I explain. I’ve had enough practice doing it that I don’t stumble over my words, although I am nervous. Neither Simon nor Tara recoils in horror at the idea, which I take as a good sign.

  “Ben?” asks Simon once I’m done. “Are you…”

  My dad hesitates. “As a father, I’m against it, but I don’t know if I have the right to stop her any more. As a partner in this firm… I’m not capable of being objective, and I leave the decision in your hands.”

  “If we agree, you also will?” asks Simon.

  My dad hesitates. “Probably. I don’t know.”

  That’s progress. I want to thank him, but I don’t think he’d appreciate it. He and I both want to keep our personal affairs out of this legal affair as much as possible.

  “Let’s talk practicalities, then,” Simon says briskly. “Where’s the money coming from?”

  I’m thankful that I took at least a little time to think this over. “Edward Blackthorn.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “You’re taking money from Lord Blackthorn himself, I don’t think – “

  “We’re taking money from him in exchange for services provided.”

  “And you’d be taking Edward’s money in exchange for services provided as well.”

  “So taking on this case is a service to the Malaina Blackthorn boy, then.”

  I bristle at the description of Edward, who is so much more than that, but before I can be properly angry I realise his point. What it would look like to anyone watching from the outside. Association with the Blackthorns alone has nasty implications, and Edward’s being Malaina himself won’t help matters.

  “It doesn’t have to be obvious to others that that’s where the money is coming from.”

  Simon grimaces. “There are laws about disclosure of legal funding. And even if we can get around them without breaking the law – and setting aside ethical considerations there – if it fails then we’re doing a service for the Malaina Blackthorn boy and have tried to hide that.”

  It’s my turn to grimace. He raises good points. “Okay. So that’s a bad idea, then. But what is so bad about people knowing it’s Edward’s money? Roberts and Bryant are already associated with the Blackthorns, and even if people think the whole thing is a Blackthorn conspiracy that shouldn’t impact the actual case.”

  “Shouldn’t, Tallulah. Not won’t. Judges are seldom as objective as they should be.”

  “Then we make a good enough argument that there’s no room for doubt or bias.”

  “Persuade me that’s possible, then.”

  And that’s where things fall apart. Because I don’t have the case. Because all I have to go on to suggest the case exists is my horror at the law’s existence and my sense that surely someone, somewhere, would have abused the power it granted them.

  “I have the files,” I say. “The one I read through won’t work, but there’s more.”

  “And you haven’t looked at them yet. You don’t know.”

  There’s no point denying it. “Not yet.”

  “Then come back once you’ve found a case you think will work.”

  He doesn’t mean to hurt me by saying that, I know, but it still stings. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll do that.”

  “And Jamie, whatever else Tallulah may be, she is the daughter of a partner of this firm, and that gives her the right to be here. If there’s nothing else, I have a trial to prepare for.”

  No-one stops him from marching past Jamie’s desk and through the door leading to the offices.

  “He’s not wrong, Tallulah,” my dad says gently.

  “I know, but…” But he could have been a lot nicer about it instead of acting as if I was wasting his precious time. As if I was a child with delusions of being a lawyer or an activist. I’m not.

  Which, I realise grimly, is exactly what a child with delusions would think.

  I have to prove to Simon that I’m more than that. Stars, I have to prove to myself that I’m more than that.

  “I think it’s a great idea,” says Tara. My dad and I both stare in silence at her for a second. “Simon’s right, you do need a case that’ll work, but if you can get that? This is exactly the sort of thing I wanted to do when I decided to become a lawyer. Fixing injustice, holding people to account. Showing that change is needed.”

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  “Tara – “ my dad says.

  “You want to do good, too, Ben.”

  “Yes, but not – “ He stops.

  “If you disagree with it, then say so.” That comes out sharper than I intended. But there’s a frustration inside me, dangerously close to boiling over. That feeling of powerlessness, of no-one really understanding what I’m trying to do –

  Lord Blackthorn tolerates it. Edward supports it, but only because it’s me. Electra thinks of it as a teaching exercise. My dad is against it, Simon doesn’t believe it’ll work.

  And Tara thinks it’s a great idea.

  Maybe I’m not so alone, after all.

  My dad is silent, and I take the opportunity to say “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I suppose we should all get to work, then. Is there – somewhere out of the way, where I can go through the files while you’re working?”

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” my dad asks. “It affected you quite a lot, this morning.”

  “How am I supposed to find a case if I don’t want to read through the files?”

  He says nothing, and I have a realisation. It is not a pleasant one.

  He doesn’t want me to find a case. My dad wants me to fail.

  I suppose he thinks that if I give up of my own accord because I don’t have the strength to deal with any more of the files, or if Simon rejects my proposal out of hand, that’s an end to it which spares him from having to refuse me and the rift between us that would create.

  He’s only doing it to protect me. Because he cares about me and doesn’t want to see me get hurt. But still.

  Part of me desperately wants to prove him wrong by succeeding and making this work. But… part of me is also convinced he could be right.

  “You’re welcome to sit in my office,” Tara says to break the silence. “I don’t have meetings scheduled there for today. I’ll be in and out, but I won’t disturb you too much.”

  I’m more concerned about me disturbing her.

  My dad has other concerns: “There are confidential papers in there.”

  “We know Tallulah wouldn’t look at them – “

  “We are legally required to take measures to prevent unauthorised access to those papers, such as not letting people have access to them.”

  He has a point, and I’m not going to ask lawyers to bend the law for my sake. “I’ll just go somewhere else, then, I suppose. There’ll be somewhere close by – “

  “There is precedent for the swearing of an oath by starlight not to look at the documents to be considered sufficient, if we have no reason to doubt the oath or the honour of the one making it,” Tara says.

  “Oh?” my dad asks.

  “There was the scandal with Silvers five years ago, and that was a successful argument for the defence in the following court case.”

  “Ah, of course. I never followed that case in detail. But I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Tara says, a note of tension in her voice. It’s more noticeable than it normally would be, with how relaxed and collected she seemed before that. She used to work for Silvers up until half a year ago, I remember. Was she employed there during the scandal?

  “Well,”, says my dad quickly, “if you’re confident that argument would stand up in court, I suppose I can have no objection. Tallulah?”

  “No objection. Is there a specific way I should phrase the oath, or…?”

  “As long as it’s unambiguous, I don’t see why there would be.”

  I nod and take a second to clear my mind. “I swear by sacred starlight, by the light that guides me at night, by all that is holy, that I will not on this or any occasion attempt to access confidential papers belonging to the firm of Roberts and Bryant without the necessary authorisation.”

  “That should suffice,” says Tara. “To work, then? I’ll show Tallulah to my office, and then we can meet in yours?”

  “Agreed,” my dad says.

  I follow in Tara’s wake as she glides across the room and through the door behind Jamie’s desk.

  “You’ve read one of the files,” she says thoughtfully as we walk down the corridor towards her office.

  “I have,” I agree.

  “What was it like?”

  I pause for a moment; we reach her office, and she reaches into a pocket for the key.

  “It was… so many things went wrong, for things to get to the point where she – “ I can’t quite form the words had to die. Some part of me wonders whether, even then, there could have been a way to save Claire. “So many things – if the world was different – “

  Tara sighs as she unlocks the door. “Then you and I would have no purpose.”

  “You and I?” I echo. I have a sense of what she means, but I’m surprised she would say something like that.

  “Perhaps I spoke too hastily,” Tara replies carefully. “But I meant – people who devote themselves to justice. To improving the world.”

  “Oh,” I say, not knowing what else to say.

  “Anyway. Here you are. Make yourself at home.”

  Tara’s office is a pretty one. It’s the same in layout as the offices I’m used to (except Electra’s of course): a desk in the centre of the room, a chair on either side, papers and books on shelves around the edge. But the enchanted lighting is warmer than is normal, and there’s a vase of tulips in the centre of the desk, and a painting of a bowl of fruit hangs from the wall instead of a king’s portrait. Little details like that add up to make it seem a pleasant place to be. I admire how she’s worked that effect.

  “I like the painting,” I say, stepping closer to examine it. It’s of peaches, which almost seem to glow with pale orange life. They lie in a white bowl decorated with constellations in blue, and sit on an age-worn wooden table. The textures are detailed enough I feel as if I could reach out and touch them.

  “Thank you,” she says. “In another world, I think I would have been an artist. But in this one, I have not been blessed with the talent for it, so I must content myself with collecting and admiring one or two pieces.”

  The painting doesn’t have much in common with the kind of art I’m used to, but that might just be because I’ve been living in a palace. It’s beautiful, regardless.

  Tara holds her hand out to me, a small object lying in her palm: the key to her office. “You know where the bathroom is, don’t you?”

  I nod. I vaguely remember, and if my memory is wrong then the building is small enough that it shouldn’t be too hard to find.

  “Good. Just lock the door behind you if you need to step out, and if there’s anything else you need then do come and find me.”

  “Thank you,” I say, taking the key from her and slipping it into a pocket. It’s small and light enough I don’t notice its weight; I’ll have to be careful I don’t forget it’s there.

  “And best of luck with your search.”

  While I’m thanking her again, she steps outside and gently shuts the door behind her, leaving me alone in her office. It’s a strange feeling, being in a space that someone else has made their own as she has. It lets you see them in a new light, but then you also can’t help feeling as if you’re intruding.

  And she thinks I’m like her. Or she’s like me. I don’t quite know what to make of that, either. She seems so effortlessly controlled and confident and professional, while I…

  I don’t finish that thought. Instead I sit down at Tara’s desk and get to work.