Page 70 of Taste of Thorns
“Yes, Briony, if we’re going to keep you safe, they need to know everything.”
We spend a little more time walking up and down the long skeleton’s frame. Briony’s as interested in the dragon’s anatomy as she is hearing about the tales from the old days of dragons and lumomancers.
Then, when we’re both struggling to keep our eyes open, we retrace our steps and return to our tower. She hovers at the entrance to Beaufort’s door.
“Thank you, Thorne. That was by far the best date I’ve ever been on.”
“You clearly haven’t been on enough dates,” I mutter. Something we need to rectify.
“Well, I doubt anything could beat that.” She smiles at me and then her gaze drops to my mouth. I can't help mirroring the action, watching as she pinches her pretty pink lip between her teeth.
The magic crackles in my body. I concentrate with all my might in reining it in because all it wants to do is envelop her, to devour her completely.
“We’re going to find a way around this, Thorne,” she whispers to me. “I promise you, we will.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Briony
It’s been a week since Esme’s death was announced and the mood in the academy remains somber and depressed. The place wasn’t the most cheerful before the girl was killed, now it’s even less so. There isn’t as much laughter in the hallways, there is less clowning about on the pathways and several times I catch people sniffing or wiping away tears.
Esme Jones really was well liked. Or maybe the reality of our situation has finally dawned on the other kids in the academy. This isn’t a holiday camp. It’s a dangerous place that will decide all our futures.
Professor Cornelius seems to have more faculties than I’d given him credit for, because, at the start of our next lesson, he senses the sadness in the air, removing his spectacles and sighing deeply.
“It’s always a shock when a student dies,” he says with genuine feeling. “Especially the first one. Who was it this time?”
“Esme Jones,” one of the students in the front row says quietly.
He picks up his glasses and buffs the smeared lenses on the lapel of his tweed jacket. “Oh yes, I know the one. Such a good student.” He sighs a second time and slides his glasses back onto his crooked nose. “It’s always the most promising of students who seem to die young.”
“Promising?!” Henrietta whispers loudly from the back of the classroom, although not loud enough for the elderly professor to hear. “As if!” Her sister titters and I spin on my seat and glare at them both.
“Don’t!” Fly hisses, gripping on to my arm. I guess he’s all too conscious of the damage Henrietta did to me last time we had a confrontation.
But I don’t care. I’ve survived far worse since then.
“You don’t think kids from Quarters other than Onyx Quarter can be talented then, I suppose.”
There are shocked intakes of breath across the classroom. It’s not unusual for Henrietta or one of the other shadow weavers to make rude or snide comments toward us ordinaries during class. It’s something we have to grin and bear. Today, though, I just don’t feel like doing that.
“Oh, I’m sure you all have your little talents,” Henrietta says in an infuriating patronizing tone. “What’s yours, Slate girl? Shoveling shit!”
“Ignore her,” Fly hisses again, gripping my arm even tighter.
And usually I would. In the past, I’d have gone out of my way to sink into myself and attempt to disappear. Maybe it’s this new magic in my veins; maybe it’s the knowledge that Blaze waits for me out in the forest; maybe it’s even the confidence the Princes have instilled in me. Or maybe, like I told the Madame, I’m no longer afraid.
“Well,” I tell her, with an equally patronizing tone, “I can tie my own shoelaces, cook my own food and make my own bed. I can even wipe my own ass. Which, I’m guessing, a pamperedprincess like you is incapable of.” I give her a fake little pout like I’m really sorry for her.
Fly grimaces but several other people around the classroom laugh despite their best efforts to hold it in. No one else fancies incurring Henrietta Smyte’s wrath. Just me.
“What’s that, girls?” Professor Cornelius asks, squinting our way while he fiddles with the magical device in his ear.
Henrietta ignores the professor. She’s too busy glaring at me with such hatred I’m surprised steam isn’t pouring out of her ears.
But while Henrietta might be scary and completely unpredictable, she doesn’t have the sharp tongue or the manipulation skills that Odessa did. Jeez, I am so gladthatgirl is gone.
I can see the wheels in Henrietta’s head spinning, searching for a suitably sharp retort and failing, debating whether to zap me with her magic instead. However, there are witnesses here and so it doesn’t seem like she wants to take the risk. Not when her actions will land her in trouble with the Princes.
