I didn’t struggle on most of the questions Felicity decides to discuss, which makes the lesson a boring one. I’m restless; I wish I could just read through my Magical Theory notes one more time. With another teacher I’d just do it, but Felicity would not be pleased with me if I did, so I instead take detailed notes on the topics I did have difficulty with and try to recall definitions in my head.

The second Magical Theory test is in fact much harder than the first. There’s one question I have no idea how to do and three or four more that stubbornly refuse to come out in the way I want them to.

I’m almost thankful for Electra for inflicting such horrors on us earlier this week that this doesn’t feel that bad in comparison. Without that I definitely would have had a Malaina episode mid-test, and with how pressed I already am for time I would have lost a lot of marks in the few minutes it would take me to calm myself.

As it is, I muddle through the test the best I can, and walk out of it knowing that at least the worst is over. Just Astronomy now. I haven’t given that class enough attention while revising, but with only one lesson a week there’s a lot less content to get through. It can’t be that bad… can it?

Conjurations and Transformations follows a similar pattern to Spells, with the return of our tests. I once again succeed in not having a Malaina episode as I get mine back. I did a little better on the theoretical part of that, but considerably worse on the practical: sixty-nine. That stings more than a little; I know I struggle with conjurations but I thought I’d be able to scrape above seventy at least.

“It’s fine,” Edward says. “You’ll get a lot better with practice. And it might just be that the conventional casting techniques aren’t working well for you.”

“Meaning… I’d have to figure out my own way?”

“Not necessarily. Other people probably had the same problem before. The family archives won’t be much help, though – there’ve only been a handful of Malaina Blackthorns and they’d probably just have used Siaril for almost everything anyway. It honestly might be easier to invent a new method from scratch than track down an existing one.”

“When you say easier…”

Edward shrugs. “I’ve never tried it before, but I know the theory. It would be quite an interesting exercise, actually.”

Not that long ago I might have been offended by being an interesting exercise for Edward, but now I know him well enough to realise that’s just how his mind works and he doesn’t mean anything by it. And besides, there’s a questioning look in his eyes that tells me that he won’t force me into any experiments I’m not comfortable with.

I guess most people probably take it for granted that their best friends won’t do that. Then again, most people’s best friends aren’t Blackthorns.

I abandon Edward for the library after eating lunch. I claim it’s to track down books to cross-reference what I’ve discovered in the True History, which is partly true. The main purpose of the visit, though, is to find out everything I can about oracles. When faced with an unknown problem like this one, the library is always a good starting point.

It isn’t particularly helpful this time, though. The main message I get from the three books on the subject I skim through is that every oracle is different and no two have quite the same powers. There’s much theoretical speculation about why this is so and to what extent it applies, but it’s clear that I’m not going to be getting a detailed guide to how Elsie’s powers work.

The only general rules seem to be that the power involves seeing things beyond normal sight – the past, the future, secrets, things happening far away – and that there is an associated price, greater in proportion to the power.

I wonder what Elsie’s price is. Could it be just her apparent inability to control the visions? I doubt that; most of the examples the books cite seem to have the same trouble and a price besides. Maybe she doesn’t even know. Still, brief glimpses of the future don’t seem as powerful as a lot of examples, so presumably her price won’t be as bad as some of those… though there aren’t really many data points to work with. Oracles tend to keep the details of their power and price a secret, except from other oracles.

There is a loose union of them, apparently, the Guild of Far-Seeing. Its members are promised protection from the powerful and aid in dealing with their prices in exchange for occasionally providing their services to paying customers. That seems like a deal that might appeal to Elsie, at first, but Edward has corrupted me.

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I ask myself how the Guild of Far-Seeing can actually provide the protection they claim. What would stop someone from using the powers of its members for their own ends? There are laws against it, of course, but without watertight proof they’re nearly impossible to enforce against someone with sufficient power.

The explanation Edward would give is that the Guild has a backer who themselves has sufficient power – the King, perhaps? And this backer, in exchange for the protection they provide, might well request the oracles’ services…

I hate how plausible that thought process seems now, and how I can’t just believe in promises like that any more. Even though it’s probably a good thing that I’m not going to naively recommend to Elsie a solution that is in fact no such thing.

I’m caught up enough in my research that I lose track of time, and when I come back to myself I have a moment of panic. I can’t have stayed in hyperspace for longer than my allotted hour, at least, because no-one has come to find me. That means I can’t have missed the start of afternoon lessons either.

Still, I should probably leave. Rosie is on library duty today; normally I like that, because she’s much friendlier than the other library assistants (to me, at least, though that might just be because I’m her cousin’s friend). But today I’m just concerned that if I borrow the books I’m working my way through, she’ll take note of it and mention my newfound interest in oracles to Edward.

So I can’t borrow the books. But that means I’m stuck with only an hour at a time, and only during library opening hours. And a large chunk of library opening hours is taken up by lessons.

I return the oracle books to their shelves and grab the first two history books I see to avoid arousing suspicion for not borrowing anything. I realise as Rosie is checking them out to me that I probably should have actually looked for books relating to the True History to keep my cover story straight. But I was too distracted by my primary objective.

I spent fifty minutes in the library, it turns out, and have another fifteen before afternoon lessons. It’s one of those awkward chunks of time I never quite know what to do with. I want to try and find Elsie and tell her what little I’ve discovered, but that’s the sort of conversation we can’t just have in public. Unlike Edward, I don’t have the dispensation from the Board of Governors that allows me to reserve a private meeting room, and I can’t cast privacy wards.

That, at least, is a problem I can fix. I wonder if Edward would find it suspicious that I’m suddenly eager to learn after having been largely ambivalent about the idea for the past week or two, and then hate that I’m having to wonder that. Lying to Edward, even by omission, feels instinctively wrong.

Either way, it’s not something that can be done in fifteen minutes. I settle for taking my new books to my dormitory and seeing what I’ve actually borrowed. One is a slim volume on the Second Civil War, and the other is entitled The Truth About Lucius the “Usurper”: Villain or Victim?

I laugh. There are many ways of interpreting history, everyone knows that, but one of the few things every book I’ve ever read and teacher I’ve ever had agrees on is that Lucius was unambiguously a villain. I should be open-minded, I realise on second thoughts. Miss Jenkins always used to tell us to set aside our biases and evaluate the source on its own merits.

Five minutes and half a chapter later, my evaluation concludes that the source in question is utter nonsense. It’s already contradicted established fact three times that I know of and twisted itself into knots trying to argue that the assassins who killed Elizabeth the Martyr were not in fact hired by her uncle Lucius. I have to wonder whether the author even really believes what they’re writing. Who even is the writer?

I snap the book shut before finding out, deciding I’m better off being a few minutes early for Magical Law and Culture.

That lesson also involves going through our tests, but it’s much more engaging than the morning’s lessons were. Sam splits us into groups according to which essay question we chose and returns our papers with detailed written feedback, then has us discuss our points and how we can improve on them.

Elsie, who chose the historical essay, is visibly disappointed to find I’m not in her group. Instead it’s just me, Edward and Robin; we all wrote about the laws surrounding the invention of new forms of magic. Of course those two would, I realise: they’re the ones who have grown up with magic and the ones most likely to end up inventing their own magic some day. And then there’s me.

Despite that obvious problem, though, it’s a productive session. While they’re both better-informed about the topic than I am, neither of them are as good at essay structure or making persuasive arguments. We all have something to learn from each other. It’s a pleasant change from my usual hatred of this sort of group work.

And it’s good enough for me not to realise what comes after this lesson: Countering Magical Effects. The return of Electra’s tests.

The Malaina episode hits me almost as soon as we step out of the Magical Law and Culture classroom. I try to focus on breathing, reciting my list of kings, but it’s hard when I know that every step is taking me closer to finding out exactly how badly I failed. Wasn’t it Electra herself who told us that the first step in mitigating a Malaina episode is removing yourself from the situation causing it? A wild, mirthless laugh escapes me at the thought of trying to use that justification to skip class.

Edward gives me a concerned look and offers me his hand. I nod shakily and take it. “Two minutes?” I manage to say. Eleanor the Bold.

“Two minutes,” he agrees calmly, tugging me into a side-corridor to let the rest of the class pass us.

It’s enough, somehow. The episode passes on its own – even knowing I’m still going to the lesson, the fact I’m not actively walking towards it is enough to stem the tide of panic, and the combination of Edward’s presence and my list of kings does the rest. I still feel a faint sense of dread by the time the two minutes have elapsed, but that’s to be expected and can be pushed through.

“Shall we?” Edward asks.

I take a second to be sure my voice will be steady. “May as well get it over with.”

And we set off to our doom together, hand-in-hand.