Fallen Magic

Electra is actually a surprisingly good teacher when she’s not trying to terrify her students: she has a way of explaining things that makes them seem simple even when they’re clearly not and breaks down the method of spellcasting in much more detail than any of the other teachers. It probably helps that no-one dares give her anything less than their full attention.

We learn a simple purging-spell which will remove enchantments from an object (“don’t try it on anything that you don’t want to stop working, and be aware that some more advanced enchantments have countermeasures which can be quite nasty”). It’s surprisingly satisfying to suck the magic from a hovering quill or an unnaturally colourful scrap of cloth.

By unspoken agreement Edward and I return directly to the private meeting room once the lesson finishes, it being our last of the day.

“Thanks for playing along about me showing you the City,” he says the moment the door closes behind us and the enchanted light fills the room.

“You wanted to avoid the Harvest Ball that badly?” I ask.

“No – well, yes. But that’s not the point. It’s politics. Lord Cavendish invites my father every year, and he declines every year. So if I go without him…”

“…then you’re telling everyone that you’re not your father. Isn’t that what you want?”

“It’s not that simple. Nothing is that simple. There’s a difference between not being an extension of my father and not being – not being a loyal son. Anyway,” he adds, “I’d far rather show you the City than go, regardless of any politics.”

He says it so casually, but it’s anything but casual for me. No-one at Genford would ever have turned down an invitation like that in favour of me. “We’re actually going to do that, then?”

“Well, if I’m seen not doing it then I lied to get out of attending.”

“You did,” I point out.

“Yes, but being caught lying is worse. You didn’t have other plans?”

I laugh. “None that can’t be rearranged.” None at all, in fact, other than finding the library and catching up on the lessons I’ve missed. “What did Electra say that rattled you?”

“What do you mean?” asks Edward in a remarkably good impression of someone who doesn’t have any idea what I’m talking about.

“At the beginning of the lesson. You were staring into space.”

He forces a laugh. “Just contemplating whether my sanity is going to survive this year. Anyway, we don’t have long if we want to make tomorrow’s papers.”

As a distraction attempt, that’s not too subtle, but knowing what he’s doing doesn’t make it any less effective. Because he’s right, and also because it’s one thing writing this but the thought of actually publishing it is quite another.

It takes a while for us to settle on precisely what to write. It ends up being a simple thing at its core: Whatever else you can say, I know that I love my father and he loves me, and he would never hurt me.

“Happy?” he asks as I lay down my quill at the end of the eighth draft.

“It’s your statement. Are you happy?”

“It’s better than anything I could have written, and it says what I want it to say. You wrote it, so you decide whether it’s finished.”

I stare up at the ceiling for a moment and then hastily avert my eyes from the brightness of the enchanted light. “It’s… as good as I can make it.”

That’s not what he asked, and we both know it.

“It’s all right if you don’t want to publish it,” says Edward.

“Is it?” I ask. “Really?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t make you go through with something like that if you didn’t want to.”

“So if I say no, then we just…”

“Burn everything we worked on and forget this ever happened? Yes.”

My mind snags on the word burn, and I remember the page from Ruby’s workbook. How the flames danced across it and it shrivelled away to nothing in seconds. How easy it is to destroy.

That’s not the point. I imagine thousands of people reading what I’ve written, finding the flaws that I can’t see now but will be blindingly obvious once it’s too late to fix them. I imagine them not believing a word of it.

Then I imagine no-one reading it because it’s reduced to ashes and memory, and no-one ever knowing Edward’s story. Everyone believing that he’s just another victim of his evil father.

“Do you think it’ll make a difference?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

“Let’s do it,” I say before I can convince myself not to.

Edward smiles.

Edward has a copy-quill, which I shouldn’t even be surprised about any more. That makes producing a dozen copies of the statement to be sent out easy enough, but it’s still nearly six after noon by the time we’re done. I go down to dinner on my own while he goes about getting the statements posted.

It’s busier than yesterday, and there’s a small queue of students waiting to be served. I join the end of it and find myself standing directly behind a familiar shock of red hair. “Hi, Elizabeth,” I say.

She turns quickly, startled. “Oh – hi, Tallulah.”

There’s a moment’s awkward silence, and I realise I don’t know Elizabeth at all, really, and maybe we’re not on terms to start talking in the dinner queue. “Would you – like to – sit together?” I ask.

Elizabeth looks away and shuffles forward a few paces. “If… you want to,” she says, sounding uncertain.

Well, that’s a great way to start. This is going to be an awkward meal.

We pick up plates of steak and vegetables and look for a place to sit, but before we can decide someone waves at us. I’m relieved for a second before I realise that it’s now going to be an awkward meal for a whole new set of reasons.

“Tallulah!” Mildred says. “Come and join us!”

I glance at Elizabeth, who offers no excuse to refuse the invitation, and then swerve around a group of boys taking up far too much space towards the table-end claimed by Mildred and Elsie.

“Thanks,” I say, trying to pretend I don’t want to avoid Mildred. She thinks you’re some sort of rival for you? I remember asking Edward earlier, and – oh, stars, he turned down her invitation to the Harvest Ball to show me the City, that’ll only reinforce that impression – I make a mental note to complain about that to him later.

“So,” says Mildred as we sit down, “what do you make of the teachers?”

Okay. Small talk. I can do that. “Electra was… well. I can’t work out if she’s terrifying or ridiculous.”

“Definitely terrifying,” says Elsie, giggling nervously.

“She’s not – “ Elizabeth begins, and then stops. But we all turn to her, curious about what she could possibly say to defend Electra, and she’s forced to continue: “Look… I owe her, okay? Quite possibly my life. Whatever her… eccentricities, I know she wants the best for all of her students, and that she’ll fight for us if she has to.”

Elizabeth is Malaina too, isn’t she? It doesn’t take much imagination to see her snapping because of proper, actual trauma, and Electra being the one who was there to pick up the Fallen pieces and help her put them back together.

“Can I ask – “ says Mildred.

“No,” Elizabeth replies.

I could have told her that would be the answer, if the question was what happened? No Malaina wants to talk about that with anyone.

To my surprise, it’s Elsie who changes the subject to something less personal: “How are the Harvest Ball preparations going?”

“Very well, thank you,” Mildred answers breezily. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I’ve heard the King himself will be attending. It’ll be a great honour for the family if he does. And the Duchess of Ridgeton will be there, and everyone who’s anyone at court. Except the Blackthorns, of course, but we can’t have everything.”

“Why aren’t the Blackthorns going?” I ask. Edward never mentioned why his father refused the invitation.

“Oh, Lord Blackthorn never attends the Harvest Ball. My family and his have never liked each other. One of those feuds that’s been going on so long no-one can even remember why. You’d think they’d stop holding a grudge after a century or so, wouldn’t you? I did try asking Edward, in the hopes he’d be less closed-minded, but no such luck.”

“Edward isn’t – “ I say without thinking.

“Oh? You know him well, then?”

That was a mistake, wasn’t it? I shrug. “We’ve only known each other a day. He’s surprisingly nice, actually.”

I’m reminded of describing Mildred as friendly to Edward a few hours ago. There’s something between them beyond an ancient feud or a possible arranged marriage, but I can’t work out exactly what, which means I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.

“Did you see what the papers said this morning?” Elsie asks. “About, well…”

I shrug. “Yeah.” I’ve never been a good liar, but I don’t want to have this conversation and I don’t know how long I can cope with it, so I’m resorting to monosyllables.

“I feel so bad for him,” Elsie continues. “Imagine having the Dark Raven for a father!”

This is exactly what Edward doesn’t want. Pity.

I don’t want it either. I focus on mechanically swallowing my food, one mouthful at a time.

The four of us go to the temple service after we’ve eaten. I wouldn’t have gone on my own, but I’m glad I did: the temple is as beautiful as you’d expect for one that’s been used by royalty, and the service itself helps me clear my mind. Not to mention that the silence demanded of worshippers saves me from any more unwelcome conversations.

Once that’s over, I decide it’s about time to find the library. Armed with Mildred’s directions, I climb up to the sixth floor, wishing I was fitter and stronger so the endless spiral didn’t exhaust me or that I hadn’t thought it was a good idea to fill my satchel with all the papers I’ve accumulated so far.

The library is the first room on the north corridor – at least, I think it’s the north corridor; I’m dizzy enough from the spiralling stairs that I could be very wrong about that. The door is labelled Library: Open 9am – 7pm, but the room inside doesn’t look much like a library. It’s just a plain stone room with a tapestry hanging from the left wall, a second door directly across from me, and on the right a woman in her early twenties sitting at a desk.

I step inside and let the door swing shut behind me, then walk up to the desk. “Hi,” I say, trying to sound as if I know exactly what I’m doing. “Are you the librarian?”

She doesn’t look much like the librarians at Genford, or anything I’d expect from a librarian; apart from her age, she wears a rather revealing red dress and lipstick of a similar shade, and her short curly hair is a deep black. “Library assistant,” she corrects me. “I’m Rosie, I’m a graduate student here. And you’re new?”

Is it that obvious? “Yup. I’m Tallulah. Nice to meet you.”

“You too. Know anything about the library here?”

I blink a few times. “…no. Is it a special magic library?”

Rosie laughs a little. “It’s in hyperspace, if that’s what you mean.”

I laugh too, then realise she’s not joking. “Hyperspace,” I repeat. “As in, the stuff that caused the Greyford disaster?”

“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly stable. Just don’t think about what’s under your feet and don’t stay there too long.”

I give her what she wants. “What happens if you stay there too long?”

“Hyperspace and matter aren’t supposed to interact. All matter that stays there long enough starts to disintegrate.”

Stars, even the library is trying to kill me. Libraries are supposed to be safe. “…wait, how do you store books in it, then?”

“There are enchantments that can counteract that effect. And once that’s done, it’s a very effective book-storing environment. No dust, no damp, no risk of fire. To answer your next question, you shouldn’t experience any effects for at least two hours, so our rule is that you can’t stay there for longer than one. There’s a sign-in sheet I keep to make sure no-one’s inside longer than is safe. There’s more normal library rules as well: you can only take out up to five books…”

I’m not listening. The library is in hyperspace. There’ll be no hour-long study sessions, no getting lost amongst the shelves and finding something new and fascinating. Does it even have a history section?

It’s silly to be so bothered by that, but the Genford library was my space, the place where no-one would find me and I could while away hours between lessons. I don’t know how I would have coped without it.

I didn’t cope even with it.

I recognise my heart speeding up and the world starting to lose focus sooner this time, and try to breathe. In, out, one, two. “Actually – do you mind if I come back later?” I ask once I trust myself to speak. And without waiting for a response, I flee from the library.