Page 32 of Spark of Sorcery

Banished. Not even expelled to one of the lesser Quarters. Or sent for a life of misery in Slate.

Banished from the realm. Which can mean only one thing. Certain death.

“Shit,” Fly says, “that’s … I thought the punishment meant you lost your points for that trial – that is …”

“There must have been more to it,” I say. “They wouldn’t banish someone from the realm simply for helping a friend.”

Clare skims her finger down the page. “That’s what it says here. I mean, I guess we have no idea if it’s accurate or truthful, but it’s so detailed in every other aspect, why make something like that up?”

“To scare us,” Fly says, finally giving up on the stew and dropping his fork onto his plate.

“Except nobody reads these books,” I say, “and even if they did, this detail is buried among many other events in hundreds and hundreds of pages.”

“I think Briony is right. I think the purpose of these books is to record what happens at the academy. All of it.”

“I wonder why they helped the other student like that,” I say.

“Sex,” Fly says. “Sex is always the reason for everything.”

“Or love,” Clare says, her eyes turning slightly dreamy. “That’s so romantic.”

“Or it could have been friendship,” I say. “If you needed my help, I would risk my neck for you.”

“You’d risk banishment?” Clare says, a wobble to her voice.

I shiver. “It wouldn’t be my first choice, but yes, yes, I would.”

Fly rests his elbow on the table and leans his chin on his hand. “Awww, Cupcake, you’re adorable. But no you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let you.”

“Have you ever heard what it's like out there beyond the realm?” Clare asks. “Have the Princes ever spoken about it?”

I hesitate. Beaufort alluded to it in that argument we had, but he never went into details. “Not really.”

“My older brother’s been out there once on an assignment,” Fly says. “They were sent as backup to some shadow weavers who were disposing of demons attempting to break through the protective barriers.”

“And?” Clare says, her eyes wide with horror.

“He wouldn’t talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“He came back with third-degree burns all down his left arm. Burns the shadow weavers couldn’t heal. I take it he didn’t want to go over it. He wanted to forget about it.”

“Jeez,” Clare says.

“If it doesn’t tell you why the shadow weaver helped their friend in the trial,” I say, pointing back to Clare’s book, “does it tell you how they helped the other student? What did they do?”

“I’m not exactly sure. It’s written in a long-winded and complicated manner as if the writer is trying to avoid spitting out the truth. But I think,” she pushes her glasses up her nose, “they gave them some of their magic.”

“What?” Fly says, lowering his voice and leaning forward. “Is that even possible?”

Clare shrugs and lowers her voice in reply. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Have you, Briony? Briony?”

I stare down at the table, the blood roaring in my ears.

I’m back in the maze, that wisp of shadow magic dancing before my eyes, protecting me from danger.