Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Briony
Granite Quarter is exactly how Dray described it to me, full of buildings that look just like those back at the academy, with a few industrial-looking buildings – ones Thorne tells me are laboratories – sprinkled in-between.
There are more trees here than I saw in either Iron or the main towns of Slate, plus little squares with patches of grass and benches for people to sit on.
It doesn’t have the grandeur of Onyx, the splendor or indulgence. But I’d be perfectly happy if this is where I ended up. At least, I think I would be.
I have Clare’s home address memorized. But that still leaves us with a problem – how we’re going to find that home without being spotted. We stood out in Slate Quarter in our clothes from the academy, and now we’ll stand out in Granite Quarter dressed as if we’ve come from Slate.
Clare once showed me pictures of her own Quarter. Though no one here dresses as elegantly or as brightly as those in Onyx Quarter, their clothes are of better quality, if a little drab.
“Where exactly are we?” I ask Thorne as we linger in the dark shadows. Luckily for us, it’s night, and there aren’t many people out on the streets. The darkness acts as a sort of cover of its own.
“In the university grounds,” Thorne explains. “They brought me here once. After the accident. They were trying to find ways to help me control my magic. It was one of the scholars at the university who designed my gloves.”
“Clare’s parents are doctors. I know their apartment was somewhere near the hospital building. Do you know where that is?” I ask him.
To my surprise, he does. “They took me there too. Ran some tests on me,” he says, a little too quietly for my liking.
“What kind of tests?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “It’s a long story, Nini. Not one for now.”
He sweeps his hand through the air, hiding us in his shadows, and then he sets off walking. I follow behind him.
I barely take in my surroundings, barely notice if there are people we pass.
I’m too busy inside my own head, replaying that moment – the demon attacking Clare – over and over again, looking at it from every angle, trying to determine if there was something I could have done differently, if there was a way I could have saved her life.
At the same time, I’m thinking of her parents and what I’m going to say.
I remember the night they came to tell us of my sister’s death.
It had been a night similar to the one we just left in Slate.
Bitterly cold, icy rain falling like daggers from the sky.
I’d been asleep in my little bed, but the pounding on the door had woken me.
I tiptoed out into the hallway, the cold, compacted earth frigid beneath the soles of my feet.
I’d hidden in the shadows then too. Watched and listened. My father’s broad back blocked the view of the person standing in the rain outside, but I could hear his voice clearly. The accent was refined, different from anything I’d ever heard in Slate. But despite that, I’d understood his words.
“Your daughter is dead,” he’d said simply. No empathy expressed. No sympathy either. “Died in an accident. Strayed too close to shadow weavers who were training. She was killed in crossfire.”
Again, no apology. No condolences. Just the barest information imparted.
My father hadn’t said a word. He’d just shut the door and stood there, unmoving, for what felt like forever, until the cold in my toes and in my heart became unbearable. I’d hurried back to my bed, buried myself under the covers, and wept until I had no more tears to give.
I won’t do it like that. I won’t be so cruel. I’ll tell Clare’s parents how beautiful she was. How wonderful she was. How sorry I am. How very, very sorry.
“We’re here, Nini,” Thorne says, knocking me out of my thoughts.
It’s a large building, not too dissimilar from the Town Hall back in Slate, though in much better repair. The windows are large, the walls fairly recently painted.
We check that there’s no one watching, step up to the doorway, and read the names listed for each apartment. My eyes scan down the list, like they have so many times at the academy, searching for my name, for Fly’s, and for Clare’s. Her family name sits near the bottom of the list.
“Apartment 35,” I tell Thorne.
The entranceway is locked, but I unpick it easily with my magic. Then we slip inside and climb the staircase to the fourth floor.
We stride down the corridor, ticking off the different numbers as we go until we find number 35.
The number hanging in the center of the door isn’t some metal creation.
It hasn’t been painted on the wood. It’s something that must have been crafted many years ago by a child; formed of dough, baked in the oven, painted in bright colors that have faded over time.
I glance at Thorne. “They might not be here. Clare said they were always working at the hospital.” I shuffle on my feet.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Briony,” he reminds me. “There are other people who can deliver this message. It doesn’t have to be you.”
I bite my lip and shake my head. “It does, Thorne. It does have to be me.”
I knock on the door. Everything inside my body, even the magic in my veins, is so tense, pulled so taut it feels like it might snap or shatter into a million pieces. Or maybe I already have. I feel so broken by all of this.
There are footsteps behind the door, and then it draws open.
The woman on the other side looks so remarkably like Clare it knocks the breath right out of me, and I can’t help but gasp. She blinks at us behind her glasses, squinting to get a better look at us in the dark corridor. Then she gasps too and scurries back.
“You’re that girl! The girl from Slate. The one wanted by the Empress.”
She glances up at Thorne, and her eyes widen with horror. “And you’re Thorne Cadieux.”
She opens her mouth wide to scream, and I step forward, raising my hand – an action that makes her flinch and squeeze her eyes shut, as if she thinks I’m about to zap her with my magic.
“No, wait, please,” I tell her. “It’s not what you think. It’s not what they’ve told you.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” she says. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I can’t help you.”
“We’re friends of your daughter,” I explain. “We’re friends of Clare. She never told you that?”
The woman peeks at us. She’s trembling, like she really thinks we’re a pair of psychopaths come to murder her in her bed.
“I know she writes to you,” I tell her. “Did she never tell you about me? Her friend Briony? Briony and Fly – we’re her best friends.”
The woman blinks again and then adjusts her glasses in a manner so like Clare’s that it sends a stab of pain straight to the center of my heart.
“Briony… Fly. Yes. I think she did mention you.”
I nod eagerly.
“But not him,” she adds in a rush, pointing at Thorne as she starts trembling all over again.
“Thorne is our friend too,” I explain. “Please, can we come in? We need to talk with you.”
“You’re traitors,” she hisses in a whisper. “If you’re caught in my home—”
“Please. It’s important.”
She thinks for a moment, then, taking a wide berth around us both, sticks her head out of the door, swinging her gaze up and down the corridor. Finally, she beckons us inside and shuts the door.
“These walls are thin,” she whispers, leading us through several rooms into a bedroom right in the center of the apartment. By the decor and the number of books, I’m sure it must be Clare’s. “Talk quickly. You’ve probably been seen, and if you’re caught here—”
“I’m so sorry to tell you,” I interrupt her, “that your daughter is dead.”
The words seem to ring around my ears. Your daughter is dead. Your daughter is dead. Your daughter is dead.
I feel suddenly lightheaded, the blood rushing away to my feet. The room spins, and I feel like I might hit the ground at any moment. Thorne must sense it because he reaches forward and grips my shoulder.
“My daughter,” the woman says. “My… my Clare. Dead? No. No. You’re wrong.
We’ve heard nothing of the sort. This is some tr—” Her face is swamped by shock, then it morphs into something ugly and angry.
She jabs her finger toward me. “Is this some sick game? Some sick plan of yours? My daughter is perfectly fine. I would know if she wasn’t.
And you, you stay away from her. You stay far, far away from her. ”
“I’m not lying,” I tell her. “We were in Slate Quarter. There was an attack by demons. I tried to save her—”
“What would Clare be doing in Slate Quarter?” she snaps. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s at the academy. She’s safe at the academy. Excelling at the academy. And she’s just fine. I told her to stay away from girls like you. Girls from Slate. Nothing but trouble.”
“Please, Dr. Watson,” I beg. “Please, I’m not lying.”
“She’s not,” Thorne says, his voice commanding and firm. “Your daughter died several hours ago. We tried to save her. We tried to heal her. But we couldn’t.”
“Get out of here!” she screams. “Get out of my home! Get out now!”
I glance at Thorne in alarm. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to make her believe us. This is not how I imagined it would go. Not how I wanted it to go. I’ve failed my friend all over again.
Then the woman is screaming – calling us traitors, crying for help.
I step toward her, trying to shush her, to calm her down, to explain what’s happened, but Thorne is having none of it. He grabs my arm, and with a crack of air, we’re gone. Displaced.
When my feet hit the ground again, we’re back at the academy, out on the field by the trees, the cold wind sweeping through the grounds and flattening the grass around us.
I snatch my arm away from Thorne’s grasp and take a decided step away from him.
“I failed her. I failed her again, Thorne,” I wail into the wind. “I messed up.”
“You didn’t mess up, Nini. Her mom wasn’t in a place where she was willing to listen to us.”
“I did let her down, Thorne! She’s dead because I didn’t take better care of her.
It’s my fault. All of this is my fault!” I fist my hands into balls and knock them against the side of my head.
It’s like nothing – nothing ever works out like it should.
I save Fox, and the Princes get arrested.
I stop Fly from being fucking lynched and lose Clare instead.
I can’t keep all the pieces in one place.
I can’t keep all the balls spinning in the air at once.
I can’t keep everyone safe. Tears of frustration leak from my eyes and snake their way down my face.
“I should have been there for her, I should have protected her. I’ll never forgive myself for this, Thorne. Never.”
“Briony,” Thorne says, stepping toward me and taking my shoulders firmly in his hands. “You are not responsible for us all. It’s not your job to keep us all safe – not Fox or Beaufort or Dray, not me, and not your friends. You’re placing too much on your own shoulders.”
I bite down hard on my lip. He’s wrong. It is my responsibility, isn’t it? I started all this. I set the wheels spinning. And now look what’s happened.
I didn’t pay close enough attention to my friends. I didn’t watch Clare like I should have. I didn’t warn her, I didn’t keep her close, and look what happened. My own damn ineptitude means I’ve lost someone else I love.
It’s just like my sister all over again.
Thorne’s gaze crisscrosses my face, and he says, “It wasn’t your fault, what happened to your sister, Briony. You were just a kid. You couldn’t have stopped it even if you had tried.”
I bite down even harder than before, sure I’ll taste blood any moment. “I know,” I whisper.
“And Clare wasn’t your fault either. She wanted to be there, she wanted to help, because that’s the kind of person she was. She knew the risks and she was prepared to take them anyway. Don’t diminish her bravery by pinning the blame on yourself.”
I hang my head in shame and in misery.
Clare was one of my first friends, she was one of my only friends for a considerable amount of time at the academy. I love that girl just as much as I love the man standing in front of me, just as much as I love my dragon, just as much as I loved my sister.
“I’m going to miss her so much.”
“I know you will, Nini,” Thorne says, wrapping me in his arms. “We all will.”