Page 138 of Storm of Shadows
“It’s not exactly the bright, cheery topic you bring up when trying to make new friends,” I say, managing a half smile.
“But we’re old friends now,” Fly protests, resting his hand on my shoulder. “We’ve known each other for three long weeks.”
“They have been long, haven’t they?” I say, peering up into his face, which is a mistake because his eyes are brimming with empathy – such a strong contrast to Beaufort’s – and it has my eyes stinging with tears again.
“How did she die?” Clare asks softly.
“They say she was killed in an accident. That she strolled into the crossfire of shadow weavers practicing their magic. But I don’t believe it. She wasn’t stupid,” I say with steel, waiting for them to challenge me. They don’t, they both nod.
“You think something else happened to her?” Clare asks.
I nod. “And I’m going to find out what.”
“How exactly?” Clare says.
I drum my fingers against the cover of my notebook and bite my cheek. “I haven’t worked that out yet. I tried searching for information in the library but Professor Tudor stopped me before I got anywhere.” I don’t divulge what happened on my most recent trip to the library. I may be feeling more trusting, but I’m not quite ready to reveal all my secrets just yet. Especially as those secrets could get my friends into trouble.
“It all makes sense now,” Fly says.
“What does?”
“The reason you hate shadow weavers so much.”
“Can you blame me?”
“Well, I don’t exactly get on with my brothers,” Fly says, “they are a bunch of shitheads who have made my life unbearable for the last twenty-one years. As bad as it sounds, I wouldn’t hate the person who removed them from my life. But I’m guessing you and your sister …”
“She was older than me. She was like a mom to me. She took care of me. And she was beautiful and clever and so so special.”
Fly smiles at me. “Then I can totally understand why you hate those shadow weavers.”
“But the Princes weren’t the ones that killed your sister, were they?” Clare says with confusion. “If she was older than you, they would have been kids when she was at the academy.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Fly says. “It’s made her distrustful of them all.”
“Not just distrustful,” I clarify. “I hate them. They don’t care about us. They’ve bent and corrupted this world for their own gain. And Beaufort confirmed all my worst suspicions about them tonight.”
Clare lunges forward and wraps her arms around me. “I’m sorry, Briony.”
I pat her back. “It’s okay. I’m fine. And it’s better this way. I don’t need any distractions like those three. I need to find the truth.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Dray
I wake up to the sound of angry footsteps on the stairway and the front door slamming shut.
I roll to the edge of the bed, stumble to my feet and, rubbing sleepy crust from my eyes, stagger to the window. I am not a fucking morning person and whoever the hell has woken me at this freaking early hour is going to pay for it.
Only it turns out the person responsible is our little thrall.
I lean against the frame and watch her scuttle away, thunder all over her face.
Now ain’t that curious. I didn’t even know our little thrall was visiting. That certainly wasn’t planned.
I’m suddenly more awake than if I’d downed ten straight shots of coffee.
I gaze up towards the ceiling. I bet Beaufort is responsible.
