Snippet – The Unnatural Order (Schooled in Magic 27)

Prologue I: The Grand Sorcerer

Great Sorcerer Resolute, Council Leader and Head of State, stood in front of the window and stared out over the city. His city.

Celeste was a beautiful city, a strange combination of wizarding towers, dimensionally transcendent homes and fairy-tale structures that could only be built with magic, and would collapse under their own weight if the magic went away. There was no other city quite like it,  Resolute knew, and there never would be. Most magicians lived alone, or in families that were really clans; Celeste, and Celeste alone, was the only place where hundreds of magicians lived and worked together, sharing their lives as only those touched by the gods could. It was the closest thing to paradise the world had ever seen, and yet …

He chose not to look at the drab buildings on the edge of the city, just inside the walls, where the mundanes lived, or to allow his imagination to wander to the layers of lost cities built on top of other cities, only to be buried again under Celeste. The city was old – the site had been settled so long ago that much of the city’s history had been lost – and warped by magic, from the sheer pressure of so many wards and magical structures to the remnants of experiments and magician disasters that had been flushed into the undercity and left to turn the local environment into a danger zone. He’d been down in the tunnels as a young apprentice, hoping to strike it rich; he’d found nothing, beyond an appreciation of the city – and the sheer potential it represented – that his master had never shared. And it had given him a cause.

The old simmering anger burnt at the back of his mind as he waited for the council meeting to begin. Celeste was the hub of magical activity, of everything from trading to higher education and apprenticeships, and yet the magical aristocracy and the Allied Lands had tried to cut the city down, to keep it from growing into the wonder it should have become. They had made the rules and enforced them, taking the best of the newborn magicians for themselves and limiting the rest to ensure they could never pose a challenge to their rule. Resolute – he hadn’t been called Resolute, in those days – had been denied a chance to rise to the top, because he refused to let himself be turned into breeding stock and lacked the power to convince the aristocracy to overlook his lowly origins. He had seethed with resentment when he’d been forced to take up the sole apprenticeship he could find, but he’d turned that resentment into power when he’d entered local politics. He wasn’t the only one who saw the Compact as a tool to keep the lower magicians down, keeping them from enjoying their god-given gifts just as much as it kept them from rising to the top. It had taken time to build a power base of his own, to climb to the top of city politics and make a play to challenge the established order, but now …

His lips twisted, although there was no real humour in the expression. The Necromantic Wars were over. The Allied Lands were in disarray, the mundane aristocracy waging war on their rivals or being overthrown by their own people; the magical community was in chaos, trying to recover from the damage inflicted by a single power-mad sorcerer. There would never be a better chance to overthrow the Compact, to isolate the city of magicians and practice magic as it should be practiced. Who knew how far they could go? The city alone might not be enough for the new order. There was an entire world to be claimed.

And we have to move fast, he told himself. Everything has changed.

His heart clenched. He hadn’t believed the first reports from Heart’s Eye. The idea of mundanes being able to make magic was just absurd, the sort of nonsense one might read in the Lay of Lord Alfred. Resolute knew mundanes. They were, to a man, useless in the face of magic, cowering before magicians in fear in awe. The idea of a mundane who actually could gather, shape and cast magic was just … but it had happened. They’d built an airship, of all things, a flying castle that had been immune to spells and … and everything had changed. The old council had openly wondered why they should rock the boat, why they should risk everything on a bid for independence when they were already unchallengeable. But now they could be challenged. Their near-omnipotence was at risk.

It was time to act, to take control of their own destiny.

Someone cleared his throat, behind him. Resolute turned to see Boswell, a drab little man in a drab little robe, so low in magic that he barely had enough to light a candle. Enough to make him a magician, enough to let him lord it over the powerless mundanes, but hardly enough to let him become a power in his own right. The man had entered Resolute’s service a year ago and rapidly earned his master’s trust, not least because he had no aspirations of his own. He would rise and fall with his master, which gave him a very strong incentive to be as loyal as only a god-touched magician could be.

“My Lord,” Boswell said, with a nod. Magicians didn’t bend the knee to anyone, even lone powers. “The council has assembled, and is waiting on your pleasure.”

Resolute’s lips twitched, feeling a surge of glee as he picked up his staff and walked to the chamber. The councillors wouldn’t wait for long – they were prideful magicians, not mundanes – and he knew better than to keep them waiting, but it still felt good to have so many powerful magicians waiting on him. It was power, true power. He wondered, snidely, if it was how the Patriarchs and Matriarchs felt, as they lorded it over their magical families. He’d met Lady Fulvia once, back when she’d visited the city, and … he bit off that thought as he stepped into the chamber, Boswell taking his place at the wall as his master walked to his seat. The secretary had a perfect memory. He’d be able to recall, later, who had said what – and why.

But this time it won’t be needed, Resolute told himself. We are here to declare our independence, once and for all.

He sat, and allowed his eyes to survey the room. It had taken years of politicking to ensure that his faction controlled four of the High Council seats, giving them the majority they needed to take the vote to the Low Council. The outcome was already certain, to the point he was sure none of the councillors would take a stand by voting against it. They’d be taking their own lives in their hands if they did. They might be powerful magicians in their own right, but there were a lot of magicians on the streets who wanted independence and freedom now. Anyone who stood against their desires would be lucky if they had a chance to regret it.

“We stand at the brink of apotheosis or nemesis,” he said, without preamble. “The White Council is gone. The Allied Lands are in chaos. The magical families are in disarray. And the mundanes are getting ideas.”

He allowed his words to hang in the air. The idea of mundanes with magic was just terrifying – and it wasn’t just magic. He’d seen firearms and steam engines, railways and airships … the world was changing, and not for the better. The mundanes no longer knew their place … he cursed Lady Emily under his breath, for the changes she’d brought, even as he admired everything she’d done. She had the sort of power and influence he’d wanted, once upon a time, and the love and respect of countless people, magical and mundane alike. And yet, her foolishness was going to reshape the world. They had to take a stand now, while they could.

“It is time to act,” he said. He couldn’t help feeling a twinge of nervousness. They were about to step out of the shadows and into the light, to take control of an entire city and challenge the old order to a fight it could neither win nor refuse. “For decades, we have been held back; for decades, we have been treated as lower-class citizens, kept from achieving our full potential and becoming masters in our own house. It is time to separate ourselves from what remains of the old order, to renounce the Compact and inaugurate a brave new era.”

The air seemed still. No one spoke.

Resolute tapped the table, once. “All those in favour, raise your hands.”

The mood shifted. Four hands – including his – went up at once. Two more followed slowly, with a show of reluctance that might – or might not – be feigned. One hand stayed firmly on the table. Resolute scowled inwardly – Great Sorceress Sabayon had played her cards very close to her chest – and nodded openly. She would come to regret that, he was sure. Her voters were as driven by the idea of independence and freedom as the rest of the magical population. She would lose her post shortly, if he didn’t find a way to remove – or kill – her. There was no longer any time for half-measures. The dice had been thrown and now …

“The motion is carried,” he said. With six vote in favour, the Low Council wouldn’t try to stand in his way. Or even slow him down. “From this moment forth, we are an independent city once again.”

He allowed himself a tight smile. The preparations had already been made. The vote had been nothing more than a formality, a figleaf of legality covering a de facto seizure of power and imposition of a new order. His men were already fanning out, sealing the gates and removing a handful of magicians who could be relied upon to cause trouble, once they realised what had happened. Once order was in place, any magician who objected – or wanted to leave – would be allowed to go.

The mundanes would object too, of course. But who cared about them? They were beasts of burden, fit only to hew wood and draw water, to do all the hard drudgework while the god-touched magicians aimed for the stars. They would be put firmly in their place, if they tried to cause trouble. What could they do, against men touched by the gods?

What could they do, against magic?

Prologue II: The Merchant

Hannah looked up, sharply, and sucked in her breath as her cousin Jon stumbled into the shop.

It took her a moment to be sure it was Jon. He was normally a very handsome young man, to the point he never had any trouble finding a young woman to take to the dance hall, but now his head had been turned into an ass’s head, mounted so precariously on his body that she feared any sudden movement would break his neck. If he hadn’t been wearing the same short-sleeved shirt as herself, his tattoo clearly visible on his bare skin, she wouldn’t have recognised him at all.

“Jon?” Hannah stepped around the corner as the door closed behind him. “What happened?”

Jon opened his ass’s mouth and made a braying sound. Hannah gritted her teeth. The spell had robbed him of the ability to speak, at least in a manner anyone could comprehend. It was hardly the first time she’d seen some poor mundane hexed or cursed, for being powerless in a city ruled by magicians, and the hell of it was that it wasn’t the most sadistic or unpleasant transformation she’d seen. There were horrible rumours she knew to be rooted in fact … she bit her lip, hard, as she led Jon to the nearest seat and pushed him to sit down. It didn’t take much for a magician to decide to put a mundane in his place, to inflict humiliation or agony on a whim. Hannah had been hexed herself, more than once. And she had done nothing to deserve it.

“Stay there,” she said. Some magicians were friendlier than others, but she doubted she could find one who would undo the spell. They tended to believe that anything a magician did to a mundane was deserved, no matter how little that were true. “Don’t move.”

She darted to the door and locked it, switching the sign from OPEN to CLOSED. It was risky – she knew too many magicians who would happily take the sign as a challenge and blast the door down – but she dared not be caught doing something, anything, that could break the spell. Her skin crawled as she hurried back to the counter and opened an unlocked drawer, one that was so insignificant she hoped any watching eyes overlooked it. Their patron, who had cast the protective wards around the shop, could use them to spy if he wished. And if he caught them …

Her fingers closed around the runic tiles, pushing them into position as quickly as possible as she hurried back to Jon. The Magitech was simple, compared to some of the stories coming out of Heart’s Eye, but it was so explicitly illegal in Celeste that mere possession would be enough to get her a life sentence, and a brand new career as a spellbound slave. If she hadn’t had a distant cousin who’d obtained it for her … she braced herself as she pressed the tiles against Jon’s neck, all too aware she was crossing a line. But what choice did she have? The spell might wear off on its own or it might not, forcing her to pay through the nose for its removal.

Jon’s head twisted, bending in unnatural directions before snapping back to normal. “Thanks,” he muttered, gasping for breath. “That was …”

Hannah nodded, curtly, as she hurried back to hide the tiles and reopen the shop. There were advantages to living and working in Celeste – the money was good, and no one looked down at her for being a woman – but there were times when she wondered if it wouldn’t be preferable to go back to Kerajaan instead. Sure, she couldn’t own property in her own name – and if her husband turned out to be a boor she’d have to put up with it – but at least she wouldn’t be turned into a toad if she looked at some magician the wrong way, or merely happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, when an angry sorcerer was looking for targets. She glanced at the rear of the shop, where her father was preparing ingredients, and shuddered inwardly. It was their one chance to make a fortune, but the price was too high.

Her eyes narrowed, a shiver running down her spine as she saw the black-clad young men marching down the streets. The magicians had always pushed the mundanes around, but the near-constant harassment had been getting worse over the last few weeks. She had heard rumours of debates in council, suggestions it was time to declare independence … as if Celeste wasn’t already independent. A number of merchants had already moved out, a handful abandoning their patrons; others, she’d been warned, had been told they wouldn’t be allowed to leave the city until their contracts expired. She wondered, suddenly, if her father was one of them. She hadn’t been privy to the negotiations before he took possession of the shop.

Jon coughed. “Thanks,” he said, again. “I said no.”

Hannah blinked. “No? To what?”

“A witch wanted me,” Jon said. “I said no. And she hexed me.”

“I’m sorry,” Hannah said. There was nothing else she could say or do. The magicians made the rules and everyone else did as they were told, or else. Jon had been astonishingly brave to say no and … Hannah gritted her teeth. It could have been a great deal worse. “Perhaps we should just go.”

She glanced back at the curtain leading to the workroom, feeling a twinge of guilt for even thinking about it. Her father wanted to make enough money to ensure they could rise in the world, and Celeste was the only place they could make a fortune in a hurry. And yet, with every passing day, the city was growing darker and darker. She could leave now, buy passage to somewhere – anywhere – else and not return, but that would mean abandoning her father. And letting the magicians push her around.

A shimmer ran through the air, a frisson of magic that scared her to the bone. Her body twitched, then started to move of its own accord. A dreamlike trance fell over her, the world turning into a nightmare, as her body made its way out of the shop and up the road, Jan walking helplessly beside her. They weren’t alone, either. Dozens – hundreds – of mundanes were coming out of their shops and homes, from the youngest children to elders who could barely walk, some fully dressed and others dragged out of their showers or beds. The nightmare sharpened … she told herself, firmly, to wake up. She was suddenly, terrifyingly, aware of the force acting on her body, but it was impossible to resist. And yet, it was no dream.

Her eyes lolled from side to side, taking in the drab buildings. Mundanes were supposed to live in the ghettos, unless their masters chose to allow them to sleep in their homes, and they weren’t allowed to make their homes stand out in any way. They weren’t even allowed gardens and parks! The apartment blocks were dull and lifeless, the communal kitchens renowned for serving tasteless food … the schools and trade shops were the only places that showed any individuality and even that was very limited, more focused on useful skills than independent thinking. A student who learnt to think for himself would be lucky if he was merely ordered to leave the city.

She stopped at the top of the road, her body hanging listlessly as her head snapped upwards. A magician was floating above them, wrapped in an aura of power. A stab of pure envy ran through her, sharpening her mind despite the spell holding her in its thrall. She’d grown up a young girl in a kingdom that regarded young women as property, unless they had magic, and she’d often wished she had magic herself. It would have opened so many doors for her, given her the chance to go to Whitehall or Mountaintop or even become an apprentice in Celeste. Instead, her fingers were powerless and now …

The magician spoke quietly, but his words were audible right across the ghetto. “There is a new order,” he said, his tone shimmering with magic and authority. “Magic rules. Those of us who have power, who are blessed by the gods, will reign over those who were never blessed …”

Hannah felt her heart sink as he went on and on, detailing the removal of what few rights mundanes had in Celeste and reducing them all to serfs. She had known she was on the bottom half of the city, but now … she swallowed hard as the deadly speech came to an end, with a final reminder they were now de facto property. Maybe not quite slaves, but she’d met enough escaped serfs to know the only real difference between serfdom and slavery was the spelling.

The spell came to an end. Her body staggered, her legs buckling under her own weight. She would have fallen if Jon hadn’t grabbed her arm, holding her upright as the rest of the mundanes fell to the cobblestones. Some were crying, others were blank, their faces seemingly robbed of independent thought … Hannah tried to force herself to move, as the sheer horror of the situation washed through her mind. It was too late to run and hide, too late to escape the nightmare that had settled over the city. They were property now …

And that was all they would ever be.

Chapter One

“The Hierarchy does not exist,” Melissa said.

Emily eyed her thoughtfully as they sat in Melissa’s inner sanctum, a surprisingly shabby chamber that was remarkably comfortable. Melissa had recovered the family mansion – and the nexus point – after Void’s defeat, taking advantage of the chaos to reorganise the family and redesign parts of the mansion to suit herself. Emily couldn’t help thinking her inner chamber resembled their old common room at school, right down to the comfortable armchairs and sofas, but she kept that thought to herself. She wasn’t blind to the favour Melissa was showing her, by inviting her into her inner chamber. Melissa wanted – needed – to portray herself as a mature and reasonable young woman, a solid pair of hands to guide the Ashworth – and Ashfall – Families into a bold new era. It would have undermined her position if she shoved everyone her innermost sanctum. It was her space.

Melissa looked good, Emily noted. She was still the willowy redhead who had been a rival, and then a friend and ally, but she also looked more mature and reasonable than many other magical aristocrats. A slight bulge in her stomach suggested she was expecting, although no official announcement had been made. Emily suspected she was trying to keep the old ladies from bossing her around, once they realised she was pregnant, and turning the unborn child into a political pawn before the baby took their first breath. Melissa herself had been such a pawn and she’d hated it. Her husband – Markus – felt pretty much the same way.

“So I keep being told,” Emily said. There weren’t many people she could ask about the Hierarchy. Far too many of her older friends and mentors were dead – she felt a bittersweet pang as she recalled Void’s final words – or reluctant to talk, if indeed they knew anything. She was starting to wonder if its existence was a truth everyone considered bad manners to say out loud, even though it was indisputably true. “What do you know about it?”

“That it doesn’t exist,” Melissa said. She winked, one hand resting on her stomach. “Or that is what I was always told.”

Emily cocked her head. “And what were you told?”

Melissa leaned back in her chair, organising her thoughts. “You are aware, of course, that there are layers to the magical community that are opaque to outsiders,” she said. “A newborn magician who enters Whitehall will not be aware of the discussion circles, or quarrels, and even when they do make their way into magical society they will often be unable to get that far into the deeper layers. They simply lack the shared understanding of those born to magic, or the contacts they need to open doors they don’t even know exist. I have access to some of those networks, and Markus has others, but Fulvia had access to far – far – more.”

“I am aware,” Emily said, stiffly. The highest levels of society, mundane or magical, resembled nothing more than a mean girls association, ready to exclude anyone who was the slightest bit different, or weak, or simply a convenient target for malice, someone whose ouster could serve as a rallying cry to unite the group. She’d never liked such associations, not least because she lacked the personnel skills or outright sugar-sweet malice she’d need to partake. A word in the right pair of ears, a rumour with no discernible source … it wasn’t that hard to turn someone into the target, destroying their life for fun and profit. “And your point is?”

Melissa met her eyes. “The point is, some of those networks pass on whispered warnings. And one of those warnings, when I was a young girl, was about the Hierarchy.”

She paused, studying her hands. “It’s difficult to tell how much truth there is in the rumours,” she added. “Some stories insist the Hierarchy are the rulers of the world, and that everyone bows to them; others insist they rule in secret, and resistance is impossible because no one knows they’re in charge. Still others suggest the Hierarchy is a path to power, to the very darkest of magics; others insist the Hierarchy was destroyed, root and branch, by the Empire and exists now as a cautionary tale. And nothing more.”

“And no one knows anything for sure,” Emily muttered.

“No,” Melissa said.

Emily shivered. She had encountered two dark wizards in quick succession and both, when they died, had taunted her with a warning about the Hierarchy. The second had taunted her after he’d died, his body animated with a spell that should have been impossible. She knew better than to think anything was truly impossible, after so many years in a world shaped by magic, and yet the sight of a dead body issuing a final statement had chilled her to the bone. If the Hierarchy really existed – if – what better time to make a move than now, with the Allied Lands in disarray?

In all things, Virgil’s body had said, there is a Hierarchy.

Melissa spoke with quite certainty. “You know as well as I do just how many insane rumours there are out there,” she said. “Some are probably spread to conceal the truth. Others are little more than an attempt to build a reputation, to convince people they’re stronger than they seem or that their victory is assured. There isn’t an up-and-comer, male or female, who doesn’t pretend to be important, to make a show of having contacts or secrets or … or whatever it takes, to keep people guessing about his true power. Hinting at having ties to the Hierarchy could be just another attempt to boost their own reputation.”

“They issued their taunt after they were dead,” Emily pointed out. She could understand a living man trying to con everyone into overestimating his importance, but why bother when he knew he was dead? To spook her, or …? “And they were clearly up to something beyond petty power politics.”

She rubbed her forehead. The first Hierarchist – for want of a better term – she’d met had stolen a collection of books she’d buried under Whitehall, books that detailed how to summon and control demons. The nightmare he’d nearly unleashed had come close to destroying the entire world and yet … she wondered, sometimes, if it had been meant to fail. Some of the books were still missing and others had been copied, suggesting the knowledge was out and spreading. And then the second Hierarchist had been working to trigger a civil war, using it as cover for a slave trade ring … it puzzled her, more than she cared to admit. Virgil hadn’t needed to try to assassinate her, let alone spark off a war, to cover his own actions. And he hadn’t needed to use Marah …

The thought made her heart twist painfully. Marah – her former apprentice – was out there somewhere, doing … doing what? She wanted, she needed, to fight for the freedom of the common man … was she waging war on the aristos, using the magic Emily had taught her, or had she already run afoul of her own ambitions? Emily had no idea where the younger girl had gone, or why, but she had the nasty feeling that sooner or later they’d meet again. And who knew what would happen then?

Melissa met her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Emily looked up. “Talk about what?”

“What’s bothering you,” Melissa said. “Something is.”

“No.” Emily shook her head. Melissa wouldn’t understand. To her, Marah was an apprentice who had betrayed her mistress. She would never be anything else. There were no excuses, as far as the magical community was concerned, for such a betrayal. The idea that Emily might be willing to give Marah some space, and time, was just as absurd. She would never understand why Emily hadn’t already hunted Marah down and thrashed her, before kicking her out in disgrace. “I need to think about the Hierarchy.”

“Assuming it exists at all,” Melissa teased.

“There was something behind both dark wizards,” Emily said. She wasn’t sure how to put her feelings into words. They’d acted alone, but they’d also acted as though they were working with others … she wondered, suddenly, if the civil war had been intended to hide something more significant than a slave ring. “They were operating on too great a scale for them to be operating alone, for themselves.”

Melissa started to say something, then looked up as Markus entered the room and sat down next to her. Emily felt a twinge of envy at their happy domesticity, mingled with a grim awareness it would never be hers. She had no family in the Nameless World, no relatives who would help her up … no family name to serve as a sword and a shield. Her heart twisted, again. Alassa was married, Imaiqah might be getting married … was she going to be alone? She told herself, sharply, not to worry about it. Being born into a magical family was as much curse as blessing.

She looked at Markus and smiled. “What do you know about the Hierarchy?”

Markus blinked at the question. “I was … I was told about it by Aurelius, a year or two before we met,” he said. “It was a very vague statement.”

Emily leaned forward. “What did he say?”

“It was more what he didn’t say,” Markus said. He paused, clearly organising his thoughts. “I was one of the potential candidates for Head of Spider Hall, and the Administrator gave me an interview a week before the end of term. It was a very strange, very disjointed, conversation. I thought, at the time, that he was trying to confuse me.”

“Or lure you into sin,” Melissa offered, darkly.

Emily nodded. Administrator Aurelius had had one extremely capable agent – Nanette, who had later been recruited by Void – but having Markus in his corner, as the future Patriarch of House Ashfall, would be worth almost any price. He’d gone to a great deal of trouble to lure Emily herself to Mountaintop, the following year … had he been connected, on some level, with the Hierarchy? She wondered, numbly, just what he’d said when Void killed him. She hadn’t been there at the time. She hadn’t even known Void had killed Aurelius until much later.

She leaned forward. “What did he say?”

“He told me that the Hierarchy existed to take magic in unthinkable directions,” Markus said, slowly. “And he implied – very much so – that it existed outside the Compact. And the Allied Lands.”

Melissa blinked. “He thought that would tempt you?”

“I guess so.” Markus shrugged, languidly. “He never knew me very well.”

Emily made a face. There had always been a certain willingness amongst magicians to push the limits as far as they would go, a practice she could hardly condemn because she was guilty of it herself. The prospect of making a new discovery, from something as prosaic as a new potion recipe to a world-changing invention like magitech, had galvanised thousands of magicians, including a number who had accidentally killed themselves. Or worse. Markus wouldn’t be tempted by the prospect of being able to experiment without limits, or worrying about rules intended to prevent disaster, but she could name a dozen students in her old class who would be very tempted indeed. If she hadn’t seen the effects of dark magic up close and personal, she might have been tempted too.

“Unthinkable directions,” she mused. The first Hierarchist had been experimenting with demons, risking possession – or worse – during his mad rush to the White City. The second had been draining his slaves of magic and life itself, using magitech to gather their combined energies to power his spells. It was surprisingly innovative, for an traditional magician. She knew far too many who regarded magitech as just another form of conjuring. “What are they doing? What is the point?”

She met Markus’s eyes. “Did he mention any names?”

“No.” Markus shook his head. “In hindsight, he could have been testing to see how much I knew.”

“To see if Ashfall was dealing with the Hierarchy,” Melissa said.

Emily looked at her. “Were they? Were Ashworth?”

“If they were, I never knew about it,” Melissa said. “Fulvia is dead. A bunch of her cronies are also dead, or gone … as far as I know, they left the day I took power and never bothered to return. If they were dealing with the Hierarchy … the links were broken the moment they left.”

“Unless they’re still plotting against you,” Markus pointed out. “There are some people on my side of the family I wouldn’t trust to guess my weight, let alone watch my back.”

Emily listened to their banter with half an ear, mentally considering the possibility. The magical families did a great deal of research – House Ashworth had secrets, as did House Ashfall – and it was quite possible that some of that research had come directly from the Hierarchy. If they had a secret agreement, the discoveries could have been slipped into the mainstream without the true inventor ever coming into the light. It was far from impossible … a nasty thought ran through her mind, a horror story in which America and Russia had both traded with a secret and monstrously evil faction, out of greed for advanced technology and fear of being left behind. If the Hierarchy had close connections to the major families, it might explain why it had survived …

And Void killed a great many senior magicians, she thought, numbly. How much knowledge died with them?

“I wish I could tell you more,” Melissa said. “But all I know is rumours and innuendo.”

“You could track down Nanette,” Markus added. “She might know more.”

Emily nodded, although she doubted it would be possible. Nanette was a mistress of disguise, with a remarkable talent for passing unnoticed. She could be right next door, or halfway across the world, and tracking her down would be incredibly difficult. Emily didn’t even have the slightest idea where to begin. Nanette had told her a little about her family, but hardly enough to track them down either. The description had been so vague she could have come from one of a million possible families. She made a mental bet with herself that, if she went to Mountaintop and asked to see Nanette’s permanent record, it would be missing. Nanette was too smart to leave that lying around.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Melissa jumped and sat upright, letting go of Markus and brushing her hair back as her husband scooted away from her. Emily hid her amusement as Melissa waved a hand in the air, unlocking the privacy wards on the inner chamber. The door opened and a preteen girl stepped in, holding a charmed parchment in one hand. Emily’s eyes narrowed. If the adults had ordered a child to deliver the message, it almost certainly wasn’t good news.

“A messenger just dropped this off,” the girl said. She shot a worried look at Emily, then returned her gaze to Melissa. “It is charmed, and addressed directly to you.”

Melissa took the parchment, muttering a handful of spells to check it was safe to open. “Did you show the messenger to the guesthouse?”

“No, My Lady,” the girl said. “He said he had other messages to deliver.”

Emily felt a premonition of doom at the back of her mind as Melissa opened the parchment and scanned the message. It was rare for magicians to use messengers for anything other than the most important pronouncements, and even rarer for messengers to pass up the chance for a quick rest before galloping back onto the roads and heading back home. And yet, if the message was truly urgent, it would have been carried by a teleporter …

Melissa hissed, then looked at the girl. “You are dismissed.”

The girl hurried away, closing the door behind her. Melissa passed the parchment to Markus, then met Emily’s eyes. “Celeste has just declared independence.”

Emily blinked. Celeste was already independent. “Independence? Independence from whom?”

“Everyone, it seems,” Markus said. There was a hint of dark humour in his tone. “They’ve formally separated themselves from the Allied Lands, renounced the Compact, and demanded recognition as an independent state.”

“It’s more than that,” Melissa added. “They’re offering themselves as a home for discontented magicians, as well as those who want to push the limits as far as they can go,”

Emily took the parchment and read it carefully, forcing herself to parse through the stilted nuances of High Script and work out what it actually said. If anything, Melissa had understated the case. Celeste hadn’t just declared independence; it had laid claim to the farmlands around the city, defying the neighbouring kingdoms to do something – anything – about it. Worse, it had laid claim to the people who worked the lands. Ice ran down her spine as she considered the implications. Virgil had been sending his slaves to Celeste. And that meant trouble.

She cursed under her breath. The Compact was intended to do more than just keep the magical and mundane communities from clashing, let alone going to war. It was also intended to keep magicians from experimenting with dark magic, spells so dangerous they made necromancy look safe. The rules had been fraying for years – she knew she had played a role in weakening them, if accidentally – but now, if all the safeguards were to be tossed aside …

The system worked very well for the magicians who formed a de facto aristocracy, she mused grimly, but it was much less kind to the ones who were left in the cold.

“And if they’re breaking the Compact,” Melissa mused, “how far are they prepared to go?”

Markus grimaced. “They timed it well, didn’t they? There’s no one left to stop them.”

Emily shivered. Markus was right.