Fallen Magic

94. Complicated Friendships



And I eventually get the ward to work. I don’t quite know how, but what Edward explained was (annoyingly enough) rather helpful. After that it was just a case of experimenting with slightly different ways of casting and trying to believe strongly enough that each would be the one that worked, until one did.

Well. It’s a start, at least. Edward damps my newfound enthusiasm by reminding me that this ward isn’t actually that secure – it does nothing to prevent lipreading or otherwise interpreting conversations by body language, and is powerless against eavesdroppers or magical bugs that were inside the ward circle before it was activated.

It’s an awful lot better than no privacy wards at all, though. And the wards that are “sufficiently secure for most circumstances” are currently well beyond even Edward’s capabilities and reach the level of complexity that means it’s significantly more efficient to build them into a proper ward network.

And the creation of one of those is not an easy task even for professional wardsmiths.

Of course. I don’t know why I expected something would be straightforward for once.

I force myself not to read before sleeping; I’m tired enough by now that I know accidentally staying up past midnight again will cost me, and though we may be almost finished with tests there are still lessons tomorrow.

The last day of lessons, I realise suddenly. I’ve nearly made it through my first term of studying magic. It seems like I’ve been here far longer than that, with the amount I’ve been through during this term.

We’re allowed to stay at the Academy for up to a week beyond the end of term, though. I intend to take full advantage of that, as do most of my friends. But there’s still one more day to get through before that.

And less than a week until the election, as the newspaper headlines remind me and Edward at breakfast. There’s much speculation about its results – some papers claiming the King’s Party will keep its substantial majority, others claiming the country is more divided than it was at the last election and the results will reflect that.

Edward thinks the truth is somewhere in between, but that uninformed speculation isn’t productive. I agree with him.

The other main news is the ongoing trade negotiations with Thalia, which are apparently nearing a breakthrough. Edward is less pleased about that.

“The Prime Minister knows if he can get a reasonable deal done before the elections it’ll help his prospects a lot. The Thalian government also know that, which means that we’re going to end up with a worse arrangement than we would otherwise.”

I grimace. He’s right; I’ve encountered many similar situations in history. I don’t bother trying to argue that the Prime Minister should be focused on securing the best arrangement for the country rather than focusing on his own prospects of re-election. Against the cynical Edward, that would get me no more than bitter laughter.

Edward is running out of patience with the newspapers, as well. I can tell he wants more objective sources; that’s a familiar feeling from reading one too many of the wrong sort of history book. And unlike for most of the country, it might well be possible for Edward to get the information he wants.

That thought is cut off by the realisation that it’s eight and forty-eight after midnight, and we really ought to be getting ready for lessons.

Time for more tests to be returned. All I need right now.

Alchemy is the morning’s first lesson. No practical work today, so the lesson takes place in one of the spare classrooms and we’re spared the trek to the labs. Edward and I are a few minutes early, and we pass them by discussing his Advanced Magical Theory results: about as good as he was expecting, apparently. Knowing him that means a ridiculously good mark.

“It was a fun test,” he says. “The difficulty level was about right for me for once.”

I feel sorry for all the people taking the class who aren’t Edward Blackthorn.

Mary is unhappy with the performance of the class as a whole, because she’s uncharacteristically stern. “I recognise that few of you will choose to pursue Alchemy further,” she says, “but I do believe it is important for all magicians to have a grounding in its basic principles.”

I guess the way people like Edward describe her subject as not proper magic must grate on her. I feel a little bad, but not bad enough to decide to specialise in Alchemy. At least the dangers of most magic are more subtle than setting fire to your laboratory because you blended ingredients in slightly wrong proportions.

She seems to think it’s a lack of dedication to the subject that caused our generally bad results. I’m not entirely convinced she’s wrong, but there are also more practical considerations: it’s a lot harder and more expensive to practice brewing a potion than it is to practice casting a spell. Which means that few of us get enough practice or experience.

I wonder half-heartedly how that could be fixed. Providing optional supervised brewing sessions for revision? It would be more complicated to supervise a group all working on different projects, but I don’t think it would be unworkable.

Of course the only reason I’m paying attention to that is to distract me from the growing sense of dread, which builds a little with every sentence Mary speaks. Alchemy is not exactly my best subject, but I thought I did at least acceptably on both the tests. Now I’m doubting that.

I reach for the enchanted bead in my pocket, wondering whether I can try to channel magic into it without anyone noticing. I don’t feel the symptoms of a Malaina episode except for the pit of dread in my stomach, but I’ve had episodes in similar circumstances before.

To my pleasant surprise, though, I don’t feel any more symptoms before Mary starts handing out our results. But the dread only intensifies when I get mine.

Seventy-three percent on theory and sixty-eight on practical. Could be a lot worse, is my instinctive reaction, but it could be a lot better too. If I’d just revised a little more instead of letting my friends talk me out of it… could one more evening have made a difference?

“It doesn’t matter,” says Edward, glancing over my shoulder. “You passed. That’s the only important thing.”

Which is easy for him to say with his ninety-something percent on both tests. I don’t need to peer over his shoulder to know that’s how he did. That doesn’t make him wrong, though.

We spend the rest of the lesson reviewing the theoretical test. It doesn’t feel like a waste of time, given how much I got wrong and how much I need to improve. I take notes in as much detail as possible given my writing speed. Maybe it is worth taking Edward up on his offer of an enchanted quill.

If I’m entangled with the Blackthorns whether I like it or not, I might as well take advantage of a few more of the perks that come with that.

Edward abandons me when the lesson is done, since the next one is Magical Theory and he’s long since dispensed with such basic concepts. We mere mortals who don’t find the concepts basic at all are left to suffer.

There’s a dramatic difference between my performance on the two tests. Eighty-seven and seventy-one percent respectively. That’s not much of a surprise, really, given my impressions of their relative difficulty. And that pattern fits with the rest of the class.

Another hour of meticulous note-taking later, we’re released to our last free period of the term. Two lessons left, the return of our Enchantments work this afternoon and then the Astronomy test in the evening.

It makes me realise just how much this place has become home over the last few months, and just how much I’ll miss it. I still don’t even know where I’ll be living in a week or two. Wherever my dad’s been staying for the past few weeks, I suppose.

I’m definitely staying here for as long as the Academy allows me to. Elsie is going home in a couple of days (which will make oracle research harder) but Edward, Elizabeth and Robin will all be staying for the whole week. In Edward’s case it’s not like it makes much of a difference, with his manor in easy walking distance. I’m not sure if the same holds for Robin, but then again she’s not on the best of terms with her family.

None of us are except Elsie. I guess it makes sense for a group containing three Malaina. Is Malaina the cause of our family problems, or their effect? Asking myself questions like that makes me want to genuinely return to the research I was doing instead of using it as a cover for the oracle project. But that is more important right now.

I spend the free period with Robin, who’s in a melancholy mood. We’re friends, sort of, but we’ve barely had a conversation away from the company of the others since that time walking back to our dorms. When she gave me her blessing to date Edward, even though I’m not doing that.

I guess even though she said it was okay, part of her doesn’t entirely think it is. Feelings don’t always cooperate with thoughts and resolutions. I don’t really know what to do, because I’m still a little uncomfortable about fake-dating Edward.

Why can’t I just have nice normal friendships that don’t involve lying to half my friends for the sake of the other half?

But she says nothing about it directly while we sit and sip tea together. In fact she’s quite content to sit in silence. Some silences I like, comfortable ones shared with the right people, but this isn’t one of them. I slowly nibble my cake to save myself from trying to fill the silence with awkward small talk. Robin doesn’t like small talk.

In the end we have a brief, stilted conversation about holiday plans. Robin has reluctantly accepted her invitation to the Feast of Stars, the great feast and party arranged by the King for everyone who’s anyone in the Kingdom to celebrate Holy Days. She’s jealous of Edward for having a father who respects the old tradition that a magician should be qualified before they’re first presented at court.

I doubt Lord Blackthorn has much respect for tradition; if he does things the traditional way, it’s for his own reasons. But I do sympathise with Robin, as much as it’s possible to sympathise with someone being forced to attend the Kingdom’s grandest party. Which is quite a lot, in my case.

“Would you be annoyed if I asked you for details after?”

She shrugs. “Didn’t take you for the type to be interested in gossip.”

I’m not. But when it’s the most powerful people in the country, the line between gossip and politics is remarkably thin. I suddenly feel a twinge of guilt: I know what it’s like, now, to have my private business plastered all over the newspapers. And yet here I am thinking it’s perfectly acceptable to interrogate Robin about other people’s private business.

If there’s a resolution to that contradiction, it’s not one I can find in a minute or two’s thought.

We join Elsie and Elizabeth for lunch. Edward makes himself scarce. I think getting test results has made him feel more awkward with the others than he usually does, and I can see why. The very visible reminder that he just doesn’t find our lessons as difficult as the rest of us do creates a barrier between him and us. I realise suddenly that I’m placing myself on the opposite side of that divide.

Once I’ve eaten I track him down; he’s in our usual study room, reading an absurdly thick textbook. He glances up at the sound of the door. “Okay?” he asks.

I shrug. “Yup. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Results?”

Right. Those. “I’m… actually fine about them. I still wonder if I could have done better, with a bit more time or revising in different ways, but…” I’m not having a Malaina episode because of it. Which is pretty much the best I could have hoped for.

“Good to know,” says Edward. “Are you planning on studying after Enchantments? Because I was thinking – “

“Oh – no – “ why didn’t I think of a good cover story before this? “I promised Elsie – that is, we arranged to go to the Central Library together. Now that tests are done, more or less – and I still have that pass they gave me for Malaina research – “

Edward laughs. “Trust you to illicitly use your access to the country’s greatest library to find rare and obscure history books.”

I laugh, too, more in relief than anything else. “Don’t tell anyone?”

“My lips are sealed.”


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