Page 18 of Storm of Shadows
I made a promise – to her, to myself. I intend to keep it and I intend to start right now.
“But obviously not a brain,” she says, blocking my path. “You have the wrong tower. No Slate scum here.”
“My room is just up–”
“I don’t know what you think you’re going to do, Slate scum. Steal our belongings, creep through our rooms? I don’t think so,” she says, taking a menacing step towards me, the girls behind her moving too. The brunette is about an inch taller than me and much curvier. I could probably outrun her, but in a fight, she’d probably win. “Beat it!”
I glower at her, knowing at this moment I’m beat. I’ll have to come another time.
“Wait,” one of the other girls says, just as I’m about to turn around and make my exit. “Isn’t she the girl the Princes chose?”
“Her?” the brunette sneers. “I don’t think so. Are you looking at her properly?”
“No, Odessa, I’m sure it’s her.”
Something flashes across the brunette’s face. Something I don’t like the look of, and though I don’t know what the hell they are talking about, I decide I am better off leaving before I find out.
Back in my room, I tug the blanket out from the bottom of my wardrobe, pulling my bag onto my lap. I close my eyes. I will find answers. I owe it to her. I owe it to her to find the truth.
I reach inside my bag and check it’s still there.
Chapter Nine
Thorne
Shadow weavers are given their own private dining room for meal times – a room lined in dark wood paneling, large oil portraits of shadow weavers from the past pinned along the walls, dark candelabras hanging from the vaulted ceilings.
A long polished table dominates the room with high-backed chairs. Serving staff stand to the sides waiting to take our orders and soft music wafts through the room – although it’s hard to hear it above all the excited chatter of all the other shadow weavers. They are already gathered around the table, talking excitedly about the last twenty-four hours’ events.
Silently, I walk the length of the room and take the empty seat beside Beaufort right at the end of the table away from everyone else.
I expect this is a million times nicer than whatever rat’s nest the commoners are given and I should be relieved we’re not eating with them. I’m already tired of the way they stare at us, whisper about us, even follow us about.
However, I’m not pleased about it at all. Because it means the girl is not with us and the girl is someone I wish to study.
Though I would never admit it, I’m as intrigued as Dray is as to why Beaufort would pick a girl like her as our thrall. Dray is right. We could have anyone we wanted.
“I ordered you steak,” Beaufort says.
I nod, straightening the cutlery on the table. Then tugging at my leather gloves, stretching my stiff fingers confined inside.
The dining room door opens and I expect the servers to enter with our dinner. Instead, the deputy headmistress strolls inside. She’s an older woman – possibly in her later thirties or early forties – and she’s dressed in a long tight dress, her hair piled on top of her head and her lips painted red.
The room falls silent as she walks to the head of the table and stops right beside me.
She smiles closed lips at Beaufort and me.
“Gentlemen,” she says quietly before addressing the entire room. “I trust you enjoyed your first trial at the academy.” Her smile widens and there are some chuckles and murmured ‘yeses’ from around the table. “I’m glad.” She rests one hand lightly on the table, her long red nails splayed across the surface, and leans forward a little, providing a view right down the front of her dress. I lower my gaze to the tabletop, the wood so highly polished I can see my face in it. “I believe it’s important that the other students understand where they stand. That they fully appreciate the extent of your powers and your abilities.”
Beside me Beaufort nods his agreement.
“It is important that they understand this process of assigning our people to their quarters is sacrosanct and crucial to our continued survival. Our processes have existed for centuries. They have kept our realm safe and prosperous.”
“Hear, hear,” Beaufort says and several others around the table imitate him.
“And so, it is important we maintain our traditions even if over time we … modify them. And so I move on to the tradition I’m sure you are all most eager to hear about.” Around me I hear people lean forwards on their chairs. “As I am very sure you are all aware, the first shadow weavers had squires to aid them in battle and in their defense of the realm. The squire was bound to his master – not only ensuring he had the equipment necessary for battle, but cooking for him, washing his clothes, finding him shelter for the night and,” she pauses and when she speaks again, there is a hint of excitement in her voice, “it is understood they provided other services to their masters too.”
There is laughter.
