Page 152 of Storm of Shadows

I knew it and yet, is it crazy that that hurts? Had I begun to believe that they truly saw something in me no one else did?

Stupid girl; stupid, stupid girl. Of course there had to be an ulterior motive.

These are shadow weavers. They only care about themselves. They’re only out for themselves. The rest of us – we’re just dispensable. Collateral damage – that’s what Beaufort called us.

Do I want to know what that ulterior motive is? Hell yeah! But I won’t play Beaufort Lincoln’s games.

I don’t know what the hell went on in that maze – why I was in there far longer than I should have been, why I wasn’t whiskedout when my life was in danger, why Madame Bardin chose to attack me like that – Madame Bardin! A teacher!

Turns out the Princes aren’t the only thing I was correct about. This place has secrets to hide. This place is not all it pretends to be. I was right to be distrustful.

I was right to hide the truth about my sister.

I don’t trust those in charge of the realm. I don’t trust those running this academy. I don’t trust shadow weavers. I certainly don’t trust the Princes. They’ve been keeping secrets of their own. For all I know, they were responsible for what happened in that maze. For all I know, my sister is the reason they want me close.

No, from now on, I’m keeping all my secrets to myself. I won’t be sharing anything at all. And that includes my biggest secret of all.

I unlock my room and rush inside, skidding across the floor and halting in front of the wardrobe. I fling back the doors and pull out the blankets and covers, finding my bag buried at the bottom.

The pull is even stronger than before, even more incessant. Just like it was the very first day – that day we buried my sister and the grief had drowned me in its darkness, the day I’d fled away from my home, from my dad and into the forest, and there I’d first felt it. This strange sensation – forcing my footsteps right towards it. Pulling me its way. Calling to me.

I kneel down on the hard floor and drag my bag carefully onto my lap. My hands are shaking as I draw the zipper down and pull open the bag, then I reach inside.

As always the stone is warm against my palms as I heave it out of its hiding place with both my hands and into my lap. My heartbeat slows and the warmth in my stomach reverberates throughout my body as I do.

The stone is oval shaped, the size of a loaf of bread, only heavier, much heavier. It’s a deep black but its surface is smooth – like polished coal. I sweep my palms over it, turning it in my hands and then I understand why it’s called me, why it’s beckoned me here.

How long have I owned this stone? How long have I kept it hidden? Nine long years I’ve guarded it. Since that day we buried my sister.

But tonight something is different. Something has changed.

Along the surface of the stone run two fine fissures.

The stone is cracking – cracking open.

Yeah, perhaps I’ve been lying all along … perhaps I’m not the girl they think I am … perhaps I’m not so ordinary after all.

*** End of book 1 ***