Page 45 of Taste of Thorns

The next morning, one look at my door has me feeling a lot better about life. Who cares if people think I’m a slut? Like Fly said, they’re probably just jealous, and it’s not like I’m doing an Odessa, rubbing my status as a thrall in everyone’s faces.

However, that confidence doesn’t last long, when I enter the canteen and everyone is once again gossiping. To be honest, at this stage, it’s getting pretty tiresome.

“I wish they’d quit whispering about me,” I moan, as I drop my tray onto the canteen table and slump into the seat beside Clare.

She looks up from a bowl of untouched porridge. Her glasses are all fogged up and her face is as pale as the snow on the ground outside.

“I don’t think they’re talking about you.” There’s a tremble to her voice.

“What’s wrong, Clare Bear?” Fly says, anxiously, sliding onto the remaining chair.

“Didn’t you hear?” We look at each other and shake our heads. “Esme Jones.”

I recognize the name, although I can’t picture the girl. However, Fly seems to know who she’s talking about – which isn’t that surprising. Fly seems to know everyone!

“The girl from Granite who is even smarter than you?” Fly says. “What about her?”

“She’s dead.”

My fork falls from my hand.

The room swims in front of my eyes and my ears ring.

Dead?

I knew it was coming. Kids die in the academy every year. It isn’t uncommon. Clare’s friend has been stuck in the clinic since the day we arrived. I nearly died myself. My own sister was killed here.

It’s still a shock. Like I almost believed it wouldn’t happen, that it couldn’t.

Despite all the crap the academy throws at us, my time here has been a lot better than it ever was back in Slate. I have friends and companionship, possibly even love. I have powers I didn’t know I did and a dragon who seems to be rather attached to me flying around in the forest.

It was easy to forget that the academy is dangerous. To pretend for just a second that the hardships of our existence were a figment of my imagination, that people aren’t suffering daily at the academy and across the realm, especially back home in Slate Quarter.

“How?” I say quietly.

“She was badly injured in the trial.”

“The trial was days ago!”

“And we’re only just finding out?” Fly says outraged. “Did we miss some kind of announcement …”

“She was in the clinic. But they couldn’t save her. She passed this morning. Apparently there’s going to be an announcement or something.”

“Stars, if it was a shadow weaver who was killed, we’d all be forced into three days of mourning,” I mutter.

“How did it happen?” Fly asks. “How did she die?”

Clare shrugs pathetically and sniffs. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does. They’re not sharing the details.”

I lower my untouched toast from my mouth. “Was she treated in the ordinaries’ clinic or the shadow weavers’ clinic?”

“I’m not sure,” Clare says, “she was so badly injured no one was allowed to see her. Not even her girlfriend.”

“I bet it was the ordinaries’ clinic,” I murmur, guilt swimming through my belly. If I’d been taken there after Odessa and her gang attacked me, I may not have made it out alive. My injuries were so bad only shadow weaving magic could save me. I doubt Esme Jones was awarded that luxury. “I wonder how hard they tried to save her. Another ordinary kid. Who cares, right?”

I toss my toast on to my plate and push it away.

“I’m sure they tried their best,” Clare says, sniffing again.