Page 74 of Storm of Shadows
Amelia Storm died at the academy nine years ago.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Briony
A note hangs from a pin on my door, one from Fly telling me they’re hanging out in Clare’s room. I check my bag at the bottom of my wardrobe. I change out of my uniform and into my own clothes, then jog down the staircase, peering up at the clock tower as I step outside. There’s another hour until dinner time and another two until I’m meant to be back at the Princes’ rooms.
I haven’t decided if I’m going there tonight. I don’t think Beaufort’s threat of dragging me there kicking and screaming was an empty one, but I don’t like my hand being forced. I suspect my best bet is to keep turning up. Keep being a brat, a disobedient little thrall and eventually they’ll give up. Because I’m certain my resolve is tougher than theirs. I wasn’t the one born with a silver spoon in my mouth after all. I’ve had it a lot tougher than those dudes and that has to count for something.
Clare has an old gramophone set up in her room, and when I step inside I find my two new friends poring over her record collection, discussing musicians, singers and bands I’ve neverheard of. Not that we didn’t have music out in Slate Quarter but few people could afford a luxury like a gramophone or a radio – certainly not us who could barely afford bread or the mounting bills my father racked up at the tavern.
“Hey,” Fly says, as I settle down on the rug beside them both. “You’re still in one piece then? I was worried he’d chain you to the wall and break pieces off you.”
“You really talked back to Professor Tudor?” Clare says in wonderment. “You’re crazy. That man is terrifying – and you can tell that just from his voice.”
“The shadow weavers talk back to him all the time,” I point out.
“Yeah,” Fly says, “because they know no teacher will ever truly punish them. Not when their parents will be here in a flash causing all sorts of shitstorms.”
I shrug. “I’m not sure Professor Tudor would be intimidated by any parents.”
“Yeah, but I bet he’s intimidated by Madame Bardin. And she does care what the parents think.”
“You think he’s intimidated by Madame Bardin?”
“Fuck yes,” Fly says, shivering, “doesn’t she give you the creeps?”
“There’s something about her,” Clare agrees. “Like she could suck out your soul.”
“So what punishment did he dole out?” Fly asks, searching my body for any obvious signs of injury.
“None, he, erm, wanted to talk.”
“Talk? What about?” Clare asks.
“The thrall business. It seems he at least is in agreement with me. He says there is no obligation for me to accept my fate as a thrall.”
“So you’re still sticking to that decision, huh?” Clare says, carefully slipping a record back inside its paper case. “Despite Thorne Cadieux’s speech.”
“Yep.”
Clare stares at me and shakes her head. “I really can’t see how this is going to turn out.”
“You can’t?” Fly rolls over onto his back and leans down on his elbows. “Then you haven’t had much experience of shadow weavers, because I’m telling you, they always win out, no matter what.”
“You have then?” I ask him. “Had experience with shadow weavers?” He’s never mentioned that before. We definitely haven’t spoken about it.
“Yeah, they come to our realm occasionally to inspect the troops, or watch the athletic tournaments we put on for them periodically. My mom and dad would often host them for an evening or a dinner – something like that.”
“Your parents must be someone special,” Clare observes. Fly flicks his gaze to mine then peers down at the floor.
“I guess they are.”
“Then–” I start.
“Why doesn’t that extend to me?” He smiles ironically. “Like I told you before, I didn’t turn out like they wanted. But not to worry, they have two other sons that did.”
“That kinda sucks,” Clare says.
