Page 25 of Taste of Thorns (The Firestone Academy #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

B riony

It’s been a week since Esme’s death was announced and the mood in the academy remains somber and depressed.

The place wasn’t the most cheerful before the girl was killed, now it’s even less so.

There isn’t as much laughter in the hallways, there is less clowning about on the pathways and several times I catch people sniffing or wiping away tears.

Esme Jones really was well liked. Or maybe the reality of our situation has finally dawned on the other kids in the academy. This isn’t a holiday camp. It’s a dangerous place that will decide all our futures.

Professor Cornelius seems to have more faculties than I’d given him credit for, because, at the start of our next lesson, he senses the sadness in the air, removing his spectacles and sighing deeply.

“It’s always a shock when a student dies,” he says with genuine feeling. “Especially the first one. Who was it this time?”

“Esme Jones,” one of the students in the front row says quietly.

He picks up his glasses and buffs the smeared lenses on the lapel of his tweed jacket. “Oh yes, I know the one. Such a good student.” He sighs a second time and slides his glasses back onto his crooked nose. “It’s always the most promising of students who seem to die young.”

“Promising?!” Henrietta whispers loudly from the back of the classroom, although not loud enough for the elderly professor to hear. “As if!” Her sister titters and I spin on my seat and glare at them both.

“Don’t!” Fly hisses, gripping on to my arm. I guess he’s all too conscious of the damage Henrietta did to me last time we had a confrontation.

But I don’t care. I’ve survived far worse since then.

“You don’t think kids from Quarters other than Onyx Quarter can be talented then, I suppose.”

There are shocked intakes of breath across the classroom. It’s not unusual for Henrietta or one of the other shadow weavers to make rude or snide comments toward us ordinaries during class. It’s something we have to grin and bear. Today, though, I just don’t feel like doing that.

“Oh, I’m sure you all have your little talents,” Henrietta says in an infuriating patronizing tone. “What’s yours, Slate girl? Shoveling shit!”

“Ignore her,” Fly hisses again, gripping my arm even tighter.

And usually I would. In the past, I’d have gone out of my way to sink into myself and attempt to disappear.

Maybe it’s this new magic in my veins; maybe it’s the knowledge that Blaze waits for me out in the forest; maybe it’s even the confidence the Princes have instilled in me.

Or maybe, like I told the Madame, I’m no longer afraid.

“Well,” I tell her, with an equally patronizing tone, “I can tie my own shoelaces, cook my own food and make my own bed. I can even wipe my own ass. Which, I’m guessing, a pampered princess like you is incapable of.” I give her a fake little pout like I’m really sorry for her.

Fly grimaces but several other people around the classroom laugh despite their best efforts to hold it in. No one else fancies incurring Henrietta Smyte’s wrath. Just me.

“What’s that, girls?” Professor Cornelius asks, squinting our way while he fiddles with the magical device in his ear.

Henrietta ignores the professor. She’s too busy glaring at me with such hatred I’m surprised steam isn’t pouring out of her ears.

But while Henrietta might be scary and completely unpredictable, she doesn’t have the sharp tongue or the manipulation skills that Odessa did. Jeez, I am so glad that girl is gone.

I can see the wheels in Henrietta’s head spinning, searching for a suitably sharp retort and failing, debating whether to zap me with her magic instead.

However, there are witnesses here and so it doesn’t seem like she wants to take the risk.

Not when her actions will land her in trouble with the Princes.

Instead, she leaps up onto her feet, tossing her long red hair over her shoulder.

“I don’t have to sit here and be insulted like that by Slate scum like you!

” she announces, sneering down her nose at me like I’m nothing better than a pile of shit.

“It’s so disgusting that I even have to be in this room with all of these scummy students.

Just because all of you are pathetically ill-educated doesn’t mean that we are, and we shouldn’t have to endure all these stupid lessons. ”

She storms out of the classroom. Her sister hesitates for a moment, peering around the classroom, then scuttles after Henrietta.

“Yes, yes,” the professor says, still fiddling with the hearing device, “if you’re not feeling well, please do visit the clinic.”

Everybody else sits there in stunned silence, several staring open-mouthed at me.

The professor mistakes it for enraptured eagerness for his class to begin and launches into a rambling lesson about some battle between shifter clans three hundred years ago.

“Was that wise?” Fly asks me, looking nervous. “Henrietta is a dangerous enemy. She already disliked you. Now you’ve antagonized her even more.”

“I couldn’t help myself. What she said was just …” I shake my head.

“Yeah, but she says bullshit like that all the time.”

He’s right. She does. Today it got under my skin. Because I can’t stop thinking about the professor’s comment. Esme was a talented student and it’s the talented students who end up dead. Like my sister, for example.

I wait impatiently as the minutes tick by, barely hearing a word the professor says about shifter clans and their ongoing disagreements, until finally the bell clangs an hour later. We have another lesson straight afterwards, but I linger behind with Fly, waiting for the other students to leave.

The professor hasn’t noticed us still waiting in his room. I cough to get his attention but he doesn’t hear and so I step closer.

“Professor Cornelius?” I say loudly.

He jolts in his seat.

“Oh my goodness, I didn’t see you there, young lady. Whatever is the problem?”

“I wanted to ask you a question.”

“About the shifter clan wars?” he asks hopefully.

“No, about something you said earlier.”

He scratches his head. “What did I say earlier?”

“That only the most promising of students die young.”

“I said that?” he asks, looking confused.

“You did.”

He strokes his fingers down his beard. “Well, what of it? It’s just a turn of phrase.”

“Oh,” I say, disappointment slapping me hard across the face. For a moment, I thought I’d unpicked something important.

“So, it’s not just the promising students, then?” Fly says, clearly following my line of thinking.

“Of course not, unfortunately all sorts of students pass away each year. The promising and the not-so promising. Such a shame and completely unnecessary if you ask me.” He straightens the books in front of him.

I turn to Fly and he shrugs.

“Was there anything else I can help you with? If you’re interested in the clan wars, I can recommend this very interesting book. It’s a history of the realm but the section on the shifter wars is very well done in my opinion.” He yanks the bottom book from the pile and hands it to me.

“Ahh, thank you,” I say, taking it from him because I don’t want to hurt the old man’s feelings, even if I have no intention of reading the book.

Fly and I stride towards the door, reaching for the handle when the old man speaks again.

“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.”