Page 136 of Storm of Shadows

“So what?”

“It’s not safe out there.”

“Because other shadow weavers might come for me? Like they did my sister, you mean? You know what, I think you’re the monsters!” He glares at me. “I made it here on my own tonight, didn’t I? I’ve survived the last twenty-one years just fine. I can look after myself.”

“Really because all the black eyes, broken noses and sprained ankles suggest otherwise. And as I understand it, they weren’t from shadow weavers.”

I’m half tempted to tell him about the way Henrietta struck me with lightning, but I am done with this conversation.

I storm towards the door.

“This is over,” I tell him, with my hand on the door knob.

“No, it’s not. This won’t ever be over.”

I open my mouth to argue with him, but it’s pointless. He’s as stubborn as I am. I’m not going to waste my time arguing over the point. This was a mistake. A huge one.

I’ve been keeping my sister’s death a secret for a reason. I don’t know what happened to her and I don’t know why she was killed. There’s a possibility I could be in danger too.

I trusted him. What a fool I am! Because, he just dismissed my sister’s death as meaningless as if it was no more important than breaking a vase or stepping on a snail. He is as conceited and cruel as I first suspected.

From now on I’m going to have nothing to do with him or his brothers – no matter the cost.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Briony

I storm back to my tower so angry I could trash my own room tonight, shaking so hard I can barely unlock my own door.

I want to scream. I want to tear everything down.

This world is so unfair, so twisted, so corrupt. It took my mother and my sister. It broke my father and gave me a woman that abused me. And now it wants to torture me some more.

I throw myself on the bed and pummel my fists and my legs against the hard mattress, hitting as hard as I can, until I’m choking on my own strangled breaths and the tears hurtle down my cheeks.

I’m such a fool. What did I think would happen? That he’d believe me? That he’d help me? That he’d understand?

He is a shadow weaver. He’ll never understand what it’s like to have your only hope ripped away, to have the most precious person in your life torn from you. I shouldn’t have trusted him.

I lie there sobbing until there are no more tears to cry and the tower bell strikes five in the morning.

And then I stop.

This is pathetic and hopeless and ridiculous.

There is nothing to be gained from feeling sorry for myself. Might as well use all this anger, channel it somewhere useful.

I settle on the floor with my notebook and pencil.

The library may be out of bounds for now but I can still attempt to make progress on the mystery of my sister’s death. I’m going to start by writing down everything I know – the indisputable facts and the ones I don’t believe, as well as everything I’ve learned about the academy since coming here.

Before I begin, I lift my bag from its hiding place in my wardrobe and, as I do every morning and every evening, check the contents.

Then I lick the tip of my pencil, press it to my page and begin.

After an hour, I’ve scribbled notes across pages and pages of my notebook. It hasn’t led me to any new insights or brainwaves but at least I feel like I’m taking action.

Fly and Clare knock on my door at seven as planned and, after gathering up all my notes, I invite them in. Both of them are still dressed in their pajamas. We planned one last cramming session before getting ready for the trial.