Page 134 of Taste of Thorns
“Maybe we shouldn’t be drinking so much,” Clare says, peering down into her own glass. “We should be attempting to keep our heads clear in the run up to the trial. It’s only five days away!”
“I think drinking is for the best,” Fly says, gulping down his wine. “Otherwise, I’ll only spend my time obsessively worrying about the next trial and imagining all the ways I might die.”
“You won’t die,” Clare says with self assurance, “you don’t have any particular abilities or talents so the Madame won’t kill you.”
“Jeez, thanks?” Fly says. He frowns. “If Briony’s theory is correct.”
“My theory is correct. I told you about Beaufort’s vision. That confirms it.”
“I’d rather try and not get too drunk,” Clare says, slurring her words and clearly anything but sober, “that way I can plan and strategize tomorrow rather than nurse a hangover.”
“That’s because Bardinismore likely to kill you,” Fly says, “on account of all those brains of yours.”
Clare shakes her head seriously. “I’m smart but not smart like Esme Jones was smart. The way she could multiply numbers in her head was like magic or something.”
“Either way,” I tell my friends, “by the end of this week, Bardin isn’t something we’re going to need to worry about anymore.”
Because I am going to reveal to the entire realm, the monster she truly is.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Briony
I wake up the Sunday before the next trial with a mighty big headache and my two best friends in my bed. When I untangle myself from the covers and crawl towards the end of the bed, jiggling the mattress as I do, both Fly and Clare groan in unison.
That wine may have been expensive, but it was also as potent as the stars.
When I find my feet – which takes me way more attempts than usual – the entire room spins like a merry-go-round and for one harrowing second I think I’m going to vomit all over my lovely new carpet.
My friends obviously don’t feel much better.
“Urgh, I think I’m dying,” Fly groans from the bed and Clare tells him to shush.
“I’ll go find us some water and some painkillers. I’ll be back soon,” I promise, needing to lean against the wall on my way out of the room so I don’t face-plant. The stairs are not fun, and Iresort to sitting on the steps and bumping my way down on my backside.
At the bottom, I find Thorne, arms crossed over his body, an unamused look on his face.
“What are you doing?” he asks me like I’m a naughty child and have been caught messing around.
“Beaufort poisoned us with wine,” I explain, holding my finger up to my lips in hope he might lower his stupidly loud voice.
Instead of being outraged on my behalf, he asks, “How much did you drink?”
“Two bottles.”
Thorne peers up towards the heavens and shakes his head with disappointment.
“Come on,” he says, “follow me.”
“Actually,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around the bannister and leaning my head against it, “I think I’m going to stay here for just a minute.”
“Because?”
“It’s a nice place to sit,” I grimace.
Thorne shakes his head and then stomps off. I close my eyes and wait for another bout of nausea to pass. When I open them again, Thorne is back and he has a big glass of water in his hand. He rests it on the floor in front of me.
“Drink.”
