Page 131 of Taste of Thorns
“Didn’t you see Dray and I nearly drown out there?”
“I thought you had it in hand?” She raises an eyebrow.
“We did, but … you’re going to need to learn how to control those things. They’re a menace.”
“Or she could just swim around them,” Thorne says. Briony nods and Dray shakes his head.
“They’re fucking strong. We tried that, didn’t we, Beau?”
“Yes, you can’t swim around them.”
“You can,” Briony says. “The whirlpools appeared in distinct places. All you have to do is follow the path around them.” She adjusts my hat. “I think it’s going to be okay. I think I can do this trial.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Briony
I manage one more swimming lesson after that. The rest of the two and a half weeks before the trial, I spend sneaking out to the forest as often as I can – either training with Fox or spending time with the Princes and Blaze.
Beaufort persuades me to keep riding the dragon and I have to admit, each time I try it is a little easier and a little less terrifying. We seem to get used to each other. I understand how Blaze moves through the air, predict what he’s going to do and prepare my body accordingly, bracing, relaxing or just clinging on. In return, Blaze seems to listen to my commands, swooping down to skim over the first few hills of the Highlands, exploring through the cave network and once torching the tops of the trees.
Several times I’ve flown with him out to the lake, ensuring he knows his way there and taking my opportunity to memorize the exact location of those whirlpools and the route round them.
Beaufort is right. Blaze, for all his face-licks and adorable cuteness, is a lethal weapon. One not even Madame Bardin couldwithstand if he unleashed a fireball at her, especially as those fireballs are becoming more powerful by the day.
Despite the looming trial and the fact my two friends should be spending their time preparing, they’ve chosen instead to help with the plan to lure Bardin – even if they both agree the plan is madness. True to form, Clare has been scouring the library for any information on Bardin, vampires, or unusual deaths at the academy. Fly on the other hand has been working the gossip channels – picking up little tidbits of information he thinks might be useful.
The Princes are true to their word. The top floor is truly my own which means if I want to kick them out and have Fly and Clare over instead I can. Which I do the Saturday night before the next trial. The Princes’ tower is a lot warmer and more comfortable than any of our rooms plus there are snacks and drinks on tap.
As soon as Fly and Clare arrive, we raid the kitchen together, gathering as much food as we can into our arms and taking it up to my room, where we spread it across the floor and admire our feast.
“Remind me why you have been eating in the canteen and stealing my booze for the last few months when you could have been eating and drinking like a queen here in this tower?” Fly says, placing cupcakes, brownies and cookies on a plate and staring at them for several minutes like a long-lost love.
“Because, despite my better judgment,” I say, bumping my shoulder against his, “I enjoy your company and the food in the canteen is not that bad.”
“Because you were raised on garbage, Cupcake. This is food. And as charming and entertaining as my company may be, it’s not worth sacrificing food like this for it.”
I shrug. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”
“I remember these from my childhood.” Clare lifts a pastry into the air. “My parents managed to get them once as a special treat. You break them apart,” she tears the pastry in half, “and then you lick out the chocolate. It’s divine.” She shoves her tongue into the belly of the pastry and slurps away.
Fly stares at her with his mouth gaping open, shaking his head. “Oh Clare Bear, sometimes you make it too easy for me.”
“Too easy for what?”
He looks at me as if to say, ‘is she serious?’. Then tears his own pastry in half. “Talking of licking out … maybe you should save one of these pastries for Damien. It might give him some ideas.”
“Oh,” Clare says, straightening her glasses on the bridge of nose and smiling. “Things are much better in that department.”
“Uh huh?”
“We talked about it, like you suggested. Turns out, he’s been wanting to do it – like really wanting to do it – he was just a little shy to ask if he could.”
“And how was it?” I ask, pouring each of us a glass of wine from a bottle Beaufort insisted we take and Fly claims is worth more than my soul.
“At first it was a little awkward, but he’s a very good listener and takes direction really well.”
“Fuck,” Fly says with a grin, “that’s perfect.”
