In the end, it's not all that mysterious. Your first lesson, it says, in large loopy handwriting. Find the scarf-seller in Crelt's market when you're ready for a second.

The rest of the paper is taken up by lists of words in three columns. The first column is in ordinary Rasina: yes. No. Hello. Goodbye. Please. Thank you. Sorry. And more words of that general description. The second column consists of sets of strange symbols, each made up of intersecting lines and circles. And the third is written in Rasina letters, but its entries don't form intelligible words: it seems like a collection of nonsense syllables strung together.

I stare at it in confusion for a few seconds before I realise what I'm looking at. Vocabulary. The language of Amara's people. She offered to teach it to me. I suppose the circles and lines must be its alphabet, then, which makes the third column – oh! Pronunciation!

If I can just associate the symbols to sounds correctly, then, this will become so much easier than trying to remember how many lines there are above the circle for please. I reflexively reach for a quill – no. I'm supposed to destroy this paper once I've learnt everything I can from it.

That goes against my well-drilled instincts to take and keep detailed notes for everything I learn. How am I supposed to remember these sets of symbols without any kind of written record?

Well, it will certainly be impossible if I don't even try. And this seems like a good way to occupy myself for the evening.

"Tallulah?"

I startle at my dad's voice. I can't let him see what I'm working on. I should have been more careful rather than letting myself lose awareness of my surroundings like this. I let the scroll coil up and hope I don't look too much like I'm hiding something.

He doesn't seem to notice anything unusual. "I read the case. I – it's awful."

Oh. Right. That. "I know," I say, trying to discreetly move the scroll out of sight so he can't ask what I've been working on.

"Of course you do – I'm sorry, I – you've been living with this for so long already, and – "

I blink a few times. "That… wasn't what I meant?" There's a moment of silence, which I break by saying "Carry on."

"Do you know how often that sort of thing happens?"

"I don't," I admit. "I could look through the rest of the files and do some rough calculations." I realise then what he's worried about. "It won't happen to me."

"Because you're friends with the Blackthorns," he chokes out bitterly.

"I'm friends with Edward Blackthorn," I correct. Maybe it's not the point he was trying to make, but I'll never consider Edward's father a friend and don't want mine believing otherwise.

"I suppose it does have its perks," my dad admits.

"Dad. Don't. The perks of being friends with him are that he's the best friend I've ever had, okay?"

"Right. Sorry."

"But yes. That is why. And I don't like it any more than you do. Which is why this project is so important."

"Stars, Tallulah. You're right. It's just… does it have to be you?"

"Who else is going to do it?"

"Me?"

I stare at him for a second. "…you're serious?"

He shrugs. "Why not? Not having your name attached will spare us a lot of the publicity. If it's something I'm taking on personally rather than a formal part of Roberts and Bryant, we don't have to take Blackthorn money, and Simon can't object if it doesn't impact the firm. And…"

"I'm not directly involved," I conclude.

He nods.

I'm struggling to believe what I'm hearing. It's just… not anything I've ever expected to hear from him. I try to set aside the confusion of my emotional reaction and focus on the practicalities of the proposal. He's right: it would solve a lot of the problems Simon mentioned.

"So you're saying you'd work on it in addition to your ordinary work? I'm pretty sure Tara would help you if you asked – " that's an understatement, she would jump at the opportunity – "but even so… that's a lot."

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"I could work something out."

I'm hoping that doesn't mean sacrificing sleep and living in the office, but it's not my place to question whether my father can handle his own work. And that's the only rational objection I can find to his plan. It seems to resolve everything.

Except that I wouldn't be directly involved.

I'm not essential to my own project, really. It needs my dad and Tara's detailed legal understanding and Electra's years of experience working with Malaina. It doesn't need a fifteen-year-old without either of those things whose name might attract all kinds of the wrong attention. And that's what matters, isn't it? Doing what gives it the best chance of success. Really changing things.

It's just… I want to do it myself.

"I – I'm sorry – I'm just surprised. I – " I can't find the words I need. Can't work out what I should be trying to say. Thank you. It's a great idea. It means a lot to me that you'd do that. I want to be involved.

"I did spring that on you a little, didn't I? Would you like some time to think it over?"

"I – yes. Thank you."

"I'll be in the other room, then. Come and find me whenever you're ready."

I watch him leave numbly. Once I'm sure he's gone, the first thing I can do is tuck the vocabulary scroll safely inside the pages of A History of the Kings of Rasin. I even manage to resist the temptation to read a few pages of history while I'm there.

I want to do it myself. Why?

Because this is the purpose I've found, the thing to fight for beyond mere survival. Because it's my way of proving to myself that I'm capable of dealing with the life I've found myself in and turning it into an opportunity to do something worthwhile.

And my dad's suggestion feels very like "this is a nice idea you've had, Tallulah, but you should let the adults handle it now". Which is very hard to take.

But… that doesn't change the fact it would work. These are adults I can trust – maybe not with all my secrets, but with something like this, absolutely. And realistically they would be doing most of the work regardless of whether my name was the one on the documents.

No, I have to accept this suggestion. It's the right thing to do. But that doesn't make it easy. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

Almost more surprising and bewildering than the proposal, though, is the fact he made it. He really cares, I realise. About me, about Malaina, about finding a way to make the project work. It's the same disorientation that I've felt since getting back. It surprises me that he cares and that he's prepared to make sacrifices for me. This is more than I had any right to ask for.

I've grown so used to relying on myself these last few months that I don't know how to respond to something like this. How do I thank him enough? How do I explain my emotions to him?

I don't feel close to a Malaina episode, not at all, but I find myself reaching for the same coping mechanisms I've taught myself. Deep breaths, empty my mind, acknowledge what I'm feeling and set it aside. Take a few minutes longer than I think I need, until I'm sure I'll be able to say what I want to say.

Then rise from my bed and walk into the next room. "Hi, Dad."

"Hi, Tallulah." He's sitting on the sofa as if it's his office and this is just another meeting with a client. I choose a spot close but not too close and do the same.

"I'm sorry I was so short with you earlier. It was just… completely unexpected. But – yes. I think it's a good idea. I think we – you – should do it. If that's what you want to do."

He leans back and collapses into the sofa. Relief, I realise, pure relief that I've accepted his offer. "It is. Yes. I – thank you – "

"No. Thank you, Dad. This… it means a lot." I thought I'd found the words, but I don't know if there are words to express just what it means. I try anyway. "Knowing… knowing you're there. That you're on my side."

"I wish I didn't have to prove that to you." The words could have been angry, but they're not. We both know that it's his own fault for not seeing me Fall.

"We can't change the past."

"I know. But maybe… we can build something new?"

The weight of his words hangs in the air. I want it almost as much as he does. To have a dad who understands, who's there for me when I need him. I don't know if it will work. But right now? I'm willing to try.

"I still want to be involved." The words spill out of me. "Not publicly – I won't be the one who files the case – but behind the scenes. I want to help you with preparation and formulating arguments and whatever else you need. Even if it's just paperwork. I want to be part of this."

"I thought you might," my dad says. "We'll need some ground rules, then, and if Tara is going to be part of this we'll need her to be okay with it. But… yes. You can help. We can do this together."

Together. Maybe it is that simple. I find to my embarrassment that there are tears pricking the corners of my eyes. "Yes. Together. Thank you." And then I'm suddenly crying. "I – sorry. It's just – "

"Don't ever apologise for crying, Tallulah. Hug?" He opens his arms wide.

I shuffle along the sofa until I'm close enough to crumple into his arms. "Thanks."

We lie there for a long while, holding each other. I keep crying. I'm not quite sure why. I'm not upset – far from it – it's as if a weight has been lifted, a mountain that seemed insurmountable is suddenly no longer in front of me.

Maybe it's just the relief of it. All the stress and pain that's been attached to the project flowing out of me with these tears.

"I'm messing up your clothes," I mutter between sobs, pulling away a little.

"It's okay. Not a work shirt. And it needed washing anyway."

I remember suddenly the time I cried all over Edward's robes. I miss Edward already, but not as desperately as I did. Because I'm not alone here now. "Thanks," I repeat. I don't think I can say that enough.

I don't know how much longer we stay there for. It's a beautiful moment, and I want to cling to it and not let go, as I'm clinging to my dad like the child I still am. But eventually it ends: he shifts awkwardly, I uncurl myself a little in response and realise that I need to visit the bathroom.

"I'll discuss the details with Simon and Tara tomorrow, then, if that's okay? And then we can figure it out from there. It's up to you if you want to come into the office."

"I probably will," I say. "If you're sure it's okay, and I won't be in the way."

"I'm sure. Besides, if you're going to be working with me then you'll need to get used to the place."

I smile and pad off to the bathroom.

"Well," I say to the empty wall as I wipe my face free of the remnants of tears and snot. I can't quite work out how I feel.

I have what I wanted. The project will go ahead. The problem has been solved.

Just not by me.

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