Page 20 of Storm of Shadows

I descend the grand staircase, cross the elegant entrance hall and leave the building designated for shadow weavers only. At the front of the building is a wide courtyard, a fountain in its center, stone benches circling it, and cultivated trees at the edges. I cross this too and stride along the cobbled pathways, searching for an escape, swerving away when I hear voices or footsteps, choosing the less-frequented pathways, away from the curious glances of other people.

I’m at the edge of the campus, the oldest part, where the towers are solid but crumbling, the stonework basic but strong, when I hear the sound of more footsteps – hurried footsteps. I turn looking for a different way and then there she is.

The girl herself.

The girl whose name we don’t even know but who Beaufort says should be ours.

Our thrall.

She spots me further along the pathway and freezes. Her eyes widen.

In horror? Fascination? Admiration? I don’t know. The tall towers cast the pathways in shadows and it’s hard to make out the expression on her face.

She is small. Her head barely reaches my chest. And like so many from the Slate Quarter, she is slim. Too slim. I bet she’s all jutting hip bones and exposed ribs. Her hair is yanked back from her face so tightly it’s impossible to discern its color and it stretches the skin of her face, making her look startled and cross.

I realize it disguises how pretty she is. Her features symmetrical. Her skin smooth. Her lashes thick and long. Her lips plump and soft.

This pretty little thing belongs to us.

I’ve never owned anything so pretty. So delicate. So fragile.

It makes me want to touch her. To destroy her. Nothing so beautiful deserves to exist in a world like ours.

I ball my gloved hands into tight fists, the leather stretching across my knuckles.

She spies the movement and flinches.

A sickness swims through my stomach and I take a hurried step away from her. Then another.

“I’m g-g-going to be late,” she stutters, rocking on her toes as if she wants to be going. “For dinner.”

Late?

She points up towards the clock tower – visible from any point on the campus.

“They stop serving soon.”

She doesn’t know who I am.

It’s clear.

I take another step away from her.

And then another.

It doesn’t matter.

She’ll know soon enough.

Chapter Ten

Briony

Luckily, a bell rings out at seven o’clock in the morning the next day, rousing all the academy students from their beds, otherwise I think I would have slept right through breakfast and the morning’s lessons. Although frustration about not finding that room last night kept me awake at first, the exhaustion of the last few days soon overtook me.

I haven’t slept that well for as long as I can remember. I’m guessing it was on account of the full belly – that constant gnawing sensation in my stomach – the one that keeps me awake – sedated for once.

Even though I’d quite happily lie here for the rest of the day, I somehow find the strength to drag my tired body out of my bed and to the wardrobe, where I climb into a gray tracksuit that only needs a set of stripes to have it looking like a prison uniform, comb and tie my hair back and go to knock on Fly’s door.