Page 142 of Storm of Shadows
“Do you mean Clare?” I ask.
He nods. “But it was genius. All the studying up on different trials actually makes me feel like we stand a chance – not just of surviving unhurt, but of actually coming out of it with some points.”
“And Clare is also, you know, fun to be around and a good friend.”
“That too,” he says, winking at me. “I have a feeling we’re all going to end up old friends together in Granite Quarter.”
I smile back, although I know his cheer this morning is an act. I can feel his hand shaking in mine.
We meet Clare outside her tower. She’s looking as nervous as I feel, a tissue pressed to her nostrils because she has another nose bleed.
“Remember,” Clare says as we walk along together, “if you meet a pool of water do not wade into it, and if you find anything that looks like nightshade, pocket it.”
“We know,” Fly says, “we went over this already.”
She nods, then sniffs and presses the tissue more firmly to her nose. “And if your path is blocked by green fire, it may look and feel hot but you can cross unharmed. It won’t burn you.”
“Yep, we went over that too,” I say, squeezing her arm. “Are you okay, Clare?”
She sighs. “Not really. No offense, Briony, but I really don’t want to end up in Slate.”
“None taken,” I tell her. “And you won’t. You know more than anyone. You’re going to be fine.” I hand her some clean tissue from my own pocket. “Come on. Let’s hurry up. We might be able to see something and, I don’t know, that could be helpful.”
The others nod and we pick up the pace, jogging across the campus to the far field where we’ve been instructed to gather for the trial this morning. It’s funny – I’m about to facesomething incredibly dangerous. And yet – despite my nerves, that argument with Beaufort and all those tears this morning – I don’t feel half as downbeat, half as miserable, as I did that day I arrived at the academy. Three weeks have passed and, despite the attempts on my life, the breaking of my nose and the situation with the Princes, I realize things are not all bad. In fact, I feel pretty damn good. I have a feeling that’s down to the two friends I have walking with me. I’d forgotten how good it is to have a friend, to have someone on your side, and all of a sudden a wave of panic hits me.
I stop dead in my tracks.
“What’s wrong?” Clare asks, fiddling with the material she’s tied around the back of her head to keep her glasses fixed firmly to her face.
I reach out and take her hand in my right and Fly’s in my left.
“You will be careful, won’t you? Don’t do anything stupid or … I couldn’t bear to lose either of you.”
“You’re not going to get rid of me that easily, Cupcake. I don’t know, you may be weird as hell with very bad fashion sense, but I kinda like you.”
Clare chuckles, causing more blood to trickle from her nose, but my face remains deadly serious.
“Promise me,” I whisper.
Fly squeezes my hand again.
“I promise.”
“Me too,” Clare says, inhaling and then nodding.
It seems we aren’t the only ones that had the bright idea of arriving at the trial site early. Half the students, excluding the shadow weavers, are already here milling about and talking to one another quietly. They aren’t the only ones. All the faculty staff are here including the gruesome twosome, Madame Bardin, and Professor Tudor – plus a collection of other adults, all dressed in their finery. I assume they must be representativesfrom the different Quarters because among them, is our very own director dragged all the way from Slate Quarter, looking a lot less confident than he usually does and dressed in a suit that is worn and drab. To think, he always used to look so well dressed to me before.
However, what we can’t see is the trial site itself. A large fence has been erected, blocking our view of the fields, the moorland and the forest beyond. To one side, a stand has also been built with rows of seating. The chairs at the front are padded and large, the ones further up the stand plain old benches. Some of the adults are already seated.
“What are all those people from the Quarters doing here?” I ask the other two.
“It’s part of the rules,” Clare whispers to me. “There has to be representatives from all the Quarters here to oversee the trials – to ensure they’re fair and to help decide how points are awarded.”
I snort. “I don’t see why they’d bother.”
“Because sometimes – very rarely mind you,” Clare says with sarcasm, “there are kids who are good academically and physically and could reasonably be placed in Iron or Granite. Sometimes both Quarters want them. There needs to be a way of deciding.”
“And sometimes,” Fly says, staring off towards the stands, “kids do well in these trials but the Quarters don’t want them anyway because they don’t meet the ideal, they don’t fit in. There has to be a way to make it fair.”
