Fists of Justice (Schooled in Magic #12)

I followed my father through the gates – warded extensively to keep out hawkers, traders and pedestrians, even though I couldn’t sense the spells – and up towards the hall. It is an immense building, a mansion composed of stone and practically coated in protective enchantments and spells. The magical community is fond of testing our protections from time to time, sending probes over the walls and into our wards. So far, none of them have actually managed to break through the defenses.

Travis, the butler, opened the door as we approached. He’s lesser family – he has a blood tie to us – and it gives him an ability to sense the more senior members as they walk into the mansion. I rather liked him, despite a snooty attitude that grated on my nerves from time to time. My sisters joked he had his nose so high in the air that he kept walking into walls, but I didn’t think so. Besides, he had always been kind to me.

“Sir,” he said, addressing my father. “Your family is gathered in the lower dining room.”

“Very good,” Dad said. “We shall attend on them at once.”

I sighed – I’d hoped for a chance to sit down and plot revenge – but Dad clearly had other ideas. It was too much to hope that he would punish Alana, of course. He wanted me to develop my powers…and if that meant allowing my sister to jinx and hex me whenever my back was turned, he’d allow it as long as she didn’t do anything life-threatening. Social death, of course, didn’t register. It never seemed to occur to my father that while he had the power to be rude to all and sundry, I didn’t have the same luxury. No one made allowances for zeroes.

The hallway opened up in front of us as my father headed for the stairs, his calm measured tread echoing in the air. I followed him, pausing just long enough to glance at the Family Sword, buried in the Family Hearthstone. The sword is a genuine Object of Power, crafted over a thousand years ago and handed down from generation to generation. According to legend, only a true member of the family can draw the sword from the stone. I’ve seen a couple of apprentices, strong young men, try and fail to pull it free. The sword had been utterly unmovable.

I’d tried to pull it out myself, one day when Alana’s taunts had become unbearable. The sword had come out easily, even though I’d only been nine years old. It was proof, I suppose, that my parents didn’t take in a foundling they’d found on the steps…but I still couldn’t do magic. Half the sword’s true powers seemed beyond my reach. My father, wielding the sword, could work wonders. But then, he could work wonders without the sword too.

“Come on,” Dad said, crossly. “Don’t dawdle.”

I gave the sword one last look, then hurried up the stairs after him. The lower two floors of the mansion are devoted to my family’s work, ranging from living rooms for the apprentices and servants to forges, spell-crafting chambers and the lower library, one of the finest libraries in the world. The really interesting – and unique – texts are kept in the upper library, but most magicians would be pleased merely to have a look at the lower library. It’s the greatest store of magical knowledge in the kingdom, outside Jude’s, and it’s all ours.

The upper two levels, protected by a set of inner wards, are reserved for the family. No one, not even Dad’s most trusted apprentices, can pass through the doors without permission, unless they’re recognized as being of family blood. The doors open easily at my touch, but won’t move an inch for someone who isn’t keyed into the wards. And there are more powerful defenses lurking in reserve, just waiting for someone foolish enough to break through the outer layer. A magician who tries to break into our private quarters will spend the rest of his life wishing he hadn’t.

I wanted to go to my bedroom, if only long enough to splash water on my face, but Dad led me down the corridor and into the dining room before I could say a word. The smaller dining room is still larger than the classroom, easily big enough to sit thirty or forty guests…I’ve often wondered why Dad insists on having family dinners, when we could easily eat in our rooms. There are only five of us, after all. My parents, my sisters and myself.

Alana shot me a smug look as I entered the room. She looked…regal. My mother had been teaching Bella and her all the tricks she needed to get herself crowned queen bee, once she entered Jude’s. I’d sat in on a couple of lessons, when Bella had insisted on not suffering alone, but I’d found them immensely boring. Popularity was meaningless compared to power and I had none. As long as my sisters were around, I’d always be an outcast. Who would be my friend when it would expose them to my sisters’ malice?

I rolled my eyes at Alana, trying not to show how much it hurt to see her. Alana held herself like an adult, her long dark hair hanging down to brush against her shoulders. The dark blue dress she wore drew attention to her face, which was carefully made up to hide all traces of imperfections. Even at twelve, Alana was tall. She’d be taller than my mother by the time she graduated and went on to run the family. And the simple necklace she wore, glittering with eldritch light, was a sign of power.

“Dad,” Bella said. “You’re back!”

Dad smiled at her. I tried to keep my expression under control as I sat down. Bella had always been Dad’s favorite, although I’d never understood why. She was short and pudgy, barely putting in the minimum effort to succeed at anything. I could imagine her graduating from school and then coming home to spend the rest of her life vegetating, despite having more magic in her fingertips than most people have in their entire bodies. She was clever enough, when she could be bothered, but she rarely cared enough to put in the effort. I would have done far more if I’d had her powers.

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