Over lunch, I remember the other unusual letter I got yesterday morning. The invitation to speak at the conference. I find it while fishing for a quill in my satchel. I probably shouldn’t have completely forgotten about it like I did, but it was somewhat overshadowed by what my mother did.

I read through it again, and show it to Edward. It’s quite the event that’s happening: a three-day conference for leading experts on Malaina: doctors, researchers, prominent Malaina magicians. It promises discussion of causes and symptoms, presentation of interesting case studies, and the chance to start conversations about anything relating to Malaina and worthy of research.

“Oh, that,” says Edward, seeming less impressed than I expected. “I got one of those, too. I’ve refused already.”

“Why?” I ask.

“I don’t particularly want to be an interesting case study. And it would be a security risk, since there’s so much I can’t talk about. I’m surprised my dad even let the letter make it to me.”

There’s a bitter note in his voice. It’s about his mother, isn’t it? I’m not surprised.

“You have a point,” I admit, but I can’t help feeling a little regret.

Thank you for your kind invitation. Unfortunately… I narrow my eyes and stare down at the paper, trying to work out how to say I don’t particularly want my personal life to be dissected and discussed by a group of strange scientists politely.

And why I regret turning this down even as I’m writing the letter of refusal. Edward is right, there’s no question about it. I’d be there as a case study or as a way to attract wider attention to the conference. No-one would take me seriously or really listen to me.

I know a lot more about Malaina than I did before, but most of it I’ve had to work out myself or piece together from isolated tips. I haven’t ever sat down with some other Malaina who’s been living with it for years without becoming a monster, haven’t ever had things properly explained to me.

And I do want that. Someone to show me that I can do more than just survive one day at a time, that one day I can become more than I am. Perhaps an event like this could be a chance to meet someone like that.

Even the chance isn’t worth it, though.

I can’t find Edward that afternoon. We usually meet in the study room half an hour or so after lessons, but he doesn’t appear today. Strange. His routine isn’t as fixed as mine, though; he’s probably off practicing some advanced magic and not in the mood for company, even my company.

Elsie does appear, though, just as I’m putting the finishing touches to a Magical Theory assignment. “Tallulah,” she says. “Can I join you?”

“Of course,” I say, looking up briefly before checking through a couple of lines of algebra. I don’t think I’ve lost any minus signs, but you can never be too sure.

She sits down opposite me and sighs.

I glance up again. “Anything wrong?”

“Not in the mood to work,” she says.

Understandable. I miss the days when that was my biggest problem – no. No, I don’t, because I had bigger problems back then as well, I was just hiding from them. “What do you need to do?” I ask.

“Magical Theory,” she says. “I hate that stupid algebra. Why do we need to know all of this stuff?”

“It’s important to understand the theoretical basis behind the magic you use; only then can you truly know why it works and how to modify it to get the best results.”

“You’re quoting Edward, aren’t you?”

I laugh. “Was it that obvious?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.” She pauses, her smile vanishing. “But something like that’s all very well for him. Maybe for you as well. I don’t know. But I… I’m not like you two. I’m never going to be a brilliant magician inventing new spells or whatever – “

I can’t help bitter laughter at that. “I’m hardly going to be a brilliant magician inventing new spells, either. I do think understanding the theory is helpful, though, even at our level.”

“I don’t understand the theory, though,” she says, frustrated. “That’s the problem.”

If Edward were here, he’d probably point out something about her being illogical, how she only thinks it’s pointless because she doesn’t understand it. I’m not Edward, though, and I’m aware that doing that would not be a good idea. “What don’t you understand?” I ask instead.

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“All of it?”

I’m reminded suddenly of Ruby, that day under the old tree. How she asked me for help with things she should have been able to work out herself, how it felt like she hadn’t even tried to work it out herself. I don’t feel the same way about Elsie, though, and I’m not quite sure why.

“That’s hardly true,” I say. “Definition of a simple spell operator.”

She closes her eyes and recites the definition from memory, pausing occasionally as she struggles to recall the right phrasing. “But I don’t know why that’s the definition,” she says when she’s done. “What’s so special about doing it that particular way?”

I shrug. “You’d have to ask Edward for that one. Or Robin,” I add as an afterthought: she’s almost as knowledgeable as Edward and considerably more approachable. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s because that’s the definition that works.”

“Can you teach me?” she asks suddenly.

I blink a few times. “What?” I reply, even though it’s clear what she means.

“Can you teach me magical theory? Please? I’m not going to be ready for the tests on my own at this rate.”

“I’m really not the best person to ask. Robin would do it. She knows this far better than I do. Or Edward – you’d be surprised how good a teacher he is, and working with normal people would be good for him – “

Elsie shakes her head. “No. I want you to teach me, Tallulah. Edward and Robin have grown up with this. They’ve known it for years already; it’s almost second nature for them. They don’t understand how anyone couldn’t understand it. You do.”

I’m not sure that’s quite the compliment she intends it to be, but it is a good point. Despite what I said, I don’t think Edward would be a particularly good teacher for Elsie, and Robin has never seemed particularly interested in teaching anyone. But still: I’m not convinced I understand the material well enough to teach it.

“If you’re sure that’s what you want, then I guess I could give it a try.”

Elsie grins. “Thank you! When do we start?”

“Right now?”

So we do. It goes a lot better than I was expecting, probably because she’s working through the same assignment I’ve just finished and I can cross-reference with my own work and my notes whenever I’m unsure of myself. Time passes quickly, and we’re both surprised when I glance up at the clock and discover it’s six and five after noon.

“Break to eat?” Elsie says. Her attention has been waning a little for the last while, but we have been working for nearly two hours.

“Sounds good,” I say, “I’m hungry.”

Not quite hungry enough to beg the kitchen staff for a bowl of leftover soup, thankfully.

Robin and Elizabeth are already eating by the time we get our food – fish this evening – and we join them.

“Sorry we’re late,” Elsie says.

“No worries. Not as if we had an appointment.”

“Have either of you seen Edward recently?” I ask.

“No,” says Elizabeth.

“Not since lessons finished. If anyone knows where he is, it would be you.”

“Well,” I say, feeling a little foolish, “if you do see him, let him know I was wondering where he was.”

Edward doesn’t appear while we’re eating. That’s definitely concerning: it is not like him to skip meals. I remember how he felt on the morning I had breakfast in bed. When someone deviates significantly from their established routine… that’s a sign that something is wrong.

If the positions were reversed, he’d definitely be worried about me by now. He’d come looking for me. But I don’t know if this is serious, or if he just wants to be alone. He would have told me, though, if he knew something was wrong. He wouldn’t keep it a secret from me.

I know for a fact he has a lot of secrets, though. Would he really tell me everything? What if by going after him I’d discover something I wasn’t meant to?

What if he’s in real trouble, and by not going after him I’m making it worse?

I can at least look in the usual places. Probably I’ll find him and we can laugh about how his paranoia is infectious together.

He’s not in the usual places: I check the study rooms, the empty classrooms we haunt on occasion, the gardens. I wouldn’t know if he were shut in a meeting room, they’re designed for complete privacy. I go to the library with the excuse of returning a book and looking for some more, but he’s not there either, even in the hyperspace itself.

Rosie is on duty, though, so I stop on the way out.

“Tallulah! How can I help you?”

“Hi, Rosie. I’d like to borrow these – “ I slide a small stack of books across the table. “And – “

I remember the form Electra gave me; it’s still in my satchel. I could have a copy of the True History of the Thalian Crisis of 900 in my hands within minutes. And Rosie is a Blackthorn and a librarian; she’d know if there was something wrong with the form and she’d make sure Edward and I didn’t get into trouble.

It’s tempting. Very tempting.

But this isn’t a decision I can make on my own. “Have you seen Edward recently?” I ask instead.

She shrugs. “How recently are we talking?”

“This afternoon.”

“Then no,” she says, noting down the titles of my books in her ledger. “Why, are you looking for him?”

“Yeah. I… it’s stupid, but I haven’t seen him since lessons ended today, and – “

“I know where he is. He’s fine.”

I feel a surge of relief, but it doesn’t last long. “Where is he?”

“Ask him yourself, tomorrow when he’s back.”

“I will,” I say. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She sets down her quill with a flourish. “That’s done for you. Due back in a fortnight as usual.”

“Thanks.” I force a smile and gather up the books.

She would have told me, I think, if there wasn’t anything preventing it. I don’t know her that well, but she must know I can be trusted where Edward is concerned. Which means he doesn’t want me knowing where he is.

They weren’t talking about magical theory when I interrupted them yesterday morning, were they?

It’s fine. I can trust Edward. He wouldn’t keep things from me if they were important enough to me, and if he doesn’t want me to know then I have no need to know. I am not going to start prying into his secrets.

He’s at breakfast the next morning. Usual time, usual place. I smile a little as I slip into my own usual place opposite him. “Morning.”

“Morning,” he says. He’s paging through the papers, also as usual.

“Anything about us?”

He shrugs. “Not in the front pages. More gossip about the High Princess. They’re saying the baby’s due on the sixth day of the Seedling’s Moon.”

It’s an auspicious day in royal history, that one. At least three future kings were born on that day, including Philippa the Bright. They say that the reign of a king born on the sixth of the Seedling’s Moon will be a new era of prosperity for the Kingdom.

“Can they really predict it that far out?”

“Of course not,” Edward says. “Blatant propaganda.”

I laugh. Edward is still himself, then.