I start counting down the days to the hearing. There are six of them left when I wake up the morning after the ill-fated examination. I wonder if Edward realised there was something strange happening, and if he’s been investigating. I think I succeed in passing off my terror that Electra knows I know as general terror of Electra, though I can never be quite sure with her.

Edward brings me a report on the Cavendish trial. Mildred has been giving testimony for the defence, though it amounts to little more than claiming she knew nothing about any treasonous activity. Even I can tell that proves nothing even if true. Closing arguments are to be presented tomorrow, and then the verdict will be announced on Thursday.

As for the sentencing, there isn’t a date scheduled; he hasn’t even been found guilty yet, after all. It depends on the King, Edward says, and he could decide to pronounce the sentence the same day of the verdict or delay it for months. I vaguely recall from my research that he can’t stall indefinitely, though: James the Wise infamously never sentenced his treasonous brother, unable to bring himself to sign the death warrant of family, and in the end Parliament overruled him and voted to condemn the would-be usurper.

The only date that matters for me, though, is the one in six days’ time. If the sentencing happens before my hearing, and if it’s what most people expect it to be… then there will be no prospect of a deal between Mildred and Lord Blackthorn.

“You’ll need a lawyer,” says Edward.

I nod. It can’t be Roberts and Bryant due to the evident conflict of interest, even if it was Simon rather than my dad who actually represented me. Maybe I could get him to recommend one of his contacts, though, if I can get a message to him on time. My lack of budget is going to rule out most options, though –

“I can probably find an ambitious young one who would like to be on good terms with Lord Blackthorn’s son. And the fees are no problem, stop worrying about them – yes, I know what you’re thinking.”

“Edward, I can’t – “

“You can’t be judged unstable because you don’t have a good lawyer or be burdened with debt because you can’t afford one. Not when I can fix both those problems. If you insist, I’ll let you pay me back some day, but I am not charging you interest.”

Yeah. He has a point, and he also has that look in his eyes that means there’s not a chance I’m talking him out of this. So I guess I’m letting him find and pay for my lawyer. I’ll try to pay him back some day when I’ve made my fortune. If I make a fortune. If I’m found stable at the hearing so I have even the chance of making a fortune.

When did my life and my future start depending on so much that’s outside my control?

I know the exact answer to that question. That moment under the willow tree nearly a month ago.

“Negative interest?” I joke, remembering Lord Blackthorn’s negative salary.

Edward grins. “I suppose I could be persuaded to charge negative interest. Shall we save the negotiations for once we know the exact amount?”

He’s actually going to charge me negative interest now, isn’t he? I suppose I did ask for it. “That sounds… adequate,” I say.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Likewise.”

And another day passes, both quick and slow at the same time. The afternoon seems to drag on for an eternity while I’m living it, but as I get ready for bed I wonder what happened to the day and the work I planned to do in it.

Then there are five days. Edward went to the courtroom to watch the closing arguments in the Cavendish trial in his free period, and he fills me in over dinner. Though it isn’t hard to get the general idea from how coldly furious he is.

“Their entire argument is that my father would frame a political enemy for treason if it suited him, ignoring the fact that dozens of officials in the Ministry of Intelligence have uncovered evidence or seen the documents, and there’s no way all of them would be more loyal to my dad than the King.”

For a moment I thought he was angry because his father would never frame someone for treason since that would be morally wrong. But no, this is the Blackthorn family: if someone assassinated one of them, they’d die criticising their killer’s magical technique.

“People do believe he would do something like that, though. That’s why it’s an effective argument.”

Edward sighs. “You think I don’t know that?”

I don’t finish that day’s work before dinner. It gets harder and harder to bring myself to care about it. What does it matter if I’m one day behind on lessons when I might not even be a student here at the end of the week?

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I lose myself in A History of the Kings of Rasin when I should be working. That’s what I’ve always done near exams at Genford when I know I need to spend another day revising but just can’t face it. It was written for children, so it’s much easier reading than any of my other history books, and besides I’ve read it enough I could almost recite the whole thing by heart.

I finish the book for what must be at least the tenth time this evening. It ends by describing the death of Annabelle the Reformer and the succession of her son Robert, the current king, to the throne, and then has a brief epilogue.

That I do know by heart, but I savour every word anyway. No history book can ever be complete, for history is always being written. It is left to future historians to fill in what remains of it. The remaining pages are devoted to this purpose. Perhaps some day a reader of this book may continue the story it tells.

I want to be the reader who does that. When I first read it, I dreamed I would one day write and publish a new edition of the History, updating it for a new generation of readers. I haven’t thought of it for a while, but if I’m honest I still dream of that.

There are two paragraphs written on the blank pages that follow the epilogue in my younger self’s handwriting: King Robert was crowned on Esteral of 985 in the Abbey Royal, as kings were for centuries before him. He vowed that he would uphold his mother’s legacy, that he would defend the country and its traditions until his last breath, and that he would be guided always by his faith in the stars above.

That I wrote as soon as I finished the book for the first time and could find an old copy of the King’s coronation vows to check, aged eleven. I added the second paragraph two years later:

The first decade of King Robert’s reign was a time of peace and prosperity. This was exemplified (I still remember searching through the dictionary to make sure I was spelling that right) by the marriage in 994 of his daughter and heir High Princess Alexandra to Tomas, third son of the Queen of Thalia, and the accompanying trade agreement between the two countries.

I recognise now that it was more the marriage that accompanied the trade agreement, but twelve-year-old me loved the romance of a royal wedding more than anything and eagerly devoured any scrap of news about it.

Soon, maybe, I’ll add another paragraph describing the birth of a new heir.

Would they let me keep the book with me in an asylum?

No. No, I have avoided thinking about that ever since this began, and I’m not going to start now.

It doesn’t matter. I’m going to be found stable and be free to go, and that will be that.

Four days. I miss my first homework deadline. It’s only a short Spells assignment, but I’m still angry with myself about it. I’ll have the weekend to catch up; I’ll need to do something then to distract myself, anyway.

Edward brings the news that Lord Cavendish has been found guilty of all charges against him, and a lawyer. Her name is Tara, and she’s just started her own firm. She’s young to be doing that – under thirty, definitely – but she seems professional and competent to the point of negotiating with Electra over whether attorney-client confidentiality overrides Malaina confinement rules, citing an obscure case from a decade ago to prove her point.

“I suppose your precedent is valid,” Electra replies. “But the argument is irrelevant, since Miss Roberts is not your client.”

“But she’s representing me – “

Tara shakes her head, resigned. “The definition of a client in law is one who makes a contract to exchange money for legal services. My contract is with Master Blackthorn, who has your verbal consent to make such a contract on your behalf. Sorry,” she adds, the transition from legalese to ordinary Rasin catching me off-guard. “I tried.”

“Thanks,” I reply.

So I talk to my new lawyer with both Electra and Edward present. He doesn’t bother to cite legal precedent to justify staying, just says there’s nothing to stop him.

“Except me,” says Electra, a dangerous note in her voice.

Edward tilts his head to one side and considers that for a moment. “Send me away, if you intend to,” he says.

“I do not, on this occasion. But you would do well to remember that I have that power.”

“I will not forget that,” Edward says.

Nor will I.

Tara is good at her job, I decide. I know just enough about law to recognise a good lawyer when I see one, and she certainly fits the description. She asks all the right questions and helps me work out how best to present my story. It’s not lying, just framing the truth in the right way.

My dad used to say that when I asked him about his work as a young child. Hearing it now makes me miss him.

We tell the story of an innocent girl who finds herself drawn into politics she doesn’t understand, torn between her budding friendship with Edward Blackthorn and her instinctive sympathy for a girl who could lose her father, eaten up with guilt over her own powerlessness, who eventually finds it just… too much to bear.

It’s not her fault; she could never be dangerous, and she’s devastated about even the possibility that she could have hurt someone. She swears she’ll learn from her mistakes and never let it happen again.

A true story, just one that happens to be missing several important details. Tara knows the real story; Edward told her, after swearing her to secrecy regardless of the fact we don’t technically have attorney-client confidentiality and apparently having his dad run a background check on her.

It’s nice to talk honestly about everything with someone who’s an adult and, well, not Electra or Lord Blackthorn. Tara has a calm but relentlessly positive perspective that I can’t help being cheered by.

“What’s her story?” I ask Edward after she leaves, mindful of Electra’s growing impatience. It won’t be long before I’m alone again. “Wouldn’t someone young and ambitious like you said be in one of the big firms?”

“She was at Silvers. Then she resigned suddenly a few months back and set up her own firm instead.”

“What? Why?”

“I didn’t make her say, but there are… certain rumours about a couple of the big names at Silvers. Have you heard them?”

I nod grimly. I overheard a couple of the female lawyers at Greenwood and Sons discussing it during my internship there this summer. It didn’t exactly make me more enthusiastic about becoming a lawyer.

And yes, now I think of it: Tara is remarkably pretty. I can easily imagine her catching the eye of a man making absurd amounts of money, and saying no to such a man being likely to end her career at Silvers and make it hard for her to get a job with any of the other big firms.

Yeah. I feel bad for Tara now. An idea occurs to me: I do know a small law firm that might be interested in recruiting someone disillusioned with the City… it probably won’t work well, though: Roberts and Bryant may not be ambitious enough for her, and they might not even be looking for a third partner.

It can’t hurt to try, though.

After the hearing, that is.

If I make it through the hearing.