Page 82 of Storm of Shadows

The next morning I lie in for the first time in as long as I can remember, only emerging from my bed when Fly comes hammering on the door at 11 o’clock.

“Okay, sleepy head,” he says, crashing into the room, “you’ve slept long enough and I have been dying of curiosity out here. I need to know what happened last night.”

“Urgh,” I say, wiping the sleep from my eyes and blinking against the dim light. “Nothing happened. It was once again, completely uneventful.”

Fly’s face morphs from one of excitement, to one of disappointment.

He rests his hand on his hip. “Seriously? Nothing happened? Not even a peck on the cheek or a little hand holding? Nothing at all?”

“Nope, nothing.”

I scoot up the bed and Fly flops down on the end. He looks so deflated, I end up scrabbling around for something to tell him.

“I did go sneaking around their rooms.”

His eyes light up. “Find anything interesting?”

I consider this. “Err, no.”

Fly’s face falls again. “Oh, but I did end up pissing off Beaufort Lincoln.”

“That’s nothing new. I think you’ve irritated the hell out of him several times already.”

“No, this time I really upset him. He basically kicked me out of their tower. I think things may be officially over, once and for all.” I grin at Fly.

The relief I feel is indescribable. Things were becoming complicated with those men. I was feeling things I definitely shouldn’t have been feeling. Now it’s over I can get back to melting away into the background and discovering the truth about my sister.

Fly presses his lips together in disapproval. “Expect to collect some more black eyes, broken noses and sprained ankles then. Without their protection you are fair game. Odessa will probably try to kill you again.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say, yawning and stretching my arms over my head. “That’s what we argued about. Beaufort and the others ‘sorted her out’,” I frown, my arms falling down into my lap, “whatever that means.”

“Who cares what it means, if it gets her off your case, that’s all that matters.” He jumps off the bed. “Right, day off, remember? We can’t waste it.”

“Have you found anything for us to do?”

“Well … erm … no.” I flop back down into the bed. “But I thought we could go off exploring.” He tugs me upright. “Come on, let’s not waste the day.”

An hour later, we’re strolling around the academy campus with Clare. The day, as always, is gray and overcast, but it doesn’t stop all the other students from doing the same. It seems there really is nothing to do here but walk around aimlessly. That isuntil we notice everyone else seems to be heading in the same direction.

“Come on,” Fly says eagerly. “This could be something good.”

Neither Clare nor I are sure about that but we tag along after Fly anyway and find ourselves out by the field. Nearly the entire school is gathered out there too, most sitting on the edges of the field. Some have spread blankets, a couple seem to have carried chairs out here, everyone else either sitting on their coats or standing.

They are all peering out towards the field. I follow their gaze and the blood in my veins runs cold.

Out on the field are a group of shadow weavers. They’re playing some kind of game of tag, sprinting backwards and forwards across the field, tossing balls of shadow magic at each other, dodging and twisting away from the balls others send towards them. They’re laughing and joking but underneath there’s a sense of seriousness about them.

Despite the freezing cold weather hardly any of them are wearing shirts. Even the girls are dressed in sports bras. All of them are damp with sweat, and if the sun was actually shining, they’d be glistening. Among them, right in the center are the Princes: Beaufort, Dray and Thorne. Both Thorne and Beaufort have their shirts off displaying their impressively sculpted chests.

“Let’s go,” I say, tugging on Fly’s sleeve.

“What’s the hurry? Don’t you want to watch?” he says, eyes transfixed as he follows the shadows swirl and swerve across the clouded sky.

“No,” I say firmly, “I don’t.”

“It’s kind of beautiful,” Clare says with awe in her tone.

“It’s dangerous,” I hiss.