Page 41 of Taste of Thorns (The Firestone Academy #3)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

B eaufort

As soon as I return to the academy early the next morning, I make a beeline straight for the shower.

Stripping off my clothes where I stand, leaving them in a pile by the bathroom door and ducking under the scalding water.

It burns my skin but I appreciate it. Like it’s washing away all the slime and scum from home, taking a layer of contaminated skin with it.

Did home always feel this way? Did I always possess an awareness that it was rotten and rancid? Or has my time at the academy – my time with Briony – lifted the veil from my eyes and shown me just how cold and heartless home is?

I shiver under the hot water, letting the liquid flow directly into my eyes, down my face and over my body.

Then I scrub at my flesh with soap and a brush.

When I finally feel clean, I slam off the water, step out of the cubicle and wrap a waiting towel around my waist. With the side of my left hand, I wipe away the condensation coating the mirror over the sink and glare at my reflection.

It’s done now. I’ve given Henrietta what she wanted and in return I have my information. Problem is, it wasn’t the information I was anticipating and I don’t know what to do with it.

I made Henny a promise. If I tell on Kratos, I effectively tell on her too. Plus, I won’t be responsible for that civil war I fear most. I want to protect Briony, not drive her into danger.

For now, it’s better if I nurse this information close to my chest and wait. Dray isn’t going to like that. I doubt Thorne will either. I don’t see a way around it at the present time.

I comb my fingers through my wet hair, pushing it away from my face and then I pad out of the bathroom, into my bedroom and towards the landing.

I’m in need of coffee. Lots of coffee. In fact, I’d be prepared to inject the stuff directly into my veins.

I rub at my tired eyes. Henrietta Smyte is fucking exhausting.

I step out into the hallway, cold air hitting my still-wet skin and there I halt.

Briony is there. One foot on the bottom stair, the other on the step just above, her hand on the banister. Her face is one of shock and it makes me jolt in place.

“Briony,” I say, all that disgust and revulsion, all the stress and strain, rushing away at the sight of her.

I take several hurried steps towards her. It’s early morning and I wasn’t expecting to find her here. But here she is, and isn’t that a blessed relief.

However, the girl lifts her hand, signaling for me to stop and shakes her head vigorously. The usual irritation she seems to reserve especially for me is absent. Instead, there’s a sadness I see lingering in her green eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I say, with concern.

If something bad had happened while I was away, my bond brothers would have messaged me. I left strict instructions for them to do so.

“Where have you been, Beaufort?” she asks me.

“Didn’t Dray tell you? Onyx.”

“With her?” she says, the words strangled in her throat and her usually steely countenance cracking. Immediately, I understand.

I ignore the raised hand and stroll right up to her. She’s still hovering on that step and it makes our faces almost level.

“I don’t know what you heard, I don’t know what they told you, but it isn’t true.”

“You kissed her, though. That isn’t a lie, right? People saw you together.”

“ She kissed me , Briony.”

“Because you’re so damn irresistible.” She purses her lips together and snaps her head away from me.

Is she serious? The girl must know how fucking obsessed with her I am. She must know I haven’t looked at another girl, noticed one, thought about one, acknowledged one, in weeks and weeks.

As for Henny? I want as little to do with the drugged-up psychopath as is humanly possible. The only reason I have spent time with her is to get to the bottom of what has been going on. And the reason I’ve done that is to keep Briony safe.

“Briony,” I snap in irritation. But my emotions soften when I see the way her bottom lip trembles like she’s fighting to hold back tears.

My girl. My fighter. And I remember why she is a fighter, because for so long her life has been shit.

The people who were meant to love her, to care about her, to protect her, either left or abused her in the cruelest possible ways instead.

It’s what she knows. Has she been waiting all along for it to happen with the three of us?

Does she believe deep in her heart that we’re going to hurt her or worse, leave her?

Gently, I cup her chin and turn her face towards me. Her green eyes swim with water.

“Briony, sweetheart,” I say softly. “I love you. I’m with you. I have the marks on my wrists to prove I am your fated mate. I’m never going to leave you. I’m never going to hurt you. I’m never going to want anyone but you.”

“But I don’t have those marks,” she says. “Maybe I’m not the one.”

“You are,” I say. “There’s no doubt in my mind.”

She holds my gaze, searching my eyes and I don’t look away, refusing to blink, wanting her to read right down into the depths of my soul, to see it’s stamped through with her name over and over again.

“Then why did you go? And why did you go with her? Without even telling me?”

“I didn’t have a choice. Henrietta had information. I thought it would lead me to the usurpers who are behind the attacks on you, Briony.”

“And why did that mean you had to go to Onyx? With her?”

I swallow. “You know Henrietta Smyte well enough now, sweetheart. The woman doesn’t do things out of the kindness of her heart. I had to do something in return for her.”

“Oh my stars, Beaufort,” she gasps, “what did you do?”

I puff out a laugh. “Let her paw over her favorite place in the palace. Somewhere she hasn’t been for a long time.”

Briony’s brow wrinkles. “That sounds …”

“The ancient weapon room,” I explain before she gets even more of the wrong idea. Briony looks no less confused. “I told you. The woman is a psychopath. Weapons are her catnip.”

“And did she tell you who was behind the attacks?”

I swallow. I had planned to keep this information hidden, but now I realize that, though I’ve promised not to hurt Briony, I have done every time I’ve lied, every time I’ve concealed the truth. I lean in and whisper the information I learned at the palace directly into Briony’s ear.

The color drains from her face. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” I say, stroking her chin, “so it was all for nothing. I had to endure two days in that witch’s company, hurting you in the process, and it was all for nothing.

I’m no closer to knowing who was behind the attacks, which of those treacherous bastards have been pulling the Hardies’ strings.

Although, Henrietta is in agreement with me. It has to be one of the High Lords.”

Briony shakes her head. “Henrietta is wrong. Or deceived. Or lying,” she stresses, “and you’re wrong too, Beaufort. Those men aren’t behind the attacks–”

“They are–”

“Madame Bardin is.”

As she says the word an intense pain radiates through my skull. It’s so intense, I grunt, screwing up my eyes and folding in half. Then a vision flashes through my mind.

The Madame towering over a girl.

At first, I think it’s Briony. Same lithe figure, same blonde hair, same rounded cheek bones. But then I see the eyes are wrong – brown not green.

The vision plays out in my head.

The Madame lifts her arm above her head, then brings it down sharply, lightning crackles from her fingertips, hitting the girl and striking her lifeless. Then the Madame drops to her knees, bends over the girl and sinks her fangs into the dead girl’s throat.

“Beaufort!” I open my eyes and look up into the dazzling green gaze of Briony, worry written across her brow.

I’m lying flat out on the floor of the landing, Briony hunched over me, her hand on my shoulder.

“Beaufort, are you okay?”

“Wh-wh-wh-what happened?” I slur.

“I don’t know, you just collapsed. Did you hit your head?”

I lift my hand to my crown.

The pain has gone, but the image from my vision still burns across my eyes.

“I should get some help,” she says, already beginning to twist away. I catch her wrist and drag her back towards me.

“Briony, your sister, what color were her eyes?”

“My sister?” she says, confused. “Why do you want to know? That isn’t important right now. We need to get you checked out.”

“It is important. Please tell me.”

“Brown. They were brown.”

“Then you’re right, Briony. It was Madame Bardin who killed her.”