In the end we walk twelve times around the lake. There’s an old superstition about walking in thirteen circles, I vaguely recall, though I’m not sure whether it’s that or the cold cutting deeper that makes Elsie finally stop and concede it’s time to go inside.

It’s only nine and thirty after noon when I get into bed, but it’s much later than that when I fall asleep. The questions keep running through my mind: what exactly does Elsie’s power do? Was the fortune-teller not such a fraud after all, and what did she tell Elsie in that tent? And, most importantly: what am I going to do about Edward?

There are few secrets between us now, and I know that hasn’t been easy on his part. He’d see it as a breach of trust if I kept something as big as this from him. But telling him when Elsie specifically asked me not to, breaking an oath by starlight, would undoubtedly be far worse. And I have to admit she had a point.

I’d like to hope Edward wouldn’t tell his father, but I can’t be certain of it. If I were the oracle I know he’d keep my secret, but he and Elsie are barely friends; without me I doubt they’d willingly spend time in each other’s company.

No, I have to keep this from him. And quite apart from moral considerations, there are the practical ones: I spend most of my time with Edward and he’s perceptive enough to not miss a sudden interest in prophecy I develop and knows me well enough to see through any attempts at lies I could make.

The thought of actively concealing what I’m doing from him as opposed to merely not mentioning things, though, is not a pleasant one. I selfishly wish for a moment that Elsie hadn’t told me, so that I wouldn’t have this problem to deal with. But that isn’t fair; she’s my friend, and she needs me.

If only I had the faintest idea how I was actually supposed to help her.

Lying awake worrying isn’t bringing me any closer to a solution, all it’s doing is making sure I won’t be well-rested enough for the Magical Theory test tomorrow. The tests suddenly seem so much less important, though; I feel awful for being so focused on them that I missed the signs of Elsie’s growing distress for most of a week.

There must be something I can do. The Academy’s library must have a section on prophecy and oracles. Unfortunately I remember that most of those books are restricted, and I certainly don’t want the only teacher who’s shown any inclination to let me access restricted books knowing about this –

Don’t I? Electra might be, well, herself, but when it really matters she’s been there for me, kept my secrets and done everything in her power to help me. Perhaps she would do the same for Elsie. Or perhaps by telling her I’d be dooming my friend. Am I mad for even considering it?

Probably. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. I resolve to set the idea aside until I’ve had enough sleep I can trust myself to work out whether it’s sensible.

I roll over and focus on breathing; while it began as a way of coping with Malaina episodes, emptying my mind helps me get to sleep as well. It must work eventually, because I wake what seems like seconds later but is in fact seven or eight hours. Six after midnight, according to the clock when I crawl out of bed.

I don’t feel particularly well-rested, but there’s not a chance I’m getting back to sleep. I wash and dress, then spend a little while reading over my Magical Theory notes before breakfast.

Edward is there before me, as usual, paging through the newspapers. Various minor political scandals, different papers having different focus according to their political leanings. The leader of the Traditional Unionists apparently slept with a girl half his age, which is either morally abhorrent or a perfectly legal thing blown far out of proportion depending on who you ask. There’s still talk about the Deputy Prime Minister’s alleged use of government money to host a private dinner party.

“Everyone does that sort of thing,” is Edward’s verdict on that one. “Just now that there’s an election coming up and people want to make him look bad…”

Edward is considerably more pragmatic about these affairs than I am. “Just because everyone does it doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

“Look, if you removed everyone doing it from office the only politicians you’d have left are those rich enough to host the dinner parties with their own money. Is that what you want?”

“No, but…”

He’s smiling in that irritating way he does when he’s waiting for me to admit he’s right. I don’t think he is, but right now I can’t find the right words to argue against him so I let the silence linger a little while.

“What I think is most interesting, though, is what isn’t here,” Edward says after a little while.

“Mm?”

It’s an invitation to elaborate, but he decides to instead make me work it out for myself: “Who’s missing?” he asks.

I close my eyes and think for a moment. It falls into place. “Ariana Carling,” I say.

He nods.

“Maybe she just… isn’t corrupt or immoral?” I suggest.

Edward looks as if he’s trying very hard not to laugh. I glare at him. Maybe I’m just naïve, but surely there do exist politicians trying to do the right thing?

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“Everyone has dark secrets that can be used against them,” he says. “For instance, I wouldn’t call you corrupt or immoral, but…”

It would probably be very easy to paint me as a villain if you wanted to. “I’m associated with the Blackthorns. That doesn’t count.”

This time he does laugh, though it’s a bitter sound with little genuine amusement. “You see my point, though?”

I nod; I’m not entirely convinced, but I don’t feel like trying to debate it.

“So the fact that none of Ariana Carling’s dark secrets have come out yet means…”

Assuming I accept that those dark secrets exist, which I’m not sure I do… “Someone is invested in keeping them secret,” I say. “And presumably not just her United Reformists, because they’d never be able to influence the traditionalist papers that much.”

Edward nods.

“So some more established power wants her to succeed,” I say. “Because… what? They’ve made a bargain behind the scenes?”

He shrugs. “Possibly. Possibly not. All it means is that she’s useful to them. And I don’t like the obvious answer to the obvious question.”

The obvious question is clearly why would Ariana Carling be useful to whoever this power is? It takes me a little longer to work out the “obvious” answer to that question. She’s charismatic and radical; given sufficient power there’s no doubt she would try to make radical changes.

Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing – stars know the existing system is deeply flawed – but one of the many lessons of history is that trying to change too much too quickly leads to instability.

And there’s a pattern of events – the protests, the riots – that suggests someone working behind the scenes to create exactly that instability.

It might be that Edward is just constructing a conspiracy theory, that with his paranoia and cynicism he’s seeing connections that aren’t really there. Or it might be that he’s right, and that…

I don’t know what that means, but it can’t be anything good.

“I’ll have to ask my dad if he’s dug up anything interesting,” Edward muses.

I bite back my instinctive response of let me know if he has, realising after a second that that’s effectively asking Edward to tell me state secrets. I would rather not learn any more state secrets than I already know. My life is complicated enough as it is, thank you very much. I just shrug instead.

I want to get the test over with once breakfast is done, but we have Spells first. That’s the first lesson all week that isn’t a test, which I’m initially pleased about. I hadn’t thought about what we would be doing instead. Going through the tests, it turns out – and getting our results back.

I don’t want to get my results back. All I can think of is everything I messed up, every calculation I could have got wrong and spell I might not have cast correctly. I know, objectively, that I didn’t do too badly. That there’s not a chance I could have failed.

But there’s a big difference between knowing something and believing it.

I’m not surprised to find that when I try to channel magic into my enchanted bead, nothing happens. I’m only surprised that I’m not deeper into an episode already.

“Lizzie, would you come up and hand these out to everyone, please?”

Elizabeth, who’s long since given up telling Felicity she doesn’t use that nickname, gets to her feet.

Charles First-King. Edwin the Just. I close my eyes, focus on the rhythm of my breathing and my list of kings. It’s going to be okay. I haven’t failed. Simon the Drunkard.

I feel something brush against my hand: Edward. Of course he noticed, or guessed this would happen. Thomas the Defender. Eleanor the Bold.

I hear the rustle of papers being set down on the desk. “There you are,” says Elizabeth.

“Thank you,” says Edward.

My heart skips a beat and the fragile control I’ve begun to establish slips, but I force myself to echo his words. Timothy the Peacemaker. Maria the Seafarer.

“You did well,” says Edward.

Wait, he looked at – no, I’m being stupid, the marks are probably displayed right on the front of the papers, easily visible. Which means I’ll see them as soon as I open my eyes.

If Edward thinks I’ve done well, though – he probably has some idea of the standards I hold myself to, so that’s likely accurate. It’s going to be okay.

Richard Blackbeard. I take a breath and open my eyes.

Eighty-three percent on the theoretical test and seventy-nine on the practical.

At once better and worse than I expected. Back at Genford I would have been disappointed with anything less than ninety for a subject I didn’t hate, but it’s different here. I have no experience of magic.

It takes me a second to notice I’m feeling almost giddy with relief. My hands are shaking, but my breathing is steady. I try the bead again, and it lights up instantly. I study the papers in more detail. The marks are written in large, thin quill-strokes on the cover sheet of the theoretical test. I page through, looking for where I dropped points. Pretty much in the places I’ve expected, with the occasional exception where I used slightly wrong phrasing.

“Harsh,” says Edward, who’s looking over my shoulder. “I think you should have got that mark.”

“Are you the one teaching this class, Blackthorn?” asks Felicity acidly. I hadn’t realised she was listening. Edward probably had realised and just didn’t care.

I shoot him a look, silently pleading for him not to get into another fight with Felicity now.

He shrugs. “No. I am not.”

“Then kindly do not question my authority.”

Whatever he mutters then is quiet enough that I can’t hear it, which means nor can Felicity. That’s definitely a good sign. I keep turning through until I reach the last page and then find another sheet of paper attached to the back. Evaluation of Practical Spellwork.

I feel a little stupid for not expecting something like that. Of course I’d get some form of feedback. It’s signed by Mark Wilkins, and I spend a few seconds wondering who that is before remembering he was the graduate student who assessed me. Not a fan of Malaina, but reasonably objective in his evaluation.

He says I show promise, though in some areas my inexperience is clear. And my more precise work is remarkably good for a Malaina. Probably accurate, though the way he phrases all of it makes me tense and frustrated. Do these people never think that someone will read their words and take it as a personal judgement?

“How did you do?” I ask Edward, setting the paper aside to be stewed over later.

He shrugs. “Well enough.”

With him, that could mean either full marks or less than me and he just doesn’t care. More likely the former. “Which means…”

He shows me the paper. I’m not surprised in the least to see that he did in fact score full marks on the practical section, though he apparently dropped a single mark on the theoretical. “Another one that should have been awarded,” he says, after checking that Felicity is occupied answering Elsie’s question.

Felicity, I realise, would be exactly petty enough to deny Edward a perfect score on the slightest technicality she could find. It’s a pity for her that what he’s aiming for isn’t measurable on these test grades.

“So,” says Felicity, once she’s finished looking through the question Elsie indicated, “let’s have a look at some of the questions we’ve all struggled with…”