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Chapter Twelve

T horne

The raven hops on the ledge, knocking its beak against the pane of glass.

I ignore it, but then it knocks again and again, becoming increasingly frustrated.

“Shoo,” I growl at it. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

It halts its jumping, looks at me with its beady black eyes, tilts its head to one side, and then squawks.

The message is clear: it isn’t giving up.

I stride to the window, draw back the latch and let the bird fly inside.

“Fine,” I mumble. “On your head be it.”

The raven, its jet wings spread wide, circles my room twice, before landing alongside my gloves on the chest of drawers and lifting its right leg into the air.

Careful, I untie the note from his leg. It isn’t easy. My gloves are restrictive and this is fiddly work, but using my magic could harm the creature.

As soon as the note is loose, the bird squawks angrily, hops away and then takes off through the window.

Whoever sent me the note wasn’t expecting a reply.

I unfurl the note. The writing is Beaufort’s, but it’s so tiny I can’t read it. I stomp up to his study and hold the note beneath the magnifying glass that stands on his desk.

Short and sweet.

Professor Tudor healed her injuries.

To the point. There’s no question of who he’s referring to or why I’d consider this information of interest.

And now it makes sense. That’s where she was headed. Professor Tudor’s classroom lies at the base of the teaching tower, down in the old dungeons.

Despite our investigations, we have no further information about what happened to the girl in the maze. What we do know is that Tudor was meant to whisk any students facing danger out of there. So why didn’t he help Briony? And why was he the one to fix her injuries?

Is there something going on between the two of them?

I crush the note in my fist. The shadows roar inside me.

I take the note back down to my room and toss it into the fire. It catches alight, shriveling and shrinking into ash. Then I step out into the night.

I’ve been watching over the girl as best I can. It isn’t always possible. There are moments she slips away, moments I cannot be with her, moments I’ve failed to keep her safe. Were there also moments she was with him?

The night is still and bitterly cold, the stars bright and clear in the sky above the towers.

I take the long roundabout route, avoiding anyone out tonight, and then sink down into the dungeons. This is where his classroom is. I’m hoping this is where he will be.

I hammer my fist against the door and after several drawn out minutes, it creaks open, Professor Tudor hovering on the other side. He’s as tall and broad as I am and maybe the fight would be evenly matched if it were down only to fists, but with magic involved I’m sure I could crush him.

Not that I’m here for that, despite the eagerness of my shadows to unleash carnage.

“Cadieux,” the professor says. I’ve barely seen his face since I’ve been at the academy. He tends to linger, hidden in the shadows, like he doesn’t want to be seen.

Sometimes I’ve wondered if we share an affliction. But now, as I peer into his ghostly face, I realize we don’t.

“It’s my day off,” the professor says.

“We need to talk.”

He’s probably surprised to hear that. I’m not known for my talking.

He considers me, then nods and steps inside, leaving the door ajar behind him.

The classroom is even colder than outside, my breath hanging in a pale cloud in front of my face.

“You’ve come to talk about Briony,” he says.

I nod.

He perches on the edge of his desk, folding his arms over his chest, making his biceps strain against the material of his shirt. Deliberate perhaps?

“What is it you wish to discuss?”

“You healed her.”

Annoyance forms on his face. “And I guess you’re going to tell me that I shouldn’t have? That she’s your thrall,” he spits, “and I shouldn’t have touched her. And maybe I wouldn’t have had to if you were taking better care of her.”

“ You were meant to remove any students from the maze who were in danger. Why didn’t you remove her?”

He glowers at me, then stares down at his shoes. “Something went wrong. I would have if I’d known she was in …” He halts mid sentence and peers back up at me. “She hasn’t told you what happened, has she?”

I take a menacing pace towards him.

“Tell me what did happen.”

“You think it was me?” he chuckles. “Why the hell would I attack the girl and then heal her afterwards?”

“It’s what abusers do,” I whisper. Full of remorse after the event. Begging for your forgiveness. Right before they do it all over again.

“I’m here to teach my students, not abuse them,” he growls. His magic is cold and prickling against my skin. “She told me what happened. I know who is responsible and I’ve dealt with it.”

“Who?” I say, taking another pace towards him, my hands clenching inside my gloves, straining against the leather, my shadows hot and raging and menacing.

He draws himself to his full height so we’re glaring into each other’s eyes, his glowing in the darkness.

“I’ve told you, I’ve dealt with it. It won’t be happening again. She’s safe – at least she is from that direction.”

“If you’re insinuating–”

“The girl doesn’t want to be your thrall,” he hisses. “Can you blame her when you’ve been doing such a terrific job at protecting her?”

He’s deliberately trying to provoke me, to draw my attention away from who was responsible.

“Tudor, who was it? ”

“It’s best you leave this to me. I know you boys think you’re indestructible, untouchable – but this is someone you don’t want to cross.”

“Beaufort is untouchable.”

“This person doesn’t care.” He stares off into the distance. “Sometimes I think they are fucking insane.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better about the situation,” I growl, wracking my brain to identify who he must be talking about.

Not one of the students. There are rumors Henrietta Smyte has inherited her mother’s insanity.

She used to date Beaufort and the way she likes to drape herself all over him has me believing she would still like to date him.

But would she be foolish enough – insane enough – to attack the girl?

Possibly, but I don’t think she has the powers or the skills to manipulate what happened in the maze.

“This person isn’t a problem,” the professor says. “They won’t be hurting Briony again. You have my word.”

I consider him the way he considered me only moments ago. Can I trust him?

There’s something hovering in his eyes – something I wonder if he can see in my own.

“I’ll be holding you to that word,” I tell him.

When I return to my room, I write a short note of my own.

Tudor knows who was responsible for what happened in the trial. He is going to deal with it.

I send the note to Beaufort via raven. An hour later, another bird is knocking at my window.

And we can trust him?

I consider that look in his eyes, the determination in his voice.

Yes, I reply. We can.