Page 105 of Storm of Shadows

“It’s beautiful,” I tell Fly as the three of us stand and watch it.

“It’s not bad,” he says.

“You and your grandpa used to make them?”

“Yeah, he showed me how. He was different too. We’d disappear together and for a moment I’d feel like maybe I did belong somewhere. After all, if the kite could escape all the way up there in the sky among the birds and the wind and the clouds, maybe I could belong somewhere just as crazy.”

“Granite’s not that crazy,” Clare says matter-of-factly. “It’s actually pretty boring.”

“Maybe I won’t fit in there either, then,” Fly says, a little sadly.

I lean my head against his shoulder.

“Do you want a go, ladies?” he asks us both.

“I’m barely managing to remain upright,” Clare tells him. “I cannot operate another vessel as well.”

“How about you, Briony?”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to break it.”

“Kites are meant to be broken. That’s what my grandpa always said.” He passes the string to me. “Hold it tight.”

I’m thankful for the warning. The kite tugs against the string much more firmly than I expected, attempting to break free, and the whole line vibrates with tension.

We’re so engrossed in watching the kite dance above our heads, we don’t see the Smyte twins crossing the moorland from the woods, heading our way, until they’re almost upon us, their wild long hair caught in the wind and the soles of their boots caked in mud.

Where the hell did they come from?

Their faces are almost identical but I’m beginning to be able to tell them apart. Henrietta’s hair falls more to the left and shehas the tiniest of scars above her right eyebrow. Lynette blinks a little more than her sister and talks less.

“Oh look,” Henrietta says to her sister, loud enough to ensure we can hear. “How quaint. They’re flying a kite.”

Lynette giggles. “One they patched together themselves by the looks of it.”

“Now don’t be cruel, Linny. They don’t have magic for these things, do they? Poor pathetic little souls.”

She adopts an exaggerated expression of sympathy, curling down her bottom lip, but then her gaze lands on me. Her eyes narrow immediately.

“If it isn’t that little bitch from Slate Quarter. The one who thinks she’s worth more than she is.”

Clare gasps. She was wholeheartedly convinced Thorne’s speech the other day would end all the abuse directed at me. She’s shocked to find the opposite.

I am not. I knew it would only make it worse. I know how people like the Smyte twins work.

It doesn’t deter Clare though. My mild little friend – who possibly had all her sense pickled by alcohol last night – stares at Henrietta and says, “You can’t talk to her like that.”

Henrietta’s face turns ugly. I doubt anyone has ever told her she can’t do something – certainly not a commoner.

“What did you just say to me, scum?”

Clare immediately realizes her mistake and I step in front of her protectively.

“I-I-I-I just meant that Thor–”

“Are you still talking to me?!” Henrietta roars. “Who the hell do you think you are to dare to presume to tell me what I can and can’t do? Do you know who I am?” We all look at her silently, sensing it would be better not to speak. “Well, do you?”

“We know,” Fly says.