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Chapter Twenty-One

B riony

Both Fly and Clare make it to dinner that evening, although Clare is still too queasy to eat and Fly yawns so much I’m surprised his jaw doesn’t dislocate.

“Why do you seem perfectly fine today, Cupcake? Aren’t you suffering at all?”

“Nope,” I say, stuffing a mouthful of creamy pasta into my mouth. Something which makes Clare cringe.

“How can you eat that?” she hisses.

“Because I didn’t drink as much as you,” I tell Clare, “and I didn’t spend my entire night getting down and dirty with some redhead,” I tell Fly.

“No, but you did spend all night getting down and dirty with the Princes.”

“Nope,” I say, chewing my mouthful.

“Nope?” Clare repeats .

“I put you to bed,” I say to her. “Then Beaufort walked me back to my room. We shared a pretty PG-kiss,” (sort of), “and afterwards I went to bed alone.”

“Why?” Fly says. “I spent a lot of time and effort making you look drop dead gorgeous and it worked. They couldn’t keep their eyes off you. You could have been seriously ravished last night, Cupcake.”

“Well,” I say haughtily, “I didn’t want to be.”

Fly mutters some choice words under his breath and yawns some more.

“You put me to bed?” Clare says. “I don't remember that!”

“Do you remember much of last night?” Fly asks.

“Bits and pieces. I remember dancing with Dray Eros,” her cheeks flame, “and then I remember having so many requests to dance I was having to actually turn men down.”

“Shit,” Fly says, “good for you. You did look amazing.”

“Not as amazing as Briony,” she mumbles, adjusting her glasses.

“Bullshit,” Fly and I say together.

She smiles at us shyly. “Well, anyway, obviously I didn’t look good enough to tempt the one person I was hoping to tempt.” She sighs dramatically, pushing her plate away.

Fly and I look at each other, then back at Clare.

“Who?” we say, again in unison.

“Oh, just this boy.” She glances across the canteen but it’s unclear who she’s peering at. “I sit next to him in my history class. He’s really sweet. I thought he’d ask me to dance for sure.”

“He was probably too scared to due to all the demand,” I say.

“And Dray Eros is pretty damn intimidating,” Fly points out .

I shrug. “He’s a puppy dog.”

“He’s a wolf,” Fly clarifies, “and he’s rumored to have killed half a shifter clan.”

I stare at Fly. “Seriously?”

“I mean, it’s a rumor, but that’s what they say.”

I think of the scar on his shoulder. I remember what he said about ending the shifter who had bitten him. I didn’t take him seriously. Maybe I should have.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Dray Eros and his family are famous across the realm. How do you not know this stuff?”

I stab a piece of pasta with my fork. “News like that doesn’t make its way out to Slate Quarter.” I lift the pasta to my mouth, then lower it. “It’s clear. There’s lots I don’t know about those three men. Especially Thorne. I need to talk to him.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“He’s … hard to pin down.”

“I bet!” Fly grins.

“Can’t you just talk to him when you’re at their tower?” Clare asks.

“He tends to avoid me. Usually he shuts himself away in his room.”

“You could catch him out on the field in the morning,” she suggests next.

“Huh?”

“Thorne, he’s out on the field every morning training. I can see him from my window.” Her cheeks burn again, and she lowers her voice. “He trains without a shirt. I bet most of the girls in the academy are enjoying that show every morning.”

“It’s a nice way to wake up to the day,” Fly adds.

“You knew about this too? ”

“He’s very big and very hard to miss.”

“I can’t see the field from my window,” I growl. “What time?”

“He’s usually out there before seven,” Clare tells me.

I nod. Seems I have an early morning appointment booked with Thorne Cadieux.

The morning is clear but bitterly cold, fine strips of cloud is stretched across the sky and the paths are covered in a fine layer of white crystals that crunch under my boots.

My breath hangs in a thick cloud of fog in front of my face and when I reach the field, I find it completely white, the distant trees crystallized as well.

It hasn’t stopped Thorne though. As Clare predicted, he’s already there, standing out on the far side, his arms braced like they were the last time I caught him training like this.

Today, however, he is wearing a shirt (am I a teeny bit disappointed by that?) as well as his usual gloves, a pair of sweatpants and sneakers.

A stream of dense shadows flows from his outstretched hands and streak across the field and his face is contorted in concentration, his eyes fixed on some distant target.

I glance that way, but I can’t see what he’s aiming at and I turn my attention back to those shadows.

They are nothing like that wisp that flirted close to my face the day of the trial. The wisp, that, as delicate as it looked, was enough to protect me from Madame Bardin’s attack.

I try to look for traces of similarities. Anything that suggests they are the same. Is the shade the same? The density? The way the shadows shimmer in the weak morning light? But I can’t truly convince myself I see anything at all that connects the two.

Did I imagine what I saw in the hall the night of the ball? Did I get this wrong?

But I’m sure I’m right. I’m sure I saw it in his eyes.

I wait a few minutes, blowing on my cold fingers and stamping my feet. The uniform with the short skirt and silly socks was a bad idea. I should have layered up in pants and sweatshirts.

It’s clear he’s too engrossed in his training to have noticed me, so I pluck up the courage to cup my hands around my mouth and call out his name.

He doesn’t appear to hear me. His face just as focused as the shadows stream forward and he braces his body with the effort.

I take a deep inhale.

“Thorne Cadieux!” I yell at the top of my voice, suddenly realizing that if Thorne has a little audience every morning, they’ll see me out here too. Well, tough. I don’t know how else I can get him alone to talk.

That’s if he will talk to me.

This time his head jerks around my way and his dark eyes land on me. He frowns and drops his arms immediately, the shadows retreating back to his hands.

I hesitate, and then step forward onto the icy grass. When I’m a few feet from him, I call out.

“Can we talk?” He stares at me, face blank. Is he seriously going to give me the silent treatment, again ? “I know it was you.”

He jolts. It’s minimal and quick but I spot it and I conclude that means he knows what I’m talking about .

His eyes dart to the distant campus and then he steps closer.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says.

“You do,” I say, then looking over my shoulder to determine no one has joined us out here on the field, I step closer to him and lower my voice.

“I know it was you that helped me in the trial. I know it was your magic that protected me.”

I stare right into his face. His own gaze falls to the ground.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters.

Despite his denial, despite my doubts only minutes ago, everything about his persona and his reaction tells me that I am correct.

“You do. I know it was you.” I step closer still, so I’m right in front of him, and he takes an immediate step away from me. “Why did you do it?”

He lifts his gaze and I see that flash in his usually soulless eyes, a glimpse of what I saw the night of the ball. Pain, longing, anger.

“Don’t lie to me, Thorne Cadieux,” I whisper.

He opens his mouth as if to deny it again and then closes it without saying a word.

“Why did you do it?” I repeat.

His face contorts as if he’s battling his thoughts, determining what is the best thing to do.

“Please!” I say. “Please just tell me the truth! I’m not going to tell anyone. I’m not going to get you into trouble.”

He opens his eyes and something tells me that wasn’t his concern.

“I know you wouldn’t,” he says.

I nod. “Then why? ”

“Because you’re our thrall,” he says. “It’s our duty to protect you.”

I shake my head. I don’t buy that for a minute. Dray and Beaufort didn’t protect me. From the cast on the Smyte twins’ thrall’s arm, I don’t think they protected him either. And Odessa’s been bragging about how the handsome Professor Tudor rescued her from the trial.

He didn’t have to protect me, but he did anyway.

“Do you know what they do to people who help others in the trials?” I whisper so quietly I hardly hear my own voice. He stares at me. “You don’t even like me. Why would you risk that … for me?”

“Because you are our thr–”

“That isn’t the reason,” I snap.

He takes the smallest, most minute step towards me. “Beaufort still hasn’t told you.”

“For star’s sake, told me what?”

“You’re more than just a thrall to us, Briony.” The way he says my name makes butterflies in my stomach flutter about. “You’re our mate.”

That word again.

“I don’t know what that means,” I say in frustration.

Behind us the clock tower bell clangs and there are other students out on the path, their voices carrying over the distance, some passing along the path that skims the field.

Thorne looks out towards them.

“Ask Beaufort,” he says with annoyance, and then he strides away, being careful to leave a wide berth around me.

“Thorne,” I call after him. “Wait.”

He stops and peers over his shoulder at me.

“Thank you,” I say. “Thank you for helping me.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he says, and then he’s walking away again, leaving me utterly gobsmacked and thoroughly confused.