Fallen Magic

My signature is similar to Edward’s partial reading for Malaina: the same spiralling, chaotic blue, the same white specks – confirming the theory that Edward and I share this anomaly. The patterns differ in subtle ways, though I don’t have the faintest chance of interpreting them. But I know I could watch my magic all day, if Electra let me. Which she does not.

I let Edward’s speculation about the anomaly and Electra’s careful responses wash over me, trying to think though it on my own.

The white specks appeared in both of Edward’s partial signatures, which I think implies it’s not a Malaina thing. But they were much more prominent in his full signature. That must have some meaning; I suppose it fits with the flow state and the way that likely drew on a similar form of magic not tied to any one School.

Edward is asking about how often signature measurements are taken, how often magicians push their magical ability to the extent that we did this morning. I catch his meaning quickly: maybe it’s actually something that many magicians can do, but most just don’t know it.

Electra shakes her head, though. “Everyone who’s taken my Magical Combat class has gone through similar exercises to those I gave you both this morning. None of them have reacted the way you did. And I have taught two or three hundred students.”

My flicker of hope dies before it was fully formed. The emotional damping that follows my earlier Malaina episode is comforting. I wish this were the first time I’d felt that way.

Edward continues to be frustratingly calm and rational about all of this, suggesting various of our theories to Electra. She doesn’t confirm or deny any of them, though it’s impossible to tell whether she knows any more than we do.

But she’s very quick to deny us permission to carry out any practical tests. Too dangerous, apparently, and having heard stories like Lucrezia’s I’m inclined to agree. And yet the temptation is still there.

“I suppose that leaves us with the question of what we do next,” Electra says. “I am still willing to teach you, if you are still willing to learn… though perhaps not until tomorrow, since I will need to substantially modify my lesson plans.”

Someone is laughing bitterly; it takes me a few seconds to realise that it’s me. She just says it so seriously, as if her starry lesson plans matter a shred compared to what we’ve discovered now. “Sorry,” I say once I’ve recovered. “It’s just…”

Electra nods. “I understand, at least somewhat.”

“These modifications,” says Edward. “I suppose they would involve avoiding any remotely intense magical combat?”

“Most likely, yes.”

“I am prepared to resume lessons subject to that restriction. Tallulah?”

Well, I can’t refuse now that he’s agreed, can I? But even without that, I think I would have agreed. The alternative is a few days of just normal life without even the routine of lessons, and I don’t think I can go back to that after today. Stars, in just under a week I’ll be going – not quite home – to stay with my dad for Holy Days, and I’ll have to keep so much from him. I set that aside to worry about on some future day. “Agreed.”

By the time we leave Electra’s office it’s time for dinner. Edward and I reach the dining hall straight after it opens and claim our usual spot. “Everything is normal,” he says.

“What?”

“Nothing at all unusual or intense happened today.”

Oh. Yes. We do need to hide it from anyone who might be watching us. From Elizabeth and Robin, too, if they sit with us. Stars, I don’t know if I can do that; I just want to curl up in a ball and do nothing. “Got it,” I say nonetheless, because I don’t have much of a choice.

Elizabeth does join us. She doesn’t ask more than a cursory “how was your day”, though, before launching into the saga of her house-hunting misadventures. She hasn’t had much fortune, apparently. At least one landlord explicitly refused to rent to her because she was Malaina – which is perfectly legal, apparently. She’s furious about it.

Normally I would be too, but the most I can manage is making vaguely sympathetic noises whenever she pauses for breath. Fortunately she doesn’t appear to notice how out-of-sorts I’m acting.

Robin also appears during a lull in the conversation, mind still clearly buried in the magical theory she’s been working on. She does about as well at pretending to pay attention to Elizabeth’s rant as I do. Both of us are beating Edward, who isn’t even trying.

I hope Elizabeth isn’t too offended by our distraction. It is something I should care about and sympathise with, but I just… can’t, not today.

“So,” says Edward to Robin when Elizabeth next pauses, “how have you found the applications of Cavendish-Morgan-Allen?”

“It’s been quite interesting, actually. I wish I’d known about it before – thank you so much for telling me, incidentally – “

Well, we won’t be getting any other conversation from those two for a while. It is quite an effective method of distracting Robin from any curiosity about our day, I have to admit; it just leaves me to deal with Elizabeth alone.

“Is – there anything we can do?” I ask, desperately searching for something to say. “To help?”

Elizabeth hesitates for a moment. “I – I don’t know. Short of throwing a load more money at the problem – and I’m not making Edward pay absurd prices on my behalf – I doubt it.”

I think Edward, with his warped views on money, would quite happily pay whatever absurd prices a prejudiced landlord would demand on Elizabeth’s behalf. But I also understand exactly why Elizabeth wouldn’t accept that. “You could ask him,” I say regardless. “Or…” I don’t have an alternate suggestion. Legally speaking there’s nothing Elizabeth can do, so we’d somehow have to persuade a landlord to rent her a room at a reasonable price despite her being Malaina. Which does not seem like it could be easy.

“I’ll keep looking,” she says. “If it comes to it, I can leave the City, but…” she sighs.

I want to tell her that she won’t need to, that there’s some other solution and that I’m going to find it for her. But I can’t see anything I can do to help her. “I hope everything works out,” I say instead. Empty words. Meaningless.

“Thanks,” Elizabeth says. “And thanks for listening to me complaining, as well.”

That, at least, I can do. It just doesn’t feel like it makes a difference. “If you do need any help, you know where to find me.”

Edward accepts Robin’s invitation to work on magical theory together this time. I know his interest is purely intellectual, but she doesn’t. I’m worried that if they start spending too much time alone together then Robin will get the wrong impression, which could get all sorts of ugly.

It’s funny, how I still care about silly things like that.

Elizabeth decides to disappear for the evening, which suits me. I’m on my own, and I need to be. All day I’ve been longing to just curl up on my bed with a book. The consequences of losing myself that way, at least, will not be fatal.

It takes longer than it normally does. A full chapter seems to drag; even though the material is interesting, I just struggle to focus on it. Not a surprise, really, though I’d hoped otherwise. But I persevere, and eventually the familiar cast of characters come to life in my mind and I forget about the troubles of the present in favour of those of the past.

And then I know it’s getting late, but there’s only one chapter left, and it won’t take me that long to just finish it now so then I can start something new tomorrow. And by the time I do finish it, it’s eleven and fifteen after noon. Seven hours and forty-five minutes before tomorrow’s lessons start. Electra really is sadistic, isn’t she?

I set the book down and quickly change, then lie in bed trying to sleep. I don’t know how long it takes me to fall asleep, but it’s definitely too long.

And I definitely don’t sleep for long enough. I drag myself out of bed to discover that it’s five and thirty after midnight. That’s an awkward sort of time: too early to get up, too late to go back to sleep, and I don’t even have the last chapter of my book to read. There’s still A History of the Kings of Rasin to read. I practically have that memorised cover-to-cover by now, but its familiar weight in my hands and its familiar words in my mind are comforting.

An hour and a hundred years later, I go down for breakfast. I’m there only a couple of minutes after six and thirty, but Edward is still in his usual spot when I scurry over with my usual bowl of porridge.

He’s also paging through the usual papers; I’m not sure if he’s taking comfort from the familiar routine or if he just doesn’t see any reason to change it. The news is still dominated by the election which will take place tomorrow; Edward doesn’t find much of interest in it, though he does make the occasional sarcastic remark.

By the time we’ve finished eating, it’s time to set off for Electra’s office. She’s waiting for us visibly this time. If I’m not imagining it, she looks a little relieved to see us still alive and relatively well. But all she says is “Do come in.”

We do. I should be used to her office by now, but it will never cease to be disconcerting. I make myself as comfortable as I can.

“Today’s lesson,” Electra informs us, “will be entirely theoretical.”

I feel a faint twinge of disappointment, but as the lesson goes on I discover that I was wrong to be disappointed. Electra has observed so much about how the pair of us think and cast over the past term, and she shares some of those observations with us this morning. It scares me more than a little, how accurate they are.

But she’s using them for good, and with their help Edward and I find ourselves absorbing information and understanding theory far better than we usually do. In Edward’s case I didn’t think that would be possible, but I’m proven wrong.

It’s maybe an hour before lunch when a bell suddenly starts ringing. Startled, I lose focus on the notes I’m taking. A drop of ink falls from my quill onto an already-written sentence, blotting it out. Edward tenses, too, and we glance around for the source of the noise until we see it: the ivory tiles attached to the wall are glowing red.

“Don’t worry,” Electra says, glancing over at them. “Just someone trying to subvert my ward network.”

“What,” says Edward. “Tell me you have contingencies against this.”

Electra smiles. “Nope.”

Charles First-King. Edwin the Just. I close my eyes and try to breathe normally.

“I’m tempted to just let him keep trying to see if he manages it. I probably shouldn’t, though, it would be a pain to rebuild the network afterwards.”

“Him?” Edward says. His voice is tense and urgent. He’s one bad moment away from a Malaina episode. “You know who it is?”

“I can’t be certain, but I’m confident. I’ll let him in.”

“What – “

“You can’t – “

It’s too late: Electra has pressed down on one of the ivory keys, and the door swings open to reveal Lord Blackthorn kneeling in front of it in the full robes of the Siaril Royal, staring intently at the floor. He stands as it swings open. “That alarm ward built into the detection components was truly diabolical.”

I can’t work out whether I’m relieved or not. It’s not someone trying to hurt us, of course. But the number of things he could have worked out that I really don’t want him to work out…

“It’s generally considered polite to knock on a person’s door instead of trying to subvert their ward network,” Electra says.

“I don’t care what people generally consider polite. Tallulah, I’d like to talk to you in private.”

Simon the Drunkard. Thomas the Defender. Eleanor the Bold.

Stars. What does he know? If he’s discovered something – if he knows – I can’t – “Why?”

“You may know something I need to know, and I know something you need to know.”

Refusing isn’t an option, is it? It would be as good as admitting I have something to hide.

“My office does have intact and extremely thorough privacy wards, no thanks to you,” Electra says. “I’m sure Edward and I would be happy to temporarily leave – “

“I just inspected that ward network, and I know it contains at least one eavesdropping ward. We will go elsewhere, thank you. Come, Tallulah.”

He pivots smoothly and marches away without another word. I shoot Edward what I hope is a confused and sympathetic look and follow him. Well, I try to: he walks at the pace of a normal person’s jog and doesn’t once glance round to check that I’m still there. And he’s going up the stairs, presumably to one of the meeting rooms –

Having to jog up that many steps doesn’t leave me with much energy left for panicking about what he’s going to ask me. I wonder dimly if this kind of exercise would be a good coping mechanism for Malaina episodes; it probably would, though it might be impractical in a lot of circumstances.

I’m gasping for breath by the time I reach our destination – as I suspected, a meeting room. Not the one Edward and I normally use. Lord Blackthorn holds the door open for me, but the moment I step through he turns his intention towards securing the room.

I’m used to seeing Edward draw privacy wards by now, but watching his father doing the same thing is very different. Lord Blackthorn casts two or three spells – it’s hard to tell when his lips barely move as he mutters incantations – and then a piece of chalk flies out from a pocket of his robes and traces a line around the whole room, seemingly without his attention. The symbol it draws on the door is more complex than anything I’ve seen Edward produce.

The chalk falls to the ground when it’s done, and Lord Blackthorn presses a nonchalant hand to the symbol. “We can talk freely now,” he says.