Page 50 of Storm of Shadows
That’s if you discount Beaufort Lincoln healing my ankle, which I totally am.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Briony
Fly and Clare gaze at each other across the canteen table with suspicion, probably thinking they have nothing in common. But they have me. And as I haven’t had a single friend for a long time, I really like the idea of having two. Maybe that’s just greedy, but I’m determined to make it happen.
I try a number of different conversation topics, searching for something they are both interested in: healing injuries, making the drab uniform look good, our likely trials and upcoming lessons. It isn’t until Fly makes some off-handed comment about my plans tonight that they find common ground.
“What are you doing tonight?” Clare asks, breaking apart a bread roll. “I’ve spent my last three evenings staring blankly at the ceiling.”
“Oh man,” Fly mutters, “me too. We need to find something better to do.”
I keep my eyes fixed on my creamy pasta, hoping the conversation will move on and I won’t have to answer Clare’s question.
The conversation doesn’t. It stalls right there and when I peek up, I find Clare peering at me with curiosity and a knowing smirk hovering on Fly’s face.
I sigh. “Going to see the Princes,” I mumble as quickly and as quietly as I can.
Clare blinks at me behind her glasses. “The Princes? As intheBeaufort Lincoln Princes?” Fly nods enthusiastically. “As in the shadow weavers?”
“Yes,” I say with a lot less enthusiasm, “them.”
“Why?” Clare says, forehead wrinkling in confusion.
I shuffle pasta around my plate. Seeing I’m not going to answer that for myself, Fly fills her in.
“They’ve chosen Briony as their thrall.”
Several emotions wash across Clare’s face: astonishment, amazement and admiration.
“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. It was probably–”
“All the blood and busted-up nose?”
She nods. Then shakes her head. “I can’t believe I’m eating lunch with the Princes’ thrall.” She gulps. “I can’t believe you let me fix your nose!” She drops the remains of her bread roll onto her plate. “You should have gone to the shadow weaver healers for that.”
“I’m not their thrall,” I whisper, eyes shifting around to check no one is listening into our conversation. Luckily, the canteen is more concerned with the actual thralls present this lunchtime. There are five in total, each wearing their golden collars, each surrounded by a posse of admirers. “And I have no intention of being their thrall.”
“Why?” Clare says in even more astonishment.
“Exactly, why?” Fly says.
“I mean, do you have any idea of the benefits that come with being a thrall?” Clare asks.
“She does. I’ve told her.”
“I’m not interested,” I say.
“But they’re so–”
“Hot?” Fly says, grinning.
Clare’s cheeks burn. “Well, yes, they’re very attractive. And powerful. And well connected.”
“Well hung too from what I’ve heard,” Fly says.
I stab a piece of pasta onto my fork and fling it at Fly’s head.
