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Chapter Thirty-Seven

B riony

Turns out it isn’t only the sex I miss about the Princes.

I also realize that despite what I may have thought, the presence of those three shadow weavers must have been acting as some kind of protection. With them gone, a lot more people have accidentally barged into me, tripped me in the hallways or intentionally elbowed me over the last three weeks.

I go out of my way to avoid Odessa – even if she’s seemed less murderous since I punched her in the throat – even if my threat to spread retaliatory rumors stopped her in her tracks – I’m not taking any chances.

I also avoid Linette – the remaining Smyte twin.

While she’s never attacked me like her sister has, and while she seems a lot quieter without her sister around, I’m not taking any risks there either .

There are some people I can’t avoid though – even if I wish I could.

Madame Bardin.

She seems fixated on finding reasons to give me detentions in every single one of her lessons.

She doesn’t attack or interrogate me in any of these, but she does sit, smoking her cigarettes and glaring at me as I’m made to wash out class equipment, scrub classroom floors or empty and dust all the cupboards.

“Your company really is tedious,” she mutters, stubbing out her cigarette at the end of my fourth detention in a row.

“And despite what others may say, you smell revolting, reptilian even.” She curls her lips in disgust. “I’d also venture that you’re not very bright.

And you’re obviously a weakling.” She sighs.

“I don’t know why they go through the pretense of sending Slate children to the academy.

” She emphasizes the word, her violet eyes flashing.

“We all know where you’re going to end up. ”

This evening, she has me scrubbing the floorboards. Usually they are spotless and gleaming. Tonight, they’re covered in mud and other questionable stains I’m pretty sure she added for effect.

I’m not used to scrubbing floors anymore, and it doesn’t take long for my hands to sting from the scalding-hot water, that mysteriously never seems to cool.

It’s clear the sacred promise is preventing her from torturing me outright like she’d like to. It’s not stopping her completely though. She’s finding other ways, testing the boundaries of that promise.

I stare down at my raw hands as I scrub the stained cloth over a patch of ingrained dirt.

Beaufort and the others believe this idea that I’m their fated mate .

Wouldn’t that be my ticket out of Slate Quarter?

Three shadow weavers as powerful as the Princes would want their fated mate with them – not languishing in the worst Quarter of the realm.

It’s not as if they’d lower themselves to visit me there.

Does that mean I’ll be coming to Onyx Quarter with them?

Inwardly, I laugh at my own naivety.

Of course not. This will all turn out to be a game. A way to raise my hopes, only for them to be crushed cruelly.

“I said,” Madame says, strolling towards me and stopping right in front of me. I stare down at her boots. Polished, expensive leather. Her feet bent in an ugly angle to accommodate the three-inch heel. “We all know which Quarter you’re heading back to, don’t we Slate girl?”

I lift my head, my gaze skirting up her voluptuous body to her twisted face.

“I guess that will depend on my performance in the next few trials.”

Madame glowers down at me. “I don’t know who helped you in that maze or how,” she hisses, “but you won’t be so lucky next time. I’ll be sure of that. You’ll be on your own and we all know how that will go.” She glances down at the floor. “Can’t even remove a bit of mud from the floor. Pathetic.”

She swings back her foot and kicks over the boiling hot bucket of water. I have to scurry backwards to ensure I’m not scalded.

“You can leave once it’s all clean.” She swings around and saunters towards the door. As she does, I wish with all my heart I had the power to make her slip in those stupid shoes and land on her ass on the wet floor.

As I’m thinking about it, I can hardly believe my eyes.

Her foot slides, her legs slip from underneath her, and she falls backwards, crashing with a thump on her backside.

Did … did I do that?

I stare down at my hands.

Impossible.

It was just a coincidence.

Madame Bardin screeches, tugging off the offending boot and hurling it in my direction. I duck as it sails over my head and hits the far wall with force.

“You silly little bitch,” she says, “can’t you do anything right? It’s a simple job and yet you …”

But I don’t hear the rest of her words, because I’m somewhere else entirely. Dark and cold.

But safe.

Safe.

Where no one can hurt me.

I don’t know how long I stay there but when I jerk back to myself with a sudden inhale of air, I’m in the classroom alone, Madame and her boots gone and the water puddled on the floor stone cold.

How long was I out?

I shake myself, squinting at the window. It’s pitch black outside. I’ve probably missed dinner and Blaze will be flapping around my room like a wild thing, desperate to get outside for his evening flight.

I groan. My body is stiff and cold. In fact, I’m shivering. Or am I shaking?

I rub my frigid hand down my face. It was her words – so similar to Muriel’s as I kneeled before her. It was all too familiar and triggered something inside me, some response.

The Madame is right, after all. I am broken and it makes no sense that I would be the fated mate of the Princes. No sense that the stone – that Blaze – would call me like he did. I’m damaged and messed up. Incapable even of avenging my sister’s death.

I pick up the rag and, quickly as I can, scrub away the remaining patch of dirt and mop up the water, before hurrying back to my room.

At dinner the next day, I explain to Fly and Clare about what happened – leaving out the part where, for one ridiculous moment, I thought I’d been the one to make Madame fall.

“Sounds like you had a panic attack,” Clare says, blinking behind her glasses. “Which isn’t surprising. The Madame is pretty foreboding.”

“A panic attack?”

“Uh huh,” Clare says.

“Soldiers have them all the time back in Iron Quarter, Cupcake,” Fly says, resting his hand on mine. “Of course, they don’t call them that back home.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s usually because they’ve been through some traumatic event.”

“Or just struggling to cope,” Clare pipes up.

“I’m not struggling,” I say, poking at the crust of my soggy pie.

“You lost your sister, though. That must have been traumatic,” Fly says softly.

I nod. But I know that isn’t the reason for what happened last night.

It was Muriel. It was what Muriel did to me.

Fly squeezes my hand. “Anyway, I have a feeling all the detentions will end once the Princes return.”

“Yeah, although I don’t like having to rely on them being around not to fall apart.”

“There’s nothing wrong with relying on people,” Fly says. “Or trusting them.”

I nod. Deep inside, I know he’s right. It’s just hard to unlearn years and years of behavior that has kept me safe, if alone and unhappy.

Clare sighs and looks off toward the boy she’s been mooning over. “I’d happily rely on them.”

“Have you asked him yet?” I ask. It’s been weeks and she still hasn’t plucked up the courage, inventing new and ever ridiculous excuses not to every time I raise the topic.

Her gaze flicks to Fly, her cheeks redden, and she shakes her head.

Fly’s eyes narrow. “Ask who what?”

Clare lays her forehead on the table and folds her arms over her head.

“She wants to ask that boy over there if he’d like to have dinner with her.”

“So why doesn’t she?”

“Too scared,” Clare says, her voice muffled.

“Don’t be dumb,” Fly says, taking a hold of her hand and attempting to yank her to her feet. They spend a few minutes tussling. “Jeez, you’re stronger than you look. Also, everyone is starting to look.”

Immediately, Clare stops resisting and lets Fly pull her to her feet.

“Let’s go talk to him,” Fly suggests.

“I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll think of something,” Fly says, not releasing her arm and dragging her towards the boy’s table.

I watch transfixed from the safety of our table, both cringing on Clare’s behalf and willing her forward.

Fly begins the conversation and at first Clare shuffles on her feet, her face the color of a tomato, saying very little.

But the boy she likes smiles at her with genuine affection and soon she’s speaking, in fact she’s so engrossed in her conversation she doesn’t notice Fly slip away.

He returns to the table with a triumphant little bow.

“Wowsers,” I mutter, “that was quick work.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m blessed with the art of small talk. It’s a talent.”

“And yet you have so few friends,” I tease.

“That’s because my stupid Quarter doesn’t appreciate talents like mine. Maybe I should embark on a career as a matchmaker or something.”

“Is that a thing?”

“It should be. I could set up a little service here, offer up my skills – for a fee of course.”

“I don’t think you want to get yourself mixed up in the drama of other people’s love lives.”

“Oh, yes I do!”

“You’re crazy!”

“Well, duh,” he says. “Why else would I be friends with you?” I give him the finger and he blows me a kiss. “Now, are you scuttling off to your room again to be a loner or are you actually going to spend the evening with me and Clare for once?”

I motion towards our friend who is now sitting around the table with the boy in question – his friends all having made themselves scarce. “I don’t think she’s going to be hanging out with you tonight. Or ever again,” I add, spotting some serious footsie business happening under the table.

“The girl is on the way to losing her V card,” Fly says, then focuses back on me. “This makes it even more imperative that you hang out with me. I’m not spending my Saturday evening alone. ”

“I’m sure you could find that redhead–”

“Cupcake!” He looks at me earnestly. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. I’m not doing this to be a bitch.”

“Then, why?” He pouts at me and I realize I have been a bitch. Fly deserves to know the truth. I also need to trust people more, didn’t he just say that?

“Okay,” I say, “I’ll show what’s been keeping me tied to my room–”

“Tied to your room, or tied up in your room?” he asks. The memory of Beaufort restraining me in his bed using his shadow magic floats right to the front of my mind, but I bat it away. Not helpful. “Just promise you won’t freak out.”

“Jeez, Cupcake,” he says, intrigued, “what the hell is it?”