Fallen Magic

I’m not even close to finished gathering data when Elsie looks up from the Study of Prophetic Tradition to inform me that the library is closing in five minutes.

“I’m glad one of us is paying attention,” I say, setting down my quill and absent-mindedly casting an ink-drying spell (it might seem mundane and boring, but it’s one of the most useful spells I’ve learnt; waiting for ink to dry is frustrating at best).

“Uh,” says Elsie. “Actually. It wasn’t exactly… me.”

It takes me a little while to realise that she’s referring obliquely to her power. Did she get a vision of us losing track of time and having to scramble to get out of the Library? Wait – that implies – “You can change – “ the future you see, I want to conclude, but I stop myself in case that man who’s still reading the spirit-forest book is listening.

Elsie nods. “Limitation. Its weakness is itself.”

That’s actually something I’ve come across in the Academy’s library. The one thing that prophecy cannot predict is prophecy. In other words, the future an oracle predicts doesn’t take into account the existence of that prediction or what anyone does with that information. Elsie changed the future by acting on her vision.

It’s different to a lot of the stories I’ve been told, the old tragedies where the hero’s attempts to avert a prophecy of doom end up causing that exact doom. Scholars still differ on whether prophets are distinct from oracles and whether there exists “true prophecy” of the kind the tragedies describe.

I hope not. The idea of pre-written, unchangeable Fate feels instinctively wrong.

But at this rate I'll be so busy thinking about unchangeable Fate that Elsie’s vision of me being startled by running out of time might not be inaccurate. I can at least cheat that lower-case fate by being properly prepared.

“We won’t be able to come back for a while,” Elsie says.

She lives in a village thirty miles from the port city of Ridgeton, and I get the sense the Portal toll to return to the capital isn’t the sort of expense she can shrug off in the way Edward would. I suppose I could visit the Library on my own at some point in the next week or so, but…

“Will you be okay?” I ask, rolling up my parchment and slipping it into my bag. “Going home and…” I know that being around other people constantly can make her visions worse, and she has a large family at least compared to me.

She shrugs. “I guess I’ll have to be.”

I’ve said enough things like that to recognise the fact that she has no idea whether she’ll be okay or not. I wish there was something I could do to help her. “Write to me?” I suggest. “Don’t say anything directly, obviously – “ I wouldn’t put it past Lord Blackthorn to monitor my letters – “but you can at least let me know how you’re getting on.”

Elsie smiles as she snaps the Study of Prophetic Tradition shut. “As long as you promise to write back.”

That is one promise I won’t struggle to keep.

We make it out of the Library just before the bell rings to announce closing time, and back to the Academy in time for dinner. Edward is eating in his usual quiet corner; he glances up as we approach and then shovels a forkful of stew into his mouth. Trying to eat quickly so as to avoid us? After the conversation we had before Enchantments, that seems quite likely.

Just as I’d persuaded myself that I was doing the right thing keeping this secret, as well. “Do you mind if I leave you here?” I ask.

“Why – oh.” She glances across to Edward. “Can’t I – “

“I may or may not have told him you didn’t want him coming on the Library expedition.”

“Ah,” she says. “So now I have to pretend I’m avoiding him to avoid poking holes in your cover story?”

“Our cover story,” I correct. I’m not happy about it, but part of me is maliciously satisfied that at least she’ll have to deal with some of the difficulty of keeping her secret. Maybe I’m a bad person. “But yes. Sorry. It was the only thing I could think of.”

“Right. You go try and salvage your relationship, then. See you in Astronomy.”

Oh, yes. The last test. What fun. It’s fine; I know my constellations now… don’t I?

I grab my trayful of food with a hurried “Thank you” and speed-walk over to Edward’s quiet corner.

He sighs as he sees me coming just before he can scoop the last of his stew into his mouth. “Hi, Tallulah.”

“Hello,” I reply, setting my tray down and lowering myself into the chair opposite him.

“How was the research expedition?”

“It was good, thanks.”

“Was it?” he asks archly.

What’s he getting at? I probably sound too tense and on edge for a Tallulah who’s spent two hours lost in the mysteries of the First Civil War and is still not entirely back in reality. But then what would be bothering that Tallulah that would change that?

Inspiration strikes suddenly. “Yes, but…”

He doesn’t need to say but what? The questioning look he gives me says it just as clearly. If he knows me well enough to read me in the same way, then what hope do I have of lying to him?

I’m not lying to him. Just telling the truth in a way that happens to conceal certain things. “The Library receptionist didn’t want to let us in.”

“Well, you were trying to use a pass you were granted for reasons other than those it was granted for.”

I laugh nervously – too nervously? “Okay. Fine. I was, but that doesn’t mean – “ There’s real hesitation in telling him this, so I don’t need to feign the way the words suddenly spill out of my mouth. “He called me a child playing at being an academic.”

“And you’ve got it into your head that he’s right. Stars, Tallulah…”

“I know I’m not – “ I say, but I hesitate. “I am fifteen. And…”

The way Edward just sits and waits for me to keep going leaves me certain that I couldn’t lie to him if he thought to ask the right pointed questions. It’s hard enough having to find the words to tell him the truth now. “It was my dream when I was younger. To be a proper historian someday. I guess it still is.”

“And that’s a bad thing because…”

“Because – “ It’s a waste of your potential, Tallulah. You could do so much more. The money is no good. What difference does it make to anything meaningful? All this time you’re spending reading history books is time you could be spending preparing for the amazing future you’re going to have.

The words bubble up inside me without resistance. Words I’ve grown up with, words I’ve known for years. But they’re not my words, are they? They’re my mother’s. I guess I was told that sort of thing often enough that part of me accepted it as truth.

But my mother doesn’t understand me, as the past few months have conclusively established. She’s wrong about so many things. Why can’t this be one of them?

And who is that librarian to judge me, when he doesn’t know the first thing about me?

I find to my surprise that I’m smiling. Edward meets my eyes, and it’s as if my newfound happiness is contagious, because a triumphant grin spreads across his face as well.

“Your food is getting cold,” is all he says, though.

I’m hungry, I realise suddenly. I tuck in.

Edward lets the silence linger for a couple of minutes before he says “I got an interesting message from my dad while you were gone.”

I glance around the dining hall to check that no-one is listening. We’re okay, though: everyone is absorbed in food or conversation or both except Elsie, who’s sitting alone and staring into space. I look quickly back to Edward.

“No state secrets,” he says, amused. “It’s about the private lessons Electra offered me.”

I notice then the faint tension in him. You can tell by the way he sits, as if he’s ready to spring up and run or fight at a second’s notice. I should have seen it before, but I was too caught up in my own problems.

“He said you should accept her offer?” I say, the disbelief evident in my voice.

“Not quite. He gave me his permission to do so if I think it worthwhile.”

“It’s your choice, then.” I narrow my eyes. It’s a struggle to imagine Lord Blackthorn letting anyone he doesn’t trust absolutely give his son private lessons.

“I doubt it’s a test,” he says. “He sent a signed note. That’s not something that can be revoked if he doesn’t actually want me to have the lessons.”

“What does it mean, though?”

“That, to the best of my father’s knowledge, private lessons with Electra are not a threat to me and won’t influence me in ways that he doesn’t approve of.”

That should be reassuring. It isn’t.

“Shall we go back to worrying about the Astronomy test?” Edward asks.

I sigh. “What does it say about my life that that actually seems like an appealing option?”

There isn’t much time to worry about it. Astronomy is at seven and thirty after noon, which means that by the time I’m done eating and Edward is done watching me eat we only have just over half an hour. I spend it looking through my notes, and Edward spends it reading through a textbook on magical theory and occasionally scribbling a note of his own.

Then we climb the stairs (one of the few things I won’t miss about the Academy is how many starry stairs it has) to the tower and the test. I’m surprised to see that Sister Emily has dragged desks all the way up here, but I guess it makes sense: with only one lesson, practical and theoretical work have to be combined. It makes the space somewhat cluttered – it’s considerably smaller than a typical classroom, and round, so fitting all the desks in is somewhat awkward.

It's a clear night, thankfully – stargazing with a cloudy sky would be somewhat difficult, the spells that let you see through clouds are rather advanced and we haven’t been taught them – so the biggest problem is that my fingers are likely to be too cold to write properly. Sister Emily promises that she’s arranged for us all to have hot chocolate afterwards.

The thought of that is about all that gets me through the next hour. The questions aren’t particularly hard – I even manage to remember the constellations’ shapes – but the cold is painful. I spend half the time worrying that my inkwell will freeze and the other half worrying that my fingers will develop frostbite, and my writing speed is far slower than it should be. The stars watch us study them without caring for our pain.

Only Edward and Robin don’t seem to be suffering. Knowing them, they’ve cast warming-spells on themselves and are perfectly fine. I’m more jealous of Edward than I’ve ever been. I suppose it would probably be cheating for him to cast that spell for me mid-test, though.

But eventually Sister Emily announces time is up. We hand in our papers and shuffle shivering back inside, retreating to the nearest classroom a couple of floors down where the promised hot chocolate awaits.

We wrap our frozen hands around our cups and take tentative sips. The atmosphere is a strange one: we’re all happy to be finally done with tests and with the term’s work, but between the cold we’re still recovering from and the presence of a teacher who’s also a priestess it doesn’t feel like we can celebrate properly.

Hannah and Lucy are organising a party for all the students in our month’s class tonight. Edward isn’t going, and nor is Elsie. I would have suggested a quieter event for the three of us, with Elizabeth and Robin invited as well, but Elsie and Edward aren’t speaking to each other.

I guess at least if I go to the party I’ll be abandoning them both equally.

I do manage to resolve at least some of the problem by talking to Elizabeth, though. She’s not interested in partying either, so I ask her to keep Elsie company. The oracle is generally okay keeping her power under control while spending time with one or two people, so I don’t feel guilty for inflicting unwanted company on her.

I talk to Robin next; she frowns when I tell her of the plans so far.

“I’m not going to the party,” she says. “But – you, me and Edward?”

“Oh – of course – I understand – “

She smiles a little: tense but relieved that I’m not making a big deal of her unwillingness to be alone with her crush and his “girlfriend”. “I might join Elsie and Elizabeth. I might not. See you around at some point, I suppose.”

Just me and Edward this evening, then. There’s definitely worse company I could have.