Page 70 of Storm of Shadows

“Did I ask for your opinion, Miss Smyte? I’m not sure what gave you the impression I’m at all interested in it.” Next to me, Fly snorts in amusement. “For a shadow weaver who has been wielding all their life it may be easy. But for a shadow weaver who has never done this before, it is the most challenging first step.”

“How do we do it then?” a girl from the back row asks.

“If you have a question,” the professor says with irritation, “raise your hand.” The girl hesitates, looks around, then lifts her arm. “Yes?” the professor says, and the girl repeats her question. “It isn’t something I can instruct. If you have the ability, you will have to work that out for yourself.” Another two hands shoot up into the air. “Enough discussion!” he booms, making us all quake in our seats. “Work with your partner. See if you can achieve this.”

Of course, the shadow weavers don’t need to work at it. They’re chucking shadowy balls of magic up into the air and lounging about on the benches, yawning and otherwise being obnoxious.

It’s pretty intimidating for the rest of us, especially when they start to heckle us from the front row. Something the professor ignores. In fact, if his presence wasn’t so oppressive I’d assume he’d left the classroom all together.

“Oh my stars,” one of the twins drawls, “look how pathetic they are.”

“They really think they can do this,” her sister replies. “It’s so pathetic. They’re so desperate to be like us.”

“Not going to happen, losers,” Kratos calls out.

“If the professor was actually serious about finding shadow weavers among us,” I mutter to Fly in frustration, “he could at least give us a fighting chance and tell these idiots to shut up.”

My hands still raised in front of me where I’ve been trying to ‘feel’ the goddamn shadows, I peer towards the front of the classroom.

I catch the glint of the professor’s eyes in the darkness, and if it wasn’t so ridiculous, I’d bet my next five dinners he was staring right at me. I hold his gaze in mine for a fraction of time, and I wasn’t joking about his presence being oppressive. It’s powerful and dominant and I have to look away before something inside me explodes.

I turn my attention back to my friend.

“Why would he waste his time?” Fly says in response to my question. “They’re right, aren’t they? None of us can weave shadows. It’s pointless.”

“But …” I glance back towards the shadows. Does nobody else but me know who he really is? Where he comes from? And why doesn’t he tell them all? Prove to them that shadow weavers can come from the shittiest of places – even the Slate Quarter. “Why are we even bothering then?” I slap my hands down into my lap. “I’m giving up.”

“Miss Storm,” the voice booms from beyond. “Did I instruct you to stop?”

“No, you didn’t,” I reply. “I made the decision myself.”

A stunned silence grips the classroom. I’m guessing it’s pretty shocking to hear one of the ordinaries talk back to a teacher. Especially an ordinary from the Slate Quarter.

“I beg your pardon,” he says quietly, his voice full of venom, venom that has me trembling.

Yeah, maybe I’m not feeling so brave about that little quip. But I’ve stuck my neck out now and my stubborn streak always gets the better of me.

“I said, I decided to stop. I can’t do it. There’s no point in continuing.”

“You always give up so easily, do you?”

His words hit me square in the chest. I lift my chin. “No.”

“Urgh,” one of the twins says from the front, “can you believe her? It’s because the Princes have chosen her as their thrall. She now thinks she’s someone special. That she can go round doing what she wants and saying what she thinks. That’s not how being a thrall works, Slate scum.”

I have to say, despite what I told Clare, I’m a little taken aback by the Smyte twin’s boldness. She just insulted me to my face. Not whispered words out in the middle of nowhere with no witnesses. No, words uttered in a classroom full of students. She’s obviously not afraid of Thorne Cadieux. Or perhaps she believes herself to be untouchable. A belief that is probably fact.

“A … a … a … thrall?” the professor says, sounding utterly confounded. “Her?”

“I know. What the hell are those men thinking?” the other twin sniffs, throwing me her most evil of looks.

“But she has no collar?” He sounds just as astounded. Is he worried about offending me and by proxy, the Princes? And if he is, why? He’s a professor. A powerful shadow weaver. They’re only students – okay they are shadow weavers too, and, from what people tell me, they come from powerful families, but Ican’t imagine Fox Tudor being cowed by anyone. Not then and certainly not now.

Henrietta shrugs.

“Thrall to the Princes?” he repeats.

“Yes,” she says.