Page 72 of Taste of Thorns

“Of course, some historians believe that there is always some truth to these old sayings.” I peer back at him. His eyes seem to twinkle behind his spectacles. “And it does seem to be the most promising students more often than not.”

“You’ve been here a long time, haven’t you, Professor?” I say.

“Yes, almost fifty years,” he says with a self-deprecating smile. “They’ve been trying to persuade me to retire for a long time. But teaching keeps the old cogs turning. And what would I do holed up in Onyx Quarter?”

“Has it always been like this?” I ask. “Have the most talented students always been the most likely to die?”

“It’s hard to remember. Of course, the year I was at the academy, only one boy died – a rather weedy fellow who fell from one of the towers.” He scratches his head. “I always fancied he jumped. Young people can be so cruel.” He meets my gaze through his smeared spectacles. “Shame, I rather liked him.” He smiles. “But these deaths have become more common in recent years.”

“Why do you think it is that it happens, the deaths, I mean?” I ask him next.

“You appear an intelligent young woman Miss … erm …”

“Storm.”

“I’m sure you are aware of the dangerous world we live in. The trials are set to test you, to push you to your limits, to determine what you are capable of facing and withstanding out there in the real world. The threat has become more dangerous and so the trials have become so too.”

“Yes, but don’t you find it strange then that the most capable kids are the ones who end up dead?”

“Not always. Just as many less capable students die.”

I look at Fly in frustration.

“Do you suspect anything strange is going on at the academy?” Fly asks.

The old man chuckles. “Always! Always has been, always will be. Young people find infinite ways of being strange. Only yesterday, I had a young woman in my class with purple hair and a ring through her nose. Imagine.” He shakes his head, then peers at his watch. “You’re going to be late for your next class.”

“Thank you for your time,” I say.

“I’m always happy to answer students’ questions,” he says, then adds as we’re turning away, “especially the bright ones.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Briony

At dinner we tell Clare about what the old professor had to say. She’s not convinced there’s anything to it.

“Professor Cornelius thought I was his granddaughter the other day,” Clare says, “he’s confused more often than not.”

“You didn’t see the way his eyes were twinkling – it’s like he was trying to give us a hint or something,” I mumble.

Clare adjusts her glasses, giving me a look that tells me she thinks I’m about as confused as the professor is.

“I agree with Briony,” Fly says.

“For once,” I mutter.

“I think the whole thing smells rotten.”

“Exactly! Clare,” I say, addressing my friend, “do you know Esme’s girlfriend at all?”

“Naomi?” She wrinkles up her nose. “Not really.”

“I do,” Fly pipes up.

I turn my head to stare at him. “You do? But she’s from Granite, isn’t she?”

Fly tsks. “I do have other friends, you know. Several in fact. Although most of them materialized when it became known I made your ball dress. I’ve had ‘friends’ wanting me to alter pieces of clothing or design outfits ever since.”