Page 44 of Taste of Thorns

I soon realize that, despite his declarations that everyone is an artist, Fly has given me the easiest and safest job as well as step-by-step instructions, while he tackles all the intricate details of his design.

“How do you even think up all this stuff, Fly?” I ask him, as I drag my brush back and forth over the wood, turning it from a dull brown color to a bright, electric blue.

“What stuff?” he says, chewing on the end of his paintbrush as he considers the shapes he’s creating.

“This design, the dress, the kite?”

“It’s just how my weird and wonderful brain operates. Ideas are popping up all the time. I just wish I had more opportunities to actually implement them.”

“You can make me another dress if you want?” I offer, totally selflessly.

“Cupcake, if I could get my hands on some material, I would. Your wardrobe is atrocious.”

“My wardrobe is mostly what Clare could spare me.”

“And Clare’s clothes totally suit her. She has the geek look down to a fine art. It’s very cute. No wonder she’s snagged herself a guy already. Do you know how many men have that whole librarian/hot teacher fantasy thing going on? Oh, wait,” he says, flicking paint at me, “you totally know about that fantasy, right, Miss I’m-screwing-the-hot-professor.”

“Information which should not be broadcast everywhere, remember?” I say, flicking paint back at him and peering towards the staircase.

“Don’t worry. Your dirty little secret is safe with me. But this is why you need new clothes. You’re hot property now. You need clothes to match.”

“Me? Hot property?” I giggle.

“Don’t do that,” he wags his finger at me, “you may not be my favorite snack, but there’s clearly something about you that these boys like.”

“Probably the fated mate thing.”

Fly shakes his head. “There was the not-so-nice hottie from Slate too, wasn’t there? He’s not a mate. You’re definitely hot stuff, Cupcake. Don’t knock it.”

To be honest, I rather like the idea of some new clothes. I am fed up of walking around in a mismatched collection of clothes – most of which are too small for me. If I asked the Princes, I’m sure they’d buy me new clothes. I get the impression they have more money than they can spend. But I am not Odessa. I don’t want to rub the academy’s noses in my good fortune. I’d much rather have my friend make me clothes, especially as he enjoys it.

“Where do you usually find material?”

“My sister-in-law usually buys the stuff when I’m making her something. But she already sent me that dress. Trust me, that’s her one good deed done for the year. I’ll have to keep looking. Maybe we could swipe some old curtains from one of the classrooms.”

“Err, great?” I say with no enthusiasm. Dressing in curtains does not sound sexy in any shape or form.

“Don’t be like that. There are some gorgeous velvet curtains in the Madame’s classroom.”

“You want to steal the Madame’s curtains?” I squeak.

“No, I enjoy being alive. But I can dream about it.”

The mural on the door quickly falls together, and I see how bold and outrageous the design is; with swirls of color and geometric shapes, embracing and complementing the word scrawled on my door. I totally love it.

“This is incredible, Fly,” I tell him, as I stand back and admire his work. He stands back too, wiping paint from his face.

“Hmmm,” he says.

“It is!” I fling my arms around him and squeeze him tight. “You’re so talented!”

“Yeah,” he says, with a little sadness. “Just not in the right way.”

“In exactly the right way,” I whisper, squeezing him even tighter.

Chapter Thirteen

Briony