“What I wanted to ask you about is a paragraph in a letter that your friend Elsie sent you – “

“…you’ve been reading my mail?”

“Yes.”

I’m reminded powerfully of why Edward is so impossible to argue with. He just doesn’t have an understanding that reading other people’s mail is a breach of privacy and morally wrong. I suppose, considering who he is, that shouldn’t be surprising. But it’s still disturbing to know that someone somewhere in the machinery of the Ministry for Intelligence is reading my letters.

I decide that it’s a waste of time to argue that point. “What paragraph are you referring to?” I ask instead. “I can’t think what would be of interest to you.” I’m being honest, if only because I barely remember what Elsie wrote after everything that’s happened since I read it.

“As for what we were worried about, it hasn’t happened at all so far. I’ve been back less than a day so I can’t be certain of anything, but I almost feel as if it’s gone away altogether. I wish it would, even though I know it doesn’t work like that.” He quotes Elsie from memory. It feels wrong to hear her words coming from his mouth.

I don’t even feel my heart sink. I knew this was going to be bad regardless. All that does is tell me exactly which of the many possible flavours of bad it is. And I don’t have a plausible lie or cover story, and I can’t think of one on the spot – and even if I could, being caught lying to him would be a disaster.

But I can’t tell him.

And that, I realise suddenly, is exactly what I need to say. “I can’t tell you.”

He blinks at me. “You can’t tell me,” he repeats flatly.

I don’t know what gives me the courage to meet his eyes, but I do. “No,” I say. “I can’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because it’s a personal matter.”

“A personal matter,” he repeats sceptically.

“Yes.”

He tilts his head to one side and examines me curiously, as if I’m a puzzle to be solved. “What do you want?” he asks.

I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Money? A place to live? The latest enchanted gadgets?”

“You’re trying to bribe me,” I say disbelievingly.

“You’re not interested. Then again, those aren’t the things that would tempt you, are they? You might be aware that the Blackthorn family library contains many texts of historical value which are not publicly available. While I can’t grant you access, it would be simple to have some of them copied and brought to you. Yes, I thought so,” he adds, seeing the look in my eyes.

I can’t help it: they’re shining with delight at the mere idea of having those books. It would be truly priceless: the light they could shed on hundreds of years of history, the new perspectives they could offer and the mysteries they could solve.

And all it would cost is Elsie.

It hurts to say it, but that’s no choice at all. “No.”

He doesn’t look surprised or disappointed. It’s just another data point to add to the map he’s building of me. How I think, the choices I make, how he can make me do what he wants. It scares me a lot, what he’s doing, but I know that his puzzle must have no solution. I can’t betray Elsie.

“This isn’t a trivial matter, is it?”

“Maybe it is to you, but not to Elsie. Or to me.”

“You know what I can do to people who keep secrets from me.”

I freeze. Surely he’s not suggesting – he can’t be – the horror of the idea captures me for a moment, but only a moment. “Yes. But I also know that you won’t do any of those things to me. Because you know what hurting me would do to Edward.” I pause for effect. “What he would do to you.”

Another blink, another calculation. Then he laughs, and it’s my turn to blink. This isn’t funny, not remotely. What does it mean?

“Your word,” he says once he’s recovered. “That this personal matter is not according to your best judgement likely to be relevant to the safety and security of the country or the Blackthorn family, and that if it ever becomes so you will inform me as soon as reasonably possible.”

It means I’ve won. Stars, it means I’ve won. “You have it,” I say at once. I’m not sure whether it’s true or not – knowing about a young oracle would most likely be very useful for the country and the Blackthorn family – but it hardly matters.

“I suppose I should be glad that you are so loyal to your friends,” he says. “Though your choice of friends may be somewhat less wise, in this instance.”

I freeze, any hint of triumph washed away. “What – what do you mean?”

“That was not the only matter of interest in your Elsie’s correspondence. You should be aware that she agreed to Mildred Cavendish’s request to meet during the holidays.”

No, I think, she didn’t. But of course she did. Kind, trusting, open-hearted Elsie who always wants to see the best in everyone couldn’t bring herself not to give Mildred a second chance. And now Mildred has her way into my circle, and by extension Edward’s. And I can’t even be angry at Elsie for it.

“I hope I don’t need to warn you to be very careful with what you tell Elsie in future.”

“No,” I agree. “You don’t.”

“Good. Shall we go?”

I remember something then that I’d forgotten amidst everything that happened yesterday. That article Edward showed me at breakfast. “You hired my dad.”

“So I did.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a good lawyer, and what’s rarer a good lawyer without strong ties to any of the big City firms. And an honest one, as well.”

“And you expect me to believe that it’s just a coincidence he’s my father?”

“That was what initially brought him to my attention, and it is convenient, but it was not a substantial factor in my decision.”

I can’t work out if I believe him or not. “This isn’t – some kind of plot to – use him against me, or the other way round?”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Lord Blackthorn replies. “I take good care of my people.”

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That’s the end of the conversation. With a wave of his hand, he wipes the chalk symbol off the door and dismisses the privacy wards. Then he’s marching back towards Electra’s office, leaving me trailing in his wake.

I’ve just about caught up by the time he reaches the door. He knocks on it this time. Electra, being herself, doesn’t immediately let him in. He probably deserves it, but it means that Lord Blackthorn and I have to stand in excruciating silence for a full minute before she finally relents and opens the door.

“I’m glad to see you haven’t murdered my student,” she says, smiling slightly. “Is that your business here concluded?”

“I would like to speak to my son also,” Lord Blackthorn says. “If that would not be too much trouble.” There’s a strange lilt to those words. Spoken by someone who doesn’t care what people generally consider polite, it’s almost ominous.

Electra doesn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by it. In fact, she seems almost pleased. “Since you have already disrupted my lesson so much, I suppose a little more can’t hurt, if Edward is willing.”

Edward gets to his feet without a word, and the two of them are gone before I’ve even stepped through the doorway.

“Well,” Electra says, “don’t just stand there.”

So I do step through and reclaim my seat. The door swings shut behind me with a click that’s almost reassuring. Electra can be terrifying when she wants to be, but right now I’m far more scared of Lord Blackthorn.

“What did he want with you?” she asks.

“To discuss a personal matter,” I reply flatly.

“One you didn’t want to discuss?” she suggests.

I nod.

“Did he threaten you?”

I shrug. “He tried.”

“He tried,” Electra repeats. “You are… quite something, Tallulah.”

I didn’t think what I did just now was anything special, but when she puts it that way… I just refused the Black Raven and got away with it. I would never have dared if I hadn’t had the security of his son caring about me, though.

“I’m going to give you some advice,” she continues. “For reasons that will become clear, please don’t tell anyone what I’m about to say.”

I have to hide a grimace at the thought of yet more secrets, but that thought is eclipsed by what she says next.

“Be careful about Edward.”

I stare at her blankly.

“What the two of you have is something very special. Something a lot of people would do anything for. You’re each other’s greatest support and strength. That is a good thing, don’t ever think otherwise – but. Being that closely entwined with another person, needing them that much, can be very dangerous.”

“I know people will try to use me against him,” I say. “Mildred already did that.”

But she shakes her head. “What happens,” she asks, “when the two of you disagree fundamentally?”

I don’t ask what she means. I’m not quite sure, but I’m beginning to realise that she might just have a very good point.

“Because you will, in the end. Both of you have certain principles you cannot compromise, and you are not similar enough that those principles will never come into conflict. What happens then?”

What would happen if, as a purely hypothetical example, Edward found out that Elsie was an oracle and wanted to tell his father? It doesn’t matter what that would do to our friendship, what matters is what it would do to Elsie. I can’t let that happen –

Damn her, Electra is right. That, I think, is a principle I cannot compromise.

“Conflict between two people who have given as much of themselves to each other as the pair of you have is… an awful thing. It would hurt both of you terribly. Maybe enough to break you.”

Stars. She’s not telling me anything I don’t already know, not really. But that is not the kind of truth I want to face. Why is she telling me this? Does she really think I need to hear this? Stars, has she guessed that I’m keeping secrets from Edward?

“Thank you for the warning,” I say carefully.

“If you need to talk about anything of that nature, you know where to find me. I won’t always be available, but… I will do what I can.”

I’m surprised by how much that actually helps. And I hate the fact that I have to question why she’s making that offer. At some point I started to believe she does want the best for her students, but I’m willing to bet that offer isn’t one she’d make Elsie or Robin, or even Elizabeth.

Because I’m special, then. Because of this anomaly. I don’t know if she has the answer, but she definitely knows more than she’s telling us. And maybe it’s for the best that we don’t know, because the knowledge itself is dangerous. Or maybe it’s because she wants something more than what’s best for us.

“Thank you,” I say nonetheless, hoping desperately I’ll never have to take her up on it.

“And since we have this time alone together… is there anything you want to ask me?”

There are a lot of things I want advice on, but none I trust Electra enough to reveal. Another thought occurs to me, though: “Can I ask you… personal questions?”

“You may, but that does not mean I will answer them.”

About what I expected. Still, this opportunity is not one I expect to get again. I don’t know quite where to start. I have many, many questions about the mystery that is Electra. “How did you end up working with Malaina?” I ask first, after taking a moment to think. “I can’t see you as the sort to decide to devote your life to that out of the goodness of your heart.”

“You are correct. My brother was Malaina, and he relied on me for support. I learnt a lot about Malaina from him, and I realised at some point that people needed my knowledge and experience.”

People needed me. It’s not a sentiment I expected from Electra. I didn’t expect it to be a sense of duty that drove her. But a duty to what? I don’t think it’s people or the world in general. And she used the past tense. That paints a grim picture.

“Was,” I repeat.

“The past tense is deliberate,” Electra agrees.

“Was it because of Malaina?” I ask. “Did he become mala sia, or…?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“You don’t know?” I say, startled. “How can you not know?”

She shrugs. “We lost touch some time ago. I don’t know what’s happened to him since. I will not answer further questions about this.”

Not the assumption I made, then. Not something I would have guessed. It raises more questions than it answers. I pause for a second, adding mysterious long-lost brother to my mental picture of Electra. “You teach Magical Combat,” I say. “Have you seen real combat?”

“Yes.”

“War, or…”

“I served on the mala sia taskforce for a short while.”

That does make a lot of sense. Only the very best fighters are trusted with the difficult task of taking down those Malaina who become monsters bent on destruction, and it fits with her knowledge of Malaina as well. Edward and I guessed at that possibility long ago, but discarded it because – because the mala sia taskforce tend to have a short enough life expectancy that she’d be unlikely to have survived.

I guess she beat those odds. “Why did you join it? And why did you leave it?”

“I joined because I thought it was a worthy purpose to devote my life to. I left because I sustained an injury that limited my combat capabilities to the extent I could not serve effectively.”

I blink a few times. “Your leg,” I say. “I’ve seen you limping.”

“Yes. Not many people notice, but I’m not surprised you did.”

I don’t quite know what to make of that, so I ask my next question to avoid lingering on it. “But surely enough time and enough magical healing can fix any injury? Physical injuries, at least.”

“Not,” Electra says, “if it is caused by a curse.”

Stars. When we travelled through the Portal Network to come to the Academy, Electra told the guard that she was cursed, but that it was perfectly contained. I’d forgotten, perhaps unsurprisingly given everything that’s happened since. “I thought cursed wounds were always fatal?”

“Mine is not, at least. Though most are, or at least most known ones are.”

“Why? Why would someone curse you non-fatally? Was it a mala sia, or…”

“I will not answer further questions about this.”

I almost wish she hadn’t answered any questions at all. That would be better than giving me these tantalising hints and then going silent just as she gets to the most interesting and mysterious parts. But I’m willing to bet she has very good reasons for not wanting to talk about these things.

I pause again, thinking of a new line of enquiry. “You mentioned yesterday that you once had… one of those dangerous realisations about magic. Or something of that nature.”

“I’ll do you the favour of assuming that you understood enough of the other things I mentioned yesterday to see why further explanation of that would be a bad idea.”

I nod. Yeah, that question probably wasn’t one of the best to ask. “What’s with the décor?” I ask, gesturing at the pitch-black walls. “And the…” I don’t have quite the right words to describe the act she puts on, but I assume she gets my meaning.

“I happen to like the colour black.”

“That can’t be all there is to it. There has to be a reason.”

Electra smiles, very slowly, and leans back in her chair. “Oh, Tallulah. You’ve learnt so much this term – far more than anyone had any right to expect – but your perspective is still so limited.”

I try not to be offended. She isn’t doing this to insult me, she’s doing this to make a point. I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.

“You think that because a person can be supportive and helpful, because she can fight for those in her care… that means she cannot simultaneously be someone who finds joy in watching others suffer?” Her smile is wider and stranger than I’ve ever seen it. I tense. That isn’t something that you just say outright like she just did.

The light in the room flickers, and we’re suddenly plunged into darkness. My heart skips a beat. She’s doing this for effect. I hope she’s doing this for effect.

“This is not an act, Tallulah,” says her voice from right beside me. Where is she? How did she –

“This is who I am.”

And then, before I have time to properly panic, the light flickers back to life to reveal her sitting back in her usual seat, looking as if nothing unusual has happened at all.

Stars. I do not ever want this woman to be my enemy.