were very different.

  I turned and stepped into my father’s office. It was an immense room, the walls lined with mahogany and studded with bookcases and cupboards. Two comfortable armchairs rested in one corner; another was dominated by an oversized wooden desk and a chair that looked like a throne. A large portrait of the entire family - Isabella included - hung from one wall. There were no windows. The light came from a handful of glowing crystals embedded in the ceiling. I schooled my face into careful impassivity as my father stood to greet me. He looked tired, tired and old. For the first time, it struck me that my father really was old.

  Not that old, I told myself as I bowed. He’s only in his early fifties.

  “Akin.” My father sounded tired too. “Take a seat, please.”

  He indicated the armchairs. I allowed myself to relax, slightly. If I’d been in trouble, I would never have been allowed to sit. I’d have had to stand in front of the desk and listen while he told me off for whatever I’d done. I sat, leaning back into the comfortable chair. My father sat on the other, resting his hands on his lap. Even when he was at home, even in his office, he wore fancy suits. It had never ceased to puzzle me. No one would dare say a word if Father chose to wear something comfortable.

  “You’re going back to Jude’s in a week,” Father said, shortly. There was never any small talk with him, not when he had something important to discuss. “Are you looking forward to it?”

  “Yes, Father.” It was true. I was. I’d miss the mansion - and my private forgery - but I was learning a great deal at school. The chance to work with Magister Tallyman was not to be tossed aside lightly. I’d already started to plan how I’d ask him for an apprenticeship, after I finished my final year at school. “It should be fun.”

  “You should be more concerned with your exams, not with fun.” Father made the word sound like a curse. “Your exam results will dominate the next decade of your life.”

  “Yes, Father,” I said.

  Father nodded, slowly. “You will be Head Boy, of course.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “You will be Head Boy.” Father sounded irked. He didn’t like repeating himself. “You’ll sh
are the honour with Alana Aguirre, who has been appointed Head Girl.”

  “Father ...” I stared at him. “Father, I didn’t ask to ...”

  “Of course not.” Father snorted, as if I’d said something stupid. “You are a Rubén, son, and Heir Primus. It would be surprising indeed if you weren’t Head Boy. It would be quite difficult, quite difficult indeed, if Alana had been a boy too ...”

  “I didn’t earn it,” I protested. “I don’t want it.”

  “You don’t become Head Boy through merit,” Father pointed out, dryly. “And whether or not you want it doesn’t matter. You are going to be Head Boy, Son, and you are going to be good at it.”

  “Father ...”

  My father held up his hand. “The decision has been made, Son, and favours have been called in. It cannot be changed.”

  I scowled in mute resentment. Father hadn’t asked if I wanted it. Why would he bother? He’d been making decisions for me - and the rest of the family - for years. But then, if he’d asked me, I would have said no. I didn’t want to be Head Boy.

  Father met my eyes. “Are you feeling up to discussing this rationally?”

  “Yes, Father.” It was hard to keep the anger out of my voice. I was seventeen, not a baby who couldn’t be trusted to keep his hand out of the fire. “Why?”

  “You are aware, of course, that there have been some ... rumbles ... of discontent amongst the family.” Father’s face was very cold. “On one hand, they have been ... concerned ... about me and my rule ever since Isabella ... left us. There have been suggestions whispered - and not very quietly, either - that I am not up to the job. And, on the other hand, they have been deeply worried about the alliance between us and House Aguirre. They would prefer not to see the alliance become permanent.”

  I frowned. “Father, House Aguirre has the only known Zero. They are ...”

  Father cut me off. “I am aware of the advantages” - he shot me a smile that made him look years younger - “and also of your ... feelings ... regarding your betrothed. I have no reason to doubt that a permanent alliance would be good for the family, for both families. Less so, of course, for the rest of the city.”

  “But who cares about them?” I spoke with more bitterness than I intended. “The family comes first, always.”

  “Quite.” My father studied his hands for a long moment. “They are also concerned about you.”

  “Me?”

  “You,” Father confirmed. “You have many strengths, Akin, but you also have weaknesses. There are ... concerns that you are unable to manage the responsibilities that come with being Heir Primus and, eventually, Patriarch. And your betrothed has similar issues. It isn’t as if you’re betrothed to Alana.”

  I blanched. I liked Cat - Caitlyn Aguirre - but Alana? She’d grown up a lot, in the years since I’d first met her, yet she still had a sharp edge and sharper tongue. She and Isabella had been very alike, in a great many ways. Isabella had envied Alana, as well as hated her. Alana didn’t have a family that stuck to the old traditions, even though they’d died with the Thousand-Year Empire. She could succeed her father and take control of her family. And I pitied the poor bloke who married her.

  “I have the family sword,” I pointed out. I tapped the hilt, drawing his attention to the blade. “Doesn’t that prove something?”

  “The family council would object, loudly, to the suggestion that receiving the sword as a betrothal gift qualifies you for anything,” Father countered. “You were merely the first one to touch the sword, after it was repaired. It could have been Francis or ...”

  “Or Isabella,” I finished. “She could have taken the sword.”

  My Father’s face darkened, as it always did when my sister was mentioned. I knew he loved her, even though he found it hard to show it; I knew he regretted sending her away, even though he hadn’t been given a choice. He had to wonder, deep inside, if he’d failed as a father. His daughter had turned traitor. It was a wound that cut to the quick.

  “Quite,” he said. “The family council is lining up possible candidates right now. We have to move fast.”

  I leaned forward. “Why bother? I don’t want the job, and ...”

  Father glared me to silence. “The family gives you many things,” he said. “You have safety and security, wealth and power and education” - he waved a hand in the vague direction of Water Shallot -“that the average commoner could never dream of having. The family gives you a sword and a shield so you may fight for the family. And in exchange, you will serve the family. It is your duty.”

  “Yes, Father.” I did my best to hide the sarcasm in my tone. It might drive him over the edge. “Anything, for the family.”

  The look Father gave me suggested that I hadn’t managed to hide the sarcasm. “You should know, by now, that everything has a price. And the price the family demands, for what it gives you, is service. It is your duty to complete your education, marry well and - eventually - lead the family.”

  “And if I don’t want the job?” I pressed on before he could explode. “What if Cousin Shawn or Cousin Alcamo would do a better job?”

  “Well” - Father’s voice dripped poison - “on one hand, that isn’t very loyal to our branch of the family tree. Is it? And, on the other hand, reshuffling the succession will cause all manner of resentments. There will be endless disputes over just who should succeed me if you refuse the honour. That would be very bad, would it not?”

  I knew the right answer. “Yes, Father.”

  Father eyed me. “And so, you must prove yourself worthy of the title you carry before my enemies can muster enough votes to challenge the succession. You must do something that will convince the doubters that they can support your succession, rather than trying to unseat you before I die or retire. No one expects you to be me, not yet, but they do want to see signs of promise.”

  It was hard not to give a sarcastic answer. “I don’t think that being Head Boy will be that impressive, not to them. How many strings did you pull to get me the job?”

  Father seemed oddly pleased by my comment. “Too many. But you’re right. The family council will not be impressed. You’re going to do something else.”

  I felt a flicker of fear. What could he have in mind? Marrying Cat clearly wasn’t good enough. Cat and I had been betrothed for years. The arrangement might be a legal fiction, at least on paper, but it couldn’t be dismissed. It had to be treated as real - as legitimate - right up until the point Cat and I grew old enough to marry ... or say no. The fire-breathers who wanted to restart the House War couldn’t do anything until the betrothal was formally ended.

  “It also has to be done quickly,” Father added. “There is a push, even amongst my allies, for you to be declared an adult immediately after you leave school. Cat, too, meaning that you will be expected to marry in a year or two. The ones who want to unseat you will have to act fast - and that means you’ll have to prove yourself this year too.”

  I scowled. I knew the betrothal was important, but I didn’t want to think about it. “What do they want me to do? Fight a dragon?”

  “No,” Father said. “You might fight a dragon, you might even kill a dragon, but that wouldn’t prove anything. Your detractors might even claim that just going out to fight a dragon is proof you’re an idiot. And they might be right. It would be very stupid.”

  “Yes, Father,” I said.

  Idiot would be the right word, I supposed. Dragons were nasty, immensely strong flying monsters that breathed fire and were practically immune to conventional weapons. Thankfully, they rarely flew into civilised lands, preferring to haunt the Desolation. Dragon hunters were amongst the bravest men in the world. They also had the highest death rates. It was rare for a man to stay in the profession after he’d brought down a single dragon. The skin alone would be more than enough to make him wealthy for life.

  “You need to demonstrate the skills to run the family,” Father said. “Everything from strong and skilled magic to leadership and teamw
ork. And you have to do it in a year. Less than a year, really. You cannot fail.”

  His voice was very firm. “You, Akin, are going become Wizard Regnant.”

  Chapter Two

  I stared at him. “Wizard Regnant?”

  “The Challenge,” Father said, as if he felt he shouldn’t have to explain. “You are going to take the Challenge - and you’re going to win.”

  I found myself with nothing to say. Isabella would have come up with a glib comment, something that would have annoyed our father beyond words, but me? I had nothing. I knew about the Challenge, of course, and I knew that most young magicians wanted to be crowned Wizard Regnant, but not me. It was an honour, I’d been told, but ... it wasn’t one I wanted or needed. Cousin Francis or Isabella would have liked to complete, I was sure. Not me.

  “Father,” I managed. “I don’t have time to take the Challenge.”