(The Zero Enigma Book 6) The Family Pride

by Christopher Nuttall

  My father’s eyebrows crawled up. “I’ve studied your school reports very carefully,” he said. “You are not such a poor student that you need to spend your final year studying ...”

  “But I have too much else to do.” I found myself struggling for excuses. “You’ve lumbered me with the Head Boy job and ...”

  “Most people would be grateful to be named Head Boy,” Father pointed out, smoothly. “It does open doors, in later life.”

  “Not for me,” I countered. “I’m the Heir Primus of House Rubén and ...”

  “Yes. And you can lose that in a moment, if the family council votes to replace you.” My father lifted a hand in warning. “Akin, this is not a game. You have a position you won by luck, by an accident of birth, not by proving yourself. And now you do have to prove yourself, if you want to keep the position.”

  His voice rose. “And I will not have you throw everything away, not now. I’ve worked too hard to ensure that my bloodline remains prominent amongst the family line.”

  I swallowed. “Yes, Father.”

  Father glowered at me for a long moment. “To the unintelligent, the Challenge seems thoroughly pointless. It appears to be of no more import than football or dodgeball or one of a thousand other games where the cranially impaired throw balls around and bore everyone to death with tales of famous goals they scored or matches they saved through their sole efforts. You would be right to dismiss a man my age, Akin, who bragged about his victories on the field at school. They are so far in the past that no one really gives a ... no one really cares.”

  Isabella wouldn’t agree, I thought. My sister had joined the netball team back when we’d been firsties, back before her disgrace. I’d always assumed it was a chance to network, rather than for the joy of the game, but her letters made it clear she missed the sport. Cat, on the other hand, would agree with you.

  “However, to the more discerning, the Challenge has greater meaning.” Father held me in place with his eyes, his demeanour making it clear that I’d better pay attention - or else. “It is impossible to win through luck, or personal skill. The only way to win is to demonstrate the skills required of a patron, which - by astonishing coincidence - are the skills required to run a Great House. On a smaller scale, of course, but still ... if you do well at the Challenge, and become Wizard Regnant, you will be accepted as Heir Primus without further argument. And that is what you are going to do.”

  “It isn’t a coincidence at all,” I muttered.

  “No, it isn’t.” Father smiled in approval. I would have enjoyed it more if he hadn’t been setting me up for trouble. “The Challenge is just like a war game, only slightly more genteel. Slightly. You’ll face the same sort of challenges” - his lips quirked into a smile - “as I do on a daily basis. And if you do well, you’ll demonstrate that you have the potential ability to take my place. No one expects you to be perfect, right from your first day. You should see the list of mistakes I made in my first year. But they will be a great deal more tolerant of your mistakes if they think you have the potential to overcome them.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “Everyone knows the winner will go on to great things,” Father insisted. “And it will win you time to establish yourself as Heir Primus.”

  “Yes, Father.” I wasn’t sure I wanted it, but ... I knew I couldn’t say no. “Anything, for the family.”

  “Indeed,” Father said. “Anything.”

  I looked down at my hands. I’d have to read the rules - I’d never bothered to study them religiously, unlike some of the sportier boys in the dorm - and see if I could find a way to win without too much effort. Or wasting too much time. In theory, I didn’t need to study that hard to pass my exams; in practice, I knew I had to work hard if I wanted to impress Magister Tallyman and convince him to take me as an apprentice. Or another Forger, if Magister Tallyman refused to take me. Magister Tallyman’s recommendation would go a long way, if it was given freely. There was no way I could force him to recommend me.

  “I’ll do my best,” I promised.

  “I want you to do more than your best,” Father said. “I want you to win.”

  “Yes, Father.” I looked up. “And Father, if I do this, can we recall Isabella from exile?”

  My father’s face darkened, just for a second, before it went completely impassive. “You do realise she might be happier where she is?”

  I scowled. Isabella was in exile, trapped at Kirkhaven Hall. She was a very long way from the closest city, let alone Shallot. I couldn’t believe she was happy there. She was practically in solitary confinement. The girl I remembered, the social queen who’d built a circle of friends and clients, couldn’t possibly enjoy being on her own. I was sure she wanted to come back as soon as possible.

  Although all her friends and clients abandoned her even before she was disgraced, I thought, sourly. I hadn’t failed to take note. If Isabella could lose her friends so quickly, over something as minor as losing a duel, I could lose mine too. And I had never been the most sociable of people. If she comes home, how many people will welcome her?

  Father seemed to read my mind. “She would be effectively confined to the hall,” he said, nodding towards the walls. “No one would invite her to parties, no one would take her as an apprentice ... no one would want to have anything to do with her, even for us. She would be ostracised, right from the start. She would be about as welcome in polite society as Lady Younghusband.”

  I blanched. I had no idea what Lady Younghusband had done - the grown-ups had spoken of it in hushed whispers, when I’d been around - but it had been serious. It must have been. She’d had to close her mansion, dismiss most of her servants and retire to her country estate, where she spent her days doing ... what? I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. High Society didn’t care what she did, as long as she did it a long way from Shallot.

  “Isabella is a lot younger than Lady Younghusband,” I pointed out. “And ...”

  Father cut me off. “And if Isabella hadn’t been so young,” he said, “she would have been beheaded.”

  I shuddered, helplessly. The thought of my sister laying her head on the block ...

  “People will forget that, once they see her seventeen-year-old self.” Father’s voice was remorseless. “They won’t remember that she was a young girl. They’ll think of her as an adult, old enough to make her own decisions and take the consequences; they’ll think she knew what she was doing and ostracise her.”

  “She was a child!” I protested. “Father, she was young.”

  “And now she’s practically an adult,” Father said. “Can you imagine me as a little boy?”

  I shook my head. It was impossible to believe, truly believe, that my father had once been a little boy. I knew it must have been true, once upon a time, but ... I didn’t really believe it. I just couldn’t accept, emotionally, that my father had ever been young. The tales some of my older relatives had told about my father ... they couldn’t be about him, could they? He could never be a child to me.

  “Of course not.” Father smiled, thinly. “And there will be people who will not accept that Isabella could ever have been a child.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I insisted. “Even if she’s back here ...”

  “Confined to the mansion?” My father quirked an eyebrow. “What sort of life is that?”

  I had to admit he had a point. I’d never really liked going outside, not when there were books to read and magic to perform, but Isabella had always been an active girl. She’d learnt to ride when she was a child - it had taken me considerably longer to master the beasts - and she’d explored the city with her friends long before she’d gone to school. Madame McGinty had once spent hours screaming at her for climbing a tree in the grounds and ruining an expensive dress. Isabella might see the mansion as nothing more than a prison cell. A luxurious cell, to be fair, but a cell nonetheless.

  “And besides, the family council will never agree,” Father said. “And ev
en if they did, the king will never agree.”

  I scowled. “Father, it was I who killed the Crown Prince ...”

  “And it took me months of negotiating to keep the king from demanding your surrender,” Father snapped. “Yes, the brat was a traitor who betrayed his own father. I know it and you know it and everyone important knows it. But the king cannot admit it, not publicly. He was furious ...”

  He stood and started to pace. “If we didn’t have that betrothal contract, if we didn’t have your betrothed’s family helping us, we might have been in some trouble. I could have lost you as well as your sister.”

  “Father ...” I found myself, again, at a loss for words. “I thought ... if I hadn’t killed him, I ...”

  “I know,” Father said. “And so does the king. But he lost a son.”

  He turned to face me. “You’ll understand when you have children. You’ll go through times when you wish you’d never had them, you’ll go through times when you’ll want to strangle them with your bare hands, but ... you’ll love them and, in the end, you won’t want anything bad to happen to them. You’ll find it difficult to refrain from jumping in, the moment your kids encounter a problem, and solving it for them. Childrearing is a lot harder than it looks.”

  You hired nurses and governesses to do the heavy lifting, I thought. My parents had been distant figures, when I was a child. Mother and Father had been there for us, but ... we’d spent most of our time with the help. You didn’t see us as much as we would have liked.

  I felt oddly disturbed, in a manner I found almost impossible to articulate. There had been times when my parents had been angry at me, there had been times when they’d imposed discipline with a heavy hand, but ... I’d never felt they didn’t want me. Or Isabella, even after everything. It had never occurred to me that there might have been times when my parents regretted having children. Or that they’d been trying to do me a favour when they’d left me to sort out my problems for myself.

  “Yes, Father,” I said, finally.

  Father snorted. “You say that now. Just you wait till you and Cat have kids.”

  I blushed. I couldn’t help myself. “Father ...”

  “Grandchildren are the reward for the grandparents, and the punishment for the parents,” Father added. “I’m sure Cat’s father will agree.”

  I wanted to vanish. Or melt into the floor. Or simply turn invisible.

  “Just you wait,” Father said. He made it sound like I would be executed in the evening. “Just you wait.”

  “I’m sure I can do a better job,” I said, nettled. “I learnt from you.”

  Father laughed. “I said that to your grandfather,” he said. There was a hint of rueful admiration in his tone. “And I never realised how much he did for me until I had children myself.”

  “Yes, Father,” I said.

  “But, right now, it is politically impossible to bring Isabella back, even if we keep her confined to the mansion.” Father sat down, resting his hands on his knees. “We couldn’t convince the family council to let us bring her back and, even if we did, we would still have to convince the king. If Isabella had been a few years older, she’d be dead.”

  “You said,” I muttered.

  “And even though we played her up, as much as possible, as a victim of Stregheria Aguirre’s manipulations, it still made her look very bad.” Father shook his head. “We can’t bring her back anytime soon.”

  I looked down at the floor. “Yes, Father.”

  “And it would cost us a great deal,” Father added. “Have you been following the news from Magus Court?”

  “No, Father,” I said. “I ...”

  Father let out a long, angry sigh. “You should. You really should.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Right now, the Great Houses are waiting to see if our alliance with House Aguirre is formalised when you and Caitlyn become adults.” Father met my eyes, silently daring me to look away. “If we do become permanent allies, it will have a serious effect on the balance of power. The other Great Houses will combine against us, because they will not accept permanent submission. We know they’re looking for a Zero of their own. Sooner or later, they’ll find one.”

  I nodded. Cat could not be unique.

  “And they’re also working on ways to bell the cat.” Father smiled, as one does at a pun that isn’t really funny. “They’re giving Magus Court more power, legal and practical; they’re strengthening the City Guard and appointing a High Inquisitor, with authority to investigate and punish warlocks. They say it’s for the good of all, and some of them may even believe it, but we know it’s an attempt to put restraints on our power. A smooth succession, when I die or retire, is a must. It is vitally important that you are prepared to take my place.”

  “Yes, Father,” I said, sweetly. “Wasn’t that the problem with Crown Prince Henry?”

  Father looked unamused. “Quite. But believe me, there will be a lot of work for you to do.”

  I stared. “Father, I want an apprenticeship ...”

  “Your apprenticeship will be with me,” Father said, bluntly. “You’ll learn to row, young man, before you take the helm.”

  My heart sank. “Father, I ... it isn’t what I want.”

  Father’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “We don’t always get what we want, Akin. You were born to power and that brings responsibilities ...”

  “But I don’t want them!” I knew I sounded like a child, but I couldn’t help myself. “I don’t want my life decided for me ...”

  “I know,” Father said. He reached out and rested a hand on my shoulder. It was so out of character for him, it caught my attention immediately. “If Isabella was still here, without a shadow over her, I might consider teaching her too, so she could ... advise ... you. And if there was someone else I trusted to serve, I’d teach him instead. But I cannot. I have to teach you, my only son. There’s no one else.”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t keep power.” I wanted to scream. It was all I could do to keep from tearing off my family ring and throwing it in his face. “I don’t want it ...”

  “And if it was clear that you weren’t going to succeed me, either through removing yourself from the line of succession or being removed from it, there would be a power struggle to determine who would take my place.” Father’s eyes bored into mine. “And, right now, that would be disastrous. It would destroy everything our ancestors worked for, over the last few centuries. I will not allow it.”

  I stood, trying to keep him from seeing my pain. My family could trace its lineage all the way back to the days before the Thousand-Year Empire, to a time that was as much myth and legend as hard fact. I could recite the entire family tree, from a half-forgotten tribal headman to ... well, me. My ancestors had been so haughty, they could trace their ancestry right back to the very first men and women known to exist. And yet, the family had hit hard times. We - my family - were a branch of a branch of the original family. It had taken us centuries to climb back to the very pinnacle of power.

  The portrait on the wall seemed to be laughing at me. I glared at it, feeling a wave of bitterness. I loved my family, really I did, but ... I didn’t like the obligations that came with being part of the house. I envied Cousin Francis and Cousin Penny more than I cared to admit. They could find masters, if they wished; they could build careers for themselves, they could make their own lives ...

  But Father was right. I had to succeed him. There was no choice.

  “When I was your age, I wanted to be a sailor,” Father said, quietly. “I do understand.”

  I glanced at him, understanding - suddenly - why he’d invested so much money in foreign trade. It was hard to imagine that my father had wanted to sail to the Silver Isles, or distant Hangchow, but ... I believed it.

  “Yes, Father.” I turned to face him and bowed, formally. “Anything, for the family.”

  Chapter Three

  The family library was immense, taking up nearly two entire flo
ors of the mansion. Isabella and I had only been permitted to enter under supervision as young children, a restriction that had only been lifted after we’d gone to school. Indeed, the library had been a good place to seek solitude over the years. Most of my peers were either banned from the library, on the grounds they weren’t that closely related to the core bloodline, or disinclined to spend time reading when they could be playing instead. Cousin Francis would sooner be seen dead than reading in the library.

  Twit, I thought, as I stepped through the door. Powerful wards curled around me, then faded once they’d confirmed my identity. Knowledge is power, and all the knowledge of the world is stored here.

  I calmed down as I looked around the stacks. That wasn’t true and I knew it. The family never threw anything out, which meant there were books and magazines and newspapers that dated back centuries ... the books, at least, almost certainly outdated by now. It was interesting to know what our ancestors had thought, years ago, but modern magic had moved on. I shook my head slowly, then walked into the reading room. The librarian kept a handful of modern textbooks, academic journals and law books there, expecting we’d use them more than anything else. I rather thought he was right. There weren’t that many of us who were interested in digging into the past.