Edward tells me all the facts I already know, but that I need someone to tell me anyway. These tests genuinely have no impact on anything; even if I fail them all, all it means is I’ll likely be getting remedial lessons to make sure I can improve and catch up in time to qualify in spring. I’m not going to fail. I may not get the top grades in everything, but I’ve done extremely well in difficult circumstances thus far and there’s no reason I shouldn’t pass with excellent marks.

It helps more than I thought it would.

“Plus,” he adds, smiling, “you have me for a teacher.”

I laugh.

I’ve been getting more letters since the newspapers revealed my name. Nothing has been close to as bad as that first day, but I’m still in the habit of checking the post room on my way back from breakfast each morning and spending a while filtering through the assorted threats and worries and congratulations.

The next morning, though, there are a couple of letters that deviate from the usual pattern. One of them is an invitation to speak at a conference on Malaina, or something of that nature – normally I’d read it through half a dozen times in surprise and have it memorised, but I don’t.

Because I see the small, neat writing on the address of the second unusual letter and recognise it at once: my mother’s.

I suppose at least she deigned to write back.

I can’t bring myself to open it. I hesitate, fingers about to tear open the envelope – at least this letter won’t contain any toxins or deadly enchantments – and feel a sense of utter dread.

What if this letter is the end of any hope of repairing our relationship? What if it’s no better than any of the other threats or insults I’ve received?

Charles First-King. Edwin the Just. Simon the Drunkard. Thomas the Defender.

I slump back against the wall of the empty study room and lie there, unmoving, waiting for the episode to pass.

We have a free period first thing on Tuesdays, so I don’t have to worry about opening it just before lessons. If I do it now, there’ll still be time to piece myself together enough to get through the rest of the day.

Stars, though, I don’t want to have to piece myself back together yet again. Haven’t I been through enough, without a letter from my own mother being filled with unknown horrors?

I should just open it. Get it over with. I’ll have to do it at some point, and this awful anticipation isn’t making things any better. I pick it up from where it fell on the floor in the initial rush of the Malaina episode, but my hands won’t listen to my command to tear it open.

I’m going to open this letter, I tell myself, here and now. All I have to do is tear off the top strip of the envelope. Why do I want to tear it in half instead?

No, that’s not what I really want to do. I want to burn it, watch it crumble to ashes just as I watched Ruby’s notebook crumble to ashes, complete the destruction –

Richard Blackbeard. Lucy the Fair. Alfred the Short. I thought I knew the warning signs by now. I didn’t expect an episode to just sneak up on me like that. But sneak up it did.

I need to face this, and I can’t do it alone.

It takes me longer than usual to track Edward down, but I eventually find him just outside the library, discussing something – no doubt an obscure element of magical theory – with Rosie. Both of them turn as I enter.

“Tallulah,” Edward says, and then: “We’ll have to finish this conversation some other time. Thanks, Rosie.”

“You’re quite welcome,” she says at the same time as I protest “It’s okay. I can wait. Finish your talk.”

“No,” says Edward. I’m almost relieved, so I don’t fight him any further.

He doesn’t ask me what’s wrong, or whether I’m okay; he just waits for me to speak.

“My mother replied,” I say, forcing the words out.

“What did she…”

I reach into my bag and hand him the unopened envelope.

“You don’t want to open it alone,” he says.

I shake my head. “I… I don’t know if I can open it. I tried just now, and…” I let my grimace finish the sentence.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Edward nods. “Right. Meeting room?”

I nod.

It takes us maybe a minute to get to the meeting room. I wish it were longer. By the time we get there it’s nine and thirty: half an hour until lessons start. If the news is bad it’ll take me longer than that. Maybe I should leave it until this evening –

Edward holds the letter out to me.

He’s not going to let me leave this room until I’ve opened it. Which is what I need. It’s just not what I want.

I can open the envelope, at least. I won’t actually see the words until I’ve taken the paper out and unfolded it. Just tearing off a strip of paper doesn’t change anything. I take the envelope from him and do it, in one smooth motion before I have the chance to hesitate again.

“Well,” I say, “that’s a start.”

I set the envelope down on the table and keep the torn-off strip, folding it and rolling it almost unconsciously. I feel a little better when my hands are working, even if it’s working on nothing meaningful.

“Go on,” says Edward, gently but firmly.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your conversation.”

“This is more important.”

It’s the complete certainty with which he says it that gets to me. It gives me the strength to take the letter out of the envelope. A single sheet of paper, folded in two, thick enough that the words don’t bleed through. All I have to do is unfold it and read the words it bears.

I’m shaking, I realise. It’s not a Malaina episode, that danger has passed for now. It’s just a physical reaction to that letter. As if my body is refusing to obey orders. It would be the easiest thing in the world to unfold that piece of paper, and yet it feels like the hardest.

Edward watches me, saying nothing, patient. Encouraging me to do it just by being there.

I breathe. Even that feels like a way of fighting back against this ghastly paralysis, reminding myself that I am in control of my body and my magic.

I just wish I was in control of my life as well. I wish there wasn’t so much depending on the contents of this letter.

Edward reaches out and lets his hand brush mine: my left hand, dangling by my side, not my right hand, poised over the letter. It’s an intimate gesture, and I realise why Robin thinks we’re dating having seen him comfort me. But it’s not like that: it’s just a physical reminder that he’s there, that he’s supporting me.

I squeeze my eyes shut and unfold the letter. Press it against the table, smooth and flatten it by touch. Count to ten, and then to twenty. Open my eyes. Begin to read.

Tallulah,

Thank you for your letter, and for your apology. I am glad to know that you have not entirely turned against your mother and everything your father and I have done for you.

That’s something, I suppose. More civil than I expected.

But we still have serious concerns about the influence the Academy, and in particular the Blackthorn boy, are having on you.

The next paragraph or so is a brutal description of Edward’s abominable rudeness and meddling in a situation of which he understands nothing. “I don’t think she likes you,” I say to him.

“I don’t particularly care about her opinion of me,” he replies. “Keep reading.”

It is my duty as your mother to see that you are removed from the source of that influence. I have written also to Miss James, the woman responsible for your well-being while you are in attendance at the Academy, with a set of instructions. If these are not followed to my satisfaction, I will be forced to withdraw you from the Academy and find alternative arrangements for your education.

I look forward to seeing you for Holy Days.

Your loving mother, and her signature.

I take a shuddering breath. It could be worse. Stars, it’s bad, but it could be worse. “Well,” I say. “The good news is that I can go home for Holy Days.”

Edward says nothing, though I imagine he’s probably thinking that news is not particularly good.

“The bad news is that she’s written to Electra with a set of instructions for removing the bad influence you and the Academy are having on me. And is threatening to withdraw me from the Academy if they’re not followed. Can she actually do that?”

I know if she did, I’d break. Fall further, deeper, than I ever have before.

“You turn sixteen on the Bird’s Day, don’t you?”

I do have the misfortune of a Holy Day birthday, and years of never having a celebration that belonged solely to me as a result. I nod.

“Then after that, she has no legal authority to do that.”

“That doesn’t help me until then,” I say, frustrated. “And even if she can’t legally do that, she’s perfectly within her rights to not let me live in her house if I won’t withdraw myself.”

“Then it’s a good thing you have an open invitation to stay in one of the most luxurious manors in the City as long as you need to, isn’t it?”

“Your dad – “

“Would allow that for me. I’ve asked him.”

That wasn’t quite what I meant; I don’t particularly want to live in the same house as Edward’s father. It would be better than leaving the Academy, though.

“And what about your dad? He has as much of a say as that woman does in whether you stay here, doesn’t he? Does he approve of this ultimatum of hers?”

I hadn’t even thought of that. What would I do without Edward to be the rational one when I can barely think coherently? Though my mind is clearer than I expected it to be. Maybe the passive episodes I’ve already had this morning protect me for a while.

“The letter doesn’t say.”

“Not what I asked.”

Do I believe that my father would approve of something like this? That he’d ever agree with it? He used to agree with my mother about me most of the time, before all this, but this is different. “No,” I say. “He would never do that.”

“And he’s a lawyer,” Edward adds, smiling. “That means he’ll know how to resolve it if it comes to a legal battle.”

But he loves his wife as much as his daughter, and he would far rather find a compromise that holds his family together than see it torn apart in a legal dispute. Which is a problem when my mother’s position is so far from mine.

“I need to know exactly what these instructions are,” I say.

“Electra,” Edward says grimly.

I nod, just as grimly. Though… she did give me so much desperately needed support during my isolation, without once abusing the power she held over me. Maybe this is another of those circumstances?

I don’t trust her, though. But I don’t have much choice, do I? “We have her tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll want to talk to her before then,” Edward says. “Don’t want a rushed conversation between lessons. Go and knock on her door after lessons today.”

He’s right, unfortunately.

And speaking of lessons, we don’t have much time before today’s start. I pick up the letter, resisting the temptation to burn it, and slip it back into my satchel. “Thank you,” I say.

“You’re welcome. You are always welcome, Tallulah.”