I’m not particularly well-rested, but I still wake at about six after midnight as planned. I just want to bury my head in the pillow and wait for my problems to go away. I’ve learnt the hard way that they’re not going to, though, so I drag myself out from under the tangle of blankets.

Being able to cast a warming spell as soon as I feel the bite of the winter morning makes it a lot easier, at least. I make it down to breakfast by six and fifteen, which is when I discover that the cafeteria doesn’t open until six and thirty. That isn’t something a normal, sane person would have to worry about.

But I am far from normal, and far from sane. I return to the dormitory and read a few more pages of my book. It’s frustrating, how many times it comes close to making interesting points and then stops for fear of criticising Philippa. But it fills the time.

I reach the cafeteria for the second time at precisely six and thirty, which is also precisely the time Edward reaches it. “Morning,” he says with a little too much cheer. I’m a morning person, but Edward takes it to another level.

I do feel reasonably awake by the time I’ve had most of a bowl of porridge and mug of tea. Edward skims the papers at higher speed than normal, but stops when he sees a headline about his father. “Of course the time they decide to accuse him of tax fraud is two days before the election,” he mutters. “Huh, isn’t Roberts and Bryant your dad’s firm?”

I choke on a mouthful of porridge and sign for Edward to give me the Herald while frantically swallowing. He waits until I’ve recovered and taken a sip of tea to hand it over. And there it is: a small note that Lord Blackthorn will be represented for the first time by Roberts and Bryant of Crelt. It is as yet undetermined whether there is a connection to Tallulah Roberts, the girl who infamously stopped him from killing a man at the Traitor’s Hill Riot a month ago, but one has to wonder about the Black Raven’s reasons for choosing such a minor firm.

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s my dad.”

I’d be a hypocrite to be angry with him for working with Lord Blackthorn. I’d be a hypocrite to be angry with him for not telling me. I guess that’s what I am, then.

“You didn’t know?” Edward asks.

I shake my head. I didn’t know. And why – the Herald might well have a point. It might well be because of me. Somehow the thought of my dad being mixed up in Blackthorn affairs is horrifying, even though I’ve made the choice to mix myself up in Blackthorn affairs. Stars.

Edward tugs at the paper, and I let him pull it from my numb hands. “You need to forget about it for now,” he says. “Electra will not take kindly to your mind being elsewhere.”

Well, I have more problems than he knows to forget about. And I doubt I’ll have much luck. He’s right, though: Electra will not accept anything less than my full attention, having so reluctantly agreed to teach me. I wonder if she’d be disappointed that I found out how and why she agreed. She probably wouldn’t even care.

That’s the only point of interest in the morning’s papers, which have been thoroughly taken over by election news. I listen half-heartedly to Edward’s snarky comments on them as I finish my porridge and tea, and then it’s time to go.

We arrive outside Electra’s office at three minutes before seven. I’m reminded suddenly of the first time we waited outside this office together, the first time we met. I instinctively disliked him just for how comfortable he seemed with magic compared to me. And now… “Do you have marbles to throw at the door?” I ask teasingly.

“I never did finish analysing that enchantment, did I?” Edward muses, smiling. “I do actually care what Electra thinks about me now, though, so probably best not to.”

This is one of the many times when it’s hard to tell quite how serious Edward is being. “Yeah, I don’t think annoying her right now is a good idea.”

“No,” says Electra, appearing in the suddenly empty doorway of her office. “It isn’t.”

“Did you just cast an illusion of a closed door purely so you could scare us like that?” Edward asks.

Electra just smiles. “I’m glad to see you’re early. Do come in.”

We obey. I’ve been in Electra’s office enough times that I should be used to her décor, but the utter blackness of it is still oppressive. I sit down in the same armchair that I sat in the first time I was here. Hopefully there will be no knives this time, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she decided to use them as a way of testing our combat reflexes or something of that nature.

“Our lessons won’t be held here,” she says. “There isn’t sufficient space for many of the exercises I have in mind, and there are fragile objects. But this is a suitable place for the theoretical discussion we will be having first. Safety requirements, mostly.”

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It does make sense that learning combat magic would require safety precautions, but Electra doesn’t mention the sort of safety precaution I’m expecting. “Your classes thus far have been specifically designed not to stretch the power limits of any magician, however new and weak. Even if you have been practicing out of class, or teaching yourselves more advanced spells – “ she pauses to give us a look that says that she knows very much that we have – “you will not have come close to your limits. Many magicians will go through their entire lives without reaching that point.”

“But your lessons aren’t going to be like that,” Edward says.

“I suppose that was rather predictable,” Electra admits. “I’m losing my touch. But, yes. Magical combat, at a sufficiently high level, will push you to your limits, so that is what I intend to do over the next week. To your limits, and not beyond. So you need to know how to tell when you have used too much magic, and what to do about it.”

Edward, unsurprisingly, knows much of the theory that follows – though not quite all. The problem is that the human body is only capable of storing and channelling a finite amount of magic at one time; this can be increased somewhat by drawing from the ambience, but doing that is extremely dangerous at best. A lot of magicians have died that way.

What that means is that while a simple spell like the light-spell I use can be maintained more or less indefinitely, casting and maintaining many powerful spells in a short period becomes risky. And guess what you find yourself doing a lot of in magical combat?

“What about rituals?” Edward asks.

Electra sighs. “Combat ritual work is mostly seen in larger-scale battles, where the magician can rely on being protected by allies while they draw and cast. Stars willing, you won’t ever fight in one of those.”

I wonder briefly whether Electra has been in such a battle, but the Kingdom has been largely at peace for a century. There’s been war elsewhere on the continent within the last couple of decades, though, so if she’s foreign or a mercenary it’s not impossible.

“And it would effectively be suicide to attempt a combat ritual in the sort of fight you’re training us to handle,” Edward concludes.

“Not in all circumstances. If you were laying an ambush, it could be a very strong opening move. But I presume you don’t plan to ambush anyone?”

“Self-defence is the priority,” he agrees.

That explanation done, Electra moves onto the business of the symptoms of using too much magic. Sudden physical and mental exhaustion is the main tell, though it manifests differently for everyone. Electra, for instance, experiences extreme nausea, sometimes leading to vomiting. She grimaces as she says that, as if reminded of unpleasant memories. Not a surprise given what she’s talking about.

Then she moves onto what to do if we experience those symptoms. It is the obvious and simple answer of “stop casting spells”, but Edward points out that it’s not quite that obvious or simple. What happens if the symptoms hit when you’re in the middle of casting a complex spell?

“Ideally you are aware enough of your limits that you don’t start casting that spell in the first place. Supposing that isn’t the case… on balance I would say it’s best to complete the spell and then cease casting.”

“If you’re in a combat situation, though,” I suggest, “then you probably die if you stop casting.”

“My original advice stands, for the two of you in particular.”

“Malaina,” I realise.

Electra nods. “If Malaina draw on too much magic, it is extremely common for that to lead directly to an active episode. No-one knows why, but during active episodes Malaina can channel far more magic at once than would normally be possible.”

“Does that apply to mala sia?” Edward asks.

Electra nods.

“Stars. That explains a lot.”

I guess it does. It means that mala sia have access to powerful spells that ordinary magicians simply can’t cast without killing themselves. And if I assume that even a few of those powerful spells have obvious combat applications… yeah. Stars.

“So it’s another choose death scenario,” Edward says.

“It is.”

He nods grimly. “Out of curiosity,” he adds, “and not because I have the remotest intention of experimenting with this… if I were to draw on too much magic while casting a spell with Siaril, would that trigger a Malaina episode?”

Electra pauses. “Actually, I don’t know. I don’t know if it is known. Malaina is the least common of the Schools to be paired with another, and multi-School magicians are rare enough to begin with. I have known…” she pauses for a second, “three of them, and you are the first I have seriously tutored in combat.”

I’m surprised to hear Electra admit she doesn’t know something, but Edward doesn’t seem to respect her any less for it; he just nods thoughtfully.

“The other point we should mention,” Electra continues, “is the flow state. I hardly expect it to become relevant within a week, but you may surprise me.”

The flow state is what Electra referred to way back in my first ever magic lesson: dispensing with incantations and gestures and casting from pure intent. Losing yourself in the flow of magic. True mastery of combat magic requires it: when the difference between life and death can be measured in fractions of a second, not having to mutter an incantation to summon a shield or a barrier and being able to react instinctively without pause for conscious thought can make all the difference.

The problem being that when in such a state, the mind filters out any information not relevant to the immediate goal of surviving or winning the fight. Extraneous information such as, for instance, a sudden sense of mental and physical exhaustion.

“Neither of you are planning to pursue a career that will require more than advanced self-defence, though, so it is not essential for you to reach true mastery. If you wish to avoid entering a flow state… I will accept that decision.”

“Not getting myself killed or worse because I couldn’t notice the symptoms sounds pretty good, thanks,” I say, and glance at Edward.

He says nothing. He can’t be seriously considering – why – that isn’t a conversation we should have in front of Electra, but I resolve to interrogate him about it when we’re alone.

“You both understand everything I have told you today?”

We nod.

“And you won’t do anything stupid?”

“I won’t.”

“No.”

“Good.” Electra smiles. “Having talked about the fact that powerful spells are frequently used in combat… there are four basic spells that every magical fighter should know. Two you will have been taught already, and unless I am very much mistaken, Edward at least knows all four. So, can you name them?”