After the break is the theoretical Alchemy test. It’s a mess, but I expected it to be a mess. I think it would be impossible to do really well on that test without flawless memory. And while my memory is better than average, it is a long way from flawless. Some things I’m able to piece together from what the questions expect me to do, but I’m forced to leave one question blank and guess at another.

Lunch is quiet; there’s only so much dissection of our performances the class can handle. Hannah and Aisha are revising for this afternoon’s tests while eating, which makes me think I should be doing the same. Edward insists I shouldn’t, though, and he’s probably right. It won’t help anything at this point.

Conjurations and Transformations is a challenge. It’s always been my weakest subject, I think because more than anything else it needs the right way of thinking. Complete belief, complete ability to visualise what you’re trying to create. After my breakthrough with illusions, I asked Edward if I could use a similar approach with conjurations.

The resulting lecture on magical theory was even harder to follow than I expected. Apparently there’s something called the Grimshaw-Wilde Theory that says illusions are fundamentally the same as conjurations and transformations despite the different way they’re usually taught. That, in the end, there is no division between illusion and reality. If that theory is correct, then my idea will work.

There is much debate about whether it’s correct, though. Edward says a lot of the arguments in its favour are blatantly wrong but that doesn’t necessarily mean the theory itself is invalid. Testing it rigorously runs into the inevitable problems with research into the fundamental nature of magic: the outcome is determined as much by which theory the magician believes as anything else.

If Edward had just told me that the Grimshaw-Wilde Theory was true, I would have believed him without question, and then I would probably have overcome whatever mental block is holding me back from being a better conjurer by now. But he refuses on principle to do that. Something about the long-term consequences of false beliefs for casting ability.

I wish I wasn’t so busy preparing for the tests, because all this sounds fascinating.

Whatever the true nature of magic, though, I’m still faced with more practical difficulties. The test is set up the same as both Spells and Enchantments, with research students overseeing our work. Rosie is there again, testing Elsie this time. I imagine she’d have to avoid testing Edward, and possibly me as well, due to conflict of interest.

I can do this, I tell myself firmly. I belong here. I’m a magician. I don’t think I’m close to a Malaina episode, not after this morning, but I can’t reach for the bead to check. No enchanted devices are allowed during this test, and it’s best to stick to the rules.

It goes a little better than I expected. I do eventually conjure everything I’m expected to, but some of them take several attempts and others are less than perfect. Still, it’s probably enough to pass at least. And that is the only thing that matters if I listen to Edward.

In general listening to Edward on the subject of what matters is a bad idea, but in this specific instance I think it’s okay.

And then there’s theoretical Spells. Felicity can’t be that biased given she’s setting the same test for everyone, but she can definitely be biased in the way she marks it. Her lessons had much more emphasis on practical casting, which was fun and good for getting used to casting but means we don’t have the solid grounding in theory this test is supposed to assess.

Well, I wouldn’t if I hadn’t had Edward giving me constant lectures and Robin clarifying things in our study sessions. As it is I can piece together what I need to know from the two of them, even if it is near-impossible for me to tell which of the things Edward tells me I’m expected to know. The test isn’t even particularly hard, in the end. The entire class thinks it went well.

That makes me a little nervous. But not every teacher is Electra, and not everything that seems easy is actually a trick question. It’s fine.

And that’s the end of the second day’s lessons. Every one of tomorrow’s lessons is a test, but there’s only one test each on Thursday and Friday – though Friday’s is Astronomy in the evening so we can’t rest properly until the weekend.

I hate it when that happens; it’s awful trying to keep yourself working when most of your exams are done and you just want to celebrate or relax.

Edward and I spend the remains of the afternoon the same way as yesterday: me reading the True History, him working on wards. Today’s project is a “basic” illusion ward, which when activated makes its interior appear as it was when the ward was first cast. So, in particular, a person inside such a ward who wasn’t there when it was cast is invisible. It’s a very effective means of invisibility for someone who isn’t moving, and much easier than actively maintained invisibility spells.

He gets it to work after only a couple of attempts. I watch as he steps into the chalk circle and vanishes. “Can you see me?” asks his disembodied voice. It’s disorientating.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“No,” I tell him.

His hand appears from nowhere, sticking out just above the chalk circle, without an arm attached to it. “See that?”

“Yes. That’s a bit creepy.”

“It’s an illusion. I’m right here.”

“I know that, but there’s still something strange about seeing your hand without the rest of your body attached.”

“Spoilsport,” Edward mutters, and steps out of thin air. “Right, your turn. I want to run a few tests.”

I’ve just finished a chapter of the True History, which is the only reason I don’t protest before stepping into the circle. Nothing appears any different from this side of it.

“I can’t see you,” says Edward. “Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m just making sure there’s no disruption to sound transmission. There doesn’t appear to be. Not sure why there would be with only the one layer to the ward, but worth checking.”

There are several other unlikely possibilities he’s just checking. I tolerate it, knowing that he won’t be satisfied until they’re done and this is my best chance of reading the next chapter undisturbed.

Everything goes how he expected it to go. “Now if we can just combine this with a ward that prevents sound leaving… combining wards is tricky, though. It’ll take me a day or two.”

I enjoy my newfound ability to glare at Edward without him knowing it. Being concealed by an illusion has its perks sometimes. For all I’ve tried to teach him, he still doesn’t understand the concept that most magicians would never be able to do the sort of thing he says he can do in a day or two.

The arrogance would be utterly infuriating if it wasn’t for the fact he is actually that good.

I control my expression and step out of the ward.

“Right,” Edward says. “Your turn.”

“…what?”

“I’m teaching you wardwork. There’s a good chance you’ll find yourself in a situation where you need to know it, and if you don’t – “

I tense. “Don’t.”

Edward stops talking immediately. “Right,” he says. “You don’t like to think about being unprepared.”

I don’t like to be reminded of the dozens of things I should be doing or the consequences of not doing them. “Sorry,” I say. “I am going to learn wardwork. Soon. But… not tonight?”

He pauses in thought, and I track his gaze to the True History, lying open on the table. “It’s more than just a book, isn’t it?”

“I know I shouldn’t be devoting all my time to it, not in the middle of tests and – “

“That’s not what I asked. It’s your escape, isn’t it? Forgetting your problems by delving into the past.”

Losing myself in the problems of long-dead kings, trying to understand them. “Yes,” I admit.

“Then don’t stop. Sometimes you need to escape.”

I blink a few times. “My mother always told me off for spending too much time reading history. If I’d devoted that time to work instead, think what I could have accomplished.”

“Tallulah,” says Edward through gritted teeth. “With all due respect, do you really think you should be taking your mother’s advice on things like that?”

Given her recent actions, that is a more valid point than I’d like. “Maybe not. But – “

He shakes his head sharply. “No buts. If working that little bit harder is going to make your life more miserable for no real gain, don’t do it. Do what you need to do to escape and be happy.”

I relate more to Elsie’s feelings at dinner yesterday now: that instinctive surge of it’s all right for you, you don’t actually have to work for any of this. Except he does, of course. He just put in the work years before he ever became a magician. “Logical fallacy,” I mutter.

“What is?”

“The same thing Elsie said last night. But sometimes even knowing objectively something is a fallacy doesn’t stop you feeling that way.”

Edward is silent for a long moment, his face twisted into an ugly expression. “You feel that way?”

I shrug. “Sometimes. It’s my problem, though. I always used to be disappointed when I wasn’t top of my class at Genford, and it feels like it should be the same here even though I’m never going to be a better magician than you.”

“You’re holding yourself to an unrealistic standard.”

“I know that. That’s exactly my point. I know it, and I still can’t stop doing it.”

Edward shrugs. “Changing is hard. You’ll get there, though.”

And he sounds certain enough that I believe him.

He escapes from dinner, leaving me to Elsie, Elizabeth and Robin. The four of us don’t talk much; we’re too tired for deep conversation and have had enough of trying and failing to make small talk for the rest of term.

“We just need to get through tomorrow,” says Elsie.

“And then Thursday. And Friday,” Robin points out.

“Don’t. Thursday and Friday don’t exist.”

“I wish it worked that way,” I say. But I need to remember they exist, otherwise I’ll never be able to convince myself to keep going through them.

“It’s fine,” says Robin. “We’re over halfway now, at least if we measure distance by number of tests rather than number of days.”

I laugh. She and Edward are quite similar; they might not have made a bad couple if it wasn’t for the incompatible orientation. That kind of reassurance that doesn’t effectively reassure anyone is just the thing he’d say in this situation.

If I’m honest with myself, though, this doesn’t actually feel that bad. I’m not even close to being as exhausted and broken as I was in the days after the riot, or even end-of-year exams at Genford. It’s not exactly fun, but it’s very much bearable.

I don’t know if that means I’m stronger than I was or if I’ve just suffered enough that I don’t feel pain anymore. Maybe it’s a bit of both, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I don’t say that to the others, though: Elsie in particular is struggling, and I’ve learnt the hard way that it becomes far harder if you think other people are finding it easy.

“We should work this evening,” says Elsie.

Edward isn’t here to tell me not to, but he doesn’t need to be. It feels as if I have a copy of him sitting on my shoulder giving me annoyingly accurate advice. I shrug. “Maybe.”

Robin shakes her head. “I’m just going to read over my notes and then try and relax.”

“I’m going for a run,” Elizabeth says. “Need the exercise to clear my head. You could come with me, if you want?”

Elsie and I share a look that says I do probably need to get more exercise, but I really don’t think this is the best time for it. I think I’d choose revision over that. The thought of revision doesn’t fill me with dread right now.

“I’ll pass, thanks,” I say. “Maybe some other time?” I’m hoping that we never reach that other time.

Elizabeth smiles knowingly. “That would be great.”

Yeah, she can definitely guess what I’m thinking there.