Fallen Magic

Edward doesn’t say a word in the next day’s Countering Magical Effects lesson, except to answer questions as accurately as possible in as few words as possible. Millicent asks him several questions, all on the hardest areas we’ve covered. I think she’s hoping to catch him out and prove that she knows more than him. But she doesn’t understand what she’s dealing with if she expects that approach to have any success.

He shows me a page of notes as we arrive in our next lesson, Enchantments. I have to fight back a laugh as I realise what it is: he’s annotated in detail every flaw he sees in Millicent’s lesson, every place where she uses an imprecise term or brushes over a technicality.

“Please tell me you’re not planning to take this to anyone?”

“I’m not plotting a conspiracy to have her fired, don’t worry. I don’t think she’s quite that bad at her job. This is just for my personal satisfaction, and to make sure you don’t learn incorrect things from her.”

I laugh. “Electra already taught us all this anyway. I’ll be fine.”

The day passes fairly quickly. I find myself enjoying lessons – well, most of them – more now that we’re not just redoing things from last term. Edward still seems a little out of sorts: he’s more withdrawn than usual, even from me, and he barely talks at lunchtime except to answer my half-hearted questions. It’s just me, him and Elsie today, since Elizabeth decided (apparently of her own accord, which I’m pleasantly surprised by) to keep Robin company instead.

Elsie seems… surprisingly okay, considering the threats Lord Blackthorn made to her. In fact she almost seems happier and calmer than she was when we first met. I’m not sure why, but I’m hoping that what I told her about her power has made a difference. I resolve to talk to her in private as soon as I have the chance, even if it means another walk around the lake in darkness.

I won’t get that chance this evening, though. Straight after lessons finish is dinnertime, and straight after we’ve finished eating Edward and I set off to visit his family.

It’s dark already by the time we’re on the way. Too cloudy to see the stars, and drizzling a little. I don’t mind this kind of light rain: its patter on my skin is soothing, and it’s not heavy enough to get us wet unless we stand out in it for hours.

It doesn’t take us hours to reach the apartment where Edward’s mother is staying. It’s not exactly the same place she stayed before, but it’s on the same street. I suppose most of the flats here are for short-term renting. It must be dreadfully expensive, this close to the centre of the City. I wonder for a moment how much money she can have, and then realise I’m being foolish. She divorced Lord Blackthorn. And unless he was truly spiteful, even the tiniest percentage of his wealth in the settlement would give her enough to easily afford things like this.

“Well,” says Edward, “here we are.”

“Are you okay?”

He shrugs instead of answering. Not a good sign. “Let’s go,” he says, and presses the buzzer on the door.

Half a minute or so later, the door is opened by a girl maybe a couple of years older than me. She’s more or less my height, but far paler and with straight blonde hair stretching nearly down to her waist. “You are my cousin Edward?” she asks, with a thick Sirgalese accent.

“Yes,” Edward says. “Which makes you…”

“Francesca. You… may? May call me Fran. If you want that.” Her stiltedness, I realise after a second, is because she’s unfamiliar with the language rather than because she’s shy. There’s no awkwardness in her body language as she offers Edward her hand. “It is good to meet you.” I notice that her nails are painted a pale turquoise.

“Likewise,” says Edward, taking her hand and shaking it.

“What is likewise? I am sorry. My Rasina is not good. I am learning still.”

“I think you’re speaking Rasina well,” I say truthfully, thinking of my struggles with Sirgalese irregular verbs. “It means… the same as what you said. That he thinks it’s good to meet you, as well. And so do I,” I add, awkwardly realising I haven’t introduced myself. “I’m Tallulah. Edward’s friend.”

“Then it is good to meet you also, Tallulah. Come, I take you to my Aunt Sylvia.”

We follow her into the building and up two flights of stairs to an apartment that looks no different from any other, except that its door is ajar. Francesca – I’m not sure I should call her Fran when we’ve only just met – pushes it open and leads us in. “I bring your guests,” she announces.

Sylvia, once a Blackthorn, is sitting neatly on the sofa, hands folded on her lap. She smiles as we enter. “Thank you, Fran dear. Edward! It’s so lovely to see you again!” She stands and moves to hug him. He passively lets her.

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“And Tallulah! Thank you for passing on my message. I’m really glad Edward has a friend he can rely on.”

She hugs me, too. I’m similarly passive, because I didn’t expect it and because it doesn’t feel right, coming from a woman who I barely know (and stars, Edward barely knows her either). But I can at least vaguely appreciate the sentiment.

“I’m so sorry I disappeared so suddenly last time,” Sylvia says, releasing me and returning to her seat. “Do sit down, by the way.”

There’s only one armchair and the sofa, and Francesca has already taken up residence in the armchair. Unlike her aunt’s elegant pose, she sprawls herself across the chair so that her head is on one of the armrests and her feet dangle below the other. It reminds me of Electra, in a way I can’t quite place.

But more importantly, it leaves us both to share a sofa with Edward’s mother. She’s at least sitting at one end so Edward and I can be next to each other. I take the other end, leaving Edward to be in the middle. He shoots me a look I can’t read and takes the remaining space. He sits in a way that takes up as little space as possible and studiously avoids any possibility of touching his mother. Guarded, cautious.

“You said a work emergency?” Edward asks, referring to the reason she gave for vanishing before.

“Yes. A rough storm damaged one of the harbours. It needed to be fixed urgently.”

“I don’t remember reading about disruption to the Ridgeton port in the newspapers.” There’s a suspicious note in Edward’s voice. I can’t blame him for feeling that way, but I would be surprised if his mother appreciated the interrogation.

“Oh, we try not to publicise those things. Bad for trade, if it gets out the port is unreliable.”

Edward shrugs. “That’s fair. So how did your niece come to be staying with you?”

“Happy coincidence, really. She’s taking a break from her studies, and wanted to travel. Broaden her horizons.”

“See more of the world,” Francesca agrees. “Practice Rasina. It is easier to learn a language when you are in the country.”

“I can imagine,” I say. “I’d like to travel more, someday.”

Edward shoots me a look, and it takes me a moment to realise what he means. That he doesn’t have the luxury of just crossing a border and exploring another country. If he ever went to Sirgal it would be as part of a diplomatic delegation with tight security, never getting to see the reality of the country.

I’m not sure I’d be much better off, if I remained his friend.

Edward’s mother asks a question about how the new term is going, which Edward takes as an opportunity to vent about Millicent and her awful teaching. I guess it’s good that he can talk about it, but I have to struggle not to laugh at how the things he’s complaining about aren’t particularly related to the ways she’s actually bad.

Francesca, I realise, is also struggling to contain laughter. I’m surprised. It amuses me because I know and like Edward so much and this is just so typically him, but she doesn’t know Edward except as a cousin she hasn’t met before. There’s something interesting about this cousin of Edward’s, I decide.

When there’s a pause in the conversation, I ask her about what it’s like, studying medicine. I am genuinely curious about that, as well as curious about her.

“It is difficult work, but very…” she pauses, staring into the distance as she tries to recall a word, “rewarding? Rewarding. Useful. To know I can in the future save lives. That my work will help and save people.”

“What’s the hardest thing about it?”

“How much there is to learn. Always more you can be doing. And it’s hard, sometimes, to remember all the little details.”

“That’s not what I expected,” I say.

“What is what you expected?”

I’m basing my expectations on an account I once read by a battlefield medic in the Second Civil War. The horrors of a battlefield, the certainty that no matter what she did she couldn’t save anyone and every bandage and tonic and surgery was one that someone else desperately needed. Now that I think about it, that’s probably not the reality of modern medicine in peacetime.

“Surgery, I suppose. Just – cutting someone open – “

“That is difficult for some of my fellow students. But not for me. I have a… what is the expression?”

“Strong stomach?” Edward’s mother suggests.

“Yes. And steady hand.”

I don’t know if I understand her any better. But there’s a calm confidence in her voice that scares me a little.

“Are any of your teachers as bad as this Millicent character?” Edward’s mother asks.

“No,” says Francesca. “I don’t agree with the way some work or teach, but they are all… they have practiced medicine for many years, and they know their work well. I only dream of being as good, someday.”

“Her grandfather was a doctor,” Sylvia explains. “They were very close. She practically worships the profession.”

“This probably sounds like a stupid question,” Edward says, “but was he also my grandfather?”

“It’s not stupid at all. No, he wasn’t. His daughter was Francesca’s mother, and my brother is her father.”

“You both say was,” I note. “That means he… died?”

Francesca nods. “Two years ago, now. I miss him every day.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say. “What was his name?”

“Francis. I am called Francesca after him.”

I can almost hear her grief in the way she says those words. And I’m surprised that I too feel at least some sadness for the death of a man I’ve never met. What are you supposed to say, at a time like this?

“It’s a pretty name,” is what I find.

“His… memory? Memory lives on through the name,” Francesca says.

“And because you’re following in his footsteps,” I add. “I’m sure he would be proud of you.”

“I hope it is so.”

“This is rather a gloomy conversation, don’t you think?” Edward’s mother interjects. “I didn’t ask Edward here to talk about what we’ve lost. Tell me, Edward, what are the classes you’re enjoying?”

His answer is Advanced Magical Theory, as I should have expected. I forget sometimes that he has the additional class that I don’t. I’m definitely not surprised by the technical detail he goes into. I can almost see his mother’s eyes glazing over.

Francesca, on the other hand, is leaning forward a little, eyes glowing with interest. Why would a doctor-in-training care about magical theory? It could just be idle curiosity, but my instincts are telling me otherwise. That she’s more than what she seems.

What I can’t work out, though, is how important it is. Whether whatever she’s hiding could be dangerous.