Page 95 of Spark of Sorcery
“But,” I say my voice lowering into a growl, “you seem to be happy to get up and personal with a bit of magic.”
Her friend’s eyes, wide and alarmed, flick between me and her.
“What’s that meant to mean?” she says, although I take it from the way her cheeks redden that she has a fair idea.
“You are a thrall, are you not? You are dating shadowweavers? You don’t think it would be to your advantage to understand how their magic works?”
She has nothing to say to that because she knows I’m right.
The bell clangs far away and around us the students begin to clear away their possessions and collect up their bags.
“I advise all of you to practice this,” I call out to them. “I’ll be testing you next lesson.”
She rolls her eyes at me as the first students filter out of the room.
Her friend nudges her, but she doesn’t move, she’s still glaring up at me.
“Aren’t they all powerful enough as it is?” she sneers at me. “Is it really necessary to make them even more powerful?”
“If we want to keep our realm safe, then yes.”
Her friend fidgets on the bench attempting to push Briony along it in the direction of the door. She refuses to budge and with a resigned sigh, her friend slings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door, leaving us alone, the door slamming shut behind him.
“Wouldn’t your time be better spent helping the weavers to better control their powers?”
“What happened to your sister, Briony, was unfortunate but rare. Accidents happen.”
“Accidents?” she scoffs. “Accidents shouldn’t be happening at all.” She stands. “And some shadow weavers are struggling – you’re the teacher in charge of teaching shadow weaving. Why aren’t you helping them?”
I consider her.
“Who exactly are we talking about here, Briony?” I ask, my voice lowering.
“No one in particular … I’ve just seen …” I raise an eyebrow. “Thorne Cadieux.”
“Thorne Cadieux,” I repeat, that jealousy sliding into life in my belly. I knew she was sleeping with Beaufort Lincoln, Dray Eros most probably too. But now Thorne Cadieux as well. I stroll towards my desk, straightening the pile of books on the surface, my back turned to her so I don’t have to look at her face. “We will cover control. It will come later in the year.”
“But he needs help now. You should be helping him.”
“Me?” I say with incredulity. The boy has the one thing I want most in the world. The one thing I can’t have. Her. Why the hell would I help him? “Thorne Cadieux is an incredibly gifted shadow weaver. He doesn’t require my help. Which I’m sure he would tell you himself.”
“He does need help,” she insists. The spite and sarcasm in her voice has gone. Her tone is earnest. She really does want to help him. She really does care. “He’s struggling. His powers are dangerous, lethal.”
“Exactly. He is gifted, Miss Storm.”
“Gifted? He can’t even touch anyone!” she cries in despair. “He can’t even touch me!”
I spin around.
There’s more than friendly concern on her face. There’s despair.
I huff out a bitter laugh.
“So this is why you want me to help him. So he cantouchyou?”
“N-n-n-no,” she stutters, but all that color – all that blood – rushing to her cheeks tells me once again that I’m right.
I take a decided step towards her, closing the distance between us, her chin tipping back as she holds my gaze.
