Page 34 of Storm of Shadows

“I-I-I’m sorry,” I stutter, unable to drag my eyes from his familiar face.

His skin is different too. The man I knew had sun-kissed skin. This man is pale as marble.

“What do you want?” he says, with obvious annoyance.

“M-m-my pen,” I say, gesturing to the one in his hand. “I dropped it.”

He turns it over in his fingers, then holds it out to me.

Like the other shadow weavers, there is an aura of magic about him, crackling in the air. But it’s different from theirs, cold where theirs is hot.

With a little reluctance – because the dude is hugely intimidating – I step forward. I reach out my hand to take the pen and in that moment an expression flickers over his face – one of amusement. It’s so similar, so unique, I know it is him.

“Fox Tudor!” I blurt out.

He jolts and the pen falls from his hand and clatters to the floor, rolling across the stone towards me.

I reach down and scoop it up from the floor and when I stand to face him again, his brow is furrowed.

“Professor Tudor,” he corrects.

Now my mouth really does fall open, so wide he probably sees right back to my tonsils.

Fox Tudor was a golden boy back in Slate Quarter –thegolden boy. Good looking, clever, athletic and charming. The full works. Everyone said he was destined for great things, so when he didn’t return home from the academy, nobody was surprised. I always assumed he’d ended up in Iron Quarter, or perhapsGranite. I never for one second considered he’d be here – at the academy, teaching. Teaching magic!

How? How could that be possible?

“They’re wrong,” he says, as if reading the thoughts in my head. “There are other ways to acquire magic in your blood.” There’s a bitterness in his tone. One I can’t understand. He can wield magic – strong magic – I saw him force those shadow weavers down into their seats. He escaped Slate Quarter. He has a position at the academy itself. What could he possibly be bitter about? The crooked odds have somehow worked in his favor.

“You’re Amelia’s kid sister,” he says, observing me with as much interest as I am observing him.

“You knew her?” I say, way too eagerly.

He shakes his head. “No, not really, she was a few years younger than me.”

My own brow furrows, trying to do the math. I was just a kid – a young one when Fox Tudor set off to the academy. How old would Amelia have been? Fifteen, sixteen? Did he really not know her?

“How … how are you here?” I blurt out, unable to help myself.

“Is it so hard to believe,” he says, “Miss … Miss …?”

He doesn’t know my name, and yet something about the way his eyes flick away from mine, tells me he does, that he’s pretending he doesn’t.

“Storm.”

An expression flickers across his face. One I hate. “Furgus’s daughter.”

“I’d better go,” I say, scurrying backwards. “I’m sorry for barging in like that.”

“You need to be careful,” he says slowly, watching me as I back out of the room.

“Wh-what?” I say, my blood running cold. Why do I feel like that’s a warning?

He points to his own left eye and then his ankle, mirroring my collection of injuries. “You need to be more careful. Watch your back.”

Chapter Seventeen

Briony