It’ll be a while before I start on this one, but i just had this scene buzzing through my head.
Prologue I
I was nine when I touched the Family Sword for the first time.
It wasn’t something I was meant to do. My parents had made it clear to us that my sisters and I were not supposed to enter the Great Hall without an escort, let alone touch one of our family’s most priceless heirlooms. But … well, I suppose I should start at the beginning.
My sisters and I had been studying magic for two years. We were home-schooled, of course; we weren’t sent to primary school for another year. My family’s tutors saw to it that we were fed a diet of magical theory, ancient languages, magical runes and, of course, practical studies. My sisters had moved ahead in leaps and bounds, while I … I had yet to cast a single spell. I could see the disappointment on my father’s face, even though he tried to hide it; I could see the scorn and contempt on my sisters’ face when they realised I lacked any spark of magic. My potions were perfectly brewed, my runic diagrams and magical calculations were perfectly drawn …
… And it didn’t matter. I couldn’t perform even the simplest spell.
One cold winter evening, I stumbled out of the schoolroom feeling as though my head was on fire. It had been a long session, with a doddering old great-great-uncle for a tutor … he wasn’t a bad sort, not really, but he had a habit of addressing us by names that belonged to our older relatives. And he’d made me draw out a basic diagram again and again, as if simple repetition would finally lead to magic flowing out of my fingers and into the design. My head hurt, my fingers hurt … all I wanted was to catch an hour or two of sleep before dinner was served. I could hear my sisters and cousins playing in the snow outside as I reached the top of the stairs, the sound mocking me. They were animating snowmen and using them to have snowball fights, but … what could I do? There was no way I could join them. The best I could hope for was being turned into a snowman myself.
I was alone. It hurt, more than I cared to admit.
The sound behind me caught me by surprise. I started to duck, too late. The spell slammed into my back and my entire body froze. I was utterly unable to move, unable to save myself as I tumbled over and over, falling down the stairs. My body crashed into the banisters, the sound echoing though the stairwell as an unseen force pushed me further and further downwards. I caught a glimpse of Alana standing above me, posing dramatically on the top of the stairs. Her dark face was alight with glee.
I prayed to all the ancestors that her spell wouldn’t snap until I reached the bottom, praying with a desperation I rarely felt. The freeze spell saved me from feeling any pain, but if it gave out while I was still falling I’d crash straight into the banisters. Or something. My body kept flipping over and over – Alana must have combined her hex with a locomotive spell – until I crashed into the Great Hall and rolled over the marble floor. I hit the statue of Aguirre Primus and stopped, dead. My distant ancestor’s statue seemed to be glowering down at me in disapproval. How could one of his bloodline be so weak?
The spell held me firmly, keeping me still as Alana inched her way down the stairs. I could hear her footsteps tap-tapping on the stone, pausing every so often to make sure no one was coming to find out what was making the noise. Alana might be the favoured of the family, the one deemed most likely to succeed my father as Aguirre Matriarch, but even she would be in trouble if she was caught in the Great Hall. Dad would be angry and Mum would be furious. The Great Hall was for impressing guests, not for little girls to play. I tensed inwardly as I heard her walking over towards me, bracing myself for another cruel hex – or worse. And then she rolled me over and glared down at me.
“You are pathetic,” she said, nastily. A faint mark on her dark cheek glimmered with an unearthly light. She’d had a potions accident and the remnants of the brew had yet to wear off. It wasn’t dangerous, but it made her look silly. “You can’t even cancel a simple spell.”
I wanted to snap out a response, but I couldn’t move a muscle. She was right. I knew she was right. The freeze spell we’d been taught was among the simplest of hexes, the easiest to cast – and to cancel, if you knew how to focus your magic. I’d watched from the upper levels as the extended family romped around in the snow, freezing each other with gay abandon. And I’d wanted to join them, even though I knew I couldn’t …
Alana leaned forward, as if she had something important to share. “You want to know a secret? You’re not our sister.”
I had to fight to stay calm. I wanted to scream. It was hard to believe, sometimes, that I could really be the daughter of Joaquin and Sofia Aguirre. My parents were amongst the most powerful magicians in the kingdom, perhaps even the world. And I didn’t have any magic at all.
“Dad just wanted to claim he had triplets,” Alana added, in a sweet tone that didn’t fool me for a second. “He took a foundling girl and …”
The spell snapped. I started upwards, too late. Alana leapt backwards with commendable speed, one hand raised and ready to cast a spell. She knew better than to be within arm’s reach of me. Forging had made me strong for my age. I wanted to lunge at her, to break her nose for the second time, but … she’d get me before I managed to strike. I dreaded the thought of what she’d be like, after she went to school. She was quite bad enough now, with only a handful of spells at her disposal.
“I look like Dad,” I said. It was true. My face was solidly feminine, but I looked more like my father than my mother. “I …”
“There are glamours that can change a person permanently,” Alana reminded me. “Given time, they soak into the skin.”
I bunched my fists, feeling hot tears prickling at the corner of my eyes. She was lying. She had to be lying. And yet, there was a quiet nagging doubt at the back of my mind. What if … what if she wasn’t lying? A foundling girl would be defenceless. She’d have no family to come to her aid. No one would care if someone took her into their family and wrapped her in a glamour … no one would question her bloodline, if she was formally adopted. My father could have done that to me …
“That’s why you have no magic,” Alana said. She tried to sound regretful and failed utterly. “You’re not one of us.”
I tried to think, even though I wanted to cry. What if … what if … a thought struck me and I turned, looking for the Family Sword. It was embedded in a stone anvil, the visible part of the blade glowing faintly with a pearly white light. My father’s family had owned the sword since we’d joined the Thousand-Year Empire. We – those who shared a bloodline that dated back nearly two thousand years – were the only ones who could lift it.
“I’ll show you,” I said.
I heard her gasp as I walked towards the glowing sword, half-expecting to run into a protective spell. Dad would be furious if he knew I’d touched the blade. I’d be grounded for life or sent to bed without supper or … maybe he’d take one of Great Aunt Stregheria’s particularly unpleasant child-rearing suggestions. Her children didn’t exist and I still felt sorry for them. No magic snapped at me as I clambered onto the anvil, no ward held me in place while summoning the master of the house; I wrapped my dark fingers around the blade and pulled. It came out of the stone easily.
Alana gasped a word that Mum would have washed her mouth out with soap merely for thinking, let alone saying. I almost echoed her. The sword was huge, taller than I, yet I had no trouble holding it upright. It felt as light as a feather. The blade glowed brightly in my hands. I jumped down, holding the sword upright. It seemed to hum as I waved it through the air.
“You’re going to be in big trouble,” Alana said.
She jabbed a finger at me, casting a spell. A brilliant hex flashed through the air … and exploded harmlessly against the blade. The sword had moved in my hands, cutting the spell out of the air. I could feel it twisting, readying itself to deflect another spell. A trickle of unease ran through me as my body shifted, not entirely as I wished. The sword seemed to be controlling me, not the other way around. It felt as if it was going to slash out at Alana … no matter what I wanted. I was no longer in control.
Alana took a step backwards, fear flickering over her face. “I think you should put the sword back,” she managed, her voice quivering. “Cat …”
My legs moved forward of their own accord. The sword hummed louder, pulling me onwards. I tried desperately to let go, but my fingers seemed to be sinking into the hilt … it felt as though the sword was becoming part of me. The horror stories I’d been told about the dangers of Objects of Power suddenly felt terrifyingly real. I’d made a horrific mistake.
“Stop,” Dad’s voice said. He was behind me. The sword froze in my hands. “Put the blade down.”
I obeyed. The sword no longer felt part of me. It’s light dimmed the moment I let go of the hilt. And then I swung around and hugged my father, desperately. I knew he was going to be angry, I knew I was going to be punished, but … I wanted to hold him. I wanted to know it was going to be alright. I wanted …
“That was unwise,” Dad said, lifting me into his arms. “You’re nowhere near ready to touch the sword.”
“But I could touch the sword,” I said, plaintively. Alana had been wrong. I was my father’s daughter. “I’m one of the family. Right?”
“Oh, Caitlyn,” Dad said. He held me tightly. I heard a faint choke in his voice. “Was that ever in doubt?”
I couldn’t answer. Not then. But we both knew the truth.