Page 29 of Taste of Thorns (The Firestone Academy #3)

Chapter Twenty-Six

B riony

Every time I think I’m that much closer to learning the truth about my sister’s death, to understanding what in all the realm is going on at this academy, I hit a stupid and very solid brick wall.

Because, despite the death of Esme Jones, despite the fact that Professor Cornelius hinted that it is often the most talented students who die in the trials, students like my sister, I’m no closer to actual answers.

It frustrates me all through lessons the next day and I’m barely aware of the chatter around me or the information imparted by the various teachers.

The Madame has to be behind all of this, doesn’t she? Who else could it be? And yet, as hard as I try, I can’t remember my sister ever mentioning the Madame in the few letters I did receive from her. I don’t even know for sure that the Madame was at the academy at the same time as my sister.

By the time I return to my room after dinner that evening, I’m so incredibly frustrated I could scream. I stump around my room, snapping off my uniform and flinging the clothing across the room before collapsing down in a huff on my mattress. As I do, my heel hits the object hiding under my bed.

The yearbooks I took from the library.

I jump right back up onto my feet feeling incredibly stupid.

Of course! I have a source at my fingertips – right under my bed – with exactly the information I’m searching for.

I lower myself onto my stomach and reach under my bed, sliding out one of the record books.

I heave it onto my lap once again and flick through the pages.

There are so many of them with never-ending detailed recordings.

I don’t know how I’m ever meant to find what I’m looking for.

It’s like hunting for a needle in a haystack.

Or a book in a magical library!

I yank on pants and a sweater, sling on my winter coat, step into my boots and hook the book under my arm.

A few minutes later, shivering from the cold, and damp from the snow, I reach the library. Dark and empty tonight. I’m meant to be meeting Fox, but he’s going to have to wait. I need my answers and I can’t wait any longer for them.

I hover by the door, listening out for anyone who might be in there. When I’m confident, the place is indeed empty, I step inside, the lights flickering on as I do. I take that as a good sign – that the library may actually be happy to see me.

“I know you’ve already done a lot to help me,” I announce, standing beneath the spinning chandelier, “and that I keep coming back for more and more help. But do you think you could help me one more time?”

The floorboards creak and bookshelves groan but as no books come hurtling towards my head, I take it the library is willing to hear my request.

I lay the tome on the floor in front of me and step back.

“I’ve been reading these books, studying them with Clare,” the lights above me flicker at the mention of my friend’s name; the library – just like my pet dragon – seems to have a crush on her, “but it’s taking too long.

This is urgent. People’s lives might depend on it.

” I swallow. “Including mine. So, Library, can you tell me, did Madame Bardin have any encounters with my sister, Amelia Storm, while she was at the academy?”

At first nothing happens and I think I’ve wasted my time and risked pneumonia for nothing. Then the cover flips over and the pages turn rapidly, before halting suddenly.

I kneel down and read the page.

It’s an account of a lesson.

A lesson conducted by Madame Bardin.

A lesson my sister attended.

Before I’ve finished reading, the pages start turning again.

The next account is another lesson. Then another. It’s clear from the descriptions that my sister had caught the Madame’s eye. There are exchanges between them. The Madame invites my sister to her room. They talk about home, about me. Madame says Amelia has a bright future ahead of her and then …

The pages turn again, stopping at the page I ripped out.

Oh shit!

The chandelier swings manically, the lights flash on and off, the bookshelves rush across the floor and I’m being herded towards the door.

“I’m so sorry,” I plead, “I needed the page. I didn’t mean any harm.”

But my pleas fall on deaf library ears. And soon I’m shoved through the doorway, the door slamming right in my face.

I sigh.

“I really am sorry,” I whisper, laying my forehead against the hardwood.

Just when I was getting somewhere. Just when the book was about to reveal what actually happened.

I stand up straight.

But it doesn’t matter.

I know for sure now.

My heart hammers in my chest. For the first time, for the first time in nine long years, I may finally have my answers.

Because Bardin had her sights on my sister.

Like Esme Jones.

And if my suspicions are correct, like someone else I know too.