Lord Blackthorn keeps us until precisely five minutes before class starts. We go over everything that’s known about Ariana Carling and how I should react to various scenarios I might encounter both with her and with the case. I need to talk to Tara. Letters aren’t really enough; I want her comforting, cheerful presence. And I should probably update –
No. No, I can’t update Electra on these latest developnts, even if she is involved in the case. And I’m a little uncertain of my ability to keep things hidden from her when they relate so directly to what we’ll be working on.
Between those thoughts and classes, it takes a couple of hours to notice that Edward is acting differently. Withdrawn, guarded. And it’s not too hard to work out why. In fact, I should have noticed it sooner: when his father asked whose side I’d choose, I didn’t answer. Which ans, at least in his mind, I’m genuinely contemplating a future scenario in which I’d betray him.
I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. But if the other choice were just as unthinkable… stars. “We should talk,” I mutter to him as we walk between lessons.
“What is there to talk about?”
I wince. “You know what. And you know I wouldn’t…”
“I don’t know that,” he says. “That’s the problem.”
We’re keeping our voices low and our tones mild, so that no-one would notice the tension or take too much interest in our conversation. But that doesn’t stop his words hurting. “At least let try and explain?”
“Fine. After lunch?”
“After lunch,” I agree. I don’t much like sacrificing the ti I could be spending writing to Tara or trying to track down Elsie or going over the notes I took from Lord Blackthorn’s advice. But this is, I have to admit, more important than any of those things.
Things don’t beco any less awkward at lunchti. We’re a little behind the rest of the class in the queue for food, since Edward stayed back to ask a question about enchantnts and I stayed back to keep him company. So we get to watch my other friends sitting together. Including Robin.
And I know that I can’t go and join them, not now, because he’d take that as another sign of disloyalty. And stars, I’m just so tired of having to tread so carefully around him. Haven’t I already proved that I want to be his friend, and that I care about him, and that he can trust ?
My hands are gripping my tray too tightly, I realise. I force myself to relax, and to remind myself that it’s just how he sees the world. Black and white. Friend or enemy. No room for complications. And I can hardly bla him, given everything he’s been through.
But that doesn’t an it’s easy for , either.
We sit in a quiet corner, and by silent mutual agreent eat as quickly as we can to give ourselves as much ti as we can. This isn’t going to be a fun conversation.
Elsie waves to as we leave. I wonder if she wants to join her. Not today, Elsie. I wave back quickly and hurry after Edward.
We shut ourselves in a eting room and Edward hastily chalks a privacy ward which we stand inside. Close together. Maybe too close, if things go as badly as I fear.
“Explain, then,” he says finally.
“I would never betray you. That’s unthinkable to . You know that.”
“Then why didn’t you tell my dad that?”
“Because – in certain situations – the alternative would be just as unthinkable.”
“How so?”
“If there’s a full-scale revolt,” I say carefully, “your father will do everything in his power to stop it.”
He looks at silently, waiting for to continue.
“That includes… well. Atrocities. Torture, mass murder. Of people whose only cri is to fight for a better world.”
“Yes,” he says. “Probably. I won’t pretend I like it. But sotis… sotis that’s what’s necessary. And my dad is the person who does the necessary things that no-one likes.”
“It’s not necessary. It should never be necessary.”
“If this hypothetical revolt succeeded, what do you think they’d do to my dad? To ? You were there in the riot. They tried to kill us both just because of my na. Are we supposed to just roll over and let that happen?”
I flinch. “No. But surely – “
“Because that’s what we’d be doing, if we didn’t fight back.”
“I can’t – I can’t be complicit in that.”
“So would you rather be complicit in my death?”
I take an instinctive step backwards, such is the bitterness in his tone. I have to stop myself before I leave the confines of the circle chalked on the floor. “No. You know I wouldn’t do that. But surely there are ways to – “
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“Playing nice is reserved for things that aren’t existential threats.”
He has a point. More of one than I’d thought, and much more than I’m comfortable with. What the revolutionaries would do if they succeeded… I don’t know if it would be worse than what Lord Blackthorn would do to them. I don’t know if they’d really be able to build the better country they dread of. But whatever happens, it would require the destruction of the old order.
And my best friend is very much a part of that old order.
“I would never betray you,” I tell him again, and I an it more this ti. “But don’t ask to be happy with the things your father would do.”
“No-one should be happy with – that.”
“I’m sorry I hesitated,” I say. “I wasn’t thinking of… I don’t know. But I couldn’t ever support a revolution that would want you dead.”
“Thank you,” says Edward. “I believe you. I shouldn’t have doubted that.”
It’s the closest I’m going to get to an apology in return. I’ll take it.
But it’s easy to forget, when I’m frustrated, that he has very real reasons for being the way he is. That those reasons are not easy to unlearn, and in so cases he might not want to unlearn them at all.
“About your project… I don’t have the right or the power to stop you. But – just be certain. And be careful.”
“I promise,” I say. I’m not certain, if he ans being certain it’ll have a good outco. But I’m certain that it can do so good. And I’m certain that, morally at least, it’s better than just doing nothing. That will have to suffice.
I’m more tired than usual at dinner. It’s because I’ve barely stopped all day, I realise, and I have so many dark and deep questions running through my mind. Robin exiles herself to the far corner of the room, allowing and Edward to sit with Elsie and Elizabeth. I’m quietly, guiltily relieved.
Elsie asks if I’m willing to look over her Magical Law and Culture essay draft once we’ve finished eating. She’s worried that her argunts could be easily misinterpreted, and she wants to know what I make of it. I say yes, of course, because it’s a convenient pretext to talk to her alone. I wonder whether that was her intention.
We keep the conversation light-hearted, focused on classes and spellwork. Edward is quiet, but that’s normal for him. It’s more a matter of telling whether he’s being quiet because he doesn’t want to be here or because he just doesn’t feel like joining in our conversation. And I’m pretty sure this is a case of the latter, thankfully.
I feel a little better by the ti we’re done. It’s nice to have a reminder that not all of the world is consud by thoughts of betrayal and politics and revolution, and to try and rescue my own thoughts from that. I get the feeling that my conversation with Elsie won’t help there.
We claim an empty study room. “Do you actually want to look over your essay? Or would you rather… go for a walk?” I guess that’s my code for talking about oracle business, now, because we do literally walk around the lake while we discuss.
“Is both an option?” Elsie asks, laughing.
“Both it is,” I reply.
The essay is good, it turns out. Oh, far from perfect – I can easily notice places where I’d tighten up the phrasing or elaborate more on an idea – but the premise and the key reasoning holds water. And I interpret her argunts just the way she intended. Seeing her smile at my praise is heart-warming.
Which is good, because walking around the lake is not warm. It’s not as bitingly cold as it was last ti, but it’s still very much the depths of winter, and without the sun to warm it besides. My warming-spell helps a little; Elsie volunteers to be the one casting us a light instead. She doesn’t mind the cold as much as she used to, she says.
“Is that… an oracle thing?” I ask.
“I think so? Or it’s a recent thing, at least. Since I started working on the things you suggested.”
“It’s having an effect, then?”
“Oh, definitely. The visions are… clearer, now. It used to be just seeing a flash of a person’s future, but now it’s… more. Short scenes. Emotions attached to them, sotis, which is… strange. I had – a vision of you, today. You and Edward, standing in a chalk circle, talking. I don’t know what you said, the words aren’t there yet. But you felt… conflicted? A little hurt?”
I blink. “Yeah,” I say. “That happened. At lunchti.” For the first ti, I realise how eerie it is to have an oracle for a friend. That she can just see glimpses of my future. And I see also how powerful it could be. How are you supposed to keep a secret from soone who can see your future?
“Makes sense,” Elsie says. “The visions all seem to be at most a couple of hours into the future. I get them more often, now, which wasn’t what I wanted. But they’re less painful, at least, and it feels like I’m at least getting sothing in exchange.”
“So it’s working?”
“I… suppose so. I’m hoping it’ll get better as I practice more, and get more used to the feelings.”
I don’t know if I should ask. I don’t want to use her. That would make no better than the people I’m trying to protect her from. But… just the one question? That can’t hurt, surely? And it could help very much, if she does know sothing.
“Have… have you noticed anything different about , since you started learning?”
Elsie shrugs. “I… I don’t think so? You’re the person I have most visions about, but that’s probably just because I’m close to you.”
“And Edward?”
“Quite a lot of them feature him. But most of the ti the two of you are together anyway. Why do you ask?”
I could tell her. Maybe I should. It feels wrong to try and get information about the anomaly out of her without telling her what it is. But… I don’t know how to explain it. And the risk if the wrong person found out… it’s just not worth it. I shrug in a way I hope is casual. “Just curious.”
“I guess you’re also curious about causality?”
I blink. “I guess so? Though normally with oracles the future you see isn’t fixed, your actions can change it. Or – is your power different sohow?”
She shakes her head. “I tested it. The future can change based on my knowledge of it.”
“…oh. You an – you could tell what you saw before it happened? Without that being self-fulfilling?
Elsie nods. “Would you like to?”
Yes. But I don’t say that, because I’ve read enough stories about oracles to know that it can be painful to know the future, and even more painful to try and change it. “Only if it’s bad,” I say carefully. “And only then if you have enough information to be sure that it’s not a lesser evil.”
“Can you explain that? I think I know what you an, but I really don’t want any misunderstandings here.”
“If you see sothing that looks really bad,” I say, “it might turn out that if that bad thing doesn’t happen then sothing even worse will happen instead.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to tell that at all, though.”
Of course. Because she might see one possibility, and have no idea what would happen if that possibility didn’t co to pass. “Yeah. That’s a problem.” Maybe I’m being too paranoid. That sort of twist is what often happens in the stories, but my life isn’t a story. That risk might not be worth turning down the chance of preventing another bad outco.
“Okay. Maybe just tell all the bad things, and I’ll work it out from there?”
“Will do,” says Elsie, smiling.
And just like that, I have my own oracle to help avert disaster. Stars.
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