(The Zero Enigma Book 6) The Family Pride

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Like Francis.” I was reeling inside. I’d known my father was strict - I still cringed at the memory of the lecture he’d given me for stealing a book, unaware that it was Isabella who’d actually stolen the book - but I’d never thought of him as a bully. He didn’t abuse the servants or ... or anything. “You did all this for revenge?”

  “And a position of power for myself,” Uncle Malachi said. “You lucky brat, born with a silver spoon in your mouth ... you can’t understand what it’s like to be powerless.”

  I remembered lying on the ground, my hands and feet tied and my magic gone and shuddered. I could understand, better than I cared to admit. And yet ... maybe not. I might be stripped of my position as Heir Primus - even now, even after winning the Challenge - but I wouldn’t be kicked out of the family. I’d spend the rest of my days in the forgery, developing my skills ... it would almost be a dream come true. But Uncle Malachi? He would go straight back to the gutter.

  “Your sister committed treason and she was merely exiled,” Uncle Malachi said. It was almost as if he had read my thoughts. “But me? I can be stripped of everything I have at any moment.”

  “I don’t know what Father did to you,” I said. “But whatever it was, it doesn’t justify everything you did.”

  Uncle Malachi shrugged. “Winners write the history books, young man. You would be astonished - and horrified - by how much is never written down, simply because the people in power don’t want it remembered. And you know ...”

  I saw a flash of horror cross his face. “Everything I did proved worthless in the end. And everything I was given ... it can be taken away.”

  “You said.” I met his eyes. “Francis is dead.”

  “Yes.” Uncle Malachi smiled, coldly. “It serves Davys right. He was always the worst of the pair. I could tell you stories, you know. Things he did, even as a young adult. He never learnt restraint. He would go to the brothels and trash women and ... and do things you probably never considered possible. Hah. I always figured the family council would disinherit him if your father died without issue. He might even have ensured that your parents never had more children.”

  I stared at him. “Really?”

  “It’s possible.” Uncle Malachi grinned, humourlessly. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  I let out a long breath. How many monsters were there in High Society? Stregheria Aguirre, Saline’s uncle ... and now two of my uncles? Were we all related to monsters? I was starting to think that Louise had a point, when she said we were all monsters. But ... I couldn’t believe that Uncle Davys had cursed my parents after Isabella and I were born. Father would never have let him get away with it. Unless ... Father had never realised what he’d done. It was possible ...

  Or he might be trying to provoke you into doing something stupid, I reminded myself, savagely. Remain focused on him.

  A thought crossed my mind. “Uncle ... years ago, Isabella borrowed - stole - a book from Father’s private collection. I never understood how she managed to get into the cabinet without being caught by the wards. Did you give it to her?”

  Uncle Malachi’s face darkened. “I encouraged her, just a little.”

  I felt a flash of raw anger. “What were you thinking?”

  “That I wanted to make your father pay.” Uncle Malachi rose. I sensed magic crackling around him. “And now, you are going to let me walk out of the door and leave the manor.”

  I moved to block his way. “Why should I do that?”

  “Because I know things,” Uncle Malachi said. “Things you and your family - the inner family - cannot afford to have discussed in public. Things that will make you pariahs in High Society, things that will make Lady Caitlyn’s family throw up their hands in horror and cancel the betrothal. You will let me go, in exchange for my silence.”

  He shrugged. “You can keep Penny.”

  I stared at him. “You ...”

  It was impossible to put my feelings into words. I had little love for Penny, after everything she’d done, but to have her father simply abandon her ... Isabella had committed treason, yet my father hadn’t abandoned her. I clung to the thought as I raised the sword, ready to cut him down if he made one false move. Whatever my father had been in the past, he wasn’t that person now. A man like the teenager Uncle Malachi had described wouldn’t have hesitated to throw his daughter to the wolves. It was Uncle Malachi who’d never grown up.

  He’s old enough to be my father and he’s still trapped in the teenage mindset, I thought, my emotions churning. He’d learnt to hide his true thoughts and feelings very early. I shuddered, wondering what would have become of Kate if I hadn’t caught Penny bullying her. Would she have turned into a monster too? I can’t let him go.

  The sword hummed, demanding blood. I told it no. Uncle Malachi had to answer for his crimes. His allies had to be identified and ... sent into exile. Or kicked out onto the streets to starve. It would be only fitting, even though ... I felt an odd flicker of sadistic amusement as I realised Uncle Malachi had trapped himself. He might have sought revenge on my father, and he might even have succeeded, but it wouldn’t have left him in a better position. His backers, whoever they were, would have no qualms about letting him take the fall. They might even kill him to bury their tracks ...

  “Sit down,” I ordered. “You’re going to answer some questions for ...”

  Uncle Malachi snapped a word. The books flew off the shelves and launched themselves at me. I ducked back, hastily casting a shield charm to protect myself. Francis had forced me to practice, time and time again, until I could cast the charm in less than a second. I hoped that, wherever he was, he was having a laugh at Uncle Malachi’s expense. He’d done something to help catch the villain before he’d met his doom.

  I lunged forward, the sword lashing out. It wanted to cut through Uncle Malachi’s head - it sliced through his protective wards as though they weren’t there - but I managed, somehow, to whack him with the side of the blade. He grunted, staggered to one side and collapsed to the floor. I took no chances and stunned him, again and again. He could be faking it. I had no doubt he’d learnt to fake pain and unconsciousness - even death - when he’d been a student. An aptitude for cringing and begging had probably come in handy, if half of what he’d done me was true.

  The sword hummed. I returned it to the scabbard, then checked Uncle Malachi’s pulse. It was steady, but ... I shook my head. He’d have the very best of care until he awoke, whereupon he’d be questioned and then ... I had no idea what my father would do. I doubted it would be anything pleasant. Uncle Malachi was an adult. He knew the consequences for treason. Or, at least, the consequences for being caught.

  I heard the door open behind me. “Akin,” Father said. His voice was very tired, as if he’d gone without sleep for far too long. “Well done.”

  “How much of that did you hear?” I asked, as I turned. Father looked ... old. “Were you listening?”

  “Enough.” Father cast a spell over Uncle Malachi’s body, then nodded to me. “I think we should have the rest of the discussion in my office.”

  “Yes, Father.” I cleared my throat. “And what about him?”

  “We’ll take care of him.” Father’s voice was very flat. It suggested he was in no mood to brook defiance. “Now, come.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Father’s office had changed.

  I looked around, thoughtfully, but it was hard to tell how it had changed. The room seemed ... smaller, somehow: otherwise, there weren’t any changes as far as I could tell. And yet ... it dawned on me, slowly, that I’d been a very different person, the last time I’d been inside the office. I’d been a boy, back then. Now, I was a man. I looked down at myself and smiled as I sat on the armchair. My body hadn’t changed over the last few months, but ... I’d grown out of childish attitudes. I was no longer merely my father’s son.

  “I heard the reports from Jude’s.” Father sat and poured us both some tea. “Francis’s body has been re
covered and is being held there, until we can decide what to do with it.”

  “Bury him with his ancestors,” I said. “He was family, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Father passed me a cup of tea. “What happened? Tell me everything.”

  He’d given me the good china, I noted. The adult china. The cup was so delicate that the slightest mistake could break the handle. I handled it gingerly, taking a sip ... it tasted wonderful. Father had never made me tea before, not as far as I could remember. It was yet another sign that I was an adult, that we were - almost - equals. I felt an odd little pang as I launched into the story. Uncle Malachi might have the last laugh, after all. I would never be able to look at my father in the same way again.

  Father listened, saying nothing, as I told him everything. Almost everything. I left out some of the details - I wasn’t going to mention Isabella’s involvement, or how Ayesha McDonald had turned me into a frog and left me in the girls’ locker room - but I told him almost everything else. He didn’t ask any awkward questions as I outlined how I’d put the team together, how we’d embarked on our adventure, how we’d been betrayed ... and how Alana and I had worked together long enough to understand what was really going on. Father didn’t condemn me for sharing the victory. Indeed, I rather thought he was pleased.

  “You won,” Father said, when I had finished. “Or, at least, you shared the victory. Yes. We can spin that to our advantage.”

  “Yes, Father.” I found it hard to care. “What about ... What about Francis?”

  Father sighed. “I’ll have to discuss that with Davys,” he said. “It won’t be easy to cover it up, not after ... everything.”

  I met his eyes. “Wouldn’t it be better to tell everyone the truth?”

  “Perhaps.” Father looked back at me, evenly. “Not everyone will keep their silence. But ... we don’t need another scandal, not now. Let them remember him fondly, if they wish.”

  “Perhaps,” I echoed. I looked down at my hands. “I don’t know how to feel about it.”

  “I understand.” Father rested a hand on my shoulder, just for a second. “He was family. He shouldn’t have betrayed you. You should hate him for that, but there are so many good memories that you find it hard to hate. And that isn’t a bad thing.”

  “Really?” I looked up. “Father, how did Malcolm Sweeny die?”

  Father looked pained. “Back then, there were four of us. Davys, Malcolm, Malachi and myself. We thought we were the very best of friends.”

  “Uncle Malachi had a different opinion,” I said, tartly.

  “I know.” Father met my eyes. “I never realised ... I suppose I saw what I wanted to see, like so many others.”

  He shook his head, slowly. “We took the Challenge, the four of us. No one else needed, we thought. I didn’t understand the true nature of the Challenge. You” - he gave me a proud look - “surpassed me there.”

  I beamed, feeling almost like a child again. I wanted my father to be proud of me. And now ... I basked, even though I also felt a little guilty. I wanted him to be proud of Isabella too.

  “My father - your grandfather - thought that I would prove myself, if I won the Challenge. I didn’t realise that Davys was jealous, not then. I didn’t realise that he thought he should be Heir Primus. And when we went onto the field, he betrayed me. Like father, like son ... I suppose. Perhaps I should have warned you, but ...”

  He shook his head. “Malcolm got in the middle, between us. I don’t know who fired the curse that actually killed him. It was an accident, I’m sure. Malcolm was the best of us, the one who would always try to tell us ... well, he tried. We never listened. Malachi stood to one side and watched as we fought. Afterwards ... the whole affair was covered up. Malcolm’s death was officially classed as an accident. It was, I think. Neither Davys nor I wanted to kill him.”

  I shuddered. “And it was all covered up?”

  “Yes.” Father studied me for a long moment. “Grandfather wasn’t happy. He took off his belt and ordered me to bend over for a thrashing, then told me I’d have to learn to live with what I’d done. I might not have fired the curse that killed him, but ... his death was partly my fault. Even if no one else knew about it, I did. And it hung over me until ...”

  “You sent me to take the Challenge,” I finished.

  “Yes,” Father said. “Oh, I was relieved when we had a son and a daughter instead of two sons. I didn’t want you and your brother to fight it out for the title, not after ... Davys was my friend, I thought. I hated to lose the closeness we’d once shared. I thought Isabella and you could be allies without ever having to come to blows.”

  “And she resented it,” I said. “Father, she would have made a better Heir Primus.”

  “Would she?” Father lifted his eyebrow. “It was you, not her, who solved the Challenge. It was you, not her, who befriended people who could help. And it was you, not her, who actually allied with an enemy - a rival, I suppose - to win. Isabella ... takes too much after me. It’s you who takes after your mother. She was always the one who thought in terms of making friends, rather than trying to win all the time.”

  “It wasn’t fair, though,” I argued. “She should have had a fair shot at the title.”

  “I know,” Father said. “I might even agree with you. But tradition cannot be gainsaid so easily.”

  “Father ...”

  Father held up his hand. “I will do what I can, as always,” he said. A faint smile ghosted across his lips. “And, thanks to you, I may finally have the leverage to bring our enemies to heel.”

  “Uncle Malachi’s backers,” I said. “Father ... what will you do to him?”

  “It depends.” Father looked pensive. “It never crossed my mind, you know, that he might not see things in the same light as I. I never thought that ... he might fear me as much as he loved me. But then…I was a little monster back then. If I had the time again, things would be different.”

  “You can’t,” I said, quietly.

  Father nodded. “We can only go onwards. And if Malachi is cooperative, if he names his backers and helps me gather evidence against them, I won’t be too rough. Perhaps. Davys will want blood, of course. Francis is dead and he’ll want revenge. Maybe we’ll just send him back to the gutter, as he feared.”

  “It isn’t fair,” I mumbled.

  “The world isn’t fair.” Father met my eyes. “And a lack of fairness doesn’t justify treason, attempted murder and actual murder.”

  “No, Father,” I agreed.

  Father sighed. “I’ll have to discuss the matter with Petal, too. She may have something to say about how Malachi should be treated. And Penny. You handled that well, although you could have done it better. No one would have blamed you if you’d hexed her into next week.”

  “Her victims needed to see justice done.” I shifted, uncomfortably. “I’m not sorry.”

  “You’re a better person than I was, at your age.” Father reached into his pocket and produced a small box. “I have something for you.”

  The words slipped out before I could stop them. “You’re going to propose?”

  Father gave me a long look. “If only your generation was half as funny as you think you are,” he said, crossly. “It’s a very different kind of ring.”

  He opened the box, revealing a silver signet ring. I stared, feeling - just for a moment - as if I wasn’t ready. The family crest shone, the magic embedded within the sigil responding to my father’s presence. It was more than just a ring, I knew. It was a seal, something I could use to verify my letters and ...

  It struck me, all of a sudden, what was happening. What Father intended to do.

  “I am proud of you, son.” Father’s voice was tightly controlled. “And it gives me great pleasure” - he held out the box - “to welcome you to adulthood.”

  I stared, my stomach churning. Adulthood ... if I took the ring, I would be a legal adult, with all the rights and responsibilities of any young blade. I could do any
thing any other adult could, from drinking alcohol and quaffing pleasure potions to ... getting married. It wouldn’t be long, I knew with a sickening certainty, before Cat was declared an adult too. She and her sisters were my age. Traditionally, girls were declared adults in early summer ... only a few short months away.

  And then we’d be expected to get married, I thought, numbly. I wanted it and yet ... I was nervous. How did she feel about it? I thought she wanted it too, but ... I didn’t know. Our families would not be amused if we didn’t get married. What will they say - or do - if we refuse?

  I took the ring and rested it on my palm, as I’d been taught. The glow grew a little brighter as the ring bonded to me, then settled. I placed it on my finger, feeling the charmed band tighten until it was firmly in place. I felt ... I was an adult now, for better or worse. I wasn’t sure how I felt. My father and I would never be equals, but ... right now, we were on a more even footing than parent and child. I could talk back to him if I wanted.