Page 53 of Storm of Shadows
Fly frowns and follows Clare’s gaze down the stairwell. “Shithead. I wish you’d told me earlier. I’d have–”
“He’s massive, Fly. You would not. Anyway, it seems he’s had a taste of his own medicine.”
Is it bad that I can’t help smiling about that?
“Your life seems really complicated,” Clare says, shaking her head.
“Are you regretting helping fix my nose and eating lunch with us?” I tease.
“I don’t know,” she says uncertainly, “ask me again in a week.”
“I’ve known her three days longer than you have and I can honestly say it’s not so bad. Although, as you’ve seen, she does eat with her mouth open.”
“I do not!” I protest.
“Cupcake, you do. Along with the talking to yourself.”
“I’m beginning to see why you have no other friends,” I mutter and he gives me the finger.
“Were your friends hurt on the first night as well?” Clare asks.
“Nope, we just don’t have any,” Fly says. “Me because I don’t exactly fit in in Iron Quarter,” he sweeps his hand down his frame in way of explanation, “and Briony because …” He frowns. “Actually, why don’t you have any friends?”
“Because I murdered them all,” I say coolly.
“I don’t know whether to believe her or not,” Fly whispers to Clare. I give him a menacing look. “You look just like Odessa – so, yeah, I think you did.”
“Odessa?” Clare asks as she unlocks her room.
“It was her friend who broke my nose,” I explain. “It’s not the first time she’s tried to kill me.”
Clare turns around and stares at me. “Maybe I am regretting being your friend. Seems dangerous.”
“Not if she becomes the Princes’ thrall,” Fly points out.
“Is that why you’re so desperate for me to do it?” I ask, following Clare into her room. It’s also much nicer than mine and Fly’s. The sheets and blankets look newer, the mattress actually made of something other than straw, and there is a deskin here as well as a window seat, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. Clare has obviously attempted to brighten up the place too. There are at least five potted plants dotted around the room.
“Yep,” Fly says. “There has to be some benefits to being your friend.”
“Other than my wonderful personality?”
“You have one?” he deadpans and I stick my tongue out at him again.
“Right,” Clare says, flinging back her wardrobe doors. “Let’s see if anything in here is any good.”
“Woah,” I say, taking a step forward. She must have ten times the number of clothes I have, and while they aren’t made from the exuberant materials the shadow weavers wear, they are colorful and new looking.
Fly pushes past me and starts to rummage through the hanging garments, tossing a few over his head and onto the bed.
“Try those on,” he instructs.
I pick a blue dress up from the pile. It has a high back, little capped sleeves and probably reaches to below the knee on Clare.
“This looks nice,” I say, gathering it up in my arms. “Thank you so much, Clare.” I walk towards the door.
“What are you doing?” Fly screeches.
“Taking it back to my room to get ready.”
