Tallulah, Edward writes,

Happy birthday! I wish you were here – or I was there – just that I could give you this in person. It turns out that there's a lot you can do with a copy-quill and plenty of free time… I hope you find the enclosed enlightening. Other than arranging this, you'll doubtless be unsurprised to hear that I've spent the holidays learning as much new magic as I can. I've noted down some concepts I think you should be introduced to, but I'll spare you that until we meet in person.

I received your message about enchanted lights. It's an interesting theoretical problem, so thank you! I've also enclosed some books that may be useful. The relevant parts are Chapter Three, Section One of Reed and Chapter Seven of Forrest and Wilton, though I think both books are worth reading in their entirety should time allow. I've also taken the liberty of writing a little of my own speculation…

A little, indeed. I laugh. The entire rest of the page is taken up with his theories on enchanted light, referencing the books enclosed and others I don't recognise, sketching calculations… I flip the paper over to see it continues on the other side. I should have known better than to ask him for help with magic.

I skim to the end of the magic talk, which leaves only a couple of sentences.

I wish you a magical birthday and happy Holy Days. May you walk under starlit skies until we meet again.

Yours,

Edward.

I fold the letter carefully and set it aside to read the magic part when I have more time. Then I turn to the books. The first I find are the textbooks on enchantments that Edward referenced in the letter, which are also set aside. Then…

I find my hands trembling, because I have a suspicion that I know what he's done. Between the cryptic lines in his letter and the specific incident he referenced when trying to prove his identity… surely he couldn't have, though. Would his father ever allow it?

There are four more books. All of them are thick ones, and their covers and spines are completely blank. That only adds to the evidence for my theory. Slowly, I reach out and open the first book to its title page.

The Complete Diaries of Lady Georgiana Blackthorn

596 – 670

And, in much smaller writing at the bottom of the page, Copied by Edward Blackthorn, Esquire, for the sole use of Miss Tallulah Roberts, 1040. Note that some content discussing magic has been redacted for the preservation of family secrets.

He actually… I stare at the page in disbelieving silence. This is… there are historians of the Second Civil War who would kill to get their hands on this. And he just gave it to me. Because he could. No strings attached. Stars.

"That's a happy stunned silence, I hope?"

I had forgotten my dad was there. "Yes. Yes, it is."

"What does a Blackthorn give their friend as a birthday present, then?"

He's asking the wrong question. Because, while of course if Edward weren't a Blackthorn he would never have been able to do this, it's not a gift from the family. It's from him, to me. "Well," I say, trying not to sound too pointed. "Edward got me this." And I hold the book up to show him the title page.

It's my dad's turn for stunned silence. "…just let me check I got this right. That's a copy of something in the Blackthorns' personal library?"

"Yes."

"Are there… other copies in existence?"

"Not that I know of. And I'm pretty sure I would know about it if there were. This is – the history contained in this book – it would be quoted in every decent book on the Second Civil War if it was public."

"So it's priceless," my dad says. "And the knowledge within it would significantly advance the study of history."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"And he did that for you?"

"That and a few others," I say. I'm probably a little bit of a bad person for saying that in the off-hand way I do, just to see the look on his face. I should look at the others, I suppose, shouldn't I? Though I feel like I never want to let this book go, I shut it and set it down on the floor to check the other three books.

There are two volumes of A Private History of the Blackthorn Family, written by an Alexander Blackthorn. Edward includes a note inside: He was my great-grandfather, and he was as passionate about history as you are. I think you would have liked each other.

And suddenly I realise that the historical importance of these books is irrelevant. Who cares what revolutionary impact they could have? Who cares how few copies are in existence? What matters here is that – if these really are the only copies, and if as seems likely the originals have never left the Blackthorn family library –

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

I could be the only person who's not a Blackthorn ever to have set eyes on them. And I know just enough of the family to understand how great an expression of trust and intimacy that is. Stars. I don't understand why he would do this for me.

In a daze, I open the cover of the last book. Memoirs of the Civil War. The First Civil War, that is, since the author would have had no way of knowing there would be a Second at the time. The author being Richard Blackthorn himself. In terms of historical value, this is the most precious of all of them.

"I – " says my dad. "I don't quite know what to say."

"Nor do I," I say. Some selfish part of me is a little relieved that Edward isn't here. Because my reaction is more complicated than pure joy, and I don't quite want him to see it. "I – stars."

Well, if I ever had history to escape into… I turn the page of Georgiana's diary.

Volume One

596 – 603

Twelfth Day of the Hunter's Time, 596.

This book was given to me as a present by my tutor for my seventh birthday, falling on this day. I am to use it to keep a record of my thoughts and experiences.

It takes me a moment to remember that the writing is not Georgiana's but that of the copy-quill, which must be attuned to Edward. I can't imagine a seven-year-old having handwriting that neat.

I will do so faithfully, though I fear I will not always have much of interest to write. To begin with, my birthday celebrations. I did not have a grand party as I did last year, because the King is angry with Father. I know not why, because I am not of an age to understand these things.

I calculate dates. The King at the time would have been Katherine the Faithful. She died in 597, after which Georgiana's father Felix became regent for her young son Charles. He would have been about the same age as Georgiana, I suppose.

I don't know the cause of Katherine's anger with Felix either. But she must have forgiven him eventually, for he could never have become regent without her approval – her death was not unexpected, if I remember rightly.

It feels unfair. The King isn't angry with me, so why should I be the one punished? Still, I can hardly complain to Her Majesty, so –

"Everything okay?" My grandmother emerges from the kitchen.

"Edward Blackthorn just sent Tallulah copies of writings that have never left his family library as a birthday present," my dad says flatly.

"…well," says my grandmother. "That rather overshadows what I had planned."

Yeah. It does. I don't know what she could give me that would come even close to this. And that feels wrong, somehow. I don't know if she cares about me as much as Edward does – she's only known me a handful of days, after all – but my dad certainly does. And I have no doubt that he would give me something just as priceless if he had the power. It would be awful of me not to appreciate what they have planned because of this.

"It's okay," I say. "I'll – I'll put these away for now – " and I realise that, at least while my grandmother has taken over the bedroom, I don't actually have a bookshelf to put them on. There's always my trunk, I suppose, but even that is stored under the bed. "Is it okay if I put them on the bookshelf in your room?"

"Is it okay if I sleep in a room containing priceless books?" My grandmother laughs. "Oh, I can't wait to tell Sierra. She'll be just mad with jealousy."

I wince. "I… I don't mean to imply anything bad, but I'm not sure that's a good idea. If it becomes widely known that I have these books – there are a lot of people who'd dearly want access to them."

"And why shouldn't those people have access to them?" my grandmother fires back. "What good are books if they can't spread knowledge?"

"…you're right," I concede. "But I can't be the one to share them with the world. Not without Edward's permission. And likely his father's, too. The inscription says that they're for my sole use."

But she has a point. What kind of historian would I be if I hoarded this precious knowledge rather than sharing it with the world? …I'm going to have to beg Lord Blackthorn for permission to have these books published. Stars, why?

"And it would be… bad, if you didn't keep to that?" my grandmother guesses.

"It would be crossing the Blackthorns. Worse, it would be betraying my best friend's trust. So… please don't tell Sierra."

"…fine. Though she – never mind. I'll tell you that later."

"Anyway," I say sharply. "I'll put these on the bookshelf, then." I softly, reluctantly, close Georgiana's diary and gather all the books up in my arms. I realise as I'm walking into the bedroom that those include the textbooks on enchantments, which are for the purposes of my grandmother's present. It feels a little wrong to have them in her room. But then neither of their titles specifically reference enchanted light, so I don't think she could guess. It'll be fine. Probably.

There's enough empty space on the bookshelf to put all six books side by side without having to rearrange anything, thankfully. Then I return to the other room.

"So… are we just supposed to forget that happened now?" my dad asks.

I laugh. "I don't think that's something that you can just forget. But… try and put it out of our minds, at least? I want to spend my birthday with you, without the spectre of the Blackthorns looming over us for once."

"I want that as well," he says. "All right. Let's try. As it happens, Edward isn't the only person who's got you books."

"Is what I want that predictable?" I ask, smiling.

"Yes," he replies flatly. He reaches into his work bag and pulls out a book. Like those Edward gave me, this one has a blank spine and a blank cover.

I take it from him and open it. But this time, the pages are blank as well. I give him a confused look.

"You spend enough time reading history. I thought maybe you'd like to write it."

Oh. Oh. I'm reminded powerfully of Georgiana and the diary she received for a birthday present. That's something I have in common with the long-ago seven-year-old. And… there's the fact that my diary might well turn out to have historical significance someday. If I survive long enough to be a meaningful part of history rather than a footnote in Edward's tragic backstory, at least.

"You may well be right," I reply. "Thank you!" And I hug him tightly.

Part of me is still thinking through the practicalities, though, of how a lot of what I know isn't safe to write down. I need to get Edward to teach me encryption enchantments so no-one else can read it. Do I trust him to do that without leaving loopholes that would allow him to read the diary?

The answer is yes, probably. But it's still a question that needs to be asked, and I hate that fact.

I can worry about that later. I'm living in the moment today. Enjoying my birthday with my family.

That's easier said than done, it seems.

My dad and I finally release each other, and I take a couple of steps back.

"I may or may not have found you something yesterday," my grandmother says. "But I think you have enough to deal with right now. I'll give it to you after lunch."

She probably has a point, much as I'd like to protest. "Thanks."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.