Fallen Magic

We buy her a silver bracelet with a bird charm. It’s a pretty enough thing, though probably not worth the Lord’s Silver we paid for it. I let Elsie give it to her, making some excuse about it being her idea and her knowing Mildred better than I do. But really, I can’t face being thanked for the bracelet and knowing I’ve failed at what really matters.

It takes me a while to track Edward down: he’s not in any of the study rooms, or the library, and even asking his dorm-mates gets me nothing except a few teasing remarks about me missing my boyfriend, which I try to ignore.

I resort to just trying every room in turn until after nearly half an hour I finally find him in our Magical Law and Culture classroom. It’s close to the top floor and has a window looking out over the drive leading to the Central Ring. That must be why he’s there, staring out at something.

“Edward?” I say.

“Tallulah,” he replies, not looking around. “You made it out of the Abbey all right, then?”

Of course he knows about the protest. He must be watching it unfold now.

“Yes – the priest took us through the assassins’ tunnels. What’s happening?”

“It seems to be dying out,” he replies. “As far as I can tell from here, it doesn’t have a real leader. There’s been no official acknowledgement, so sooner or later people will get bored and cold and hungry and just go back to their lives.”

“It didn’t turn into a riot?” I ask, feeling a surge of relief.

“No – no. The King can’t afford to have a riot right under his balcony. People must have been moving very carefully to avoid provoking one.”

“Oh, thank the stars, he didn’t – “

My brain catches up with my mouth a second too late. It’s probably not a good idea to tell Edward that I suspected his father of causing a riot to make the King look weak.

“Who didn’t?” Edward inevitably asks.

“Your dad,” I admit. “He was there. On the Abbey steps.”

That’s enough for him to whirl around and face me. “He – you met him – what – “ He takes a breath and then says “Tell me everything.”

I do: accusations of being bribed by Mildred, Malaina episode, failure, everything. He takes it all in without saying a word. “And then just as I was leaving, he said – if I ever hurt you, or used you, or – “

I did it again. One day I’ll become a little less awful at keeping secrets.

Well. I guess we may as well have this conversation now, then. “…or broke your heart,“ I finish.

He takes a step backward, looking as terrified as I feel. “Tallulah, do you… do you feel that way about me?”

I was really hoping to know how he felt about me first. Because I don’t, but I also really don’t want to hurt him with a rejection. And given my lack of romantic experience I don’t have the first idea how I’m supposed to explain that.

“No,” I say. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression – I never intended – “

He’s laughing. He’s actually laughing at me. “Sorry,” he says, controlling himself. “It’s just… ever since that woman at the museum thought we were dating, I’ve been worried about whether you wanted to be and how I was going to tell you I wasn’t interested and – “

“And all that time I’ve been worrying about the exact same thing!” That is pretty funny, I have to admit. Look at us stupid teenagers unable to have an honest conversation about our feelings and determine that those feelings didn’t in fact exist.

“Not that – not that you’re not pretty or smart or whatever qualities you’re supposed to look for in a girlfriend. You’re just… really not my type.”

I have to ask. “What exactly is your type?”

He glances around as if to check no-one is hearing, although there’s clearly no-one but the two of us here. “Boys.”

“Oh,” I say, and then “Sorry. That came out wrong.”

“This doesn’t… change anything, does it?”

“Of course not! If anything it makes stuff less awkward.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” says Edward, grinning. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”

“Not your dad?” I ask, but I’m genuinely touched that he trusts me enough to tell me before anyone else.

“I don’t think he’d care,” says Edward. “He’d just say okay, now how’s your casting coming along?”

That does fit surprisingly well with what I know of him. I laugh.

“Anyway,” says Edward. “Tell me about these tunnels.”

I decide to go with the abrupt change of subject. “There’s a network under the centre of the City. I know they connect the Abbey with the Temple of the Ship, and the Academy is part of it as well – or it was a few hundred years ago when the assassins used them, anyway. The priest said they’d been there as far back as history goes.”

“That sounds about right. How deep did you go?”

I shrug. “Not that much deeper than the Abbey’s crypt. I don’t remember sloping down that much. But the Temple of the Ship is on a slight hill so we still had to come up quite a way.”

“Find any treasure?”

“I – what? Was I supposed to have?”

He laughs. “There’ve always been rumours about treasure in the tunnels. It’s the plot of half a dozen copper-tales. Someone would have found it by now if there was. The Royal Magicians have a complete map of the tunnels.”

“Can’t you just ask your dad about them, if you’re that curious?”

“I tried asking him for years to take me down there, back when I thought it would be a grand adventure and I might find the non-existent treasure. He always said I was too young and to ask again next year. Eventually I stopped asking.”

I’m surprised at how sad that story feels. It’s perfectly sensible to not want to take a young child down utterly dark tunnels, even if you’re Lord Blackthorn and thus more than capable of protecting him from whatever lurks down there.

“But really. No monsters, no treasure. Not even a single coin?”

“I was only in one of the tunnels, and that’s probably one of the most used.” I don’t want to destroy his dreams of treasure and monsters, even if he knows as well as I do that they’ll never become reality.

I write to my dad that evening. It’s the second letter I’ve sent him, the first being filled with talk of lessons and magic and all the little details about life at the Academy. I wrote that before the Harvest Ball and everything it led to.

It’s much harder to write this time. Stars, I haven’t even told him I’m friends with Edward Blackthorn. How am I supposed to explain the events of the last week? Can I even explain them, given how much is secret?

I hadn’t realised the implications of keeping Edward’s secrets until now, realising there’s a part of my life my dad will be forever shut off from. How does that change things, exactly? asks a quiet, uncharitable voice in the back of my mind.

It hurts, knowing that there’s a void between us and that I might never be able to fill it. But we love each other, and that’s what counts. Right?

I’m settling in well, I write. I’ve made friends with a few of my classmates – there’s a nice girl called Elsie who likes history as well, and we went to the Abbey Royal earlier to-

Wait. No. I don’t want my dad knowing I visited the Abbey on the day of the protest. That’s not a secret, it’s just… I don’t want to give him any more reasons to worry about him than the obvious Malaina-related ones.

It takes me five drafts to manage to sound happy and positive and not give away anyone’s secrets, and even then I’m wondering if he’ll think it’s odd that I’m not talking about the Cavendish case given he must know Mildred is also studying here.

But it’s this or not write to him at all. I fold the letter neatly in half and head to the post room.

I go to the library the next day to return the various books I borrowed for my research project, since I don’t need them any more. Rosie is on duty again. “Hi, Edward’s friend!” she says cheerfully.

I glare at her.

“I’m just messing with you, Tallulah, I remember your name.”

Very funny. “Can I return these, please?” I set the stack of books down on the desk just before my arms give out.

“Certainly! I’ll have them processed shortly. Are you planning to go in while you’re here?”

I hadn’t been, but now she mentions it I’m in just the mood to lose myself in the history section and escape the stress of yesterday. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

She makes a note in her ledger, and I step through the door into hyperspace.

I avoid thinking about it without any conscious effort now. It seems almost normal to be walking on nothingness, and any lingering unease is offset by the fact this is a library and there are new books to explore.

It doesn’t take me long to find my way to the history section and begin paging eagerly through a biography of Maria the Seafarer. I’m not overly a fan of the writing style, it’s a little too informal for a history book, but the story it tells is an interesting one.

“Tallulah?”

I snap the book shut, startled. No ground means no sound of footsteps, so it’s absurdly easy to sneak up on someone in hyperspace. Wait – that’s Mildred’s voice – stars, I don’t know how to –

I turn to face her; she’s crouched down beside me. “Hi, Mildred. How are you?” I hate myself for asking such a stupid question at a time like this.

“As well as can be expected, considering. What are you reading?”

I hold the book up to show her.

“Maria the Seafarer,” Mildred muses. “Interesting. Have you made any progress in – “ she glances around once, briefly, though I’m sure we’re the only two people in the library. It’s Sunday, after all. “Speaking to Lord Blackthorn?” she finishes.

My heart skips a beat. I can’t lie to her, and I haven’t had time to choose a story, but would telling her the truth be betraying the Blackthorns? She deserves to know. It’s her father I failed. “I – I spoke to him. Briefly. He – “

My breath catches. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. Didn’t Lord Blackthorn give me a new way of coping? Charles First-King, I recite to myself. Edwin the Just. “He refused, before even hearing my arguments. I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can do.”

I’m not good enough to help you, Mildred. Simon the Drunkard. Thomas the Defender. Eleanor the Bold.

“Isn’t there?” Mildred asks, tilting her head to one side curiously.

Timothy the Peacemaker.

I can feel my surroundings fade away, feel as if I’m not quite in my body any more. “What – what do you mean?”

“Edward values your friendship, doesn’t he? Tell him that he won’t have it unless he intervenes with his father.”

It’s as if she punched me in the face. Because I want to help her, I want to save her father. I really do.

But I can’t do that to Edward. “I’m sorry,” I choke out, even though I can barely hear my words over the sound of my own heartbeat. “I can’t.”

“I understand,” Mildred replies icily. “Goodbye, Tallulah.” She rises smoothly and walks away without another word.

I watch her go, numbly, not quite myself. Maria the Seafarer. I look back at my book, open it, but the words blur before my eyes. I must be crying.

This is bad, I realise distantly: the worst Malaina episode I’ve had since the first. I have to stop before it’s too late. I have to breathe. I have to stay myself. I have to go after Mildred, tell her I’m sorry, that I tried, I really did, I did everything I could and it wasn’t enough and –

I stumble to my feet and run blindly towards the door. Mildred is just stepping through it as I catch up, and she turns to look at me and very deliberately pulls it shut. Its click sounds so final.

Okay. She doesn’t want to talk to me. I’ll give it a minute and then leave and find somewhere quiet to wait for the episode to pass. I’m going to be okay.

Richard Blackbeard.

No. That’s no good. I need to get out, I need to go after her –

That’s Malaina speaking, not me, she’s dealing with a lot right now and didn’t mean to lash out, I shouldn’t take it personally –

My fingers find the doorknob involuntarily, my hand twists it without quite meaning to.

It doesn’t open.

I try again. It still doesn’t open.

Mildred locked the door.

She locked me in hyperspace.

I don’t know how long I’ve been in here. Is it too long? Am I in danger?

I can’t remember Richard Blackbeard’s successor.

I pound my fists against the door, barely feeling the pain.

I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

I know that list of kings like the back of my hand, so why has it deserted me now?

I’m standing at the edge of the precipice, staring down at the ground far below and wondering why I don’t lean forward, just a little further…

Why fight it? I’m not strong enough, I’m not good enough.

I can’t stop this.

Accepting it feels strangely peaceful: nothing I do matters, so it’s a relief to stop trying.

I fall.

The door flies off its hinges and halfway across the room.