Times will get harder for you, I suspect. My death will leave a power vacuum that will be filled, sooner rather than later, and my successor may not be so inclined to view you as a young girl, rather than a potential enemy or outright threat. I do not know who will take my place. Watch your back.
I doubt we will see each other again, in this world or the next, so I remain, faithfully yours;
Hasdrubal, Grandmaster of Whitehall.
“I never knew his name,” Emily said, softly. She found herself fighting to hold back the tears. “Or that he cared...”
“He cared about everyone,” Void said. The coach rattled to a halt. “That was his problem, really. He cared too much.”
Emily gave him a sharp look, which he ignored as he opened the door and stepped outside. A wave of cold air struck her in the face as she followed, looking around with interest. The coach had stopped in front of a pair of gates; beyond the gates, she could see a large house surrounded by an unkempt garden. She glanced at the walls and realized that someone had crafted powerful wards to keep out uninvited guests. Void helped her down, then waved to the coachman. He cracked the whip and the coach headed off down the street.
“Pass me the key,” he ordered.
“Here,” Emily said, fishing it out of her pocket. “Where are we?”
“Dragon’s Den,” Void said, dryly. “Don’t you recognize the smell?”
Emily flushed. They hadn’t been in the coach long enough to go anywhere else; indeed, she was surprised Void hadn’t teleported them both down to the city. Perhaps he’d feared what would happen to her if he did or...maybe he’d just wanted to give her a chance to read the letter in private. He’d definitely known it existed before Mistress Irene had given it to her.
“This is the part of town where the wealthy and powerful live,” Void added, as he pressed the key against the gates. “It’s also the safest. A couple of the sorcerers who live here cast spells to keep thieves and supernatural vermin out of the houses of their neighbors. Very few people would come here unless they were invited.”
“I’ve never been up here,” Emily said.
“You wouldn’t have,” Void agreed.
Emily shrugged, glanced at a handful of the other houses and frowned. Some of them looked fancy enough to pass for aristocratic mansions; hell, in some ways, they were aristocratic mansions. Dragon’s Den was a Free City; its rulers were those who had earned money through business and trade, rather than blue blood and inheritance. A handful even had private guards manning their gates.
Void opened the gate, then beckoned her inside. Emily followed him as they walked up the garden path and stopped in front of the door, which clicked open when he pressed the key against a concealed wardstone. Inside, it was cool; she sensed countless preservation spells running through the house, protecting it against dust and decay. It felt abandoned...and yet, there was a sense that the original owner could come back at any moment.
She looked at Void as he closed the door behind them. “What is this place?”
“Yours,” Void said.
“What?”
“The Grandmaster bought this house when he accepted a permanent position at Whitehall,” Void said. He didn’t seem surprised by her shock, merely amused. “He was the Charms Master at the time; he wouldn’t have been permitted to entertain in the school without special permission. It served as his refuge when he wanted to escape his role for a few days, or carry out experiments of his own. I imagine he thought he would retire here, one day.”
Emily looked down at the floor. “Why did he leave it to me?”
“I imagine he thought it would be sensible for you to have a house of your own, somewhere outside Cockatrice,” Void said. “Come.”
He led her down a flight of stairs into the basement, where a single hearthstone waited for them, glowing faintly in the darkened room. Void reached into his pocket, producing a vial of blood and a small knife, which he held out to her. Emily took them both numbly, realizing the Grandmaster must have left some of his blood behind for her. It would have been a gift beyond price, if he’d survived. Instead...
“I believe you know how to take control for yourself,” Void said. “Touching the hearthstone with magic should be safe enough, but don’t try anything else. Do you want me to leave you here?”
Emily shook her head, staring at the hearthstone. It was calling to her...no, calling to the blood in her hand. On some level, it knew its master was dead.
“I don’t know if I should accept this,” she said, bitterly. “He died...”
“He left it to you,” Void said. “I can assure you that he only made the change in his will after realizing that he would have to sacrifice himself to the demon. He wanted you to have the house and everything inside.”
Emily sighed. “Are there servants? Someone to maintain the property?”
“No,” Void said. “He left the building sealed while he lived at the school. There are a great many preservation spells here, keeping the food safe to eat, but no servants. You will have to clean up your own messes, unless you hire someone.”
“I’ll see,” Emily said. A thought struck her. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
“Once or twice,” Void said. He nodded to the hearthstone. “I suggest you proceed before it decides we’re really not meant to be here.”
Emily nodded, opened the vial of blood and poured it onto the hearthstone. It started to bubble at once, the wards reaching out to grip her mind, as she cut her palm and allowed her blood to mingle with the Grandmaster’s. There was a sense of raw power pulsing around her, an awareness of everything in the house...and then it faded away, leaving her with only a faint connection to the wards. Her head started to pound as her magic flared; she stumbled back, almost falling before Void caught her. It was so much easier than binding herself to Cockatrice...
...And yet, the mere effort had almost killed her.
“No more magic,” Void reminded her. He cast a spell, levitating her into the air and manoeuvring her up the stairs. “I think you need a nap.”
“No,” Emily said. “I...”
She broke off as her head spun. Void eyed her for a long moment, before floating her up two flights of stairs and into a large bedroom dominated by a four-poster bed. The walls were lined with bookcases, packed to busting with tomes she didn’t recognize.
“Sleep,” Void said, placing her on the bed. “You need to recover.”
It was the master bedroom, Emily realized bitterly, as Void withdrew from the room. The Grandmaster would have slept here, if he had chosen to stay in his house; his position as master of the house wouldn’t have allowed anything else. Someone had changed the sheets, either the Grandmaster himself or a servant, but it was still his bed. And he was dead and now it was hers...
The tears came bubbling up again. This time, she let them fall.
End of Book Seven
Emily Will Return In
Wedding Hells
About the author
Christopher G. Nuttall was born in Edinburgh, studied in Manchester, married in Malaysia and currently living in Scotland, United Kingdom with his wife and baby son. He is the author of twenty novels from various publishers and thirty-nine self-published novels.
Current and forthcoming titles published by Twilight Times Books
Schooled in Magic YA fantasy series
Schooled in Magic -- book 1
Lessons in Etiquette -- book 2
A Study in Slaughter -- book 3
Work Experience -- book 4
The School of Hard Knocks -- book 5
Love’s Labor’s Won – book 6
Trial By Fire – book 7
Wedding Hells – book 8 (forthcoming 2015)
The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire military SF series
Barbarians at the Gates -- book 1
The Shadow of Cincinnatus – book 2
The Barbarian Bride – book 3
Chris has also produced The E
mpire’s Corps series, the Outside Context Problem series and many others. He is also responsible for two fan-made Posleen novels, both set in John Ringo’s famous Posleen universe. They can both be downloaded from his site.
Website: http://www.chrishanger.net/
Blog: http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ChristopherGNuttall
Trial By Fire (Schooled in Magic Book 7) Page 39
