Page 26 of Storm of Shadows
“Now,” Fly says, resting his hands on his hips, “can Itrustyou to wait here and be seen? Or do I need to stand guard?”
“It’s okay, Fly. You can go. I’ll be just fine.”
“Good,” he says, relief flooding his face. “Because I’m freaking starving and need to find some food.” My stomach growls loudly in agreement. “I’ll grab you some too. And hopefully,” he winks at me, “I’ll see you at the next lesson.”
“Which is?”
“You think they’d actually tell us?” he scoffs. “It starts at two in the Great Hall.”
I nod and watch him go. Then shrink into my chair, dragging my arms inside my sweater and dropping my chin to my chest, closing my eyes and making it clear I don’t want to talk to anyone else. Not that anyone in the clinic is talking. Most people are curled in on themselves like I am, one or two look ghostly pale.
One by one the students in front of me are called in to be seen and finally it’s my turn.
A nurse in a stiff uniform that once upon a time must have been white, but now, like everything else around here, is gray,calls my name. I hop up onto my good leg and limp towards her. She watches me come, a hand on her hip.
“Let me guess,” she says with sarcasm, “period cramps.”
I blink at her. “No, my ankle.”
“Come on then.” She beckons me to follow her. “Let’s check it out.”
Fifteen minutes later, both my ankle and my ribs are bandaged. The ankle is not broken, just sprained, the ribs, however, are cracked. Not that there’s anything the nurse can do about it.
“I’d tell you to rest and let it heal,” she says, handing me a bottle of painkillers. “But that won’t be an option here at the academy. You’ll just have to do your best. Pills will help … just don’t be silly with them.” She gives me a knowing look, then sends me on my way.
The bandage on my leg actually seems to help. I can place more weight on my foot and I am definitely not hobbling so much. I just have to hope whatever they have in store for us this afternoon, it isn’t anything physical.
I glance up at the clock tower and seeing I have half an hour before the next lesson, I make my way through the maze of towers to my own, hauling my tired body up the staircase hoping to discover the bathroom on my way.
My empty stomach aches just as much as my ribs and my legs and I’m exhausted. I’m in desperate need of food. I’m also covered in mud and dirt, and I smell really bad. Washing is definitely a priority. I don’t want to be picked out as the stinky kid, especially as it sounds like I already have a price on my head.
I find the bathroom halfway up the staircase. Unfortunately, there are no clouds of steam billowing from the communal showers. There’s just one lonesome girl, a thin towel wrapped around her middle, shivering so hard her knees knock together.
“The water’s frigging freezing!” she says through clattering teeth as she darts from the room.
There is a pile of towels set out by a row of sinks, a row of cubicles on the other side of the wall. Some containing toilets and some showers. As I’m short on time, and don’t fancy an extra climb up and down the tower, I grab a towel, duck into one of the cubicles, strip off my clothes and unwind my hair. I turn the ancient knob and after a moment of groaning from the pipes, a torrent of water comes gushing from the overhead shower. The girl wasn’t lying. The water is so cold I’m surprised blocks of ice aren’t tumbling from the showerhead instead.
I grit my teeth, and duck under the water, shrieking despite my best efforts because it is colder than the poles. Balancing on my good foot, while keeping the other out of the water, I scrub the mud from my body and the grime from my hair. There’s no soap but at least it makes the ordeal quicker and as soon as most of the dirt is gone, I yank off the water and wrap myself in the towel. It’s worn and threadbare and does little to warm me up so I dry myself as quickly as I can, dress again in the tracksuit, then climb back up to my room.
A small fireplace crouches in the corner of my room, but it contains no firewood or coal and no means to light it even if it did.
I strip out of my tracksuit, shivering like the other girl, my hands shaking and barely able to grip the material, and pull on my uniform.
When I’m done, I turn to my reflection in the warped mirror and confirm I do not have Fly’s sense of style. He’d made this uniform look good. On me it looks no better than the tracksuit. The short gray skirt shows off my bruised knees, the long socks are itchy as hell and the blazer hangs from my shoulders. Maybe it will be enough to convince Beaufort Lincoln that I am notworthy to be his thrall. The girl who pushed me from the net would be way more suitable.
I smile at my reflection as I drag a comb through my wet hair and then twist and pin it back as usual.
Yep, the Princes will take one look at me this afternoon and will no longer be my problem.
Chapter Thirteen
Briony
I arrive outside the Great Hall with precisely no minutes to spare but at least I’m not late.
“Briony!” I hear Fly call out and then find him squeezing through the other students to reach me. I cringe as once again it draws everybody’s attention my way. “How’s the ankle?”
I shrug. “I took some pain meds. So it and me are feeling pretty darn good.” I peer at him hopefully. “Just really damn hungry.”
