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Chapter Two

T horne

I linger in the shadows at the base of her tower like some forlorn story-tale prince waiting for the princess to take pity on him and lower her hair. Except – though they may call us the princes – I am not one. And the princess in this story does not know I even exist.

Rain pours from the sky, soaking through my clothes until my skin is sopping wet. Water runs into my eyes and into my mouth. The sting of it is brutally cold. But I don’t shiver.

Up above and through the curtain of rain, I see the weak light of her window, flickering every so often as she passes by.

However, the distance is too great and the window too narrow for me to peer inside, to watch her like I yearn to do.

I know she is in there, though. Hurting, suffering, in pain.

I swear I can feel it in my aching bones.

The image of her battered body flickers in front of my face and the shadows roar inside my blood.

They want to burst free and rampage through the academy, burning everyone and everything to the ground.

They demand to be set loose. To make them all suffer like she has.

They are bloodthirsty for revenge and retribution.

I bunch my hands into tight fists and wrestle them down.

That isn’t going to help the girl. It will only make things worse.

But the image of her won’t leave me alone. She needs to be healed. Damn Beaufort and his stupid arrogance. Damn Dray and his stupid antics.

And damn me.

She doesn’t trust us enough to let us heal her. She’d rather suffer instead. And there isn’t one single thing I can do about it. I can’t even drag her to the commoner’s clinic and insist she be seen to.

I’m useless. All I can do is stand here and watch over her. The rain falls heavily on my head and slides down my face.

My gloves feel especially tight tonight, my skin itchy against the leather and damp with warm perspiration. I have the sudden urge to strip them right off my hands and live with the consequences. To let my shadows do their worst after all.

I have an urge to find her. To let my magic …

I close my eyes. A million voices shout and scream inside my skull and her bright green eyes burn back at me.

The sound of footsteps slapping on the wet cobblestones sucks me back into the present.

It’s her. Huddled in a pathetic winter coat, picking her way through the puddles .

What is she doing? Seeking out treatment? Coming to find us to be healed? Making her way to the clinic?

But she turns the wrong way, heads in the opposite direction.

I follow at a safe distance, hugging the darkness, watching as she pulls the coat more tightly around her tiny frame.

The thin leather of her boots does not protect her feet, instead they soak up the water, turning a dirty gray and damp marks the back of her coat.

She turns right, right again, left and then she’s at the tallest tower of the academy, the one reserved for teaching.

Tonight its windows are dark, the classrooms empty, no one is learning today.

Nonetheless, she pushes against the door with her shoulder, groaning as she does, and steps inside. What the hell is she doing?

I can’t follow after her. I’d have to get too close to her. She’d know I was there.

Instead, I remain out of sight, watching as the doorway swallows her inside.

And then I’m left standing and staring at the doorway as more rain cascades down on my head. Even to me, the walls and the door of this tower are impenetrable. I can’t hear what’s happening inside. I can’t see and I can’t feel either.

Instead, I’m left outside and alone as always, waiting, my bitter imagination my sole companion.