The Zero Curse Read online

  “I have,” I said. It wasn’t really true - I’d never thought I’d have a patronage network of my own - but it didn't matter. Besides, Rose would be a worthy investment even if I’d hated the ground she walked on. Untrained and unskilled didn't mean weak. “She’s a good friend.”

  “You had no other friends,” Great Aunt Stregheria informed me. “If she comes with you, you will soon abandon her. She has nothing to offer you.”

  My temper snapped. “And you have everything to offer and you’re still not married!”

  Silence fell, like a hammer. I couldn't believe what I’d said. Nor could anyone else. Great Aunt Stregheria looked stunned, utterly uncomprehending. I wondered, as my thoughts started to gibber in panic, if I could pretend that nothing had actually happened. Perhaps, if I played dumb, she’d think she imagined it ...

  She snapped out a word I knew I wasn't supposed to know, let alone say, then jabbed her finger at me. Dad started to say something sharp, but it was too late. A flash of brilliant green light darted from her finger and flashed towards me, blazing brightly ... and then rebounded. I gasped in pain as my earrings overheated - it was all I could do to keep from tearing them off - and then stared as the spell struck the crone. Great Aunt Stregheria’s black skin turned green and warty, just for a second, as she cast a pair of very hasty counterspells. Green light flared around her body, then faded away into nothingness as her skin returned to normal. She’d countered her own spell just in time.

  I stared, feeling ... triumph? I knew to be wary around Alana - and Bella could be unpleasant, whenever she bestirred herself to do something nasty - but Great Aunt Stregheria terrified me. Even knowing her spells wouldn't last long, not on me, I was still unwilling to face her. And yet, now ... she’d nearly fallen victim to her own spell. Her attempt to turn me into a frog - again - had failed utterly.

  My mother’s voice was icy cold. “I believe I warned you about using magic on my children,” she said. She rose, her hands falling into a casting pose. “You will leave this house.”

  “The wards will turn on you,” Dad added. He didn't rise, but he didn't have to. The house saw him as its lord and master. It wouldn't kill Great Aunt Stregheria - she was of the blood, after all - but it would evict her on his command. “You will leave.”

  I heard Bella make a stifled sound. Beside her, Alana looked as if she wanted to be somewhere - anywhere - else. Her hair was trying to stand on end. For once, I was glad I couldn't feel ambient magic. The house wards had to be concentrating on Great Aunt Stregheria, threatening to crush her protections and remove her from the estate. Very few magicians could hope to stand up to an old house, protecting its bloodline. And my sisters could feel the pressure building around the crone, as if a thunderstorm was about to begin ...

  Great Aunt Stregheria gave me a furious look that - five minutes ago - would have had me cowering, if not begging for mercy. “Did you raise your daughter to be so impossibly rude?”

  “Please rest assured that Caitlyn will be punished,” Dad said. “But that does not excuse your actions. I granted you access to the house on the understanding that you would not try to hex my children.”

  “Children should mind their manners,” Great Aunt Stregheria snarled. I felt a flicker of guilt, despite the triumph. I’d touched on a very sore spot indeed. Great Aunt Stregheria’s failure to marry and have children might well have cost her the chance to lead the family. “I demand satisfaction!”

  “I will deal with my daughter,” Dad said. He stood, clasping his hands behind his back. I knew better than to think that was a placid pose. Dad didn't need to move his hands to cast spells. “You will go straight to the gatehouse and leave. Your trunks will be forwarded to you.”

  Great Aunt Stregheria stared at me for a long moment, then pushed her chair back and rose.

  “I could have offered you the world,” she said, shortly. I wasn't sure just who she was talking to. My father ... or me? Perhaps she’d believed that she was doing me a favour. “And instead you chose to reject it.”

  She stalked out of the room, not looking back. I watched her go, unsure just how I should feel. Unholy glee at beating Great Aunt Stregheria was mingled with fear and guilt and ... I told myself, time and time again, that she was a horrible person. But I’d been horrible to her too.

  Great Aunt Stregheria wanted to use me, I told myself. It made me feel a little better. She wouldn't have lowered herself to fostering me - to fostering anyone - if there wasn't anything in it for her.

  Alana giggled, a high-pitched noise that grated on my ears. “Cat ...”

  “Silence,” Dad said, sharply. Alana shut up, at once. I would have been impressed if I hadn't known that Dad’s tone promised trouble. “Caitlyn, go straight to my study and wait for me there. I will be up shortly.”

  I sighed. I’d stepped over a line and now I would have to pay. And yet, I had been provoked. It wasn't fair ...

  But there was no point in whining about it. “Yes, Dad.”

  Chapter Four

  The door to my father’s study opened the moment I touched it. I couldn't help feeling a flicker of excitement as I stepped inside, even though I knew I was in trouble. Dad’s private workplace had always been off limits to us. The room was so heavily warded that even Mum couldn't enter without permission. I looked around as I walked towards one of the comfortable armchairs and sat down. I might as well try to stay comfortable while waiting for Dad to arrive.

  It was a remarkable room, in many ways. Two walls were lined with bookshelves, groaning under the weight of family spellbooks and grimoires; a third was decorated in a detailed family tree leading all the way back to the Thousand-Year Empire. I had no idea how much of it was truly accurate - the family records started to get a little vague a few hundred years back in time - but it looked impressive. My family had given birth to hundreds of movers and shakers over the years. It was hard to shake the impression that neither I nor my sisters would ever live up to them.

  I closed my eyes for a long moment, trying to concentrate. Dad was going to be furious, of course. He might well dislike his aunt, but he couldn't condone me being so horribly rude to her. Mum wasn't going to be pleased either. Perhaps I should be glad I was going back to school soon. But I knew, all too well, that my parents had long memories. They’d be happy to put the punishment on hold until the summer holidays.

  The door rattled, then opened. I sat upright, bracing myself as Dad stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He didn't look happy, although there was a distant expression on his face that suggested he was communing with the wards. I couldn't help feeling a stab of bitter guilt as I recalled the implications. My talents might have - finally - revealed themselves, but I could never be the mistress of Aguirre Hall. The blood magics woven into the very walls barely even recognised my presence.

  “Stand up,” Dad ordered, curtly. “Stand in front of the desk.”

  I rose, clasping my hands behind my back to keep them from shaking. Dad gave me a sharp look, then walked around the desk to sit behind it. I moved forward until I was in position and forced myself to wait. Dad didn't normally play petty power games by forcing us to wait for him to speak. He had to be more rattled than he cared to admit.

  “Tell me something,” he said, finally. “What - exactly - were you thinking?”

  “She was insulting my friend,” I said. I told my hands to stop shaking. They refused to listen. “Dad, I ...”

  “And you decided to jab a knife in her heart,” Dad said. His voice was toneless. “You could have jabbed her with a real knife and it would have done less damage.”

  I swallowed. “Yes, Dad.”

  “I’m really very displeased with you,” Dad told me, flatly. “You will finish the sword tomorrow, correct? After that, you will spend the next two days assisting your mother with the herbal garden. I believe she has a great deal of work which will go quicker with a pair of willing hands.”

  I had to fight to keep my face expressionle
ss. My sisters hated gardening and spent far too long thinking of ways to get out of assisting with the herbal garden, but I loved it. Plants didn't care about your magic, or lack of it. Two days doing nothing, but gardening would leave me stiff and sore, yet it wasn't a real punishment. I’d been uneasily anticipating something far worse. Alana had had to spend a week helping the maids after she tried to play a prank on an important visitor.

  “Yes, Dad,” I said, when I was sure I could keep the relief out of my voice. Dad knew I liked gardening. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it wouldn't be a nightmare either. “I’ll start as soon as the sword is finished.”

  “Very good,” my father said. “Now tell me ... why did you leave Alana in a cupboard for hours?”

  “Dad, she trapped herself,” I said, briefly outlining what had happened. “I didn't know the spell would last so long.”

  “I imagine she didn't either,” Dad said. He met my eyes. “Should I be punishing you for that too?”

  “She did it to me,” I pointed out. My parents hadn't done more than mildly rebuke her, believing that such torments would encourage me to develop my powers. “She did it to me a lot.”

  “True,” Dad said. He looked displeased. “Don’t do it again, particularly when we have guests. Your conduct reflects on us, your parents. And while Aunt Stregheria is unlikely to tell High Society precisely what you said to her, the next person you mouth off to may tell the entire world.”

  I sighed. “Do we have to bother with etiquette?”

  “Politeness makes the world go 'round,” Dad said. He smiled, rather humourlessly. “Being polite can defuse someone’s anger, even when there is no common ground between you.”

  He shrugged. “But here is a more important question. What was happening this evening?”

  I took a breath. Dad had asked me to analyse dinner meetings and social engagements before, although I’d never been very good at it. Alana had been better, to the point where she’d tried to encourage Dad to take her to more society engagements. Thankfully, Dad had rarely taken her anywhere he hadn't taken the rest of us. It would have done her ego no good.

  “She wanted to make use of me,” I said, carefully. “Her offer to foster me in Tintagel was an attempt to put me in her power.”

  “Indeed,” Dad said. “Go on.”

  I hesitated. “She didn't think of me as a person,” I added. “She was more interested in talking you into allowing me to go than convincing me I wanted to go. She talked in terms of benefits to you and the family, rather than me. Even when she started talking to me, it never seemed to occur to her that I might not want the benefits she was offering.”

  “Very good,” my father said. “And why would she do that?”

  “Because she thinks she can make use of me,” I said, slowly. “By promoting me to the king, by presenting me at court, she presents herself as my guardian.”

  “More or less,” Dad said. He leaned forward. “Do you understand the implications?”

  I hesitated, then shook my head. It wasn't entirely true - I thought I understood some of them - but I needed to hear it from Dad. He had far more experience than I did in manoeuvring through tricky political waters. I tried not to think about the fact that Great Aunt Stregheria had more experience than both of us put together.

  “A year ago, it was impossible to forge Objects of Power,” Dad said. “You know that as well as I do. Now, someone has discovered how to do it. You.”

  I nodded, shortly.

  “Normally, there are very few spells that cannot be analysed and duplicated by other magicians,” Dad added. “You know that too.”

  “Yes,” I said. I might not be able to cast spells, but my understanding of theoretical magic was better than either of my sisters. There were spells - hundreds of spells - that were tied to specific bloodlines or could only be cast by specific people, yet a skilled theoretical magician could take them apart and rewrite the spells so that anyone could cast them. “But that isn't true of me, is it?”

  “No,” Dad said. “I imagine that quite a few forgers are trying to find ways to forge without actually touching the artefact, which will be quite limited even if they do manage to get it to work. But even if they succeed, the only current source of true Objects of Power is you. Word has already leaked out, Cat. The duel you fought has started tongues wagging right across the kingdom.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “And you really had to pick a fight with Isabella Rubén,” Dad added. “Some magicians don’t believe the stories, but her family? Oh yes, they believe them.”

  I tried not to wince. There were spells that could destroy Devices of Power, spells that Isabella had tried to use on me. But I’d forged Objects of Power and her spells had been worse than useless. Some adult magicians probably thought that Isabella had miscast her spells - she was only twelve, like me - but her family wouldn't make that mistake. They knew what I’d done, all right.

  “Great Aunt Stregheria is not the only one who wants to make use of you,” Dad told me. He pointed a finger towards a pile of letters, perched precariously on his desk. “I have over fifty letters, ranging from requests for private commissions to demands that you be barred from any further forging. Your talents have the potential for upsetting the balance of power ...”

  I stared. “They want to stop me from forging?”

  Dad’s lips twitched. “Right now, we have a monopoly on Objects of Power. That gives us an unbeatable edge. The other families won’t like it.”

  “They could look for their own Zeroes,” I said. I remembered, suddenly, all the stories about disappointing children who’d vanished from High Society. Had they been Zeroes too? “I can’t be unique.”

  “Perhaps not,” Dad agreed. Alana had said the same thing, back at table. “But tell me ... how do you find another Zero?”

  I considered it for a long moment. The answer was fairly simple, at least in theory. Cast spells on potential candidates and see how long the spells lasted. My experiments had proved that spells cast on me simply didn't last very long, no matter how much power the caster pumped into the magic. But doing that on people outside the city would be a logistical nightmare. There would be thousands of potential candidates, far too many to sort through in a hurry.

  And some of them will be common-born, I thought. What will High Society make of that?

  “We have to work on the assumption that you are effectively unique, at least for the moment,” Dad said. “And that means that you are both a very important person and a very weak one.”

  I fought down a flash of anger. People - my sisters, in particular - had been calling me weak for years. I’d grown to hate the word. And now I’d found a way to compensate for my weakness. Maybe I couldn't cast spells. It didn't make me useless.

  “I am unsure if you should be allowed to return to Jude’s or not,” Dad added. “What do you think?”

  “Rose is there,” I said, sullenly.

  “Yes,” Dad agreed. “But how many of the classes can you actually pass?”

  I glowered at him. “You sent me there when it looked like I couldn’t pass any of the classes,” I pointed out. “I can find ways to get through the exams.”

  “It would be meaningless,” Dad said. “Would it not?”

  I felt another flash of anger. “I may not be able to use magic to brew a potion,” I said, carefully. “But I can forge a stirrer that will let me infuse precisely the right amount of magic to make the potion work.”

  “Your mother wishes to talk about some of the older recipes, the ones that no one has been able to brew for a thousand years,” Dad said. “But would using a stirrer of your own design count in the exams?”

  “I thought we were graded on how well we’d brewed the potion,” I said. “I don’t think anyone would complain if we used different tools.”

  Dad cocked his head. “You didn't want to go to Jude’s,” he said. “And now you don’t want me to pull you out?”

  “Rose is there,” I said. I
hesitated, then asked a different question. “Was she right about Rose? Great Aunt Stregheria, I mean. Was she right when she said Rose had no prospects?”

  “She would probably not rise to the very highest levels,” my father said. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Turning her into a reputable name in society would be a very long-term project, although quite a few of the older families have a lot of commoner blood. But a skilled magician can always find work. I would be quite happy to offer her patronage if she lives up to her promise.”

  I relaxed, slightly. “I’m not asking for her to marry the Crown Prince!”

  “Glad to hear it,” Dad said, sardonically. “The Crown Prince is already married.”

  “I know,” I said. The Royal Wedding had been ten years ago. I had gone, of course, along with just about everyone in High Society, but I’d been so young that I honestly didn't remember any of the details. “It was a joke.”