I stay with Edward and hate myself a little for it. I’m wondering if it’s possible for him to reconcile with Robin or if I’m being hopelessly optimistic in wanting this to be patched up and forgotten about. I don’t think he feels betrayed by Robin, at least, not in the way he would if it were me.
But perhaps that’s because he never really trusted Robin to begin with.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine.”
He’s not, not entirely. But I don’t know what I can do to help, other than just being there.
“Sorry you couldn’t get your normal afternoon.”
“It’s not your fault,” I make myself say. “And besides, I should have known better than to think it would actually work out that way.”
“Normal is overrated anyway,” Edward agrees.
I don’t quite know whether I agree with that.
“Shall we take that walk, then?” he asks after a few moments’ silence.
“Yes, let’s,” I say. “I just need to get my coat – “
He and I remember at the same moment that the coat is in my dormitory. The dormitory I share with Robin. After a moment’s pause Edward nods jerkily. “Meet by the door in five minutes?”
That gives me just enough time to fetch my coat, and definitely not enough time to have a proper conversation with anyone I might happen to encounter while doing so. Edward knows that as well as I do. “Five minutes,” I agree.
Robin is nowhere to be seen, though, when I reach the dormitory. I suppose she must have realised I might come here. And I can understand her not wanting my company right now, when she doesn’t know if I’ll feel the same way as Edward.
I don’t know if I feel the same way as Edward. Logically, I understand his reaction very well. She was giving information about him to her family; she could have tried to influence him for their gain; she couldn’t be trusted. But I also understand why she did it. Understand only too well how she must be feeling right now.
If there’s one thing I’ve learnt in these last few months, it’s that nothing is ever as simple as I wish it would be.
My coat is easy enough to find; I’m pleasantly surprised to find I had enough sense to not pack it yesterday. I wriggle my way into it and find my way back downstairs. Edward is waiting for me, exactly where he said he would be.
“I wish this hadn’t happened this afternoon,” he says as we step outside. “I wanted our last afternoon together to be… not like this.”
I flinch as the cold hits me, then remember that I know warming-spells now and quickly cast one. “Me too,” I say when that’s done. “I’ll miss you.”
“You could still stay with me,” Edward offers, setting off along a path that leads to the lake.
I shake my head. “My dad – “
“I know,” says Edward. “I guess I’m selfish enough to want you to stay anyway. I guess you’re not.”
I can’t quite work out whether he’s complimenting me or not. “I’m not,” I agree.
“Well. If you change your mind, or if things go badly, just show up outside Blackthorn Manor – wait, it might be a bit difficult to get in – I should ask my dad if he could add you to the ward network – “
I doubt Lord Blackthorn would be willing to do that for me. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. But it’s good to know that – if I’m not – I have somewhere to go.”
It really is. Even if I’d appreciate that somewhere not involving throwing myself on the mercy of the Blackthorns.
“I’ll miss you too,” Edward says after a moment.
“It’s only for a few weeks. Until after Holy Days. Then we’ll be back here.”
“A few weeks can feel like a long time. Let’s enjoy this afternoon.”
“Yes. Let’s.”
We’re most of the way to the lake by now. It looks very different in daylight, but I still can’t help remembering that night. Walking round in circles with Elsie. Comforting her. Her revealing her secret. Part of me wishes that I hadn’t decided to take a walk that evening. Then I wouldn’t be torn between my friends the way I am now.
Then Elsie would be alone. Then I’d never be able to teach her everything Amara told me about her power. It’s better this way, even if it’s harder for me personally.
It’s a still, cloudless day, though bitterly cold. The sunlight plays on the lake’s surface, creating beautiful patterns. If I were a poet, the sight would be an inspiring one; as it is, I can only admire it.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“It always amazes me that places like this can exist in the very centre of the City,” says Edward. “How quiet it is, so close to the country’s heart.”
“Your manor doesn’t have luxurious gardens like this?” I tease.
“You’ve been there twice,” Edward points out.
“I didn’t exactly get a grand tour on either occasion.” Though I do know at least one of its secret entrances (and I have no doubt there are more).
“Excellent. Now I have an excuse to invite you over sometime. But no, it doesn’t have luxurious gardens like this. Space is precious in the Inner City; only the King gets a private garden.”
And students of magic. Then again, the King does own the Academy building and grounds, so you could argue that this is the King’s second private garden. We’re walking in the King’s gardens. I wonder how many kings in centuries past have walked the very paths we’re walking now. Did they admire the lake as much as I do now? Did they come out here to escape endless royal duties?
“It is lovely,” I agree. “I wish I’d come out here more often.” If I’m serious in my resolution to improve my physical fitness, this seems like a good place to do it. Next term, I suppose.
We’ve stopped by unspoken agreement and are studying the lake. Other than the sparkle of reflected sunlight, the water is utterly still. It hasn’t frozen, which surprises me; it certainly feels cold enough for that.
“Clockwise or anticlockwise?” Edward asks.
“Does it make a difference?”
He shrugs. “Not unless you’re doing ritual-work, or certain types of warding. Anticlockwise it is.” He turns, and we begin to circle the lake.
I suppose direction could be important when it comes to wards: it might well matter which way round a particular circle or pattern is drawn. And what little I know of ritual magic implies that the same would hold there. “What kind of difference does it make, then?” I ask.
“In wards, it’s a common way of specifying whether the effect is meant to be applied to the interior or exterior of the ward-boundary. The usual convention is anticlockwise for exterior, clockwise for interior.”
I frown. “How can a ward effect act on the exterior of the boundary? Wouldn’t trying to cast something affecting all the world except what’s inside the circle…”
“End badly?”
That, from what I know of magic, is an understatement. I nod.
“In general, yes. But there are certain wards – those preventing something from entering the interior, mostly – that technically act on the exterior of their boundary even though they don’t actually influence the entire world. And there’s also the possibility of interacting with other wards meaning that the area of effect is considerably smaller.”
“Makes sense,” I say, and for once I mean it.
“Good.”
“And… rituals?”
“That is… more complicated. Largely because of the wider variety of applications of ritual magic. I know six examples of rituals in which direction is important, and they have little relation to each other. If you want me to explain some elementary theory of ritual-work – “
“Maybe not,” I say quickly. That might be taking things a bit too far. “But… wouldn’t Alchemy have been a more natural example? We’ve actually done things in class where the direction in which you stir something has an effect.”
“Alchemy would be a more natural example if it was a discipline of magic. It is not.”
Ah, yes. I’d forgotten Edward’s opinions on alchemy. I can understand why he’s thinking of it that way – it uses the natural magic of alchemical ingredients rather than the power of a magician, and in fact you can be a quite competent alchemist without being a magician at all. But that’s not a good reason to dismiss it as a subject altogether.
I’m not well-informed enough to argue that point with Edward, though, and even if I was I wouldn’t want to spend our last afternoon that way. Instead I search around for a lighter conversation topic. “So you’re not going to the Feast of Stars,” I say eventually. “Are you still going to celebrate Holy Days with…”
“With Elspeth. My dad will be going to the Feast, of course. And most of the servants take the time off and go home to their families. Elspeth doesn’t, though. She doesn’t have family of her own. So it’s just her and me.”
I’ve got the impression Edward and the housekeeper are close from seeing them together, but that puts it in a new light. With Lord Blackthorn as busy as he is, she must have done most of the work of raising him. And they celebrate Holy Days together, just the two of them. Stars, she must be almost a mother to him.
“I’m glad you won’t be entirely alone,” I say.
“Me too.” Something twitches in his expression, but if he was about to ask me to stay again he thinks better of it. “What about you? Your dad, and…”
I shrug. “Just the two of us, most likely.” We haven’t had large family gatherings for Holy Days in years: my mother was an only child and her parents are both dead, and while I know Dad has a large family I haven’t seen any of them since I was seven or eight. “It’ll be… nice.”
Awkward, is the word that really comes to mind. But I can deal with awkward. It’ll be a welcome break, to be honest, after some of the other stuff I’ve dealt with recently.
“I’m glad,” says Edward in a tone that suggests he knows full well what I actually mean.
There isn’t much I can say to that, so we keep walking in silence. It doesn’t take us long to complete our circuit of the lake. Our most exciting encounter is with a pair of ducks, their feathers fluffed up against the cold; they give us a cursory glance to see whether we’re about to feed them, and upon discovering we’re not lose interest immediately.
“I was wondering,” I say at the same that Edward begins “So…”
We look at each other and laugh for a second. “You first,” he says, regaining his composure.
“I was wondering,” I repeat, “what you’re planning to do with your free weeks. And you?”
“I was just going to ask if you wanted to do another lap of the lake, or explore a different part of the gardens.”
“Something different sounds good,” I say, without mentioning my reasons: I would rather not be haunted by the memory of that night with Elsie.
We set a course for the nearest ornamental hedges, and Edward answers my question. “Extracurricular study, mostly,” he says. “There’s a few books in the family library I’d like to reread now I have practical experience, and I’ll find some more spells to teach myself. Probably a bit of political stuff, as well, once my dad finds time to send me information about the election. And that probably counts as a family secret, sorry.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” I say, truthfully. I am curious about it, but I’m also aware of what just happened with Robin. Edward is my friend, not my source of political secrets.
He still gives me a sceptical look. “I’ll find ways to keep busy,” he concludes. “And you?”
I shrug. “I still need to look through the papers I got this morning. That’ll take a while. And then I need to convince my dad that I know what I’m doing and it’s a good idea.”
“Do you? And is it?”
I grimace. “You had to ask the difficult questions, didn’t you? I don’t know, but I know it’s worth doing.”
He holds my gaze for a moment, then looks away and shrugs. “I hope you’re right.”
“Do you think I am?” I ask, because I don’t want the lingering doubt.
“You had to ask the difficult question, didn’t you?” He laughs, but I’m not amused. After a moment’s pause, he replies “It is worth doing, yes. But… I wish it didn’t have to be you.”
So do I, in some ways.