The rest of the weekend is fairly uneventful. My dad and I go grocery shopping together in the market on Sunday morning, planning out what we'll eat for the next week. I force myself not to glance at the scarf stall when we walk past it. Once that's done he spends a few hours napping, making me wonder if he got enough sleep during the week.

Crelt's library is closed at weekends, which annoys me: I wanted to return there for another research session, or see whether there's anything useful in their section on Malaina. But that will have to wait, it seems. I stick to reading history and trying not to think too much about Electra. I'm not entirely successful at the latter: every so often something reminds me of what happened yesterday and I tense.

I feel betrayed by Electra, I realise. Which is not a good sign: in order to feel betrayed, you must have trusted the betrayer in the first place. But it makes my uncharacteristic anger yesterday make more sense, at least.

My dad and I work together to cook dinner again. It's becoming a familiar, almost comforting routine. I change it a little by chopping vegetables using magic rather than a knife. That's another consequence of yesterday: the possibly-anomalous counterspell I cast then was the first magic I'd used for days. And whether I like it or not, magic is part of my life now, so I might as well use it to make chores easier.

My dad is disconcerted by the sight of the potatoes slicing themselves. "I can stop if you want," I say as soon as I notice his discomfort.

"No. Keep going. It's just – " he pauses. "How sharp is that?"

I shrug. "At least as sharp as a kitchen knife. It depends on the power the magician puts into the spell."

"Could it cut – other things?"

Oh. That's what he means. "Not – not a person. If that's what you mean. Not without far, far more power than I have." I might be lying. I don't know what I'm really capable of when I account for the anomaly. But going into that particular technicality seems like an awful idea.

"Are there magicians who could do something like that?"

I shrug. "Maybe. I imagine if there are, they wouldn't advertise it. But there's also a difference between what a magician can do and what they should do."

"Of course no-one should – "

"I didn't mean morally. It's dangerous, to channel too much magical power."

"Why?"

"Partly because that kind of power is hard to control. Partly because a magician only has so much magical reserves to draw on."

"So they might run out?" my dad guesses. "And that's a bad thing?"

I shrug. "They can draw on ambient magic around them. That's the dangerous part. Channelling too much magic can kill."

"Ah. So… Electra, for instance. How powerful is she, would you say?"

This wasn't casual conversation to begin with, but it's that question that makes me understand he's gathering information about potential threats. Electra's game is working. "I don't know. She's Arsinth, which is the weakest School in terms of raw power, but… if you're talking about how strong someone would be in magical combat?"

"Let's say for the sake of argument I am."

"Then there's a lot of things that matter as much as that, probably even more. Reaction times. Casting techniques. Tactics." Whether you can reach a flow state which enhances those beyond what's normally possible. But that's probably not sensible to bring up. "And I'm willing to bet that at her best, she was one of the best out there."

"Was?"

I pause, trying to decide how much to reveal. "She made a living as a combat magician. But then she acquired an injury that holds her back now."

"Oh. Her limp?"

"Yes."

"It's barely noticeable. You wouldn't think… then again, I suppose physical exertion might make it worse. Do you know how she got it?"

I shrug. "You can ask her."

My dad's expression makes it quite clear what he thinks of that suggestion. "But… you think she'd still be strong?"

I think of her and Edward on the day we discovered the anomaly. She reached a flow state of her own then, and she matched him perfectly. I know even Edward wouldn't last a second against her without the anomaly. "I don't really have a good point of comparison. But she'd crush anyone without at least a year's combat training, I'd guess."

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"Sounds about right. Not that I have the faintest idea what I'm talking about. I really don't know enough about magic, for the father of a magician."

"You don't need to – "

"I want to."

"I can teach you at least some magical theory," I say. "Though I'm hardly an expert. You'd be better off asking Edward – " I stop, realising that my dad would never accept lessons from Edward Blackthorn. " – then again, maybe not, unless you have a lot of patience for pedantry and insistence on particular methods."

My dad laughs. "I think you'd be a far better teacher than he would. I don't want all the details, but – well, we should probably finish cooking before we start planning out my curriculum."

Somewhere in the middle of that conversation, I lost track of the fact we were supposed to be preparing a meal. The potatoes are finely sliced, and thankfully nothing else is, but they haven't been salted and the carrots are unpeeled. "Probably," I agree. "Remind me where we keep the salt?"

We finish the preparation efficiently, and once the food is safely being heated we're free to return to the conversation.

"I don't need all the technical details," my dad says. (Another reason Edward would not be a good teacher for him; I can imagine him scoffing that it's simply not possible to gain a sufficient understanding while skipping all the technical details.) "Just… I want to know what magic is. What it does. What it's capable of."

Those are deep questions. I don't have good answers. I doubt anyone does, really. But I know more than I did a few months ago, and I can at least pass some of that knowledge on.

"I'll need a while to think through how best to go about it," I say.

"Shall we start next weekend, then?" he suggests.

I'm uneasy about that. Part of me likes that he's taking an interest in my life, but I'm also very worried about whether Electra is going to get what she wants. And I don't want my dad becoming the sort of person Electra would approve of.

But then there's nothing wrong with him learning a little about magic. At least if I'm the one teaching him, I know exactly what he's learning.

But stars, my dad was never supposed to get involved in all the complications of my life. Coming home was meant to be an escape from that, at least for a few weeks. It doesn't feel like that now. Maybe I was being naïve.

When I wake up the next morning, it's the last working week before Holy Days. Technically the Monday a week from now isn't a Holy Day, but with it being the only day that week that isn't most companies don't bother opening their doors. Roberts and Bryant isn't making appointments with clients, but my dad says he might go in anyway just to take care of some paperwork.

The Academy's new term technically starts on the second day of the new year, but in reality there are allowances made for students having to travel for a day or more to make it back to Ryk, as I do. I'll leave here on the first day of the year and be back before lessons properly resume.

I wander down to the coach stations to enquire about times. Mostly I just want to know how early I'll need to wake up, so I can work out how exactly I want to celebrate on Esteral night. After the Bird's Day a few days before that I'll be of legal drinking age, after all. Not that I plan on getting drunk any time soon, but I'm at least curious enough that I'll probably have a glass of something once I legally can.

The coach leaves at eight after midnight. That means I'll need to be awake by seven at the latest… I'll still wait up for midnight, because it's tradition, but it won't be fun afterwards. I definitely shouldn't have more than one glass of alcohol.

Once I get back, I work on conjugating verbs before my next language lesson tomorrow. I'm not sure how Omar plans to continue our lessons once I go back to Ryk, but I'll let that be his problem. Then I begin work on drawing up a curriculum for my dad. It's a surprisingly useful revision exercise, I quickly discover, and I'm dismayed I didn't think of trying something like it when I was preparing for tests.

Well, at least I've found out well before I need to start worrying about final exams. Though even the thought of those makes me a little nervous now.

I remember that I should eat lunch, though only just. By the time my dad returns from work, I have a good idea of what I want to teach him and how. And he has a letter from Electra, which he's holding by his fingertips as if scared it contains poison. It's unsealed, I notice.

"Have you read it?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Tara did. She asked me to make sure you saw it as well."

I take the letter from him and slide the parchment out of the envelope. It's a short note, as Electra's messages always are. In my professional judgment, John's killing was unjust and unnecessary, and I am prepared to testify to that fact in any court. I must however warn you that the burden of proof in cases such as these is high, and that the killer is known to be… well-connected. I will elaborate further on request, and will provide as much help as you wish.

I narrow my eyes at the phrase well-connected. I'm probably a hypocrite, being friends with a Blackthorn, but the thought that this could fail merely because the killer has powerful associates is not a pleasant one.

I want to snatch up a quill and begin writing a reply at once, but I'm not handling this on my own. "What did Tara make of this? Did she give you a message of her own?"

"Just that she'd like to discuss things with you at the office tomorrow."

"I can – I can do that." The hesitation is because I remember that I have another appointment tomorrow. Two after noon. Omar will not be happy if I fail to appear for my lesson. But there isn't a time I could plausibly slip away to tell him I want to cancel between now and then.

Except tonight, while my dad is asleep. I don't know where Omar and his son spend their nights, but I could probably leave a note somewhere in the stall for them to find the next morning.

Sneaking out on my own at night is a terrible idea. Improper, unsafe. But I was taught those things before I became a magician. Now I'm powerful enough to defend myself. It could work. Oh, it's still an awful plan, but better than making Omar's already-low opinion of me even worse.

So that's settled, then.

"We'll leave at the usual time, then?"

"Works for me."

I fill my dad in on the coach times over dinner. He doesn't like that early a start after Esteral any more than I do, but is determined to see me off regardless. I don't argue with him.

"You might actually get to travel with your grandmother part of the way," he suggests. "Her village is partway between Crelt and Ryk, quite possibly the same coach will stop there."

"That's good," I say, though without having met her I can't be certain of that. It could also be just another reason to flee and stay with Edward for a few days.

But I can hope.

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