Page 108 of Taste of Thorns
I swallow. “You know Henrietta Smyte well enough now, sweetheart. The woman doesn’t do things out of the kindness of her heart. I had to do something in return for her.”
“Oh my stars, Beaufort,” she gasps, “what did you do?”
I puff out a laugh. “Let her paw over her favorite place in the palace. Somewhere she hasn’t been for a long time.”
Briony’s brow wrinkles. “That sounds …”
“The ancient weapon room,” I explain before she gets even more of the wrong idea. Briony looks no less confused. “I told you. The woman is a psychopath. Weapons are her catnip.”
“And did she tell you who was behind the attacks?”
I swallow. I had planned to keep this information hidden, but now I realize that, though I’ve promised not to hurt Briony, I have done every time I’ve lied, every time I’ve concealed the truth. I lean in and whisper the information I learned at the palace directly into Briony’s ear.
The color drains from her face. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” I say, stroking her chin, “so it was all for nothing. I had to endure two days in that witch’s company, hurting you in the process, and it was all for nothing. I’m no closer to knowing who was behind the attacks, which of those treacherous bastards have been pulling the Hardies’ strings. Although, Henrietta is in agreement with me. It has to be one of the High Lords.”
Briony shakes her head. “Henrietta is wrong. Or deceived. Or lying,” she stresses, “and you’re wrong too, Beaufort. Those men aren’t behind the attacks–”
“They are–”
“Madame Bardin is.”
As she says the word an intense pain radiates through my skull. It’s so intense, I grunt, screwing up my eyes and folding in half. Then a vision flashes through my mind.
The Madame towering over a girl.
At first, I think it’s Briony. Same lithe figure, same blonde hair, same rounded cheek bones. But then I see the eyes are wrong – brown not green.
The vision plays out in my head.
The Madame lifts her arm above her head, then brings it down sharply, lightning crackles from her fingertips, hitting the girl and striking her lifeless. Then the Madame drops to her knees, bends over the girl and sinks her fangs into the dead girl’s throat.
“Beaufort!” I open my eyes and look up into the dazzling green gaze of Briony, worry written across her brow.
I’m lying flat out on the floor of the landing, Briony hunched over me, her hand on my shoulder.
“Beaufort, are you okay?”
“Wh-wh-wh-what happened?” I slur.
“I don’t know, you just collapsed. Did you hit your head?”
I lift my hand to my crown.
The pain has gone, but the image from my vision still burns across my eyes.
“I should get some help,” she says, already beginning to twist away. I catch her wrist and drag her back towards me.
“Briony, your sister, what color were her eyes?”
“My sister?” she says, confused. “Why do you want to know? That isn’t important right now. We need to get you checked out.”
“It is important. Please tell me.”
“Brown. They were brown.”
“Then you’re right, Briony. It was Madame Bardin who killed her.”
