Introduction
When I started writing Schooled in Magic, I only had a vague idea of the backstories of some of the more major characters. I knew Void would turn out to be a well-intentioned extremist, and I had a good idea he would be Grandmaster Hasdrubal’s brother, but much of the detail of their early lives existed only as vague notes, if that. The only thing I knew beyond the bare fact they were brothers was that they’d done something stupid, as young men, and both of them had been scarred by it. The exact details didn’t come to my mind until I needed to devise an explanation for the lack of magical twins, at which point I decided there had been four half-brothers, the result of magical experimentation, and the incident that had scarred the two survivors also killed two others. Bit by bit, the rest of the details emerged into the light.
There are some discrepancies between Grandmaster Hasdrubal’s recounting and Void’s vague explanation from earlier in the books, but neither of them really want to admit to their flaws…
Chronologically speaking, Hasdrubal’s Tale takes place before Void’s Tale, just over a century before Schooled in Magic itself.
Prologue
My dear Emily,
I don’t know when you’ll read this letter, or indeed if you ever will.
My brothers and I bound ourselves, when we decided it was us against the world, with a Tontine Curse. The oath, rooted so deeply within our shared blood that nothing short of death could break it, ensured we could not share our secrets with anyone unless we all agreed to share. There were no loopholes, save one. If one of us were to die, the dead man’s opinion would no longer need to be taken into account. We felt, at the time, that the last of us could decide how much, if any, of our story could be shared with the wider world.
In hindsight, that was a mistake. My brother— my sole surviving brother, who I can only call by his moniker — and I disagree on many things, yet we are still bound by the tontine. I cannot talk to others, even you, without his permission and I know such permission will not be forthcoming. I attempted to discuss the matter with him, when you entered our lives, and he was firmly of the opinion sleeping dogs should be left to lie. I am one of the most powerful magicians in the world, with some of the others working under me, and yet my ability to evade the tontine is very limited. It took me years to come up with an evasion and I know, even as I write, that it may not work. You may simply never see this letter, or he will find it first and destroy it before you ever know it exists. The odds of you seeing it before matters come to a head are very low.
The spells woven into this parchment, Emily, are tied to the family bloodline. The letter will remain hidden from sight, once I seal the scroll, until there is only one of us left. It may slip through the tontine if I am the one to die, as I will be dead at the time and the curse won’t survive me. If it isn’t me who dies, I will speak to you in person and destroy this letter. It might not be easier, but it will be better.
It is not easy to write these words. I am loathe to confess my own failings, and my role in the disaster that got my brothers killed, but you have to know. You have to be warned before it is too late. And yet, I don’t know if you’ll ever see this letter. If you don’t…
Let me start at the beginning, to give you some context. Our father — Hiram of House Barca — liked to consider himself a researcher. He was a very powerful sorcerer with a complete lack of scruples, when it came to digging into the roots of magic. House Barca regarded him with a degree of wariness. He’d made a number of breakthroughs, even as a young student, but those discoveries had always been made at a price. He was repeatedly suspended as a student for testing potions and charms on other students and, afterwards, there were persistent rumours of horrific experiments conducted in his private lair. The family tried not to look too closely. As you might expect, they wanted to reap the rewards without getting blood on their hands — literally.
It is difficult to tell what our father had in mind when he conceived us. The majority of his research notes didn’t survive (or so we were told; I have always wondered if they vanished into the family archives) and what little fell into our hands were a combination of spell fragments and insane ravings, none of which made any real sense. We only have a rough outline of what happened. My father collected four common-born women, all with magic, and convinced them to bear his children, then step out of their lives. I like to think he paid them well, for their services, but the truth is I don’t know. They must have been desperate to agree. Even then, newborn magicians were being offered the chance to go to school or marry into magical families. They should have had other options, if he gave them a choice.
The family’s theory was that my father believed magical twins — or quadruplets, in this case — would share their magic, perhaps even their souls. He might have been right. Twins are far from uncommon amongst mundanes, but almost unknown amongst magicians. He certainly went to a lot of trouble to ensure the four women conceived at the same time — the exact details have been lost to time, which is probably for the best — and gave birth within minutes of each other. Quite what happened to the mothers after that I don’t know, but I fear the worst. None of them ever came forward to make contact with us.
This time, it looked as though my father had really gone too far. The family was not pleased to be presented with four new heirs, so alike they even suspected glamours before realising the truth. Nor were they willing to tolerate my father crossing the line so badly it was quite possible outside forces would become involved. My father was ordered to surrender the children to the family, then present himself before the council for a full inquest. He did the former, but not the latter. Instead of showing up to the inquest, he walked away into the shadows and vanished, cutting his ties so completely we could never be sure if he was alive or dead. He was never seen again, at least not by us.
We were raised by our family, but always on the edge. They didn’t know quite what to make of us. I suspect some of the more wary councillors would have advocated for our deaths if they hadn’t known the entire family would turn on them. We grew up alone, with no one else to rely on, as we came into our magic. Is it any surprise, therefore, that we formed a tight-knit group? We had no one else. There were no playdates with outsiders, no hint of future marriage arrangements, nothing. The family did its best to pretend we simply didn’t exist. I’m still surprised they allowed us to go to Whitehall. I think they would have blocked it if they hadn’t been so keen to get rid of us. They wanted us to go to school and never come back.
Adulthood didn’t make it any easier. We were brilliant magicians. Really, we were. There are few amongst your peers who come close to our potential, back in those days. The family should have been proud of us, but instead they eyed us like monsters that would turn on them at any moment. They didn’t trust us and yet they wanted to make use of us. They dangled the prospect of full acceptance in front of our eyes, giving us jobs to do that — they assured us — would eventually lead to us being acknowledged as what we were, Sons of House Barca. In hindsight, I doubt they had any intention of keeping their word. Our history and our nature set their teeth on edge. There were very few of them who could even stand to be in our presence for long. We really were uncannily alike,
You wouldn’t believe it, having seen us now, but it was true. We were practically identical. If you didn’t see us together, you would believe there was only one of us. We were tall, with dark hair and angular faces and black eyes and muscular bodies…. we knew we were handsome, our bodies brimming with magic and potential. And yet… our family didn’t want us. We knew it, even if we didn’t want to admit it.