I shook my head, even though I suspected she was right. The two Objects of Power seemed evenly matched - whoever had forged them originally had been brilliant - but the Crown Prince had an advantage. I didn't know much about swordfighting - young ladies of refinement were expected to use magic, not swords - yet it was clear that Akin was slowly being pushed back. His sword was having to expend too much energy compensating for his weaknesses. The Crown Prince had a slight, but very definite advantage.
Whirlpool thrummed in my hand, just waiting to be triggered. My fingers started to inch towards the switch of their own accord. If I triggered it, if I sucked away all the magic in the chamber ... what then? The swords would stop working, but so would everything else. We’d still be facing the Crown Prince. Akin was strong for his age, like me, but the Crown Prince would be stronger and more experienced. He’d beat us both up before the magic field recovered, if it ever did.
And the swords might start failing, if they stay here, I thought, numbly. Objects of Power drew on the magic field ... and it was weaker in the wardchamber. And what will happen then?
The Crown Prince brought his sword down, hard. It crashed into Akin’s sword with an ear-splitting sound, loud enough to make my ears ring. The force of the impact pushed Akin back, driving him towards the wall. He fought back desperately, the blade moving so quickly that it was practically a blur of light, but the Crown Prince was slowly gaining the upper hand. Akin’s face was cold and hard, chillingly adult - he’d given in to the sword - yet he was still losing. The end couldn't be long delayed.
I ran forward without thinking, holding up the dispeller as if it was a spellcaster. The Crown Prince whirled with terrifying speed, slashing out at me. There was another blinding flash as his sword hit the dispeller - a blast that picked me up and threw me across the chamber and into the walls - and then Akin buried his sword in the Crown Prince’s back. For a moment, for a horrific moment, it seemed that even a mortal wound wasn't enough to stop him. His armour was trying to seal the wound.
No wonder he looked stronger, I thought, as I checked Whirlpool. If it had been damaged ..,. thankfully, for better or worse, Whirlpool was intact. His armour was boosting both his strength and speed.
The Crown Prince staggered, his face a mask of agony as he fell to his knees. I forced myself to stand, despite the pain. I felt as though I’d been kicked in the chest ... perhaps I had. The Crown Prince might have managed to kick me, when the dispeller had shattered. He presumably wanted - needed - me alive. I coughed hard - it hurt to cough - as I looked at him. His armour was slowly sealing the wound. I couldn't believe it. I’d heard legends, but none of them had come close to the truth.
Akin growled - it wasn't his growl - and lashed out with his sword, beheading the Crown Prince. I watched in horror as his body fell to the stone floor, his head landing next to it. His sword hit the ground with a clatter, the blade going dim. It would remain there until I rigged up a cradle to carry it or someone with the right bloodline came along. I was tempted to suggest, afterwards, that we simply buried the sword. It was too dangerous in the wrong hands.
I looked up at Akin. He was staring at me, his face utterly inhuman ... the sword had him, again. I took a long breath, wondering if I dared trigger Whirlpool now. If the sword lost its magic, would it lose its grip on his mind? Or would it do permanent harm ...
“I will not be beaten by this,” Akin said. He lowered the sword, carefully. “You will obey me.”
I let out a sigh of relief. I didn't think the sword would obey him permanently - an Object of Power like that had to be mastered constantly or it would master the wielder - but for the moment it would behave itself. Akin was growing stronger and stronger all the time, his self-confidence growing by leaps and bounds every time he taught the sword to obey him. I just hoped he’d be able to keep it up. A single slip would be enough to send him plunging back into its clutches.
We shared a long look. He seemed tired, but happy. Sweat shone on his brow. His body looked ... thinner, somehow, but he was smiling. He’d won ...
“How very sweet,” Great Aunt Stregheria observed. “But tell me ... what now?”
Akin turned and slashed out with the sword before I could stop him. The outer layer of wards shattered, allowing a wave of raw magic to be discharged towards Akin. He held up the blade, absorbing the magic, but ... the force of the impact was enough to push him back, shoving the sword out of the wards. There was no time to take advantage of their weakness before they reasserted themselves. Great Aunt Stregheria had done a very good job.
“It may surprise you to know that Anna the Artificer designed these,” Great Aunt Stregheria said, indicating the Devices of Power. “Her notes were hidden away in the family archives, concealed behind a layer of dust. I suspect your father never knew they were there. We keep putting things we want to lose in the files, after all.”
She smiled, as one does at a joke that isn't really funny. “I must congratulate you on killing Henry,” she added, calmly. Her fingers were brushing the Devices of Power. “Of course, you will have to stand trial for treason. Compassing the death of the heir apparent ...? I think that’s punished by something lingering in boiling oil.”
I opened my mouth to make a sarcastic remark, then stopped when I realised she was stalling for time. “You’ve lost,” I said, as I reached for Whirlpool. “Give up.”
“Don’t be an utter idiot, Caitlyn,” Great Aunt Stregheria said. Her voice was very cold. And hard. “There’s nothing left for me now.”
“I can talk to Dad,” I said. She was doing something. I knew it. “We can keep you prisoner ...”
“I’d sooner die,” Great Aunt Stregheria said. The Devices of Power blazed with light. “Goodbye.”
The building shook, again. She was overpowering the wards, trying to rip the entire school apart. I couldn't hesitate any longer. Whirlpool came to life in my hands, glowing a sickly yellow colour that was somehow wrong. I had a sense of wheels turning and discs spinning as the glow got brighter. All of that power had to do something ...
Akin cried out, but I didn't dare look away from Great Aunt Stregheria. The wards around her were flicking and fading, twisting in and out of visibility and then snapping out of existence one by one. She was staring at me in utter horror, snapping her fingers at me time and time again. I recognised the pose - she was trying to kill me - but it was pointless. She couldn't generate a single spark. The building shuddered - I heard the sound of falling masonry in the distance - and she collapsed to her knees. The last of her magic faded an instant later.
Her mouth opened. “Cat ...”
She fell forward. It struck me, suddenly, that she’d been using magic to prolong her life ... and now her magic was gone. And now her years were catching up with her. I could see her black hair turning grey, her face growing older with terrifying speed ... I looked away, torn between horror and vindictive glee, as her breathing stopped. She was dead ...
... And I’d killed her.
Whirlpool grew hot in my hand. I let go, hastily, an instant before the Object of Power tore itself apart. Darkness fell, a darkness so absolute that it was almost a living thing. The ever-present glow from the Object of Power that fuelled the wards was gone. I’d killed it too.
Akin was muttering a cantrip, time and time again. I wondered, numbly, if he was wasting his time. There might no longer be any magic in the chamber. And then a faint glow appeared. I felt a rush of pure relief. I hadn't destroyed magic, forever.
“Cat,” Akin managed. The light grew brighter, but there was something wrong with the spell. “What was that?”
“I’ll explain later,” I said. Whirlpool was beyond repair. The pieces were corroded so badly that no one would be able to figure how it was built or put them back together. “Is your sword working?”
Akin picked up the sword from the floor. It glowed the moment he touched it, but it was weak. There just wasn't enough magic in the chamber to allow it to work properly. I shivere
d as I heard the sound of running footsteps. The Crown Prince’s men were on the way and we were practically defenceless.
“Akin,” Isabella said. “I’m sorry ...”
“Be quiet,” Akin snapped. “We’ll deal with you later.”
He picked up the Crown Prince’s head as the men hurried into the chamber. “The battle is over,” he said, holding the head in one hand and his sword in the other. I wasn't sure who or what was doing the talking. “Your master is dead. The battle is over. Throw down your weapons and you will not be harmed.”
There was a long pause, then they did as they were told.
I breathed a sigh of relief. It was over.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“I don’t know how she managed to get the blasting hex through the wards,” Dad said, two days later. We stood in front of Aguirre Hall and inspected the remains of the South Wing. “But you’re right. Stregheria must have carried it into the house herself.”
I looked at him, worried. Dad sounded ... despondent, as if he could no longer muster the energy to go on. He wasn't the only one, either. I’d heard that most of the other hostages were having similar problems, as were the teachers. They’d been moved to another location and held there until the remnants of the Crown Prince’s forces surrendered. They were still trying to come to terms with the sheer scale of the Crown Prince’s betrayal.
“She betrayed us,” I said, slowly. I’d killed her. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Great Aunt Stregheria had been a monster, even before she’d betrayed the family. And the entire city. “She must have spent years plotting ways to circumvent the outer wards.”
“And making her plans with the Crown Prince,” Dad agreed. “His household sang like birds, once they realised it was all over. They had to move up their plans sharply after that wretched sword resurfaced. It wouldn't have done for the House War to explode before they were ready to take advantage of it.”
I nodded as I looked up at the remains of the South Wing. The supporting walls had survived the blast, but the remainder of the section had been destroyed. It looked like a blackened climbing frame for oversized children, covered in ash. There had been fourteen people - all lesser family - in the South Wing when it had been destroyed. No bodies had been found, despite an intensive search. Their remains were somewhere amongst the ashes in front of us.
We’ll have to bury the ash in the family crypt, I thought. And hope we’ve laid them to rest properly.
“And now the House War is over,” I said. “Isn't it?”
Dad sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Akin has the sword, doesn't he? And a treacherous sister?”
I nodded. I hadn't seen anything of Isabella since she’d been marched out of the school, but I suspected she - as an underage child - would have been handed over to her father. I almost felt sorry for her. Carioca Rubén would not take her betrayal lightly. Even if he wanted to go lightly on her, the rest of his family would not agree. Isabella would be lucky if she was only disowned and thrown into the nearest workhouse.
“I suppose that does make it harder for them to point the finger at us,” Dad said. “It wasn't just Stregheria who went mad and betrayed everyone.”
He sighed. “But the sword still hangs between us,” he said. “And while we do have to hang together, or hang separately--” he smiled, humourlessly “--we still hate each other. The House War may resume the moment we’re sure the king wasn't secretly backing his son all along.”
“And they have the sword,” I said. I wasn't sure if the sword was still in good condition or not - Carioca Rubén would hardly agree to let me examine it - but it didn't matter. The mere threat of them having and wielding the sword would reignite the war, if we didn't find a peaceful solution. “We have to end the House War now.”
Dad lifted a single eyebrow. “And how do you propose to do that?”
My mouth was dry. I swallowed hard.
“You betroth me to Akin,” I said, carefully. “And the sword serves as a symbol of the betrothal.”
Dad looked away. “Cat ... do you understand what you’re suggesting?”
I nodded, although he couldn't see. “I’m twelve. So is he. The earliest we can get married is when we turn seventeen, five years from now. That’s five years of peace before we have to make a final decision about the marriage.”
“It’s more than that,” Dad said. He looked back at me, his face a blank mask. I could tell he was agitated. “Cat ... if they agree, it would work. Five years of peace ... it isn't something to sniff at. But it would hang over you for the rest of your life. Everyone ... everyone would act as though they expect you to marry him when you turn seventeen, whatever you actually intend to do. You might ... you might find yourself pushed into marrying him anyway, no matter how you - or he - feels about it. If everything hangs on this match ...”
“I understand,” I said.
“I’d be surprised if you did,” Dad said. “You’re young. You don’t understand what it means to spend the rest of your life with a single person. Or what sort of pressure can be brought to bear against a young woman - or man - to go through with a match she no longer wants. I might not be Patriarch at that time, Cat. I might not be able to protect you.”
Because the family council might want to force me to go through with it anyway, I thought, grimly. It was a risk. I knew it was a risk. But I couldn't think of any other solution. The House War must not be allowed to restart.
“I can take the risk,” I said. “I will take the risk.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Did you discuss it with him?”
I shook my head. “I didn't have time. You yanked me away from the school as soon as the streets were safe again.”
A thought struck me. “Will Akin be in trouble? He did kill the Crown Prince.”
“Perhaps, but I doubt it,” Dad said. “The Crown Prince had a very ingenious plot underway, one that would have worked if he’d had more time to lay the foundations properly. Akin may be persona non grata in Tintagel for a while, but I don't think he’ll be in any real trouble.”
He met my eyes. “But here you are, making decisions for him,” he said. “You don’t even know how he will feel about it.”
“I know,” I said. “But ... if he doesn't want to go through with it, we won’t make a fuss. Will we?”
“It depends on how much comes to ride on the planned match,” Dad said. He shrugged, artlessly. “At best, we build a genuine alliance that doesn't hinge on a formal wedding; at worst, we have five years to rebuild and prepare for the next round. If a blood-tie was deemed necessary, we might have to make a fuss. I’d have to read and review the contract very carefully, just to make sure we could back out - if you wanted - without dire consequences.”
“And make sure they can do it too,” I said.
“Quite,” Dad agreed. He took a long breath. “Have you mentioned this to anyone else?”
“No,” I said. “I wanted to ask you first.”
“I’ll have to discuss it with your mother, then with the family council,” Dad said. “If they agree, I can make a formal offer for a betrothal. It might be accepted. I don’t know.”
“I could ask Akin,” I suggested.
Dad shot me a sharp look. “Akin will not be the one signing the papers,” he said. “And, right now, he isn’t the one whose opinion matters.”
He met my eyes. “This is going to haunt you for a long time, Cat. You’ll be taught to dance formally when you become an upperclassman; Akin will always be your partner. It will not be proper for a betrothed couple to dance with anyone else. You may find you fall in love with someone else ... and, when you do, you will have to sneak around because the slightest rumour could destroy the betrothal. And ... you will be chaperoned when you’re alone with him. Always. Your freedom will be curtailed for a very long time.”
I looked back at him. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Your mother and I were never betrothed,” Dad said. “But others who were ... some had
a good time, even though the betrothals were eventually cancelled. Others had a harder time of it. A couple of matches ... well, we’ll discuss those later, if House Rubén doesn't tell us to forget the idea right from the start. You need to go into this with your eyes wide open.”
“Yes, Dad,” I said.
“I’ll discuss it with your mother first,” Dad said. “You are not to discuss this with anyone else, even Rose, until I give you permission. Not one hint, young lady. I mean it.”
I nodded. “Yes, Dad.”
“Good,” Dad said. “Now ...”
“There’s something else I wanted to discuss,” I said, before he could dismiss me. “I had an idea for something we - Aguirre and Rubén - could do together.”
“Go on,” Dad said.
“A school for Zeroes,” I told him. “A place where they can learn how to use their talents.”
Dad frowned. “You cannot learn at Jude’s?”
The Zero Equation Page 38
