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Chapter Thirty-Three

F ox

I watch, hidden around a corner, as the selected shadow weavers pile into the waiting trucks.

No chauffeur-driven vehicles or top-range motors this morning.

It’s early and there are no crowds of admirers either.

These students are being taken for ‘training’ – to face danger and death. There’s nothing glamorous about it.

The last door slams shut and the trucks rumble into life, then chug off in single file out across the moorland until they’re lost in the early morning mist.

Wrapping my cloak around me, I turn and walk away. Is it a relief that they are gone? Damn, yes, it is.

The jealousy has been churning around in my gut, eating me from the inside out, stirring me half mad. Now, with the Princes gone, it’s not something I have to consider, not something my stupid brain has to imagine intrusively. For the time being at least, I can have some peace.

I trudge down into my classroom and watch the clock next, its hands ticking away the seconds, minutes and hours achingly slowly.

And then it’s time.

Her scent catches my attention, long before I hear the first footsteps on the stairs or the first murmur of voices, and my gaze slides to the door.

She’s last to enter – right at the rear of the line of students, tucked behind her tall friend, gaze fixed to the ground, shoulders hunched, those green eyes lost in thought.

I attempt to read her features. Is she sad that they are gone?

Happy? Relieved? I can’t convince myself either way.

She’s sleeping with them – that much I know, that much I am tormented by.

But I have no idea if she actually likes the three of them.

I watch her all the way to her seat, not giving a damn how obvious it must be, too desperate for this opportunity to soak her in to care. These moments are too fleeting after all. I will savor them for all they are worth.

Finally, when she’s retrieved her pen and notepad from her bag and lifted her gaze to meet mine, I find the strength to drag my own gaze away and focus in on my class, all waiting expectantly.

“I see our numbers are depleted this morning.” The obnoxiously large shadow weaver whose name I can never recall, his friend and one half of the set of twins for starters. I saw each of them climb into those trucks this morning.

“Do you know where they’ve gone, Professor?” one of the commoners asks me.

My gaze flicks immediately to Briony and I watch as she nibbles on her nails.

“Training assignment,” I say. I can see the curiosity shining in the students’ eyes.

They want all the gruesome and gory details but even if I were sick enough to indulge in that, I am not at liberty to share the information.

I ignore the question and begin the lesson instead, trying to teach what remains of my class how shadow magic can be amplified and strengthened with dedication and practice.

It’s a waste of time. The commoners have no powers anyway and the shadow weavers I’ve been left with are the weak sort that no amount of concentration or dedication could improve.

Towards the end of the lesson, I give them some exercises and stroll around the classroom, offering bits of advice and specific instructions.

I reach Briony and her friend last, they’re slumped on the bench gossiping and not even attempting the exercise.

“This is becoming tiresome, Miss Storm. Could you not at least pretend to show me and my lesson the respect it deserves?”

She frowns at me, chin lifted in defiance as always. “There’s no point. You know there isn’t. It’s stupid that they even make us attend these lessons. Most of us here don’t have any powers.”

“And you don’t think it might be useful to understand how magic works?”

“Why? I’m never going to use it,” she snaps back.

“But,” I say my voice lowering into a growl, “you seem to be happy to get up and personal with a bit of magic.”

Her friend’s eyes, wide and alarmed, flick between me and her.

“What’s that meant to mean?” she says, although I take it from the way her cheeks redden that she has a fair idea.

“You are a thrall, are you not? You are dating shadow weavers? You don’t think it would be to your advantage to understand how their magic works?”

She has nothing to say to that because she knows I’m right.

The bell clangs far away and around us the students begin to clear away their possessions and collect up their bags.

“I advise all of you to practice this,” I call out to them. “I’ll be testing you next lesson.”

She rolls her eyes at me as the first students filter out of the room.

Her friend nudges her, but she doesn’t move, she’s still glaring up at me.

“Aren’t they all powerful enough as it is?” she sneers at me. “Is it really necessary to make them even more powerful?”

“If we want to keep our realm safe, then yes.”

Her friend fidgets on the bench attempting to push Briony along it in the direction of the door. She refuses to budge and with a resigned sigh, her friend slings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door, leaving us alone, the door slamming shut behind him.

“Wouldn’t your time be better spent helping the weavers to better control their powers?”

“What happened to your sister, Briony, was unfortunate but rare. Accidents happen.”

“Accidents?” she scoffs. “Accidents shouldn’t be happening at all.” She stands. “And some shadow weavers are struggling – you’re the teacher in charge of teaching shadow weaving. Why aren’t you helping them?”

I consider her.

“Who exactly are we talking about here, Briony?” I ask, my voice lowering .

“No one in particular … I’ve just seen …” I raise an eyebrow. “Thorne Cadieux.”

“Thorne Cadieux,” I repeat, that jealousy sliding into life in my belly.

I knew she was sleeping with Beaufort Lincoln, Dray Eros most probably too.

But now Thorne Cadieux as well. I stroll towards my desk, straightening the pile of books on the surface, my back turned to her so I don’t have to look at her face.

“We will cover control. It will come later in the year.”

“But he needs help now. You should be helping him.”

“Me?” I say with incredulity. The boy has the one thing I want most in the world. The one thing I can’t have. Her. Why the hell would I help him? “Thorne Cadieux is an incredibly gifted shadow weaver. He doesn’t require my help. Which I’m sure he would tell you himself.”

“He does need help,” she insists. The spite and sarcasm in her voice has gone. Her tone is earnest. She really does want to help him. She really does care. “He’s struggling. His powers are dangerous, lethal.”

“Exactly. He is gifted, Miss Storm.”

“Gifted? He can’t even touch anyone!” she cries in despair. “He can’t even touch me!”

I spin around.

There’s more than friendly concern on her face. There’s despair.

I huff out a bitter laugh.

“So this is why you want me to help him. So he can touch you?”

“N-n-n-no,” she stutters, but all that color – all that blood – rushing to her cheeks tells me once again that I’m right.

I take a decided step towards her, closing the distance between us, her chin tipping back as she holds my gaze .

“And what about me?” I say, my jaw tight, my voice restricted in my throat.

Her brow crinkles. “You?”

“What if I want to touch you?” The words fall from my lips before I can stop them. I take another step closer, pulled there by the strength of her orbit. We’re so close now, I can feel the warmth of her flesh and the tickle of her breath. “And what if I can’t? Who is going to help me?”

Her mouth falls open, but that blood doesn’t leave her cheeks, it settles beneath her delicate skin, and her eyes grow darker as the black of her pupils widen.

“Do you … do you want to touch me?” she asks, her voice full of amazement and something else. Something just as dark as her gaze.

I screw shut my eyes, my hands bunching into tight fists, my toes curling inside my boots.

It’s all I want. All I can think about. All I am dreaming about. It’s consuming my every thought.

But just like Cadieux, it’s something I can’t have.

It’s just as dangerous. Just as lethal.

“Get out of my classroom, Miss Storm,” I whisper and when I open my eyes again, she’s gone.