I spend the next few minutes demonstrating simple but impressive-looking magics for my grandmother. Colour-changing spells and other illusions, more refined animations, a warming-spell (she says she's particularly jealous of that one, with how cold the winters get).

Eventually, though, I run out of ideas.

"Thank you, Tallulah. It's… truly wonderful." She sips her tea. "I suppose we should probably not have the conversations you're doubtlessly dreading looming over us for all of Holy Days. You don't have to tell me anything – but I would like to know. About – Malaina. And the Blackthorns."

It's probably a good sign, that she's asking questions rather than making assumptions. Unless she's already made the assumptions and is just waiting for me to say the wrong things. "You mean… how I Fell. I don't really know. I just – couldn't keep doing what I was doing any more. I was… isolated, trying to make myself into someone I'm not and – and failing."

"And I was so caught up in my own problems that I never noticed she felt that way," my dad adds. "Until it was too late. I – I regret that more than words can say."

Neither of us quite knows how to respond to that, so we let the silence linger.

"I don't know about Tallulah," my dad says finally, "but – for me, I'm in it for the money. Working for Lord Blackthorn, I mean. It's the only way we can make enough to keep Roberts and Bryant operational and still accessible to the people who could never afford standard legal fees. And he hasn't asked me to do anything remotely unethical."

"Yet," says my grandmother sharply.

"Yet," my dad agrees. They both turn to look at me.

"Edward – Edward Blackthorn – is the best friend I've ever had. I mean – yes, he's annoying sometimes, and he doesn't understand how people who aren't Blackthorns work. But – his heart is in the right place. I don't know if I would have made it through the last term without him."

I wouldn't have had half the struggles I have had without him. But I'm not going to mention that part. "Apparently I need to actually clarify this, but – we're not dating. It's not like that at all. We're just… friends." The word doesn't feel quite adequate. But it'll have to do. "As for his father… he's not a monster. Or at least he's not a monster to me. I can't say I particularly like him, and I'm pretty sure it's mutual, but we're prepared to tolerate each other for Edward's sake."

My grandmother blinks again, taking in what I just said. I guess it is a lot to process, when you're used to seeing Lord Blackthorn as a distant, almost mythical figure rather than an actual human being. And when you're not used to hearing me talk about him so matter-of-factly.

"Is any of this going to affect me? Like, do I have to worry about the Blackthorns' enemies coming after me?"

"…probably not?" I say after taking a moment to consider it. "That's not really very reassuring, is it?" I laugh awkwardly. "I expect they'd come for me directly. If you want to talk to someone about protective wards, I could probably arrange that, though."

She doesn't exactly look pleased to hear that. I can't blame her. "You'll have to forgive me for taking a while to get used to this."

"It took me a while," I reply. "And I'm still probably going to mess up and nearly get myself killed at some point."

"Just make sure you don't actually get yourself killed. I'd hate to lose you when we've only just met."

Her tone is light, but the meaning behind it is anything but. She cares about me. I guess that should be normal, but when I barely know her it feels strange. In a good way.

"I'll do my best," I reply, carefully keeping my own voice light and then taking a sip of tea.

"Thank you." She laughs. "Let's talk about lighter topics."

So we do. It's a little awkward at first, but my dad soon gets her talking about her work. It turns out that she sewed the dress she's wearing herself, which I'm very impressed by. And I'm even more impressed when she offers to make me one as a present for Holy Days.

"It does ruin the tradition a little to tell you, but it would be hard to make sure it fits and you like the style without doing that. If you're willing to come fabric shopping with me today, I think I can have it mostly done before the Day of Gifts."

"That – that would be lovely. Thank you." My feelings are a little more complicated than that. It's because my birthday is two days before the Day of Gifts. I've always felt a little ungrateful for resenting that, especially when I do get lovely presents, but I can't help wanting a special day to myself. And then there's the realisation that she has no idea that I was born on the Bird's Day, unless my dad has told her already, so I can hardly blame her.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Excellent! Shall we go at once?"

"I haven't finished my tea," I protest. There's not that much left of it, though, and it's cooled enough that I can gulp the rest down without burning my tongue.

"Shall we go in a minute when you've finished your tea?" she amends.

"I… sure."

"Am I invited?" my dad asks. I can't quite tell if he's joking.

My grandmother shrugs. "I was planning for this to be a girls' trip. I'll treat you to something some other time."

"If you're sure you'll be okay?"

I'm not sure which one of us he's talking to, but I nod anyway, forcing myself to ignore the idea that she might treat me very differently once away from my dad.

I take my time draining the last dregs of tea, so it takes two minutes in the end. Then I put my boots back on – with the amount of time it takes to lace and unlace them I feel as if I should have just kept them on – and grab my coat.

I've never really thought much about dresses. My taste in clothes has always been neat, respectable, unremarkable. Plus I never wanted to go to the parties and dances at Genford for which I'd have needed a fancy dress. After the first couple I tried, I used to fake illnesses or urgent deadlines to avoid them.

So I'm not exactly sure what kind of dress I want my grandmother to make me, or what occasion I'll have to wear it. It's not really about the dress itself, though: it's about what it means. Her caring about me enough to want to spend days making something for me.

It would be awfully churlish of me to refuse that because I don't normally wear dresses. And besides, part of me does like the idea of having one outfit which is impractical. Which is beautiful.

"Favourite colour?" my grandmother asks as we walk towards the market together.

"Purple? I don't know. I'm not sure that suits me though. I do really like the colour of your dress. But I don't want to copy you."

She looks me up and down. "Blue would suit you. Or I could see a pale purple working well. Or – clothes can make political statements, you know. You must have seen the articles."

I grimace. I have, and I haven't thought highly of them. Analysing what the colour of someone's dress or suit says about their political leanings seems a lot less useful than analysing what they've actually said about their political leanings. "Yeah. I don't want my dress to be a political statement though."

"All right. In that case you'll probably want to avoid green and gold – the Blackthorn colours – "

I certainly do want to avoid those colours. I like Edward a lot, but the kind of statement wearing an outfit in his family colours would make is… well. That I belong to him. That I'm one of Lord Blackthorn's people. Stars, no.

"If you're going anywhere near high society, you'll want to avoid purple – that's the colour of royalty, and wearing it without actually being royalty will be highly embarrassing at best. Blue might also be risky, since that's the colour of Malaina. I don't know how you feel about that, though."

That statement seems more like what I want. I'm Malaina, and I'm not ashamed of that. Except… well, is it true? "I just want something that suits me. And I won't wear it in public if people will read things into it that I don't want."

"Fair enough. In that case – I think a lot of colours would suit you well. Let's just see what fabrics are on offer and which ones take your fancy."

That seems like a good idea until we actually make it to the stall selling fabrics, where I'm swiftly overwhelmed by the array of options. I can rule out the blacks and whites, at least, and the various floral patterns that seem more designed for bedspreads and curtains than clothes. But that still leaves dozens of different shades and patterns.

"Hello! Can I help you?" The stall's owner is a tall pale-skinned woman with curly white hair. I'm startled by her approach, and then annoyed at myself for not being more aware of my surroundings.

"I'm looking to make a dress for my granddaughter here. Could you recommend a few fabrics?"

"Certainly! Any preference for colour or style?"

"…not really," I admit. "Something simple, I suppose?"

"I'll pick out a varied sample, then, and you can see what you like best."

And so she does. A deep purple, a pale blue, a rich red, a creamy yellow and a dark green.

"Not the yellow," I say at once.

"Fair enough." The woman sweeps the yellow fabric off the table.

I can't really get any further than that. I know nothing about the process of turning a roll of fabric into a dress, so I can't really picture what these would look like as dresses or whether they would suit me.

"The blue?" my grandmother suggests. "If you like mine, it's similar without being exactly the same. And we have a similar enough build – other than the height, of course – that I can model it off this design."

I look again at her dress. It does look lovely on her. And I don't exactly have a whole range of better ideas. "…sure."

My grandmother buys a yard or so of blue fabric, after debating how much I'd need with the stall owner. I don't much like having people debate my measurements as if I'm not right there, but it doesn't last too long and I understand why it's necessary in this instance, so I tolerate it.

She wants to start taking measurements as soon as we get back, but my dad thwarts that plan: he's prepared lunch for three while we've been gone. I think I see a hint of frustration in my grandmother's expression, and I definitely relate to it. It's the same way I get, when I have my mind set on a purpose and I don't want to waste time on anything that doesn't help that purpose.

I'm starting to like her, I decide. It looks like I might not have to flee back to the capital after all.

My dad and his mother spend the meal discussing the state of Crelt's market. It's been years since she last visited the city – she gets everything she needs delivered or buys it in her village, and doesn't often have cause to travel – so it's changed a lot from what she remembers. They reminisce together about what's changed and when and whether it's for the better. I feel a little left out, but I can live with that. They've shared a lot of experiences that I know nothing about, not to mention that she's his mother. It's only natural that they have a lot of missed time to make up for.

I'm just happy that I finally feel like I have a proper family.

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