Chapter Two

“Well?”

Johan Conidian winced at his father’s tone as he eyed the druid. He’d faced his father furious about something Johan had done, but the note of pleading – desperate pleading – in his voice was worse. His father was a powerful magician, with enough political power to earn himself a seat on the Privy Council; he shouldn’t have to beg or plead for good news. And yet there was no mistaking the plea in his voice.

The druid eyed Johan sadly, then turned his attention to Johan’s father. “I’m afraid that there is still no trace of magic in his body,” he said, flatly. “Nor are there any signs that he will develop it later in life.”

Johan couldn’t help a wince. He came from a family that had magic running through its veins, one where his siblings had started developing their powers before they even reached their teens. But he had no magic at all ... and, it seemed, no hope of developing it. In a world where magical power meant political power, he was a cripple. If he’d been born into a mundane family, he would never have known what he was missing. But he was part of the Conidian family ...

The sight of his father made him wince again. The Conidian was as tall as his son, but he looked tough, the sort of man who would never back down from a challenge, while Johan had inherited a slimmer build from his mother. His father’s hair was turning grey; Johan’s was still brown. And his father wore the fine robes of a Privy Councillor while Johan wore nothing but a drab black suit. A reminder, if any were needed, that he would never be more than a mundane freak who just happened to have magical relatives.

Most of his family pitied magical children who were born to mundane families. How awful it must be for them, his aunts and uncles had tittered, to know that they were far above their parents, let alone their non-magical siblings. But the jokes had long since stopped being funny, not to Johan. It was far worse to be the sole mundane in a family of magicians.

“I have run extensive tests,” the druid said, pointing to the array of devices he’d bought with him. Hiring the services of such a capable and well-known druid had cost the Conidian a pretty penny. “There is simply no trace of independent magic within Johan’s body. He doesn’t even seem to absorb background magic, despite living in a highly-magical environment. I’m afraid, sir, that you’re just raising false hopes and wasting money.”

Johan clenched his fists at the pity in the man’s tone. But the druid was right; if he’d had the slightest trace of magic in his blood, the background magic of the wards protecting House Conidian should have been drawn to him. Instead, being in the colossal house was almost like being in prison. He could not leave the building or do any one of a multitude of other tasks without asking one of his parents or siblings to do it for him. His parents did it, reluctantly. But his brothers and sisters were far more unpleasant about it.

“It isn’t unknown for people to develop magic comparatively late in life,” the druid continued. “However, in most such cases, the potential for magic already exists, waiting to be triggered.”

The Conidian leaned forward. “Is there nothing that can help him?”

Johan felt a stab of pain through his heart. He was a cripple – and his father was growing desperate to have him develop magic, any magic. Once, he’d read a handful of the darker tomes in his father’s private library, searching for something that would help him. But all he had learned was just how dangerous some magical rituals could be. And, for that matter, just how angry his father could become. Magical tomes were not to be shared with non-magicians.

“There are rituals that can enhance one’s magic,” the druid admitted, reluctantly. “However, in all known cases, they require a spark of magic to work. Johan could not perform even the first set of spells. And, even if he could, he would be risking insanity. Those rituals are immensely dangerous.”

His eyes seemed to narrow for a long chilling moment. “And research into what separates a magician from a mundane has long been banned,” he added. “I would not advise you to start asking too many questions.”

Johan turned away, unable to bear the pity in the man’s eyes. Everyone knew that magic was the gift of the gods, everyone knew that those who had magic were favoured by the gods ... which didn’t, in his view, explain why so many magicians were bullies or patronising assholes. To be born without magic was to be automatically lower on the social scale, no matter one’s birthright. He could be related to the long-gone Imperial Family and his lack of magic would still drag him down.

It’s not fair, he thought, bitterly. They have all the power and I have none.

No one knew quite how magic worked. Some magicians were born of magical family lines, others – for no apparent reason – appeared among mundane families. The priests claimed that the former were from divinely-blessed families and the latter were saints in the making, but Johan had his suspicions about those claims. His father donated a great deal of money to several of the larger temples and he knew that other magical families did the same. Why would the priests offend their paymasters by not promoting their interests?

And, just as no one knew why magic sometimes appeared in non-magical bloodlines, no one knew why magic had skipped Johan.

Johan had heard too many theories as he grew older and it became apparent that he would never be able to cast a single spell. His father and mother had argued long into the night about his parentage before certain spells had been cast, proving that the Conidian was indeed his father. Some of his siblings had suggested that Johan had been really rude to the gods in a past life ... or that he was just a freak, a monster in human form. A Powerless ...

And he was powerless.

He watched as the druid packed up his tools, slotting them all into a tiny bag he wore at his belt. Once, the sight would have fascinated him; the bag was tiny, yet it was large enough on the inside to take all the equipment that a druid might need at any moment. Now, it was just depressing. He could use such artefacts, but he would never be able to make them for himself or even modify the ones he bought. Nor, for that matter, would he ever be a druid. Who would want a mundane doctor when a druid could heal most wounds in a matter of minutes?

“My Lord,” the druid said, once he had finished packing. “I do offer my sympathies.”

The Conidian rose and escorted the druid out of his study, leaving Johan behind. It was rare for any of his children to be left alone in their father’s workspace – he normally kept it locked and sealed with powerful wards – and Johan couldn’t help finding it ominous. Sure, he couldn’t open any of the sealed chests to read his father’s private papers, but it was still worrying. It suggested that his father wanted to have a few words with him after the druid was safely out of the house.

Muttering curses under his breath, Johan rose to his feet and looked around. His father had only bought the house after the disastrous events of six months ago – Johan had never been given a clear explanation of why the investiture of the Grand Sorceress had gone so badly wrong, with hundreds of magicians killed – but he had already managed to make the room seem his own. A handful of portraits of his children dotted one wall, a set of awards given to him by various sycophants were pinned to another; the final two walls were covered in bookshelves, protected by additional wards. Johan reached out and felt his fingers skittering across the wards, gently repelled from touching the books. His father had said, back when they were moving in, that the books were off-limits to everyone, even his eldest son. Trying to break into his father’s study was a guaranteed thrashing.

Not that it matters to me, Johan thought, feeling the bitterness growing stronger. I couldn’t even begin to take down the wards.

He heard his father’s measured tread and hastily sat back down. The Conidian was normally a very controlled man, but Johan knew that he was growing increasingly frustrated – and desperate – by his son’s condition. Johan knew that he couldn’t help it, but who else was there for his father to blame? The gods knew that his mother was not only innocent of adultery, she was a powerful magician in her own right. But Johan ...? Johan was defenceless.

The door opened and his father stepped in, closing the door firmly behind him. Johan shivered, despite himself. The last time his father had been so ... controlled had been just after a practical joke had gone spectacularly wrong, landing all of his sons in hot water. It had been a painful evening for them all. But now ... Johan didn’t think that he’d done anything bad, yet he still shivered. He knew just how disappointed his father was with his son’s lack of magic.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quickly. “I wish ...”

“So do I,” the Conidian admitted. For a moment, his control slipped. “So do I.”

Johan took a breath. “Father ... I would like to apply for a position in the Civil Service,” he said, hoping that his father would be sympathetic. “I’m sixteen, old enough to take up an apprenticeship or strike out on my own. There are jobs there that I could do, after all the tutoring you gave me ...”

It had been impossible, of course, for Johan to go to the Peerless School. That school was for magicians only – and, according to Johan’s brother, weak magicians had a hellish time of it while they were trying to study. The strong preyed on the weak; Johan had listened in horror as Jamal had laughed about turning weaker students into frogs, or casting compulsion charms on them and embarrassing them in front of the whole school. He and his cronies even joked about tricking girls into using stripping spells on themselves. If a weak magician found it hard, he knew that a mundane would find it impossible to survive ... and no mundane could pass any of the magical exams.

The Conidian had been sympathetic to his son’s desire for education, but he had flatly refused to send Johan to any of the mundane schools. Instead, he had hired mundane tutors, who had given Johan lessons in everything from reading and writing to history and politics. Johan had learned more than he wanted to know about how the Empire worked ... and about how those without magic were often denied a chance to reach the very highest levels. But there were plenty of jobs for mundanes, particularly in the Civil Service. If he had been able to travel, he might have found his existence more bearable.

“I’m afraid that is out of the question,” the Conidian said. There was a certain amount of understanding in his tone, but also a great deal of inflexibility. “You are a scion of the Conidian Family and you should not be ...”

“Doing what?” Johan snapped, interrupting his father as his temper flared. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had dared be disrespectful of his father, let alone talk over him, but he was too angry to care. “Which part of the family business can I run?”

His father’s eyes darkened with rage, although he held himself under tight control. But Johan knew, whatever his father might say, that there was no way he could take over part of the family business. The magicians who had allied themselves with his father would not respect a powerless mundane, no matter his lineage. And the agreements that bound them all together wouldn’t respond to Johan at all. In some ways, he had freedoms that none of his siblings would ever know. But the price was really too high.

“You would not be ill-treated,” the Conidian said, finally. “But I cannot allow you to leave the family.”

Johan winced. Powerless – children born to magical families without magic of their own – were vanishingly rare; indeed, their existence had been considered rumour until Johan himself had been born. He suspected, given how many problems his existence had caused his family, that other powerless had simply been killed or abandoned as soon as it became clear that they weren’t going to develop magic. There were times when Johan wished that he’d been given up for adoption as a child. He would quickly have forgotten his roots, leaving him happy.

“Father,” he said, knowing that he was pleading, “I want to do something useful.”

“I cannot allow you to strike out on your own,” his father said, flatly. He held up a hand before Johan could say a word. “I do understand how you feel, but there are obligations that come from being part of House Conidian and you must respect them.”

Johan felt tears of anger and frustration forming at the corner of his eyes. “What do I get from being part of the family?” He demanded. “I am constantly reminded of my own weakness, my own failure! There hasn’t been a week when my powerful brothers and sisters don’t play jokes on their powerless wreck of a brother. I can’t even leave the house without permission!”

He stood up and started to pace, fighting the urge to flee before he started crying openly. “What sort of life do I have when even the maids and cooks have more power than I?”

“Go to your room,” his father said, softly. “We can talk about finding you another tutor ...”

Johan spun around to face his father. “What good does it do to study when I will never be able to use that knowledge?”

“There are people who say that learning is its own reward,” his father pointed out.

“That is not part of the family heritage,” Johan snapped. Part of his mind realised that he was being incredibly rude to his father, but he was too far gone to care. “We have spent the last five generations building up wealth, building up a patronage network that has ensured us the support of hundreds of weaker magicians and given us the chance to establish ourselves firmly among the elite of the Empire. Ambition runs in our blood. Everything we learn is put to use, not hoarded away ...”

His father sighed. “Johan ...”

“But I will remain here for the rest of my life,” Johan thundered. “A prisoner ... no, a pet. I won’t be able to find a wife; will you buy one for me? And if we have mundane powerless children, what will you do with them? Will you keep us all as one happy family of prisoners?”

His father lifted a hand in a spell-casting pose, then dropped it back to his knee. “Out,” he ordered. He had never used magic to discipline his children, but there was always a first time. “Now.”

Johan turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

***

Duncan Conidian watched his son leave, feeling his anger drain away into pity ... and sadness. He wasn’t good with showing love and affection; the endless lust for power and position that ran through the blood – as Johan had correctly identified – made it harder for him to spend time with his children. Indeed, he’d relied on his wife to bear and raise them while he concentrated on the family’s ambitions. It had ensured that his relationship with his children wasn’t as strong as it should have been.

But how could he have developed a strong relationship with Johan? His son was right; he was, to all intents and purposes, a prisoner in House Conidian. Duncan did understand why Johan wanted to be something else, something significant ... and there were positions for talented young men, even if they were powerless. And if Johan had been born to a mundane family, Duncan had no doubt that he would have risen high in the ranks, even earning the respect of magicians.

“But he’s my son,” he muttered, remembering with shame his reaction when he first realised that he’d sired a Powerless. He’d accused his wife of adultery, a row that had turned into a blazing magical duel that could easily have killed both of them. Even now, their relationship was fragile. “He would still have our blood.”

It was blood that tied families together; Johan, powerless through he was, still shared the same blood as the rest of his family. If he were to be captured by a magician, that magician would be able to use his blood against House Conidian ... and, as Johan had no defences, there would be no way for him to save himself. Johan had to be protected because he couldn’t protect himself, which meant that he couldn’t be allowed to go far from the house. It was unfortunate, but there was no choice.

Johan hated it when his older brother made him humiliate himself, or when his younger sister turned him into a doll. And how could anyone blame him for such hatred? But such tricks, cruel as they were, paled in comparison to what a genuinely evil magician could do. Johan was sheltered, too sheltered. He had no idea what dangers might be lurking outside, beyond the wards.

I’m sorry, Duncan thought, but there is no choice.

There was a tap at the door. “My Lord,” a maid said, “there is an Inquisitor at the door.”

Duncan sighed. Inquisitors were always bad news.

“I’m coming,” he said. There was no way he was going to show an Inquisitor his study. “Show him into the Reception Room to wait.”

The maid bowed her head, then left the room.