My dad pokes his head around the door and brings me back to reality a few hours later. “…in okay,” I hear vaguely from somewhere in the reign of Charlotte Ginger. I should probably respond to that, I suppose, but…

  With an effort, I lift my head from my book and say “What was that, sorry?”

  “Glad to see you’re settling in okay,” he repeats, lips twitching in amusement. “Just came to tell you I’ve made dinner – it’ll be ready in about five minutes, if you can tear yourself away from that book for long enough to eat.”

  I tense, but he doesn’t seem angry. Just entertained. “I’ll try,” I say.

  “Thanks. See you shortly.”

  Five minutes is a long time, enough to read a few more pages. I could just get to the end of this section and then go to dinner… no, who do I think I’m fooling? If I don’t drag myself away from the book now I’ll lose track of time and never make it. With an effort, I snap it shut.

  I make it to dinner with two minutes to spare. My dad has made us tomato soup. I used to love his tomato soup, but I haven’t had it for years: he never used to have time to cook. I’m surprised he does now – working for Lord Blackthorn can’t be making him any less busy. But I suppose this is one of those little things he feels obliged to do for me now.

  “I guess this isn’t as good as what your private chef prepares for you?” my dad asks as I sit down.

  “I don’t have a private chef. The Academy isn’t quite the Round Palace.” Its food is good, but it’s nothing spectacular. Which is only reasonable: giving a horde of hungry young magicians the food of kings would be prohibitively expensive.

  My dad laughs awkwardly. “Glad to know you’re not completely spoilt yet.”

  “This looks like good soup. Thank you.”

  It tastes like good soup as well, I discover upon trying it. Just as delicious as I remember. I smile. “It’s lovely. Thanks.”

  He smiles back, and a little of the tension between us lifts. That lasts all of two minutes.

  “So,” he says after we’ve eaten in a pleasant silence for a little while. “Can you – I want – “ He stops talking, closes his eyes for a second. “I want to understand what you’re dealing with, Tallulah. I want to help you. But I can’t – “

  “You want me to tell you about what’s happened,” I say, keeping my tone carefully quiet and neutral.

  “Yes. I – “

  He wants to help. It might be good, to be less alone. I can trust my own father.

  But Edward’s secrets. Elsie’s secret. The anomaly. I can’t tell him any of that.

  “If you have questions, ask them. But there are things I can’t answer.”

  “Of course. Thank you.” He takes another mouthful of soup, and hesitates. “Lord Blackthorn. Is he – has he – threatened you, or – “

  “He’s tried a couple of times.”

  I think if he hadn’t already swallowed that mouthful of soup he would have spat it out. He stares at me in disbelief. “I – I can’t work out whether I should be proud or horrified.”

  “He’s not going to hurt me,” I explain. “Because he cares about Edward, and Edward cares about me. But we have an understanding of sorts. Not to interfere too much in each other’s business, I suppose.”

  “…okay,” my dad says slowly. “This lawsuit you want to file – does he know about that? What does he think of it?”

  “He knows. He’s allowing it. Begrudgingly, I think, but he is. I wouldn’t ask you to go against him for this. I know I’m the one supposed to be asking the questions, but how did you end up working for him?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know if you realised, but Roberts and Bryant were having financial problems. And he offered the solution to them. I was half-convinced there was going to be an awful catch, but if there is I haven’t found it yet.”

  “There wouldn’t be an obvious catch,” I muse aloud. “That’s not how he works. Besides, it would be a mistake for him to screw you over given what I could do in return.”

  “Tallulah,” he says. “Saying things like that… you know it’s not normal, right?”

  I blink a few times. I suppose it’s not. “Yes,” I say. “But I’m not normal now.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like that.”

  I shake my head. “I passed that point a long time ago. This is my life, and I need – I need to become the sort of person who can live like that.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “And what about the future?” he asks.

  I wince and say nothing.

  “I know you don’t want to think about it. But you must know a Blackthorn’s marriage isn’t just a matter of love – “

  “It’s a good thing we’re not in love, then, isn’t it?” I shouldn’t snap at my father. He’s only trying to help. It’s just that there’s only so much I can take of people assuming things without even bothering to ask me, and we’ve already had Lord Blackthorn is using you in this conversation. Part of me feels like I could make a game out of it.

  “You’re not?” he says. “I remember talking to him, when you were isolated. That boy would go to the ends of the earth for you.”

  “I know. But it’s not love.”

  He blinks a few times. I pray that he won’t press any further, and to my relief he doesn’t. “Okay. I don’t quite know how to say this, but… does he know that?”

  I grimace. I can understand why he’s asking, though: if Edward thought we were dating all this time, his eventual realisation that we weren’t would be… ugly. “Yes,” I say, thankful that Edward and I got that awkward conversation out of the way early on.

  “My question still stands, I suppose, but not quite in the way I originally meant it. What about the future?”

  I don’t know quite what to say. Mostly because I don’t have the answers myself. Politics. Trying to make a real difference, change the world for the better. That has a ring of truth to it in my mind, but I don’t know if it’s even possible. And I was convinced I wanted to be a lawyer before; how do I know I’m not just deluding myself once more? How do I know I’m not just telling myself that when what I really want is to belong in the world that I’ve found myself in?

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  “The choices you make now – the choices you’ve already made – could well determine your future, though.”

  “I do know that,” I say, an edge to my voice as I once again have to suppress irrational, unfair anger.

  “Just… keep that in mind, okay? I don’t want you doing things now that force you into something you don’t want for the rest of your life.”

  It’s good advice. I should listen to it. But he says it as someone convinced that I have control over my future. And between Malaina, everything that’s happened over the last few months, and whatever the anomaly will inevitably cause… I don’t think I can believe that.

  “Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”

  We lapse into silence. After a while it becomes awkward, and I search my mind for conversation topics that won’t cause more tension. It’s not easy. “How’s Simon?” I ask eventually.

  “Good, I think. He’s helped me out a lot recently. I don’t know what I’d do without him. Oh – and do you remember Tara?”

  I blink a few times, trying to place the name. “…remind me?”

  “The woman who represented you when – well – “

  In the hearing that would have determined whether I was dangerously unstable. Of course. I asked her to let my dad know I was okay after that mess ended, didn’t I? “Yes. Of course. Sorry.”

  “Well, after she told me what had happened, we got talking for a while, and… I guess we realised that she was looking for a job and Roberts and Bryant were looking for a lawyer. So, long story short, we’ve taken her on as a junior partner.”

  “Oh? That’s good to hear.” It is, really. I was half-hoping that would happen when I sent her to relay my message instead of anyone else, but I didn’t expect it to actually work. I did that, I realise; I helped her, and my dad. Even back then, I did something meaningful. “It’s working out well?”

  “Yes. Very well. She’s very good at what she does, and gets on well with Simon and – me. Work is a lot easier with three of us, and thanks to Lord Blackthorn – “ he grimaces – “we can actually afford to pay her what she deserves.”

  “Things are good for the firm, then?”

  “Yes. Excellent, even. If only…”

  If only his personal life was going so smoothly, I assume he means. It can’t have been easy for him, leaving my mother, the woman he loved. Does he still love her now? I don’t know. I don’t quite want to ask.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing quite what else to say.

  He shakes his head sharply. “Don’t be, Tallulah. She made her choice. I made mine.”

  “Is she – how did she – “ I don’t quite know what I’m trying to ask.

  “I didn’t tell her my new address, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  It’s not, not entirely, but it helps nonetheless to know that. “Thank you again for the soup,” I say, tipping my bowl to get the last of it onto my spoon. “I forgot how delicious it is.”

  “Me too. I’ll make it again some time before the holidays end.” He drains the last of his own bowl.

  I smile.

  Then it’s time to wash the dishes, which makes another awkward moment. Normally at home my mother and I did it together, especially when my dad was still at work while we were eating. But now my dad insists I don’t need to worry about it.

  I step into the kitchen and glance at the pots and pans stacked up. “I don’t mind helping.”

  “Tallulah – “

  “I can’t just live here for weeks and not contribute anything to what needs to be done. Especially when you’re working and I’m not.” That came out harsher than I meant it to, but I don’t regret saying it.

  My dad laughs. “Sorry. I just realised… when most parents have arguments with their children about chores…”

  “It does not look like this,” I finish, and find myself laughing too.

  We compromise on doing it together, since that way it’ll be done faster. I could probably speed the process up more, or at least make it less painful, using magic, but the thought of losing focus mid-spell and smashing a bowl doesn’t appeal. I’ll stick to the slower but safer way for now.

  I’m surprised by how efficiently we work together. Much though I hate to admit it, there’s something satisfying about it. Maybe I’ve been spoilt by not having to clean up after myself for months. Then again, I’m not sure I could have dealt with that on top of everything else.

  “Well,” my dad says when we’re done. “Now what?”

  “I was thinking I might sleep early,” I say. “It’s been a long couple of days of travelling.” I’m not saying that as an excuse to avoid more awkward or emotional conversations. Well, not entirely.

  “Fair enough. About tomorrow – “

  “You have work, right?”

  He shrugs. “I told Simon I might or might not come in depending on how things go. If you want me to stay – “

  “There’s no need to do that on my account. I can keep myself entertained.”

  “If you’re sure that’s okay – “

  “I’m sure.”

  “Thank you.” He pauses. “Actually, would you like to come into the office with me? At least for a while. Simon and Tara both want to see you, and – if you wanted to talk to them about this proposal of yours – “

  I blink. “You mean you’ll – “

  “I’m not promising anything. But I’ll give you the chance to talk to them.”

  “Thank you. Really.” It’s a lot better than I expected after our conversation earlier.

  “You’re welcome. Sleep well.”