Fallen Magic

I invite Elsie to visit the City Library with me the next afternoon, which will be a quiet one due to Astronomy taking place in the evening. Ideally I want the research materials by the end of the day so I can have the whole weekend to work through them and filter out the information I need.

I want company for this expedition, though, and I know Elsie appreciates libraries almost as much as I do. She’s a little intimidated at the lengths I’m going to for this essay.

“Now I feel bad,” she says, “I’ve written half my essay already and I only referenced a couple of the case studies Sam mentioned and what people said in the debate.”

“Don’t worry,” I reply. “I’m… doing significantly more than what’s required. That doesn’t mean I, or Sam, expect anyone else to.”

I’m doing enough for this project, in fact, that Edward pulls me aside between lessons the next morning to check that I’m okay.

“I’m fine,” I say. “It’s just that… this is important to me.”

“I know. I just can’t help remembering your Cavendish project, and what you did to yourself with that. And I don’t want that to happen again.”

I shake my head. “It won’t. This isn’t the same thing. And I’ve changed since then.”

“Okay. Fine. I trust you. Just… remember to eat, okay?”

In my defence, I do try to get lunch after jotting down some notes and speculation during our free period that morning. It’s not my fault I’m intercepted halfway to the dining hall by a flying note informing me that Electra wants to see me in her office at once.

Well, that’s definitely not ominous at all. I force myself to empty my mind and focus on breathing as I turn and climb the stairs once more.

It’s clear why she asked for me as soon as she lets me into her office. She’s not alone: I have a visitor. My dad, standing on the floor in the centre of the office.

Our eyes meet, and we both hesitate. I’m glad to see him, of course I am, but he’ll want to talk about what’s happening with my mother. And I don’t know if I do. I wasn’t ready for a conversation like this.

“Tallulah,” he says. His voice is filled with emotion I can’t quite read. Now I take a second to look at him, I realise how tired he looks. When did he last sleep? This can’t be any easier for him than it is for me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about the letter.”

Oh, I realise. This must be Electra’s way of helping. “Electra told you the situation, then?”

“Yes,” he says simply.

It’s awful, this distance between us. We used to be close. There was a time when he would have unhesitatingly reached out and hugged me, when we would have dealt with this together, when I could rely on him. I miss that time, now more than ever.

I could just close the gap between us, wrap my arms around him, pretend that nothing has changed. Except I can’t. Not without knowing he’s not going to have me withdrawn from the Academy. “And,” I make myself ask, “what are you going to do?”

“Your mother’s demands are absurd,” he says. “Obviously so. Half of them are outright illegal. I never would have let her send them, if I’d known.”

It helps a little, hearing him say those words rather than trying to make excuses for her. But it’s not an answer to my question.

He can’t be seriously considering withdrawing me from the Academy. He can’t –

I feel my breath catch, my heart beating faster, that faint feeling that what’s happening isn’t real and it can’t hurt me. Charles First-King. Edwin the Just. Simon the Drunkard.

A distant, abstract part of me, one not caught up in the episode or trying to calm its flow, notes that if I’m having an episode at the mere suggestion of it, actually leaving the Academy might well break me.

Thomas the Defender. Eleanor the Bold.

“Being here at the Academy has been good for you,” he says. “You’ve grown up. You’re – “ his voice chokes a little – “you’re becoming a woman I’d be so proud to call my daughter.”

Timothy the Peacemaker. Maria the Seafarer. Keep breathing, Tallulah. In, out, in, out, one breath at a time. I can do this.

“But at the same time… you’re still so young. You’re having to face problems most adults would struggle to face. And that’s not going to change, if you stay here. I – “ his voice breaks again. “I want to keep you safe, Tallulah.”

Then you shouldn’t have let me Fall. The sudden surge of anger surprises me, and the control I was just beginning to regain slips. Richard Blackbeard. I focus on the feeling of my clothes brushing my skin. This is real; this is where I am.

“I’ve failed you,” he says, and the sudden raw honesty of it startles me enough that I can think clearly again.

I open my mouth to tell him that he hasn’t, and can’t find the words.

“Twice over,” he adds. “First by not noticing what was happening – not noticing you were Falling – until it was far too late. And again now, never properly talking to Louise about all this, not being there when the papers found out about the riot – “

Is he crying? Stars, tell me he’s not crying. I don’t know how to deal with seeing my father cry because he’s failed me. I take a hesitant step closer.

“But I still love you, Tallulah. I want you to be safe, and I want you to be happy.”

And in his mind – and, if I’m brutally honest, in reality too – those two things can’t coexist now that I’ve made the choices I have.

“What do I do?” he asks. I don’t know if he’s even talking to me any more. He’s not looking at me; his red-rimmed eyes are focused on the empty space behind me. “Stars, Tallulah, what do I do?”

I can’t be angry with him, not now I’m seeing him like this. He’s failed me, true, he’s made mistakes. But I’ve made more than a few mistakes myself; if I can forgive myself, surely I can forgive him as well? He’s trying. He came here to talk to me. He loves me.

I take another step forwards. “We,” I say. “What do we do?”

And then I’ve closed the gap and we’re hugging, only it’s not like it used to be because he needs my comfort as much as I need his. We cling to each other desperately, as if hoping that we can fix all our problems just by not letting go. I’m close to crying myself, I realise: there’s a lump in my throat, my eyes are stinging.

Eventually, after what could have been a minute or an hour, we pull apart.

“You’re right,” he says. “I can’t make this choice for you. Not any more. And you want to stay, don’t you?”

I nod. “I’m happy here. It’s been hard, but – worth it. Always worth it. I have friends here. I belong here. I don’t think I could find that anywhere else, not now.”

“If you’re sure – “

“I am.”

“Then I’ll make sure you can stay.”

“Even if – “

“Even if Louise tries to have you withdrawn. I swear it by sacred starlight, by the light that guides me at night, by all that is holy.”

I blink. “You didn’t need to do that,” I say. “I would have trusted you without it.”

It means a lot, though, that he’s willing to swear an oath by starlight. He’s not going to change his mind now, no matter what my mother says or does.

I won’t have to leave the Academy.

It should be a victory. It doesn’t feel like one.

Because we both look so defeated. And because this conversation isn’t over.

“We need to talk about my mother,” I make myself say, however much I don’t want to talk about my mother.

“Yes,” he says, sounding as enthusiastic as I feel about the prospect. “We do.”

“Have you… spoken to her, since finding out about all of this?”

He nods. “It was… we argued. Bitterly. Both of us said things we regretted.”

I doubt my mother regrets whatever she said to him. I think that woman could justify anything to herself if she wanted to. “You didn’t change her mind about anything?” I ask, knowing the answer but hoping anyway.

He shakes his head. “You know how she gets sometimes. And it’s been worse since all this started. She took it very hard, and she’s under a lot of stress – “

“So am I,” I snap. “So are you. It’s not an excuse.”

“Tallulah – “ he says haltingly. “She’s still your mother. She still loves you. She’s just struggling to accept that you’re changing and growing up and – “

“And that what I want for myself isn’t what she wants for me?”

“Please, Tallulah. I love her just as much as I love you. Don’t make me choose between you.”

Was it really only a week or two ago that I was the one in his position, desperately wishing my mother wouldn’t frame what I did as making a choice between her and Edward? Now it seems so different.

I understand how he’s feeling, I really do, but between her letter and my response I’ve realised I’m never going to be reconciled with my mother. “Don’t make me pretend to forgive her,” I reply.

He flinches as if I’ve struck him. In a way, I have, and I hate myself a little for it. But it has to be done. “Then there’s no prospect of really forgiving her?”

I consider it for a moment. My instinctive reaction is that there isn’t, but I can’t quite bring myself to say that. Maybe I just want to spare his feelings, or maybe some part of me hasn’t quite given up hope. “Not unless she apologises,” I say. “For everything she wrote in that letter. For trying to have me withdrawn from the Academy. For not listening to me.”

It’s not an unreasonable request. But I think, deep down, we both know that my mother would never accept it.

“I – “ he says. “I suppose that’s fair. Yes. I’ll talk to her. Try to persuade her. You need a mother still, Tallulah. You need a home.”

This is about Holy Days, isn’t it? “Edward has invited me to stay with him in the holidays, for as long as I like.”

He tenses. “I don’t want you living with – with the Black Raven.”

“Then give me a better option,” I say. “Please.”

Because I know now that I would rather live with Lord Blackthorn than with my own mother.

And maybe that’s partly my own fault for everything I’ve done, everything that’s happened to me, that’s driven us to this point. But it is also her fault for everything she’s done to push me away and try to control me.

“I will,” he says, “I promise.”

I wish I could believe him.

He leaves not long after that; neither of us are in the mood for small talk, and he has clients to meet with and I have lessons. He tells me just before he goes that he loves me and he’s proud of me and he misses me.

I tell him that I love him and I miss him, too. It is true.

And then I’m alone with Electra in her office once more. I’d forgotten she was there while I was talking to my dad. For someone so conspicuous, she has a strange knack of fading into the background when she wants to. But she was listening; she heard everything we said to each other.

I resolve in that moment to use the form for the restricted books. She doesn’t need that to hurt me or place me in her debt, not with everything she’s already done.

“He’s right,” Electra says. “You are growing up.”

I find when I leave the room that I’m shaking and exhausted. I don’t quite know why, but all I want to do is collapse on my bed and not move until I have to. So that’s what I do.