Page 58 of Spark of Sorcery
“Dray Eros and his family are famous across the realm. How do you not know this stuff?”
I stab a piece of pasta with my fork. “News like that doesn’t make its way out to Slate Quarter.” I lift the pasta to my mouth, then lower it. “It’s clear. There’s lots I don’t know about those three men. Especially Thorne. I need to talk to him.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“He’s … hard to pin down.”
“I bet!” Fly grins.
“Can’t you just talk to him when you’re at their tower?” Clare asks.
“He tends to avoid me. Usually he shuts himself away in his room.”
“You could catch him out on the field in the morning,” she suggests next.
“Huh?”
“Thorne, he’s out on the field every morning training. I can see him from my window.” Her cheeks burn again, and she lowers her voice. “He trains without a shirt. I bet most of the girls in the academy are enjoying that show every morning.”
“It’s a nice way to wake up to the day,” Fly adds.
“You knew about this too?”
“He’s very big and very hard to miss.”
“I can’t see the field from my window,” I growl. “What time?”
“He’s usually out there before seven,” Clare tells me.
I nod. Seems I have an early morning appointment booked with Thorne Cadieux.
The morning is clear but bitterly cold, fine strips of cloud is stretched across the sky and the paths are covered in a fine layer of white crystals that crunch under my boots. My breath hangs in a thick cloud of fog in front of my face and when I reach the field, I find it completely white, the distant trees crystallized as well.
It hasn’t stopped Thorne though. As Clare predicted, he’s already there, standing out on the far side, his arms braced like they were the last time I caught him training like this.
Today, however, he is wearing a shirt (am I a teeny bit disappointed by that?) as well as his usual gloves, a pair of sweatpants and sneakers.
A stream of dense shadows flows from his outstretched hands and streak across the field and his face is contorted in concentration, his eyes fixed on some distant target.
I glance that way, but I can’t see what he’s aiming at and I turn my attention back to those shadows.
They are nothing like that wisp that flirted close to my face the day of the trial. The wisp, that, as delicate as it looked, was enough to protect me from Madame Bardin’s attack.
I try to look for traces of similarities. Anything that suggeststhey are the same. Is the shade the same? The density? The way the shadows shimmer in the weak morning light? But I can’t truly convince myself I see anything at all that connects the two.
Did I imagine what I saw in the hall the night of the ball? Did I get this wrong?
But I’m sure I’m right. I’m sure I saw it in his eyes.
I wait a few minutes, blowing on my cold fingers and stamping my feet. The uniform with the short skirt and silly socks was a bad idea. I should have layered up in pants and sweatshirts.
It’s clear he’s too engrossed in his training to have noticed me, so I pluck up the courage to cup my hands around my mouth and call out his name.
He doesn’t appear to hear me. His face just as focused as the shadows stream forward and he braces his body with the effort.
I take a deep inhale.
“Thorne Cadieux!” I yell at the top of my voice, suddenly realizing that if Thorne has a little audience every morning, they’ll see me out here too. Well, tough. I don’t know how else I can get him alone to talk.
