I’m self-conscious at first about working in the same room as Tara. I keep losing focus and glancing at her, wondering what she’s doing and if my presence bothers her. If it does, she doesn’t show it; she’s filling in forms, quill softly scratching parchment, and appears completely absorbed in the work.

  I become more absorbed in my own work before too long. I think I might have found the case I’ve been looking for.

  This time it’s a boy called John Philipps. He and his parents were in the wrong place at the wrong time: a spooked horse lashed out and hit them with its hooves. His parents both died; John survived but suffered two broken ribs. He Fell not during the incident itself but during its aftermath, the strain of recovering from his injuries, losing his parents and being placed in the care of an aunt who was… it’s hard to get a picture of the aunt from the files. There’s nothing to indicate she was abusive, at least before he Fell.

  But once he did, she wanted nothing more to do with a Malaina nephew.

  No-one wanted much to do with John, in fact. The established schools which accepted Malaina weren’t prepared to deal with him while he was still bedridden from his physical injuries (even the Academy? I’m left to wonder, because there’s no specific mention of it in the file). Two doctors refused to treat him out of fear of Malaina, and though a third was found she made it clear that she was also afraid of him. His aunt hadn’t yet been made his legal guardian, and she backed out of the legal process after his Fall. Orphanages wouldn’t take Malaina, and no-one willing to adopt him was found either.

  It does not make for pleasant reading. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to live through something like that. I’m not even surprised that it led to an active episode. Malaina lent him the strength to overcome his injuries; he made it out of the hospital in which he was staying and half a mile away, destroying two doors in the process, before the authorities caught up with him. He fought back but killed no-one.

  And then he was killed.

  That simply. Without even having hurt anyone. There’s an argument that he was going after his aunt during the active episode, that he would have killed her. But I can’t help feeling that really, John was killed because it was easier than dealing with the inconvenience he caused while alive.

  It’s awful. And yet part of me is glad. Because I’ve found a case now. This whole project is more than just a waste of everyone’s time. It could really work.

  And then another part of me is scared, because what John did is really no worse than what I’ve done. According to the twisted logic of John’s killer, I too deserve death.

  Stars.

  I have to set the file down and take a few deep, shuddering breaths. Ironically, the anger and fear I’m feeling is the sort that leads to a Malaina episode.

  “Are you okay?”

  I jump. I’d almost forgotten Tara was there. “I – fine. It’s just – “ I take a moment to make sure what I say next sounds vaguely coherent. “Well. You know what I’m reading, at least in a general sense. It’s…”

  Tara grimaces. “I can imagine, yes. Are you at least getting something out of it?”

  I’m surprised by how grateful I am to her for asking that question instead of are you sure it’s a good idea? “Actually, yeah. I think I’ve found a case.”

  “Show me?”

  “But you’re working. I don’t want to interrupt you.”

  “You’re a prospective client enquiring about the possibility of bringing a case. Looking at that file is very much part of my job description. Plus, these forms are boring me to death.”

  Well, when she puts it that way… she’s taking this seriously. I’m not used to anyone other than me taking it seriously. “Go ahead, then,” I say.

  She pulls the file across the desk towards her and begins to read.

  While she’s doing it, I stand and stretch my legs by pacing in a corner of the room. I’m nervous suddenly: if Tara doesn’t think this case would work, who else will? I didn’t have a chance to reread the file, to compose any kind of arguments, to –

  Charles First-King. Edwin the Just.

  I can’t let this turn into my previous projects, where even the thought of failure or being underprepared brought on an episode. It’s okay to be vulnerable here, where I’m only dealing with Tara, but if I end up in court? Speaking to the world about this?

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Then a Malaina episode would be the end of everything I’m trying to achieve.

  This is not going to be easy. I knew that on some level, but now I’m starting to understand it.

  After what seems like an eternity, Tara shuts the file and looks up.

  “Well?” I ask.

  “If you’re asking purely whether I think this case could be won, based on this initial read and without having researched the specifics of the law in question… yes.”

  It’s not quite what I hoped for. But it’s a victory nonetheless.

  “And I can see why reading something like this would have affected you. It affects me, and I’m not Malaina myself.”

  “Thank you. Can I ask… what would it take for you to be in support of taking on this case?”

  “Well, I’d need to do some more research into this law, and whether there are precedents. I’d want to talk to various people – the expert witness you have – Electra, I suppose?”

  “Yes.”

  “And whichever Blackthorn is providing the money. That’s just the due diligence sort of thing, though. Something like this… it’s inevitably going to be more than just a legal matter. It’ll become political, become major news.”

  “I know,” I say, keeping my tone carefully neutral. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. More people talking about Malaina, about the injustice in the way they’re treated... that’s how we make things better.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Tara says.

  “But.”

  “But it wouldn’t be easy for any of us. One mistake and we’re the villains of the story. Even if we get everything right, that might still happen.”

  I grimace. “And you don’t know if you’re prepared to risk that.”

  “If it were just me, I would. But it’s not. I need to believe that this is worth that kind of risk.”

  And what she leaves unspoken is that she’s not the only one I have to convince. Simon is that much more practical, less idealistic, and his casual refusal to consider anything until I found a case this morning still stings.

  And then there’s my dad. I think if Tara and Simon both overruled him, he’d agree to it. But getting Simon to be strongly enough in favour of it to do that won’t be easy. And besides, even if I could make it work… knowing that I’m doing it against his wishes, deliberately destroying whatever fragile pieces of a relationship we have left… stars, I don’t want to do that.

  I don’t want to give up either. It’s harder than it would have been earlier this morning. Before, I was doing it for abstract ideals of justice and improving the world. Now I’m doing it for a boy who was very real, who died because it was easier for other people to kill him than to give him a life. Because something like that could happen again, and if this project saves even one person like John, it’s worth everything.

  “Yeah,” I say to Tara. “That’s fair. If there’s anything I can do to convince you…”

  “I’ll let you know,” she replies easily. “Anyway, it’s lunchtime.”

  Lunchtime. I feel exhausted, drained, from all the files I’ve read and conversations I’ve had already today. It seems like it’s been much longer than half a day. I just want to curl up in a ball in my dormitory back at the Academy and read A History of the Kings of Rasin.

  I note my surroundings in that imaginary scene. Maybe it’s just that the curtains of a four-poster bed make it very easy to shut out the world. I don’t really believe that.

  I can do this, I tell myself firmly. I’ve dealt with far worse than my dad and Simon.

  I think the difference is that I care less what Lord Blackthorn thinks about me. Which is absurd, really, but it’s true.

  “Sounds good,” I say.

  I don’t bring up the project at lunch. I don’t know if they want to talk about it, or if this is the right moment. And part of me just doesn’t want to turn the conversation into the kind that you go into with goals and plans and see as a puzzle to be solved. I’ve had too many of those sorts of conversations lately.

  Instead I let Tara complain about paperwork. She still somehow manages to sound cheerful while doing that; I don’t know how she does it. I want to be like that someday, so cheerful and contented it’s infectious.

  It feels a very long way away right now.

  My dad is largely silent. I’ve seen him like this before, though not for a while: absorbed in mental preparation for the hearing this afternoon, ignoring the conversation around him in favour of thinking about the details of the case and what he needs to do. It’s what he needs to do to be good at his job. But when he used to still do that when he was at home – on the rare occasions he was at home – is it any wonder he didn’t see me Falling?

  Regardless, it only reinforces my choice not to talk about the project right now. Tara doesn’t bring it up either, though I thought she might, and Simon is focused on enjoying his food and occasionally reminding Tara that paperwork, while an evil, is very much a necessary one.

  We’re eating sausage rolls; Jamie was sent to the market to buy food for all of us, and returned with these. The last time I ate a sausage roll was the day of the execution, the day of the riot. It brings back memories, but only in a detached way; I don’t feel terrified the way I did then. Just mildly uneasy.

  The meal passes surprisingly quickly. None of us are eager to linger over it, and my dad in particular is in a hurry to finish. I don’t remember exactly where the courthouse is, but I can’t imagine it’s far enough away that he’d need to rush. I suppose being early helps him. Either that, or he really doesn’t want to be here.

  I hope very much that it’s the former.

  Whichever it is, it’s not long before we all head back to work. Well, the three lawyers do. I’m not quite sure what to do next. Having asked to stay, I’m stuck here, and I don’t feel like I can just sit and read history in Tara’s office while she’s working. But equally I don’t particularly like the idea of rereading John’s file, or reading other files to make sure that this case is the best one, or composing arguments to show to Simon.

  So I find myself just sitting at the desk, staring at the closed file. Which is the worst of both worlds with the added feeling that I ought to be doing something. If not the project, though, what to do? What are the other problems I need to deal with?

  Ah. Yes. I need to find out about that whatever-it-was in the forest on the journey back. I have to understand what it meant. And I can’t do that here.

  “If it’s okay,” I say to Tara, “I’d like to go to the library. To research things.” Things not at all related to what I’m supposed to be working on, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  “Of course. That’s fine. I’m not your – I’m not responsible for you. Just be back before your dad.”

  “Thanks. Will do.” And I make my escape.

  my future, and I don't have a clear idea of what that looks like yet. It might be that I end up doing stuff that I can't effectively juggle writing with. Or conversely, it might be that I take a shot at earning money from writing... but if I do that, it's not going to be with this story: it's not publishable without an awful lot of work, and it's not on-genre enough for RR to have a good chance of earning money through Patreon.