Page 90 of Storm of Shadows
Clare groans.
“Which is a good point,” Fly says, “how are we going to spend our Sunday?”
“In bed,” I confirm.
“Alone or with the Princes?” he says cheekily.
“Alone,” I clarify, “and sleeping.”
“Urgh,” Fly groans. “How about you Clare?”
“Studying. The next trial is only one week away – and I want to be prepared.”
“Exactly,” Fly says, “one week away. We have tons of time. We should do something this Sunday – after a lie in, of course,” he adds.
“We’ve already established, there is nothing to do here,” I say with irritation. Slate Quarter may be a shithole but there were at least parties occasionally.
“We could watch the shadow weavers again?” Clare suggests.
“No.” I pull a face.
“I’ll find something,” Fly says.
“I’d happily stay in bed all day with a good book,” I say.
“Err, no,” he says. “You did that last weekend. You’re not in Slate Quarter anymore, Cupcake. We have to do something entertaining.”
I nod, conceding to him. There may have been parties back at Slate Quarter but it’s a long, long time since I went to one. Hanging out with friends, doing something fun, actually sounds nice.
Fly and Clare argue over the next record to play and in the end turn to me to pick one. Once it’s playing, Fly pours us out another drink and I cross my legs under me and ask a question that’s been bugging me.
“What do you think the next trial will be?” I ask. I know that first one was pretty tame. The next is likely to be a lot more vicious.
“Don’t know,” Fly says, “I’m more interested in the afterparty.”
“You’re not worried about the trial?” Clare says, biting at her fingernail.
“What’s the point? Worrying about it isn’t going to change it. What will be will be. I’ll give it my best shot, hope I don’t end up in a hospital bed and then enjoy the ball afterwards.”
“I’m petrified,” Clare admits. “I wish I knew what it was going to be. At least then I could prepare.” She peers down into her glass, then downs the lot.
“Woah, easy,” Fly says, “this is strong liquor. It’s meant to be sipped.”
“Screw that,” I say, following Clare’s example and finishing my glassful too. The liquor forms a warm pleasant feeling in my belly and in my chest, and my shoulders feel lighter than they have done for weeks and weeks. It’s dreamy – like I’m floating here on the carpet without a care in the world.
“What was that about a ball?” I ask Fly.
“You haven’t heard about that? There’s a ball held after each trial. A celebration. They hold it in that Great Hall we were in the other day and they are meant to be immense.”
“And raucous and pretty notorious,” Clare adds.
“Notorious like the first night here at the academy notorious?” I ask, not liking the sound of that.
“Nah, not notorious in the violent kind, more like notorious in the, who’s going to end up knocked up this year.”
Clare pales. “I don’t want to end up knocked up.”
Fly cocks his head. “You do know how girls end up knocked up, right? They do teach you brainiacs that back in Granite Quarter? You won’t get knocked up if you don’t engage in any fucking.”
