Page 10 of Storm of Shadows

“Huh?” he says, watching me cram the piece into my mouth.

“Not smart enough for Granite Quarter? Is that why you’re a disappointment?”

“No,” he says gravely, “not – who knows the fuck what – for Iron Quarter.”

“Oh,” I say, my cheeks warming. Based on his appearance, I'd assumed he was from Granite Quarter. I don’t like it when people make assumptions about me but I guess I’m guilty of doing just that.

I try not to, but I wolf that small piece of cake down quickly, licking the crumbs from my fingers when I’m done. I haven’t eaten since the evening before yesterday and even my nerves aren’t dampening my hunger.

“Here, have it all.” He hands me the entire piece.

“I can't,” I say.

“Slate Quarter, right?” he says, holding his hands way above his head when I try to pass the food back.

“How did you guess?” I ask just as flatly, taking another bite of the cake. I’m not sure I care if it is poisoned. It tastes so good and has my stomach rumbling in appreciation.

“Oh, you know,” he says casually, “the general look of despair and malnutrition.” He waves his hand in my direction.

I snort laugh, spraying crumbs real classily from my mouth and nose.

“I’m Fly, by the way,” he says. “As in the act of, not the small annoying buzzing insect. Obviously.”

I laugh again. It’s a long time since anyone’s made me laugh, since I found anyone remotely funny. It feels good, even if it hurts my ribs. Those nerves that have me tightening my shoulders and clenching my jaw, relax just a little.

“Briony,” I say through gritted teeth, wincing against the pain.

He frowns. “Are you sure those fuckers didn’t catch you last night?”

“Shush,” I say, swinging my head around in mock horror. “You can’t let anyone hear you call them that. They are our esteemed and respected betters.”

“Still fuckers though,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say. “But, like I said, this wasn’t them. This was from before.”

“Before?”

“I wouldn’t give my lunch up to one of the fuckers I traveled with from Slate Quarter. Not that I had any lunch to give him.”

“Not got a lot of friends in Slate Quarter then?”

I hesitate, then shake my head. Maybe I’m opening myself up here, showing him my weaknesses – ones he could use against me. Then again, he’ll learn soon enough that I have no friends. It’ll be damn obvious.

“Yeah, same,” he says.

I stare at him, finding it hard to believe. Okay, so he’s not some muscle-man like Stanley or the shadow weaver from last night. He definitely could do with eating more of this cake. But he has a warm face – all smiles and bright eyes plus he’s funny and friendly. How can he not be popular?

As if reading my thoughts, he adds: “Unless you’re able to pump iron or run a sprint in less than a millisecond, nobody’s interested.”

“You can’t do either of those things?”

“Nope. Can you?”

“Never tried.”

I mine the handkerchief for any remaining crumbs, then fold it up neatly and pass it back to Fly.

“You must be pretty good at running if you made it to the trees to hide before any of those …” I pause, “fuckers caught you.”