Fallen Magic

There’s no sign of Edward next morning at breakfast. I was hoping to see him to find out if the statement has been released and what the country is making of it, but that’ll have to wait. Maybe I should take out a newspaper subscription myself.

I eat alone and quickly, and then set off to spend an hour or two catching up on missed lessons before today’s start. The study room is empty this early, which I like: no distractions except those in my mind. There are quite a lot of distractions in my mind. Still, I’m making good progress by the time the door abruptly opens at about eight and thirty and Edward jogs in.

“Tallulah,” he says. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” He’s carrying half a dozen newspapers under one arm and holds another slip of paper in one hand and a small greyish sack in the other.

I blink a few times, hating the fact a part of me is pleased to know that. “You weren’t at breakfast.”

“Yes – sorry – “ he drops everything he’s holding onto my desk, right on top of my neatly-arranged notes. “I had to deal with my post, though. Turns out being on the front page of the newspapers means you get a lot of letters. Nothing cursed or even enchanted that got through the filters, but a lot of people being sympathetic, a few… less so. One person called me a bastard, would you believe?”

He laughs to himself. “You’d think they could at least do basic research before sending insulting anonymous notes, wouldn’t you? Quite apart from the fact it’s false in the literal sense, Blackthorns don’t even see that as an insult.”

That makes me realise that with everything about Edward’s father, I’ve never once asked myself who Edward’s mother is. I didn’t know Henry Blackthorn was married, but then why would I know?

He’s more bothered by the letters than he’s admitting, though: who wouldn’t be?

“A few sent money, as well. Mostly coppers as thinly veiled insults, but one or two seemed to genuinely believe they’re helping me escape my father with a couple of silver pieces.” He slides the sack across the desk towards me.

A little puzzled, I open it and look inside. It does indeed contain coins, as he described. I do some rough calculations: this might be nothing to him, but there’s nearly a dozen silver coins in there: a couple of weeks’ income for one of my parents. I tie the sack back up and slide it across the table.

“I don’t want it back,” says Edward.

My heart sinks a little. “Are you trying to give me this?”

He shrugs. “You need it more than I do.”

“I do not need your charity,” I snap.

“You can think of it as payment for writing the statement, if you prefer?”

“I didn’t do that for money! I did it because – because I wanted to help you!”

“I don’t have any use for it, Tallulah.”

“Oh, poor you.” I didn’t mean for that to come out so viciously sarcastic, but he’s complaining about the fact he’s so rich he has no use for more money. That deserves some level of bitterness. “More money than you know what to do with. It must be so difficult for you.”

To my surprise, he takes a step back from the table at that. “Sorry. I didn’t think that through."

I take a breath and supress my anger, then slide the coins at him again, harder this time, so that the sack falls off the other end of the table. “I don’t want your money. Find something else to do with it.”

He stoops down to pick it up. “Fair enough.” The expression on his face is already familiar despite how little we know each other: he’s weighing the question of whether to say whatever’s on his mind.

“Just say whatever it is,” I say flatly.

Edward hesitates a fraction longer, and then does. “Congratulations, you are officially a person of interest to the Ministry of Intelligence.”

“What.” What have I done? I’m not mixed up in anything remotely shady. Not that I know of, anyway, and surely –

“Well,” he continues, “to my dad, anyway. Though the line between those is rather thin, in practice.”

“Tell me why.”

Edward sighs. “He saw the – our statement. And he knows I couldn’t have written it on my own. So he wants to know who helped me.”

“And what happens,” I ask, already knowing I won’t like the answer, “if I don’t want him knowing it was me?”

“Sorry, Tallulah. I’m not hiding stuff from him for you. That would only make it worse than it is – I doubt this’ll affect anything.”

I press my hand against the wood of the desk; it’s reassuringly solid. I’m not having a Malaina episode: I’m perfectly in control of my emotions and reactions, and wondering why on earth I agreed to help with the statement.

“Really – I’m sorry – I didn’t realise – “

“Just go, will you? And take your money with you.”

He nods sharply and leaves without another word or even a backward glance.

That’s over, then: even if Lord Blackthorn finds out I helped his son write the statement, I’m not getting dragged into anything else like that.

It’s the sensible choice. The right choice.

I sit with Elizabeth in our first lesson of the day, Alchemy. Not that we actually do any alchemy: it’s all about the proper preparation of ingredients. I get that it’s important to have the proper techniques for those things before you start actual brewing, but after an hour of being told I’m dicing some unidentifiable brown root the wrong way my patience is running out.

Elizabeth is a good partner, though: despite the age difference, we’re both equally out of our depth and unused to magic, and we’re both inclined to be quiet and focus on our work. It does feel different without Edward to explain anything magical, though. He’s working alone, and I have to resist the temptation to occasionally glance over at him.

That’s the pattern of the whole morning: as quiet and normal as you can get at a place like this. At least until lunch, when Mildred asks me why I’ve changed desk partner.

Which is when I realise that I don’t want to explain the statement and its consequences to anyone, but particularly her. And also that I’m a terrible liar.

“I – uh – just felt like getting to know Elizabeth better,” I try. “It’s not like I was friends with Edward, anyway.”

There’s no way Mildred can’t see through my attempts at deceit, but she just shrugs and says “Fair enough, I suppose. Can’t blame you. He is a Blackthorn, after all.”

Stars, why do I want to protest that he can’t help the family he was born into? Why do I want to defend him when I’m done with him?

“Are you still planning to explore the City together?”

We didn’t exactly discuss that, but I’m guessing the answer is no. I shrug instead of giving it. “Maybe. Why, planning to try again at inviting him to the ball?”

She laughs. “I know a lost cause when I see one.”

“Any more gossip about that to share?” asks Elsie, to my relief.

“Well…” says Mildred slowly, “as it happens, I did hear the most interesting rumour about the Duke of Morsbury’s latest lover…”

She knows how to play to her audience, I have to admit. I’m even curious myself despite the fact I couldn’t care less who the Duke is sleeping with. Or maybe I just want to talk about anything that isn’t Edward.

“Excuse me?” asks someone. That’s Hannah’s voice, I think; I turn a little to check, and it is indeed her standing behind the chair next to me.

“Oh, hello, Hannah!” says Mildred. “Care to join us?”

“Mildred was just telling us about – “

“Oh – no – “ Hannah interrupts. “Tallulah, Edward asked me to give you this.” She holds out a small envelope.

I take it without looking and slip it into a pocket. “Thanks,” I make myself say, because it’s not her fault that Edward doesn’t understand the meaning of go away.

“You’re welcome. Actually, I might stay for a while, I could use some food.”

I don’t open the envelope during lunch. Quite apart from the fact I’m not sure I want to open it at all, there’s not a chance I’m doing it in front of Mildred. Unfortunately I’m not used to eating with a group rather than on my own: meals take twice as long when there’s four of us eating and talking at the same time, so I don’t get a chance before the afternoon’s lessons begin.

We have Enchantments straight after lunch. It’s a good lesson, as most are when it’s magic I’m learning. This lesson focuses on a simple colour-changing enchantment, though being a lesson or two behind still means I struggle to manage anything more than turning the cloth we’re given the deep blue of a summer sky.

That’s good enough for me.

Our last lesson of the day is Astronomy, which naturally has to take place at night. That means we have half the afternoon free. I head back to my dormitory and indulge myself in a few pages of A History of the Kings of Rasin, but the mention of Richard Blackthorn in the entry on Philippa the Bright means I can’t even do that without being reminded of That Family.

I take the envelope from my pocket. It’s simple and plain, marked only by my name in Edward’s small, neat writing.

I could just… not see what’s inside.

Yeah, that’s not happening. What harm can it do just to open the envelope, anyway?

This one is sealed properly, so I tear its top off, careful not to rip whatever’s inside. It only contains a scrap of paper with a couple of lines of Edward’s writing: I’m sorry. Please let me try to explain. Where we met yesterday, once lessons are over.

Wait – have I missed it – am I too late –

No, he means late this evening, after Astronomy.

It’s a bad idea. I don’t want to get involved with him or his life any more than I have to.

I already know whatever arguments I make to myself are just denial of the inevitable fact that I’m going to meet Edward tonight.

Astronomy lessons also need a good spot for stargazing. In this case, a segment of the Academy’s roof is set aside for it, flattened and with railings separating it from the steep slope of the rest of the roof and the nine-storey drop below. Naturally, that means that we have to climb those nine stories to reach the open-air classroom, not to mention a ladder up onto the roof itself.

It’s also uncomfortably cold in the night air; I didn’t think to wear a coat. There have to be spells to help you cope with the weather. When am I going to learn them?

I settle for trying to not shiver and focus on the lesson. The fact we’re having it at all is unusual in several respects. The Temple considers the study of the stars its sacred duty and is reluctant to allow astronomy to be taught to the population in general to the point that it’s only allowed with the specific permission of a member of the Holy Convocation, its governing body, and even then has to be taught by an ordained priest.

That restriction has clearly been obeyed here: I recognise the woman sitting on the edge of the flat section of roof as the priestess who led the service last night. She’s quiet in the usual manner of priests, trained to watch and give guidance rather than to lead.

“Welcome,” she says, her voice soft but nevertheless commanding our attention. “I am Sister Emily, eternal student of the stars. And I wish to teach you what I have learnt from them.”

That’s right, I remember: Astronomy lessons are only once a week so for once I’m not behind my fellow students. One good thing, at least.

“I expect you are wondering why, as magicians, you are required to learn this. The first and most important reason is that the essence of magic is belief, and our belief in the power of the stars can be very powerful indeed. Many magicians use that belief to cast at least some spells, and for those such as me there is little difference between religion and magic. For those of you – “ am I imagining it, or does she glance at Edward? – “who will go on to learn rituals or other powerful magic, knowing the behaviour of the stars will have more practical import. But for now? Learning begins with observation. So look up, and observe the stars.”