The dress was not made for weather this cold, at least not without a coat over the top. I haven’t ruled out wearing a coat, but it’s not as cold as it could be this evening, and there are always warming-spells.

  Then again, we have been repeatedly warned not to use magic while drunk. That hasn’t really seemed relevant to me until now, but I’m curious as to why and whether one drink will make that much of a difference. I’m assuming it has something to do with reduced inhibition making it easier to channel too much power into a spell and cause a dangerous accident. I guess when magic depends so much on the caster’s mental state, substances that alter that state might have all kinds of unpleasant results.

  I’m not going to do anything stupid, though. One drink, and one carefully controlled warming-spell, will be fine.

  There’s a queue for the bathroom, with three of my dorm-mates all wanting to get changed as well. Hannah got back while I was with Edward a few minutes ago, but she’s not sixteen yet and no-one wants to take the chance of having someone underage in our drinking party.

  So I change quickly. When I emerge from the bathroom, I’m met with shocked looks from all of the other girls. “…is there something wrong with my outfit?” I ask after a moment.

  “No,” says Lucy quickly. “Definitely not. Quite the opposite. We’re just not used to seeing you…”

  “In anything that isn’t plain and boring?” I ask, deciding to put them out of their misery.

  “…something like that.”

  “But that dress is gorgeous,” Aisha adds. “Where did you get it? Or is it a gift from Edward?”

  I can’t help laughing at the thought of Edward giving me a dress. He probably cares about my appearance even less than I do, which is saying something. “Actually, my grandmother made it for me.”

  There’s a chorus of remarks about how lucky I am, and Hannah asks if she takes commissions. I promise to ask when I next write to her. Is this what it feels like to be one of the popular girls? It’s a little surreal.

  Robin takes advantage of the others’ distraction to steal the bathroom and change. I’m a little relieved when she emerges a few minutes later in a dress that completely puts mine to shame. It’s a deep crimson, sleeveless and low-cut and perfectly tailored to her form, and seems to almost ripple when she walks. I’ve never cared much for the heights of fashion, but I can appreciate beauty when I see it. She looks the part of a princess far better than I ever could. Not that that’s saying much.

  “Well,” says Hannah, laughing. “Not much point in the rest of us trying to compete now, is there?”

  “That’s… stunning,” Aisha says. “You look amazing.”

  “Did you wear that to the Feast of Stars?” Lucy asks.

  “Yes,” says Robin shortly. I remember she told me she didn’t enjoy her Holy Days, which presumably means she had an awful time there.

  I frantically try and think of a subject change before anyone says anything unintentionally hurtful, and land on “I think you should be asking Robin’s tailor for commissions, not my grandmother.”

  Lucy laughs. “As if we could afford that.”

  “You probably could,” says Hannah. “Well, Edward could, and I’m sure if you asked him nicely…”

  I have to fight back a sceptical laugh at that idea. But she’s right. Edward would question why I wanted a dress so fancy when I don’t want to go anywhere near an occasion that would warrant one, but he’d ask his father and his father would see no reason to object and that would be that.

  It’s a little scary, sometimes, being friends with someone so absurdly rich.

  “Anyway,” Aisha says, “we should get on and finish changing if we want to be ready for eight. I’ll go next.” And she retreats into the bathroom.

  I glance at the clock. We have eight minutes, which might not be that long when Lucy still needs to get dressed once Aisha is done. But hopefully this is the sort of occasion where being on time doesn’t matter too much.

  It takes us twelve minutes, in the end, before we assemble in the Academy’s entrance hall to sign ourselves out for the evening and meet the rest of our party. There are eight of us in total: me and my dorm-mates, plus Daniel, Jake and two people I don’t recognise who must be from the other class. They introduce themselves as Natalie and Scott.

  “Let’s go to the Regal,” says Lucy decisively.

  “Won’t that be a bit expensive?” Jake asks. There are a couple of murmurs of agreements.

  “A bit, maybe, but it’s the Regal. You never know who we might see there. Politicians, diplomats, even royalty.”

  “Yes, because royalty so often go out drinking in public bars.”

  “Well, if they did, it would be the Regal.”

  “I’ll pay,” says Robin suddenly. “For anyone who doesn’t want to cover their own. I can afford it.”

  I blink. That doesn’t seem characteristic of Robin, though I feel a little bad at that thought.

  There are polite demurrals and are-you-sures, but really that settles the arrangement. And makes me a lot more sceptical of it. I’ve heard of the Regal, and its reputation is every bit what Lucy says. I once read an essay arguing that it plays a not insignificant role in modern politics. That it’s where backroom deals and negotiations take place.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  It seems like it could be a dangerous place for me. Especially since we’re not exactly inconspicuous. But it’ll probably be fine. I’m hardly on my own, after all. And… I am a little curious about what it’s really like there.

  Another advantage of the Regal is how close it is. Only a street away from the Central Ring. We’re there in a couple of minutes. Well, that is to say we’re queuing outside in a couple of minutes. Because there’s a queue of maybe fifty people winding along the street from its entrance.

  “Good thing we’re not in a rush,” Scott says as we join its end.

  After about half a minute, without the queue having moved any further, we’re approached by a young woman with a long brown ponytail, dressed in the red-and-gold livery of the Regal. “Evening all. You together?”

  “Yes.”

  “Eight of you. It’s a busy night tonight – the new Parliament was sworn in today, so we’ve got a lot of members here celebrating. None of you are in Parliament, I assume?”

  We shake our heads.

  “Any of you Regal members?”

  None of us are that either.

  “Then we really don’t have that much space left. So we could only let you in if you’re the very special sort of people we like to have as part of our clientele.”

  Several of us visibly wince. I don’t, but internally I’m wondering why I ever thought this was a good idea.

  “We’re student magicians,” says Lucy. “At the Academy.”

  “Are you? Any of you worked on any important contracts?”

  None of us have.

  “Let’s just go,” I say, but no-one pays me any attention.

  “Robin Wilde,” says Robin, twisting a little to show off the ripples of her dress. “Of the Siaril family.” She gives the woman a challenging stare.

  “Robin… branch line, yes? And not in high standing with your family, either.”

  That’s a dismissal if ever I heard one. Robin deflates almost visibly. I’m wondering just how exclusive this place is, if it’s turning down someone who went to this year’s Feast of Stars.

  Then Natalie says “If you’re looking for names, how does Tallulah Roberts sound?”

  Oh, stars. So much for inconspicuous. And it won’t even work, because I’m not important, not compared to –

  The woman glances through us until her eyes meet mine. I guess with my skin colour it’s not exactly hard to guess. “That’s me,” I say, hating Natalie and hating my own stupid decisions and wishing the ground would swallow me up.

  The woman smiles slowly. It reminds me a little of Electra. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” she asks. “Of course we can accommodate Tallulah Roberts and her companions. I’m so sorry I didn’t recognise you. In fact – as an apology, why don’t you skip the queue and follow me?”

  This is bad. This is very bad. Charles First-King.

  The woman sets off towards the entrance without waiting to see if we’re following.

  “After you,” says Robin, a bitter note in her voice.

  “You know I didn’t want this,” I reply softly, starting to walk as if I were in a trance.

  “That,” Robin says, not unkindly, “makes it worse.”

  By the time we catch up with the woman at the Regal’s grand entrance, I’ve calmed my breathing enough that I’m reasonably confident I won’t have a Malaina episode. Not yet, at least.

  My heart still skips a beat when she announces my identity to the doorman, easily loud enough to be heard by the first few people in the queue. The doorman in turn ushers us inside, where we’re met by an attendant in the same livery as the others.

  I take a second to look around the room. We’re still standing in the entranceway, where there isn’t much except a shallow flight of steps leading down into the main area. That’s large, nearly the size of the Academy’s dining hall, and dimly-lit. One wall is taken up entirely by the bar, and at the other end is a stage with a small band playing. I can barely hear their music over the chatter of what must be hundreds of people, dressed in the heights of fashion, all drinking and talking and laughing, some sitting at the bar or queuing for drinks while others take up the tables scattered throughout the room.

  “Miss Roberts. It’s an honour to have you here. Are you and your companions intending to mingle, or looking for something a little quieter?”

  “Quieter,” I say decisively, thankful that I can still speak.

  “Certainly, ma’am. I’ll unlock one of the side-booths for you. If you’d care to follow me…”

  We do follow: down the steps and along the edge of the main floor, pressing ourselves close to the wall to not take up too much space, until we stop halfway along. The attendant fiddles with something for a second and then opens a door. It leads into a small annex, which is taken up almost entirely by a long table draped in red. It’s too dark to see more than that at first, but the attendant steps inside and activates something, and the room lights up.

  There are candle brackets spread around the edge of the room, but no candles. Just soft golden balls of light. This must be what you can do with enchanted light given a proper ward network and the country’s best enchanters to work with.

  “Do sit down and make yourselves comfortable,” the attendant says, raising his voice a little to be heard over all the noise of the main floor. He kneels down to wedge the door open. “You’ll find menus inside, and I’ll return in ten minutes to take your orders.”

  We file into the annex. There are ten chairs, all lined up on the far side of the table so they face outwards. I claim one at the edge, hoping it’ll be hard to see from outside, and Robin sits next to me.

  “Natalie,” I say once we’re all seated. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Why not? It worked, didn’t it?”

  But that’s not the point. I would have preferred being turned away to… this. “I don’t want this kind of attention,” I say.

  She laughs. “Oh, spare us the pretence, would you?”

  “What do you mean?” I say flatly, though I’m beginning to get an idea. She doesn’t know me, not like my dorm-mates do. This was a mistake.

  “Who ends up dating a Blackthorn while not wanting attention?”

  I have to bite my tongue to not point out that Edward and I aren’t dating, actually.

  “If I had to guess?” Robin says. “Someone who falls in love with a Blackthorn.”

  She’s trying to help. I’m not sure it’s working. I don’t want to have this argument. I don’t want to be here at all. Would they kick the others out, if I left? I wouldn’t be able to sneak past the attendants, and then I’d have to explain why I was leaving.

  But I could, if I had to, I remind myself. I’m not trapped. Staying is a choice, and I can change my mind whenever I want. That helps me feel a little less trapped, a little further from a Malaina episode.

  “Oh, please,” Natalie scoffs. “What self-respecting girl would glance twice at him if he weren’t a Blackthorn?”

  …and now I’m angry. But also a little scared of my own anger, because what if I say something I regret? Or what if that anger is what brings an episode closer? “Don’t insult Edward in front of me,” I say with what I hope is contained, icy fury.

  “What are you going to do about it?” she challenges.

  “Natalie,” says someone – Scott, I think – “don’t. There’s no reason to pick a fight.”

  But a fight has been picked nonetheless. I don’t want her sniping at me and ruining my evening any more than I already have, which means I need a retort that’s both realistic and proportionate, and… of course. “I’ll have you removed from the bar.” I twist my body to look at her and meet her eyes in challenge.

  That’s not an empty threat. It’s not something I particularly want to do, but given that the only reason any of us were even let in is because of me, I have no doubt that if I told one of the attendants that I wanted Natalie gone…

  I can see she realises it too. “You wouldn’t.”

  “No,” I reply. “Because you wouldn’t give me cause to.”

  I hold her gaze a moment longer before she looks away. A victory. It doesn’t feel like one. It feels like a battle I should never have had to fight in the first place. And like a part of myself chipped away, because I’m not someone who plays those games. Or at least I don’t want to be.