Fallen Magic

“Let me get this straight,” I say to Edward at lunch the next day. “You want me to join your lessons with Electra?”

Edward doesn’t bother to confirm it, or even to make a snarky response. He just stares at me. Waiting for me to process it and realise that obviously this is a perfectly sensible idea.

Yeah, no. That won’t be happening any time soon. “Edward, you know I’m – well. Not as good as you. Not even close. I’d only slow you down.”

“Yes. I still think it’s a good idea.”

He’s impossible to argue with. What are you supposed to do against “yeah, everything you said was valid, but I’m still right”? I do still have several blindingly obvious reasons it’s a terrible idea, though. “And Electra agreed?” I try, even though he showed me their brief correspondence a couple of minutes ago.

“Evidently.”

That’s almost the most concerning thing of all. Because she didn’t exactly sound enthusiastic about the prospect of teaching me – not that I can read Electra that well through only a few lines of ink, but she did explicitly say she was against it. She only did it because – “You owe her a favour.”

He shrugs. “If you’re one for tallying debts, I already owe her several.”

It’s true: Electra has done far more than was necessary to help Edward and I over the last few months. The way she wrote that, though… maybe it’s just her usual psychological warfare. I hope it is.

“And besides. I do not intend to let her use me in any way.”

“But you’re sure it’s safe?” I ask. I’d been fully expecting Edward to decline for that reason, even with his father’s permission.

He shrugs. “You can never be certain of those things. But my father says it is, and I trust him. And it’s worth it.” Seeing the scepticism in my eyes, he explains. “The singular best way to learn magic,” he says, “is to be taught it. By someone who is a capable magician, and a capable teacher, and who knows you.”

I get the sense that Edward’s definition of capable is stricter than mine would be. Strict enough that the number of people who’d fit that category is extremely small – and I imagine that the number of those who have the time to teach and would be willing to teach a Blackthorn is even smaller.

So what Electra is offering is a rare opportunity even for him. Valuable enough he’s prepared to take the risk of accepting.

And I have no doubt whatsoever that she knows that as well.

“That’s why you’re doing it,” I say. “But – “ Why me? I don’t say the words, but he must know I’m thinking them.

“If you don’t want to, you’re welcome to refuse.”

That seems almost like what Electra would say, if she were here trying to persuade me. Except if she said it, she’d know that I wasn’t going to refuse. Edward means it exactly as he says.

“It’s – I really appreciate your asking for me. I really appreciate the chance. But – “

“Don’t,” Edward says, tension in his voice. “Don’t thank me. It’s a selfish thing, what I’m doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to do this alone. I want you with me.”

Simple words, and yet confessing so much. And he’s right: it is selfish of him. Or it would be, if he were trying to force me or pressure me into doing this. But he’s not: he’s just asking.

Stars help me, that’s why I start to seriously consider it. “What exactly would these lessons involve?” I ask.

If he realises that, and if he’s relieved, he doesn’t show it. “Electra hasn’t exactly given me a specification,” he replies. “But I imagine the focus would be mainly on combat magic. It’s something she certainly knows how to teach, and it’s probably what I – and you – most need to be taught. Because you can’t learn it yourself from books. You have to practice.”

I don’t much like the thought of learning combat magic, but I need to. If I’m going to keep being friends with Edward – and that’s beyond question at this point – then there’s a pretty high chance I’ll find myself needing to fight. And better that I know how, if that time comes.

I still remember the riot. It doesn’t haunt my nightmares any more, but I’ll never forget what happened before Edward’s father saved us. How Edward fought, holding back a mob with magic, planks of wood and sheer force of will.

How I was completely ineffectual throughout.

I can’t let that happen again.

“I’ll think about it,” I say.

“You don’t have much time to decide,” is all he says in response. “Seven tomorrow morning.”

I nod.

If I accept, it will make things more complicated. An entire week of intensive training gives me no time for any of the other things I want to do, except for this afternoon. And it also means I won’t have that time away from Edward. Which is a problem, since the most important thing I have planned is something that Edward can’t know about.

I spend far too long while we’re reading together in the early afternoon trying to think up a plausible cover story that would let me go into the City this afternoon without him. But the City Library is closed at the weekends, and he’d just invite himself along with me anyway.

Like many puzzles, it’s easy once you know the solution. And realising it comes with a stab of guilt, because my cover story is also a legitimate reason and one I should have thought of before. I snap my book shut, rousing Edward from his.

“I just remembered I need to get my dad a gift for Holy Days,” I say.

“Oh?” He doesn’t seem particularly interested.

“If I’m going to accept Electra’s offer – “ that does arouse his attention a little more – “then I won’t have time for the whole of the week, and I’ll be too busy packing on Saturday.”

“So you’ll have to do it today?”

“Now, pretty much,” I say. “I’m going to the Market.”

And now he’s fully engaged with what I’m saying. “On your own? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

I shrug. “I can’t exactly hire a team of bodyguards, can I? And no-one will know I’m there, not unless you plan on setting up an ambush for me.”

He laughs. “I’m not going to have you ambushed, Tallulah. But – no offence, but you do look somewhat distinctive. People could guess who you are even if they hadn’t met you.”

He’s right. “I’m not going to shut myself away behind walls and wards,” I say. “I can’t live like that.” Actually, I probably could, if there were enough books behind the walls and wards with me. But this isn’t about me, it’s about helping Elsie. Not that he can know that, of course.

Edward shrugs. “Fine. Go. Just be careful.” He’s not entirely happy about it, is he? I want to push him to admit that and to talk to me properly. But if I did that, I might not be able to go like I need to. My real reasons might slip out.

So, hating myself a little, I leave Edward. I focus on the simple mechanics of what I’m doing: return to my dormitory, drop off my book and replace it with my coat and purse. Then back down all those stairs to the entrance hall to sign out with Miss Carr. Then outside the Academy wards and into the Central Ring.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary happening there today. A few protestors climbing the statue of the Mages, but they haven’t attracted much attention or caused enough disruption to merit that of the authorities. There hasn’t been a major protest since the riot and its aftermath.

They say it’s because people are too afraid after what happened to the rioters.

I weave through the crowd, trying not to dwell on that thought. Or any other thoughts. Particularly those about where I’m going, because if I think about it too much, I’ll convince myself it’s a terrible idea.

I still don’t know my way around the City that well, but I can at least find the Market without a map or a guide. It’s not hard: the cries of traders carry through the streets, and as I get closer they only get louder. The Market is busier than I’ve seen it before. I guess I’m not the only one here to buy gifts for Holy Days, though. Dozens of new stalls selling trinkets and decorations have sprung up to cater to the new crowd.

I ignore them, and all the other stalls and people soliciting my attention and money. I keep my head down and keep moving forwards.

Snippets of conversation and traders’ calls stick in my ears: “Apples! Fresh apples! I’m telling you, I could get this for half the price – terrible shame, isn’t it, I told you that man wasn’t good enough – get your ivy here, everything you need to decorate your house for the Day of the Wild – oh, have you seen those fabrics, don’t you think they’re beautiful – the signs are clear, dark days are ahead but they shall be our salvation – “

That last one makes me glance up: a handsome young man is standing atop a wooden chest, proclaiming to the masses. A knot of people have gathered to listen to him. “It is as the prophets have said,” he goes on. “Now approaches the time of our greatest need, and the time when the Mages shall return!”

I roll my eyes and move on. Times are hard for a lot of people, I’m not denying that, but compared to, oh, either of the Civil Wars? The kingdom has needed a miracle far more than it does now. The annoyance at that distracts me enough that I reach my destination without even noticing.

“Come, I will tell you of your destiny!” The fortune-teller isn’t gathering much business. Most people aren’t interested in her form of superstition, and she’s had her stall long enough that the allure of the unknown isn’t so strong. I wonder how she’s making enough money. I wonder if there could be another reason she’s here.

This is, as I knew it was, a terrible idea. It’s just the only idea I’ve got.

“Come see what the fates plan – “ she stops, and her eyes fix on me. “I remember you, shadow-child. You are come to discover your fate after all?”

Part of me wants to run. I meet her eyes instead. “No,” I say. “I’m here on behalf of a friend.”

“Oh? Why don’t you come in, then?”

I remember Edward telling me not to last time I was here. I remember what he nearly did when Elsie went in. What would he do if he knew what I was doing now?

It’s irrelevant. He’s not here. And I have to do this for Elsie.

I follow the fortune-teller into her tent.

I don’t know what I was expecting. My imagination conjured horrors when I was trying to prevent Edward from destroying this tent, but there are none to be seen. Because I can barely see anything. The darkness is deeper than it should be, even on a dim winter’s day, and after the fortune-teller seals the tent-flap behind us – before I have a chance to see more than a table and chairs hidden in the shadows – I’m completely blind.

Unsettling. More than that. I do not feel remotely safe. My heart begins to beat a little faster. The unknown may have an allure, but it also has a fear. But I can banish the darkness. “In the ugly – “ I begin, and then I realise that she doesn’t know I’m a magician. And it might be useful for me to keep that secret, if this darkness turns out to be ugly.

I’ve been told it’s risky to stop casting mid-spell, but nothing seems to go wrong. Just the magic that was gathering to my hands, dissipating and returning to my body – and now there’s more magic than there should be, too much. Charles First-King. Edwin the Just.

“You have come on behalf of a friend,” the fortune-teller says. Her voice is louder than I expected; she must be standing right next to me. To the right, though I can’t quite feel her breath on my ear. I didn’t know where she was. “Which one, I wonder?”

No. I can’t do this. Either she’s hostile and what I do right now doesn’t matter, or she isn’t and she’s willing to put me at my ease a little. “Forgive me,” I say, “but I am unaccustomed to the darkness. Could you – give me a light?”

“Why don’t you make one yourself?” she asks. “Little magician.”

Well, there goes any hope that that was a secret. “I’m not – “ I try half-heartedly.

“Don’t take me for a fool, Tallulah. Oh, yes, I know your name – “ surely she can’t see the way I flinch at hearing it from her lips – “it’s not often one of us attracts so much attention in such an unusual way. Cast a light, if you will. You are not in danger here.”

Simon the Drunkard. Thomas the Defender.

I believe her. But I also believe that I just made a terrible mistake.