My grandmother does, thankfully, appear from her room shortly before my dad needs to leave. She isn't any more pleased by his working today than I am, but she begrudgingly accepts it on the condition that he doesn't try to work during Holy Days themselves.

"I would never," my dad says. I remember the last Holy Days we celebrated together and say nothing.

She laughs and straightens his tie. It's such a loving, domestic gesture that it fills me with some emotion I can't quite define.

"Well, I shouldn't be late for the last day's work of the year," he says, gently batting away her hands. "See you in the evening."

And then he's gone, and it's just the two of us. My grandmother sighs.

"Is… something wrong?" I ask tentatively.

She shrugs. "No. And yes. Regret for the time I've lost, I suppose."

"Can I ask… what happened? To make the two of you…" Maybe I should have waited longer, phrased it more delicately, but the opportunity is there.

She sighs again. "What do you know about it?"

"Very little. Only that it was – because of my mother."

"…yes. It was. And it was because of me. I don't know what to tell you. I… I'm not proud of what I said and did back then, and it brings back painful memories." She's speaking slowly, with forced self-control. "Does it matter to you?"

No. I'm just curious. Something holds me back from saying the words. Maybe it's the knowledge that they're not true. "Yes. I suppose it does. But if you don't want to talk about it, I'll respect that."

"Thank you. I… not now. I need time, I think. But I will try to explain it before we part ways."

I nod. "If it doesn't end up happening, that's… I can live without knowing. I did for the last nearly sixteen years, after all." I laugh awkwardly. That might have been the wrong thing to say.

If she's hurt by my thoughtless words, she doesn't show it. "That's – good to know. Thank you. Do you have plans for today?"

I accept the subject change, unsubtle though it is. "Not really. More work on magical theory. More reading."

"Would you object to another trip to the market?"

"…probably not? It depends what for."

"You know what this place is missing?"

I can name several things, starting with more bedrooms, but I get the sense none of them are the answer she's looking for. "No."

"Decorations. It's Holy Days tomorrow, and there's not a wreath or a wooden model in sight. That needs to change."

She's right: I have not put a second's thought into decorating for Holy Days, and I'd be surprised if my dad has either. Because it's just such a… normal thing to do. A thing that people who aren't overwhelmed by work and the scale of the problems they're facing and who have a functional family unit already do.

Also because I don't… really care that much? I like some of the traditions that come with Holy Days, but not enough to spend precious time and energy preparing to celebrate.

But I can work with this. It might be fun to play pretend for a while. And maybe if I pretend hard enough, it'll become real. "I'm happy to come to the market with you for that, if you need an extra pair of hands."

She smiles. "Then let's go at once."

And so go at once we do. My grandmother lists everything we need to get as we walk, in order of whatever comes to her mind. We have to have wreaths of ivy to hang, and candles that will burn throughout the five days, and models of ships and birds and trees and gifts, and Esteral wine, and some kind of depiction of the constellations, and, and… I'm never going to be able to keep track of it all.

Thankfully, I don't need to. It quickly becomes clear that I'm only there to carry stuff and offer opinions which aren't much more than "mmm" and "I think you're right". I find myself not minding as much as I normally would, though: something about her energy is infectious, and I can't help sharing a little of her enthusiasm.

By the time she's satisfied, my bag is full and her purse is a lot lighter. Some of what she bought was expensive enough to make me wince, but she didn't have any hesitation about it. Which is interesting: I know my dad grew up poor, and I can't imagine sewing is particularly profitable unless you work for one of the fancy City tailors, so where has this casualness about expenses come from?

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I don't ask; it would probably be impolite. I just make a mental note of another intriguing thing about my grandmother.

Once we're back, she flits around the apartment, trying different decorations in different places, then changing her mind and swapping things around. I'm a little jealous of her energy. I'm young, I'm supposed to be the energetic one. And yet she's ceaseless, while I'm just lying on the sofa doing nothing.

Eventually she's happy with her handiwork. I have to admit the apartment feels a lot more cosy and festive now than it did before, and I say as much. She insists on giving me partial credit, which I certainly don't deserve, but I don't protest too much.

Then she returns to the bedroom to work on the dress she's making me. I supress the urge to ask whether that contradicts what she said to my dad about not wanting him to work before Holy Days. Maybe it doesn't count if it's not paid work, or maybe she was just being hypocritical.

I end up looking through one of the Malaina law books I found, because I really don't want to work on magical theory and at least this way I'm doing something that isn't just burying myself in history to hide from the present. It's probably harder than magical theory. Not in the sense that I can't understand things – the overly technical legal phrasing makes it slow work but far from impossible – but emotionally.

Which is hardly a surprise, considering I'm reading all about how it's completely legal to discriminate against me in all kinds of ways. And having to second-guess myself at every turn: does it really count as discrimination when the fear of mala sia or even just a badly timed active episode is very real?

I know – or hope, at least – that I wouldn't cause the problems these laws are trying to prevent, if I worked as a doctor or enlisted in the army or even just travelled by the Portal Network without Electra's supervision. But can I say confidently that that's true of all Malaina? No, I have to admit. And I don't know of an easy way for the law to distinguish between me – or Edward, or Elizabeth – and someone who's in imminent danger of becoming mala sia.

There just isn't an easy answer. And that hurts. Maybe magical theory was the better option. I'm starting to understand a little why Edward likes it so much. I persevere until I feel like I can't take it any more, and then wrap myself in blankets and curl up in a ball and try not to think.

That's how my grandmother finds me when she emerges from the bedroom to ask what I want for lunch. She's understandably concerned.

I sit up and straighten out my hair. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"I'm fine," I repeat, a slight edge to my voice. "Just… this isn't exactly pleasant reading." I show her the spine of the book so she can read its title.

"Why are you reading it, then?"

"Because I need to understand. It's better to find things out this way than… the hard way."

"…I suppose so. I can't imagine what it must be like, Malaina. I'm used to thinking about it as – well. You know the stories."

"Mala sia," I reply. "Yes." I'm not sure quite where she's going with this or how concerned I should be.

"But – you're not like that. Not at all. I wouldn't be able to tell, if I didn't know. It's… just hard to reconcile those things."

Could be worse, I decide, but still not great. "Tell me about it."

"It must be far worse for you. Like I said. I can't imagine. Can we just forget I said anything and talk about lunch?"

I laugh. "Sure. Let's do that. Thoughts on salads?"

Neither of us have particularly strong opinions on salads, it turns out, but we both accept that they're a quick and easy option when we don't feel like cooking. So we make one together. It goes better than the last cooking session with all three of us did. I'm not sure if that's just because there's one fewer person or because we know each other better now.

The dress is coming along well, my grandmother tells me as we eat. I'll need to submit to another session of poking and prodding to make sure it will fit correctly at some point, which I'm not looking forward to, but that's a day or two away yet.

I still feel a little awkward about how she's doing something like this for me when we barely know each other. I suppose it's her way of making up for lost time, but it still makes me feel guilty that I haven't got her a present at all.

I'm sure I can find a way to the market alone, or with my dad, sometime in the next few days. I have to avoid a laugh at the thought that maybe she'd appreciate a scarf. I shouldn't turn present-buying into an excuse to pass a message to Omar, not unless I think that's something she'd actually want.

And I do not know her well enough to know what she'd actually want.

I'll think of something. Eventually. In the meantime, we finish eating and then wash the dishes. My grandmother wants to know if there are cleaning spells which would make doing that easier. There are, but unfortunately I don't know them.

"That is the first thing I'd want to learn if I were a magician," she says, laughing.

"They're actually quite advanced spellwork. Depending on what approach you use. I doubt I would have been able to learn them even if I'd wanted to until recently."

To be fair, if I'd studied magic with the exclusive goal of not having to wash dishes by hand any more, I probably could have succeeded quite easily. But then I'd know a lot of specialised spells and very few of the more general ones I've needed a lot.

I return to magical theory after lunch. When I frame it as a choice between that and Malaina law, finding the motivation is suddenly much easier. I probably shouldn't use that trick too often, but it does work.

The afternoon is a quiet one, and I make reasonable progress once I've managed to get started. I'm quietly satisfied with what I've done by the time my dad gets back. And my grandmother is halfway through cooking dinner, having refused my offer to help. What I'm doing is probably more useful than what she is now that there isn't enough light to sew by.

That gives me an idea: enchanted light. I know she appreciates craftsmanship and she's fascinated by magic, so making her an enchanted item seems perfect. And a light would let her work later into the evening.

If I have sufficient enchanting skill to make it. And if I can find a way to source enough power just by drawing from the ambience. I wish I had Edward here to start interrogating about how to do that.

That thought makes me realise that I haven't written to any of my friends in a while, so I settle down to do that.

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