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Fallen Magic
121. Worried

121. Worried

It’s an uneventful little piece of journey, at least until I find Edward sitting at the bottom of the main staircase frantically taking notes from a heavy-looking textbook shut.

“Hi, Edward,” I say, walking towards said staircase.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Researching,” I say. “The City Library and the Archive. Can you lend me four Princes’ Silver and – “

“Tallulah, you can’t just rush off into the City without telling anyone where you’re going. That’s dangerous.”

Oh. Right. I guess he’s right to be worried, considering. “I realised that halfway through my expedition, don’t worry. I won’t do it again.”

He visibly relaxes. I feel another stab of guilt as I realise just how concerned he was. “Good. Nothing happened this time?”

“Other than getting soaked? No. I’m fine. Do you mind if I go and change?”

In answer, Edward snaps the textbook shut and stands, hands full of parchment and a quill tucked behind one ear.

“You don’t have to walk with me.”

“Does this look like a comfortable spot to work?”

Oh. He was only there because he was waiting for me. That should have been obvious. “I guess not,” I say. “Thanks. Let’s go, then. How’s your project going?”

“I’m still only on page four hundred and ten,” says Edward, setting off up the stairs. “I’m pretty sure Electra deliberately set me an impossible task. Either that, or she expects – “ He stops talking abruptly.

“What?”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Just say you can’t tell me and I’ll accept it. Please don’t…”

“Fine. I can’t tell you. Sorry.” He pauses. Maybe he’s wondering if he can tell me. I can’t imagine it’s possible for it to be more important than the secrets of his I already know. But I guess if it’s not entirely his secret…

“It’s okay. Doesn’t surprise me that Electra would set you an impossible task.”

“Teaching me the meaning of failure,” Edward agrees. Am I imagining it, or is he relieved I’m not digging further into his secrets? He’s been walking a little faster than I have – I blame the extra weight of waterlogged clothes – and he stops to wait for me to catch up. “You’d think she’d know better, after how her last attempt ended.”

It takes me a second to place what he means. Flow state. The whole trying to kill Edward thing. I probably should be more concerned about that than I am. “You’re not planning to – “

Maybe that was what he was referring to earlier. Using the anomaly to do what should be impossible. I can’t imagine Electra wanting him to do that, though. She’s been very insistent on our not doing that… then again, Electra being herself, it wouldn’t altogether surprise me if that was a trick.

But it’s dangerous. We shouldn’t.

But I want to. It’s addictive, that feeling that actually I can deal with whatever the world throws at me, that little problems like something being obviously impossible aren’t enough to stop me any more. Life would be so much better if I felt like that all the time.

But maybe that very temptation is what makes it most dangerous.

“Tallulah?”

Oh. Right. I was having a conversation. “Sorry. Just… lost focus for a second.”

“I’m not going to do anything as reckless as what you’ve done today, if that’s what you were worried about.”

I grimace but accept his barbed comment. If that and wet clothes are the worst that come of my little adventure, then I’ve been remarkably lucky.

We reach my dormitory shortly after that, and I excuse myself to dry my things. Edward promises to meet me for dinner and discuss loaning me more money then, which means I’ve made all the progress I can for today.

What I’ve done so far is the easy part, though. This isn’t a problem I can solve alone.

I meant to go over the notes I made in the City Library before dinner. But by the time I’ve got out of my wet clothes, showered and redone my hair, I only have fifteen minutes. And I’m exhausted, more so than I should be. In the end I spend the fifteen minutes lying on my bed staring into space.

I’m pleasantly surprised that Edward doesn’t bring his book to dinner. He’s got through another forty pages since we last spoke, apparently, which is equal parts impressive and scary. Once we’ve got our food and found a spot to sit, he leans back in his chair, folds his arms and says “So, you have a business proposition for me?”

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He sounds so serious that I have to bite back laughter. “Business proposition implies that you’d be making a financial profit on the arrangement. Which you wouldn’t.”

“Oh? What would I get out of it, then?”

I’m reasonably sure he’s joking. I really hope he’s joking. “The satisfaction of doing some good for the world? Justice for someone who was murdered, and knowing that the person who did it won’t be able to do it to anyone else?”

“That relies on me being altruistic, though.”

“Fine. I’m asking you nicely, and you don’t have anything better to do with the money.”

Edward laughs. “Okay. You got me. But before I give you whatever you need, can you tell me what exactly you’re planning? I think I have the general sense, but to be sure…”

“I’m going to file a claim that someone who was killed under Section Twelve was killed unlawfully.”

Edward nods. “You’re going to need a good lawyer, then. And an expert on Malaina.”

“It’s a good thing I happen to be acquainted with both of those people, then, isn’t it?”

“You can persuade them to go along with it?”

“I think so.” I hope so.

“And you know even then it might not work? You might lose the case?”

“That’s still better than not even trying.”

“And you know that something like this will have consequences?”

“Everything has consequences.”

“Look. Like or not, you are somewhat famous. If it comes out that you’re doing something like this, a lot of people will be interested.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s the plan.”

“A lot of anti-Malaina activists are going to hate you for doing something like this.”

“If they think that it’s okay for people to be murdered – “

“Malaina aren’t people, not the way they see it – “

“If they already think I’m not human – “

“Just because you hate them and fundamentally disagree with them doesn’t mean their opinions can’t affect you. And that’s before they start getting together with the anti-Blackthorn activists, who are only going to get worse once they realise where the funding for this is coming from… actually, on second thoughts, maybe it’s not such a good idea for the case to be funded by a loan from Edward Blackthorn.”

I grimace. “I don’t know where else I could get that sort of money, though. Unless I could persuade my dad to do it for free… but that wouldn’t be fair to him, and besides – “

“It’s a bad idea for the money to be seen to come from the Blackthorns,” Edward corrects me. “I’m sure my dad could arrange something.”

“Are you…” I begin, before realising that we’re not alone in this room or protected by any sort of privacy ward, which makes it a very bad idea to say suggesting that Lord Blackthorn would launder money to pay for me to file this lawsuit? Or is that legal? Because it feels like it shouldn’t be.

I think my expression says it for me, though.

“…okay, maybe we can discuss that later. But the offer’s there if you want it.”

I hate myself a little for not immediately refusing. He has a point, though: the less this becomes about the Blackthorns, the better, and if that means some questionably-legal sources of finance which don’t actually hurt anyone…

I’ve been corrupted, haven’t I? Doing wrong things for good reasons doesn’t make them any less wrong. I shouldn’t even be considering this. But I am.

“I’ll think about it,” I say. “Thank you.”

Edward disappears swiftly to return to his impossible task – though he says I’m welcome to keep him company in our usual study room if I want to. He’s left me with a lot to think about, though, because he’s right: this is not going to be easy. People aren’t going to like this, aren’t going to like me for doing it.

And I’m going to suffer because of that. Part of me feels like I’m mad just for even considering it when I could just… not. But another part of me is asking if not you, who’s going to do this? Who’s going to show people that it’s not okay to kill Malaina?

That does make me wonder, actually: there must be other pro-Malaina activists out there somewhere. I can’t be the first person who’s ever wanted to fix things. Maybe I might find support as well as hatred in response to this. I can hope, at least.

In the meantime, I’ve remembered that I’m leaving the Academy in two days. Going home – well, not really, because home is where my mother lives and I am not going to live with my mother a day longer – but going to stay with my dad for the holidays.

Stars, I realise as I step into my empty dormitory, this place is my home now. How has my life changed so utterly in only a few months?

But I have more practical concerns: packing. My things are all kept fairly tidy or at least shoved into the bottom of my trunk, but they need to be sorted through and made to take up as little space as possible. I have library books to return, clothes to fold, random pieces of junk to throw out. And mundane as that sort of thing may be compared to everything else I’ve dealt with recently, it still has to be done.

It's almost a relief to have problems I know exactly how to deal with. I work efficiently for an hour or two until I’ve dealt with most of what needs doing – I can’t return the library books until it opens tomorrow, and the process of squeezing all my worldly possessions into the trunk will have to wait until I won’t be needing those possessions before I leave.

Then I’m done. I feel like I should be doing something else. But there isn’t any more progress I can make on my project until I have details of the cases and can talk to Electra or my dad about it. Holiday homework, I suppose, then.

Edward is where he said he would be; he glances up as he sees me enter and immediately returns his gaze to the pages of his book. I’d be offended if I didn’t know him so well, but I’ve spent enough time studying with him to know that sometimes he will just filter out all distractions.

It’s quite a good trait in a study partner, actually. It’s nice to know that I’m not alone while working, but also that I’m not going to be able to use him to distract myself.

Not that I need anyone else to distract me tonight, given my thoughts are doing a good enough job of that on their own, between the questioning whether this project is really a good idea and what makes me think I can make it work and the worrying about where I’m going to be staying after the next two nights. But I make slow and steady progress despite that.

Until I happen to glance at the clock and see it’s nearly midnight. “Edward,” I say.

He glances up at me. “What?”

“It’s eleven and fifty after noon.”

“Oh. So it is. I still have three hundred and twenty-seven pages left.”

“You shouldn’t – “

“I’m going to finish this project tonight.”

“Edward. You’re the one who’s always telling me I should look after myself more. That applies to you as well.”

He shrugs. “I’m fine. It’s only one night, I don’t intend to make a habit of it. Go and sleep; I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I’m not going to talk him out of it. I’m sufficiently tired now I’ve realised how late it is that I don’t particularly want to talk him out of it. “…goodnight.”