Fallen Magic

My prayers are granted when two figures sprint into the cavern and skid to a halt. I recognise them immediately: Lord Blackthorn and Electra.

“Report,” says Lord Blackthorn at once.

“No active danger, as far as I’m aware,” Edward replies. “One rogue believed to have just teleported away. One hostile unconscious – yes, that is your ex-wife, and no, I should not have trusted her. And one patch of stabilised hyperspace or something similar, possibly containing priceless ancient artefacts and possibly extremely deadly, though the aforementioned rogue entered it and survived.”

Lord Blackthorn doesn’t even blink. “These tunnels are warded against teleportation. The rogue shouldn’t have – “

“She claims to have invented a way of exploiting the Garnett loophole, and I believe that claim.”

“Mags,” says Lord Blackthorn. “Keep them safe.” And he turns and sprints back out of the cavern.

“…what did he just call you?” I ask.

“I don’t think now is the right time for that explanation. You two should probably move away from the entrance to the Tomb.”

I climb down from the table, only now noticing how badly my entire body is shaking. “You know what that is?”

“Yes.”

“How did you – wait. It was your ward they stopped to disrupt, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

Electra stalks over to Sylvia’s unconscious body and examines her. I see her casting something, though I can’t be sure what it is.

“You set that ward for a reason,” says Edward. “You knew what we are, didn’t you?”

Electra shrugs as she gets to her feet. “I suspected. Chances of hostile agents coming here?”

“I have no idea. But non-zero.”

“She had a backer,” Edward says. “Who wanted us. As price for sharing how to find this place and disabling the wards. But we haven’t seen any sign of them.”

“That figures,” Electra says. “There are very few people who’d know how to find this place. It’s a secret closely guarded by the Royal Magicians.”

“…and you know it,” says Edward, unmistakable suspicion in his voice.

“I have a knack for finding out things I shouldn’t,” Electra replies. Then she sighs. “I should probably clarify that I’m not the mysterious backer, though. If I wanted to kidnap you and drag you down here, I would have just done that myself.”

I’m almost surprised at Electra actually trying to make us not think she’s the villain here.

“Anyway. Most importantly. Are you unharmed?”

“Yes,” I say. “…at least physically.”

If anyone can help me understand whatever has happened to Edward’s mind, it’s her.

“I see,” Electra says. “Then – I suppose this rogue you referred to is the third?”

There’s no need to ask third what?

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Edward asks.

“Because knowledge like this is incredibly dangerous.”

“So is us not knowing when hostile actors do.”

“If I’d been aware that others knew, I would have told you.”

“But any sensitive who knows what they’re looking at – “ Edward abruptly stops talking.

“Sensitives are rare enough, and their identities well known enough, that I thought it was unlikely you’d encounter one. Much less one who did recognise that particular signature.”

“Did you consider the King at all?”

I wonder for a second what the King has to do with all this. And then I remember that he’s a sensitive. And that Edward will inevitably meet him sooner or later. And if he finds out that Lord Blackthorn’s son is a Mage – stars.

“I considered that your father has made the sensible decision to shelter you from court as much as he can, and thus you’re not likely to encounter the King for at least a couple of months.”

“I am expected to attend the funeral of the High Princess in less than a week,” says Edward. His voice is made of ice. I’ve never seen him quite this angry. But then I’m still not sure if this is him. “Do you have any idea what would have happened if I’d done that unknowingly?”

He has a good point. I’m still too shocked to be properly angry at Electra for concealing it from us, but we both have every reason to be furious.

Electra takes a step backwards. She’s wary, I realise, and not just of the possibility of attack from outside. “You’re right. I apologise. May I explain?”

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“You can try,” says Edward, voice still icy.

“The possibility only occurred to me a few weeks ago,” Electra says. “On Esteral night, funnily enough. I suppose the date was what brought it to mind. And I was… far from certain. It seemed impossible. Not the sort of thing the stories say, when they talk of the Mages Returned. So part of the reason I didn’t tell you was that I was afraid of being wrong. I suppose the other part was that I was afraid of being right. Of… what the two of you would lose, if I was. I wanted you to keep having some semblance of a normal life for as long as you could.”

Edward laughs. “My life has never been anything remotely normal, and it never will be, regardless of this.”

“Are you saying the responsibilities of a future Royal Magician are anything close to the potential responsibilities of a Mage Returned?”

“That’s only if – what we are… becomes public.” Edward’s words slow down in the manner of someone who’s worked something out mid-sentence. I can’t work out what it is, though, so I ask “What is it?”

“Looking at this from my father’s perspective,” he says. “None of the more usual candidates for the King’s heir are appropriate now. Except that I have a claim, as a Mage.”

“…yeah,” I say.

Maybe Lord Blackthorn doesn’t want to rule, or even to be the power behind the throne. But this is the perfect opportunity just falling into his lap. And I don’t know if he would – if he could – refuse it.

“I don’t want this,” says Edward flatly. And then again, his voice shaking: “I don’t want this.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard him sound genuinely vulnerable since all this began. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad one.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, stepping closer to his side.

He ignores me. “Why did you fetch my father?” he snarls at Electra.

“I didn’t,” she replies. “I ran into him in the tunnels. He’d found out – I don’t know how – that you were down here and in danger.”

There’s something concerning about that, I think vaguely, but right now I only want to make sure Edward is okay. That he doesn’t – I don’t know quite what I’m afraid of.

“It’s okay,” I repeat. I reach out and take Edward’s hand, hoping he derives at least some comfort from it. “No-one’s going to force you to do anything.”

“What’s the alternative?” Edward asks. He laughs bitterly.

“We’ll talk to your father. He won’t – he won’t make you King if you don’t want to be.”

“You don’t know that. Not if it’s what the country needs. And if it is – how could I refuse?”

He has a point. Is it really justifiable to selfishly refuse, when the alternative would see the country far worse off?

And then I realise. It’s simultaneously obvious and utterly absurd. “You won’t have to,” I say, before I can start doubting myself. “Because I will instead.”

“You’d… you’d do that for me?”

The doubt rushes in. Because who am I, to think I could be King? Even if I technically have a claim now, who would listen to it in practice? What part of my limited knowledge of history and politics makes me think I’m remotely qualified compared to someone who’s lived their entire life in court and been trained from childhood?

What am I agreeing to?

Stars.

What matters in that moment, though, is just the boy in front of me. The way he’s looking at me with mingled confusion and desperation and hope. The way I know he’d suffer if he had to be King.

What else can I do?

“If I have to? Yes.”

“Stars,” he replies. He lets out a deep, shuddering breath. “I – thank you. That’s not – “

“We don’t have to do this right now,” I say. “We can just… rest. Try to let our minds catch up with everything that’s happened.”

“I’d suggest you do that,” Electra agrees. “Considering that I doubt Lord Blackthorn will give you the luxury of that time once he returns.”

It hadn’t even occurred to me to wonder where he’d gone, but once I take a second to think about it it’s not too hard to work out: he’d just learnt of Isabelle’s ability to exploit the Garnett loophole, which meant he needed to close that loophole in the country’s most secure places before she had a chance to break into them.

Not that I think she’s likely to be breaking into the Round Palace or the Central Bank right now, but that’s not the sort of chance Lord Blackthorn can ever afford to take.

And Electra has a point about what we can expect once he returns. I sit down, leaning back against the stone of the tomb. Edward, after a moment, joins me. We stare at the wall of the cavern in front of us.

“Electra,” Edward says, “can you cast a light-spell? I want to release mine.”

It’s a simple, practical request, but he sounds so vulnerable saying it. I suppose because it’s an admission of weakness, in a way, that he can’t maintain the spell any longer.

Electra nods and casts a light. It’s a strange sight, which I realise after a moment is because I associate her strongly enough with the colour black that she and light don’t fit together. Her light-spell is the grey-white of the moon.

I place my hand on Edward’s. He gives me a grateful look but says nothing. I close my eyes and focus on the feeling of the stone against my back and beneath my legs. It reminds me that the world around me is real, and that I’m part of it. That I’m free of whatever nightmarish substance Isabelle fed us.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so powerless, helpless. But I wasn’t, was I? My trick with the knife didn’t achieve that much in the end, but it was still something I should never have been capable of, something normally only the best magicians could do. I wonder vaguely whether Electra can; it seems the sort of thing she’d be able to do, but it’s so hard to know with her.

If I can do something like that now, what could I do as a properly trained magician?

Something like creating something like stabilised hyperspace centuries ahead of its time. Something like Esteral.

I want to run to the nearest library and devour everything it has to say about the Mages. Much of it will have been distorted by the passage of time, turned from history to legend, but there’s bound to be at least a few grains of truth left over.

There’s probably more than that in the tomb that’s behind me (if not in the strict spatial sense). But just because Isabelle entered it and survived doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous. There might be cursed artefacts, such that even touching them triggers a trap or a deadly fate.

I laugh bitterly.

“What?” Edward asks.

“It just occurred to me,” I say, “that whoever properly explores this tomb would have a lot of use for a sensitive.”

And Sylvia is not exactly going to help with it now.

“Then Isabelle would have had a much easier time if she’d saved her betrayal for after the tomb was open,” Edward replies.

“Yeah,” I agree.

“So she wants our willing cooperation badly enough she was prepared to give up that advantage for it.”

“Either that or she just has enough morals left that she can’t condone – “

I think of what Sylvia would have done to me and shiver involuntarily. I move each finger in turn, reassuring myself that they’re all still there. Edward looks down at my hand on his and nods.

I glance at Electra, remembering that she still doesn’t know exactly what happened. She hasn’t asked too many questions, which I can’t help but be relieved by, considering the coming interrogation.

I also realise that Lord Blackthorn is not going to approve of the choices we made. Especially not just letting Isabelle go. Though it was that or let her die, assuming she wasn’t bluffing about the poison – stars, I don’t have the faintest idea whether she was bluffing about the poison.

I don’t understand her at all. That was clear from the moment we entered the tunnels, when it became clear that Francesca was an act, an illusion. And not just that: she layered one illusion on top of another, playing the part of Sylvia’s accomplice until the time came to drop that too.

So who’s to say that there wasn’t a third illusion? Who’s to say she wasn’t manipulating us?

I sit with that disquieting thought and many others for maybe another five minutes before Lord Blackthorn returns.