Page 101 of Spark of Sorcery
Madame Bardin.
She seems fixated on finding reasons to give me detentions in every single one of her lessons. She doesn’t attack or interrogate me in any of these, but she does sit, smoking her cigarettes and glaring at me as I’m made to wash out class equipment, scrub classroom floors or empty and dust all the cupboards.
“Your company really is tedious,” she mutters, stubbing out her cigarette at the end of my fourth detention in a row. “And despite what others may say, you smell revolting, reptilian even.” She curls her lips in disgust. “I’d also venture that you’re not very bright. And you’re obviously a weakling.” She sighs. “I don’t know why they go through the pretense of sendingSlatechildren to the academy.” She emphasizes the word, her violet eyes flashing. “We all know where you’re going to end up.”
This evening, she has me scrubbing the floorboards. Usually they are spotless and gleaming. Tonight, they’re covered in mud and other questionable stains I’m pretty sure she added for effect.
I’m not used to scrubbing floors anymore, and it doesn’t take long for my hands to sting from the scalding-hot water, that mysteriously never seems to cool.
It’s clear the sacred promise is preventing her from torturing me outright like she’d like to. It’s not stopping her completely though. She’s finding other ways, testing the boundaries of that promise.
I stare down at my raw hands as I scrub the stained cloth over a patch of ingrained dirt.
Beaufort and the others believe this idea that I’m their fated mate.
Wouldn’t that be my ticket out of Slate Quarter? Three shadow weavers as powerful as the Princes would want their fated mate with them – not languishing in the worst Quarter of the realm. It’s not as if they’d lower themselves to visit me there. Does that mean I’ll be coming to Onyx Quarter with them?
Inwardly, I laugh at my own naivety.
Of course not. This will all turn out to be a game. A way to raise my hopes, only for them to be crushed cruelly.
“I said,” Madame says, strolling towards me and stopping right in front of me. I stare down at her boots. Polished, expensive leather. Her feet bent in an ugly angle to accommodate the three-inch heel. “We all know which Quarter you’re heading back to, don’t we Slate girl?”
I lift my head, my gaze skirting up her voluptuous body to her twisted face.
“I guess that will depend on my performance in the next few trials.”
Madame glowers down at me. “I don’t know who helped you in that maze or how,” she hisses, “but you won’t be so lucky next time. I’ll be sure of that. You’ll be on your own and we all know how that will go.” She glances down at the floor. “Can’t even remove a bit of mud from the floor. Pathetic.”
She swings back her foot and kicks over the boiling hot bucket of water. I have to scurry backwards to ensure I’m not scalded.
“You can leave once it’s all clean.” She swings around and saunters towards the door. As she does, I wish with all my heart I had the power to make her slip in those stupid shoes and land on her ass on the wet floor.
As I’m thinking about it, I can hardly believe my eyes.
Herfoot slides, her legs slip from underneath her, and she falls backwards, crashing with a thump on her backside.
Did … did I do that?
I stare down at my hands.
Impossible.
It was just a coincidence.
Madame Bardin screeches, tugging off the offending boot and hurling it in my direction. I duck as it sails over my head and hits the far wall with force.
“You silly little bitch,” she says, “can’t you do anything right? It’s a simple job and yet you …”
But I don’t hear the rest of her words, because I’m somewhere else entirely. Dark and cold.
But safe.
Safe.
Where no one can hurt me.
I don’t know how long I stay there but when I jerk back to myself with a sudden inhale of air, I’m in the classroom alone, Madame and her boots gone and the water puddled on the floor stone cold.
