Page 129 of Storm of Shadows
“Which is utterly ridiculous,” she continues, “considering it’s the two of you who are–”
“What?” I say, dropping her wrist.
Even more of that blood rushes to her cheeks. “I saw you together – this morning in the library. I know you’re together.”
“We are not together,” I say firmly.
“Right,” she says sarcastically, “not ‘seeing each other’ but still messing around. Whatever. I’m really not interested inbecoming entwined in whatever sick games the two of you are playing.”
“We’re not playing any games,” I say, although as soon as I say it I wonder if that’s really true. “We’re not together. We’re not screwing around – if that is what you are insinuating. Whatever you thought you saw this morning, you didn’t.”
She glares at me and for the briefest flicker of a moment, I wonder why she cares, I wonderifshe cares, I wonder if maybe she is jealous. But I bat those foolish ideas away.
Just because my thoughts about the girl are burgeoning on the obsessive, does not mean she feels the same way about me. And even if she did, so what? I will not go there. I refuse to go there.
“Madame Bardin is dangerous,” I tell her.
“Is she an ex? Is that what this is about?”
I ignore her questions.
“Briony,” I say earnestly, “do not meet with her alone. Even if she asks you to, do not. It isn’t safe.” She stares at me, disbelief written all over her face, waiting for me to say more, to explain myself. But how can I? “Trust me when I say, she is dangerous.”
“Trust you?” she spits. “Why the hell would I trust you?”
Something pangs in my chest. Something I haven’t felt in years and years. Is that hurt? Do I want her to trust me? She’d be a fool to. And the girl is bright, I see that. She’s no fool.
And yet, still I want her to trust me. Fuck, I want to protect her and devour her. I want it all.
“Fine,” I concede. “You don’t have to trust me. But for your own safety – for your own sake – heed this warning anyway.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Briony
With the next trial tomorrow, you can feel the tension growing among the students. The commoner students are quieter than usual – even those from Iron Quarter – and the shadow weavers are even more obnoxious. There’re plenty of displays of their powers and I’m sure I’m not imagining that even more kids than usual are walking around with black eyes and busted noses.
I’m sort of thankful for the upcoming trial. It’s going to be awful. I will probably end up with another broken nose and another sprained ankle, but at least it means everyone’s attention is diverted onto that and not onto me and the Princes.
Even Fly and Clare show no interest in my complicated love life. Despite his earlier skepticism, Fly and I have joined Clare in researching everything we can about past trials – me keeping half an eye out for clues about my sister as I do.
Although we’ve spent every spare moment of the last few days going over possible trial scenarios and how we’d handlethem, the evening before the trial – when we should probably be in bed resting – we’re doing the same again.
There are several scenarios that have us beat – unless you’re a shadow weaver with magical abilities there’s no way you’d overcome the trial – but we have plans and ideas for the others. Of course, plans and ideas are one thing; putting them into execution is another.
“You know, I think it’s going to be a maze,” Clare says, looking up from her latest book as we lie out together on her bedroom floor.
“What makes you say that?” I ask, closing the old newspaper I was reading.
“I made a tally,” she explains, holding up a piece of paper with a table drawn across it. “Mazes are the most frequent trial type to be set – especially for the early trials.”
“Doesn’t that make it less likely to be picked again this time?” Fly says, scratching his cheek and yawning.
“I don’t think so. It’s obviously a favorite with the trial setters and they haven’t picked it for the last four years straight.”
“Maybe,” Fly says, sounding unconvinced.
“A maze doesn’t sound so bad,” I say.
