“Well,” says Electra, “never let it be said that you lack for ambition.”

I laugh awkwardly. It doesn’t seem like it should need ambition; it shouldn’t be this way in the first place.

“You understand, don’t you, that you could devote your entire life to a problem of this scale and never make a significant difference?”

“Yes.” I know it, at least, but knowledge and understanding aren’t always the same thing.

“And if that’s what happens…”

“Then it’s an awful lot better than never trying at all.”

“Good. Tell me, then: if you had the power to change things, how would you do it?”

Here, at least, I’m not short of ideas. I still have everything I worked on for that essay Sam assigned us, all the research I did at the City Library. I still have everything I’ve experienced for the last few months, and everything that my friends have told me about their experiences.

“More education,” I say. “About what Malaina really is, and what it isn’t. Actually consulting with Malaina about that. Changes to the law, to make it illegal to discriminate against Malaina and to make sure people get the help they need.”

Electra nods thoughtfully. “If implemented in the right way, that could be very effective. If implemented in the wrong way, it could be very dangerous.”

I narrow my eyes. “You mean… more mala sia?”

“That is a possibility, but it’s not what I was thinking of. Some forms of what you call discrimination are wrong and should be stopped, yes, but others are very much necessary.”

Something in me hates that idea, but I’m not convinced it’s wrong. “Such as?”

“I’m sure you can think of examples yourself.”

I pause to think, and once again it’s Elizabeth who comes to mind. “Joining the military,” I say carefully. “Having someone in your army who could, in a crisis, become an agent of destruction and do as much damage to you as to the enemy… that’s not a good thing.”

“Somewhat oversimplified, but in essence… yes. You see my point?”

I grimace. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean Malaina can’t or shouldn’t fight, if that’s what they want to do and if they’re not going to have an active episode in the middle of a battle.”

“So you’re saying that we need a way of finding out whether that’s going to happen, preferably one that isn’t just putting Malaina in the middle of a battle and seeing if they snap or not.”

“I… guess I am, yes.”

“You can probably guess my next question.”

And how exactly do you propose to implement such a method?

“I can. And… I don’t know.” But the way things are done now can’t be the best possible way. It has to be possible to make something better. If it were that easy, someone would have done it already.

But then who am I to think I’m the one who can solve this problem?

“I’m not trying to discourage you,” Electra says, “believe it or not. But if you’re going to devote yourself to this, I can at least make sure you do it right.”

I remember Edward’s earlier scepticism, and feel somewhat sceptical myself. “You know the right way to do it, then?”

“I’d hardly claim that, though I have considered it idly. But I certainly know several wrong ways and several points that would need to be taken into account.”

I hesitate for a second. “Can I ask another personal question?”

“Yes, though I may not answer it.”

“You haven’t ever tried seriously yourself, have you? Why not?”

“You’re correct, I have not. There are several reasons, but… let’s say I lack faith in systems, shall we?”

“You don’t think it’s possible,” I say grimly.

Electra shrugs. “I think you could accomplish something to change things for the better.”

But not everything I want. Not everything that needs to be done.

“Then again,” she says, “you’ve surprised me before.”

And she tells me about Malaina. That’s the obvious next step, after what I’ve decided. “The most important thing,” she says, “the thing you must always remember – though I can’t imagine it will be too foreign a concept to you – is that Malaina are human. Even mala sia, though they’ve lost much of who they once were, and some people are beyond help. They’re just people who’ve been through awful things and are still haunted by them.”

I fidget uncomfortably.

“You disagree?”

Stolen story; please report.

I don’t want to talk about it, or even to think about it. But… Electra knows. She’s always known that truth about me. There’s no shame in mentioning it to her. And there’s the faintest chance she might have answers. “With regard to myself specifically.”

“Are you claiming you are something other than human? Because that could well explain your anomaly, though it would also imply Edward…” She trails off into silence, watching me.

I can’t tell if she’s serious. She must understand what I really mean, but it isn’t like her to joke in that way. “I… that’s not what I meant. You know that.”

“Yes. And besides, to so closely mimic human behaviour… even if you’re not entirely human, you must be close enough that it would make no difference for most purposes. What did you mean, then?”

She knows that as well. And she knows that her speculation about whether I’m human, however genuine it may be, confuses and concerns me, throws me off guard. But I know enough now to recognise that and pause for a second to collect my thoughts before answering. “I’m not…” The words are still hard to say, but I force them out. “I haven’t experienced trauma.”

Electra tilts her head to one side. “Weeks of isolation. Nearly being killed in a riot. Having your private life plastered all over the newspapers. A complete breakdown in your relationship with your mother. Discovering strange and mysterious abilities. Watching a teacher apparently try to kill your best friend.”

It makes me feel a little better, knowing that I’ve been through all that and I’m still here. But, I say, “That’s also not what I meant. Prior to becoming Malaina. What caused my Fall.”

Electra nods. For one horrible moment, I think she’s about to say you’re right. That’s not normal. There’s something fundamentally wrong with you, Tallulah.

But she doesn’t say that. “It’s impossible to be really certain,” she muses instead. “Especially in a case like yours, with the influence the anomaly could be having. I don’t believe it is the reason for your Fall, though.”

“Then what is?” I force myself to say.

“Trauma comes in many forms, some of which may not be easily recognised as trauma.”

“I didn’t – “

“Tallulah. Listen to me.”

I’m familiar with that commanding intensity, but it’s not something I expected to hear in Electra’s voice. Regardless, it’s just as effective coming from her as it is from a Blackthorn. I shut up and listen.

“For instance,” she says. “Your mother.”

“She didn’t – “

Electra looks at me as if daring me to finish that sentence. I can’t do it. “Her intentions were probably good,” she admits. “But the way she went about trying to make you into what she wanted for you… taking away what you enjoyed most. Ignoring your feelings when you tried to share them. Blaming you for not being good enough.”

I narrow my eyes. “She did do that,” I agree. “But…”

“But what?” asks Electra, smiling coldly.

But it was for my own good. It wasn’t. Not really. It didn’t lead to anything good, at least, though maybe if I’d been stronger –

That’s her voice in my mind, telling me that. But the lazy, obstinate girl who didn’t have her priorities straight would never have made it this far, survived this much.

What’s made the difference, I think, is having friends to support me. Being able to cry on Edward’s shoulder or have Elsie cheer me up or Robin remind me that I need to sleep. Even just eating meals and trading friendly banter. If I’d had that at Genford, I think, things would have been very different.

Why didn’t I? Why did I never belong at Genford?

Does it matter? Shouldn’t my mother have seen that it was a place I’d never fit long before it was too late?

“But…” She loved me. She wanted me to be successful. But she still wanted that when she visited earlier in the term. When she wrote the letter that led to the loss of whatever remained of our relationship.

She was wrong to do that, obviously, but… why did she do it? Because she thought Edward was corrupting me, because she thought the Academy was bad for me. And after I’d nearly died and nearly been shut away in an asylum, was that really so wrong a conclusion?

She didn’t listen to me when she visited. Not once, not really. She never let me try to explain that despite everything I’m happy here and I belong here. And then that letter… she didn’t like that I was changing. Changing into someone very different from the girl she wanted me to be.

Changing into someone she couldn’t control.

Stars.

And those thoughts I catch myself having in her words. You shouldn’t be spending so much time reading those history books of yours when you have so much else to be working on. You’re fine, Tallulah, stop complaining and get on with it. Do those thoughts help me?

Or are they the ones that linger in the back of my mind and emerge in the form of Malaina?

I blink a few times, trying out this new interpretation of everything. Testing how well it fits into my reality. The answer is too well. Uncomfortably well.

“…but nothing,” I say. “What she did was wrong.”

“Yes,” Electra agrees. “And it’s shaped who you are, hasn’t it? You’re still living with it now?”

“Yes,” I say. And I realise what she’s going to say next. What the trap is.

“Isn’t that, then, a form of trauma?”

“I…” My mind seems to freeze. No, not freeze: too many thoughts spiralling in different directions, too much to process all at once. Yes. No. Maybe. But surely by that definition… it’s not that form of trauma, though… what if… I don’t understand…

“I – maybe,” is all I can stutter out.

Electra laughs a little. “Progress, I suppose. Think over that, and if you want to continue this conversation I’ll be waiting.”

I nod shakily. “In the meantime… tell me more about Malaina in general?”

“Of course. Now, you can experience trauma without developing Malaina. Many people do. I’d include myself in that number. It’s clear from that there is an additional factor which determines whether or not someone is susceptible to it. We don’t know what that additional factor is any more than we know how Rittome evolves.”

“So there are people out there who could develop Malaina, but haven’t experienced trauma?”

Electra nods. “There’s no way of knowing how many. Inactive magical potential can’t be detected through any known means, and the only other way of investigating the problem would be to attempt to deliberately induce Malaina, which is… somewhat unethical.”

That is an understatement. But it raises a point that I expect will haunt much of this lesson: the very nature of Malaina makes carrying out many forms of research into it something that will hurt and endanger people. Something that should never be done, no matter how many people it would eventually help.

“Not,” Electra adds, “that such a small detail has stopped it being tried several times over the centuries.”

“What? You’re saying – but why – how could anyone possibly think – “

“You’re a good person, Tallulah,” she says. It doesn’t sound like a compliment. “Many people are not. Malaina in the depths of an episode – even mala sia – are unparalleled instruments of destruction.” She’s smiling again. “Just imagine what that power could accomplish if it were properly harnessed. Releasing even a handful of mala sia into, say, the very City we are in… that could be a crippling blow to it. A prelude, perhaps, to war.”

I grimace. It’s a horrifying thought. “But surely that’s not happening now?”

She shrugs. “The Rasin government isn’t doing it, as far as I know – though you’d have to ask Lord Blackthorn to be sure. As for other powers… who knows?”

Because of course if such a dreadful program existed, Lord Blackthorn would know about it. If he wasn’t in charge of it. I wish I could believe that he would never condone something like that. Not when his own son…

But I can’t. He would do what was necessary for the good of the country, even if that meant turning once-innocent people into weapons.