Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
B riony
Fly and Clare gaze at each other across the canteen table with suspicion, probably thinking they have nothing in common. But they have me. And as I haven’t had a single friend for a long time, I really like the idea of having two. Maybe that’s just greedy, but I’m determined to make it happen.
I try a number of different conversation topics, searching for something they are both interested in: healing injuries, making the drab uniform look good, our likely trials and upcoming lessons. It isn’t until Fly makes some off-handed comment about my plans tonight that they find common ground.
“What are you doing tonight?” Clare asks, breaking apart a bread roll. “I’ve spent my last three evenings staring blankly at the ceiling.”
“Oh man,” Fly mutters, “me too. We need to find something better to do.”
I keep my eyes fixed on my creamy pasta, hoping the conversation will move on and I won’t have to answer Clare’s question.
The conversation doesn’t. It stalls right there and when I peek up, I find Clare peering at me with curiosity and a knowing smirk hovering on Fly’s face.
I sigh. “Going to see the Princes,” I mumble as quickly and as quietly as I can.
Clare blinks at me behind her glasses. “The Princes? As in the Beaufort Lincoln Princes?” Fly nods enthusiastically. “As in the shadow weavers?”
“Yes,” I say with a lot less enthusiasm, “them.”
“Why?” Clare says, forehead wrinkling in confusion.
I shuffle pasta around my plate. Seeing I’m not going to answer that for myself, Fly fills her in.
“They’ve chosen Briony as their thrall.”
Several emotions wash across Clare’s face: astonishment, amazement and admiration.
“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. It was probably–”
“All the blood and busted-up nose?”
She nods. Then shakes her head. “I can’t believe I’m eating lunch with the Princes’ thrall.” She gulps. “I can’t believe you let me fix your nose!” She drops the remains of her bread roll onto her plate. “You should have gone to the shadow weaver healers for that.”
“I’m not their thrall,” I whisper, eyes shifting around to check no one is listening into our conversation. Luckily, the canteen is more concerned with the actual thralls present this lunchtime. There are five in total, each wearing their golden collars, each surrounded by a posse of admirers. “And I have no intention of being their thrall.”
“Why?” Clare says in even more astonishment.
“Exactly, why?” Fly says.
“I mean, do you have any idea of the benefits that come with being a thrall?” Clare asks.
“She does. I’ve told her.”
“I’m not interested,” I say.
“But they’re so–”
“Hot?” Fly says, grinning.
Clare’s cheeks burn. “Well, yes, they’re very attractive. And powerful. And well connected.”
“Well hung too from what I’ve heard,” Fly says.
I stab a piece of pasta onto my fork and fling it at Fly’s head.
“Hey,” he says, “less of the violence.”
“I don’t want to think about their dicks,” I mutter.
“No, I can imagine that would be quite intimidating. Especially when there are three of them,” Clare says.
“Three of them,” Fly says, waggling his eyebrows, “that’s like my ultimate fantasy.”
“Mine too,” Clare says, stuffing a piece of bread into her mouth. Fly and I both stare at her. I don’t think either of us were expecting that.
“Really?” I say, now staring at them both as they nod.
I haven’t had a lot of time or space for fantasies. And my experience with Stanley put me off boys, men, and sex. I’ve tried to push that part of myself aside, buried it away and refused to acknowledge it. It only got me hurt after all, and I don’t think anything has changed. Even if the way Beaufort touched me stirred something long dormant inside me. That was a slip up. Next time I’ll do better. I’ll be prepared.
“Anyway,” I say, “I’m not going to have to worry about any of that. If they wanted some sex bunny, there are much better and more willing candidates.” I roll my eyes. “They probably want me to scrub their toilets. Which is why I’m not interested.”
I was Muriel’s slave for five years, as well as her punching bag. I didn’t have a choice back then. I was young with nowhere to go. I’m not going to let that happen again.
“I’m pretty sure they already have someone to clean their rooms,” Clare says factually.
“I guess you’re going to find out tonight,” Fly says.
“Yeah,” I say with absolutely no enthusiasm. “I guess I am.”
The next lesson is an algebra one which leaves me to mull in my thoughts and that conversation. I come to the realization that I’m pretty damn scared about tonight – actually pretty terrified. But I survived all those years with Muriel; I survived all the ridicule and bullying Stanley put me through; I survived the first night at the academy plus an attempted murder and a punch to the nose. I can survive this too.
I’m going to have to. Because I made that promise to Amelia and I’m going to keep it.
I skip dinner – partly because I’m too nervous to eat and partly because I’m not sure I can cope with Fly and Clare discussing my upcoming evening in detail.
Instead, I head for my room and after I’ve checked on my bag, I tackle the most pressing issue – what the hell am I going to wear? Of course, it shouldn’t be an issue or a question. I should grab the first thing I find in my wardrobe and be done with it. But as usual my pride is niggling at me. I don’t want to turn up at their rooms looking like I’ve just been dragged from the Slate Quarter. Problem is all my clothes say exactly that. Most of them were hand-me-downs from my sister or bought from one of the many thrift stores – filled with unwanted clothes imported from the other Quarters. All my clothes have been mended – patched up or sewn back together numerous times.
As the clock tower strikes seven o’clock – the gongs vibrating right across the academy – there’s a knock on my door, followed by a voice.
“How you getting on in there, Cupcake?”
I open my door, still dressed in my uniform, to find Clare with him in the doorway.
“Fine,” I tell them both.
“Oh,” they both say in unison.
“What?” I say, resting my hand on my hip.
“We thought you’d be getting ready,” Clare says.
“We assumed that was the reason for ditching us at dinner.”
Is it bad that I’m regretting introducing them to each other? Seems I neglected to think through the consequences. The consequences being their ability to gang up on me.
“I’ve been trying,” I say dramatically. “I have nothing to wear. Maybe I should just go in my uniform.”
We all stare down at the shapeless gray garments hanging from my frame.
“You must have something,” Fly says, strolling towards my wardrobe. I launch myself in front of him and block him off. I do not want him rummaging around in there.
“Trust me, I don’t.”
Fly and Clare look at each other.
“It’s fine,” I say, not liking the pity I can see in their eyes. I don’t need sympathy. I’m perfectly happy with who I am. “I’m going to be scrubbing toilets, remember? My uniform is probably the best thing for the job.”
“Like I told you, the shadow weavers have people to do that for them,” Clare says, sliding her glasses up her nose. “I think you ought to wear something else.”
“Agreed,” Fly says.
“I might have something you can borrow,” Clare taps her fingers against her chin, “I’m smaller than you so it might be a bit short and tight–”
“Perfect!” Fly says, clapping his hands. “Straight men love short and tight.”
“Urgh,” I say, sticking my tongue out at him. I turn to Clare. “That’s really kind of you but–”
“Come on,” she says, beckoning us to follow her, “let’s go look.”
Clare’s room is in a tower a million times better than ours.
“Jeez,” I say, peering up at the walls which aren’t crumbling and the windows which actually let light through. “You must have come in quite quickly that first night.”
“Yeah,” she says, her face morphing a green color, “I don’t know how. I guess I got lucky.”
She rests her hand on the entrance door, then hesitates. “Just to warn you, there is usually a group of idiots hanging out, smoking and drinking in the entrance way. Best to keep your heads down.”
“Smoking and drinking?” Fly says hopefully.
“We’re not going to get invited,” I tell him. “You know that.”
He shrugs and Clare opens the door. Sure enough we’re greeted by a haze of smoke and through it I spy four or five guys lounging about by the stairwell: three sitting on the steps, two resting against the banisters.
I nearly jump right out of my skin when I realize one of them is Stanley.
Stanley with a face that is even more busted up than mine.
“Oh my goodness,” I blurt out. “What happened?”
He jolts and peers up from the cup he was staring into. He jolts a second time when he sees it’s me standing in the entrance way.
For a moment, we both stare at each other and is it my imagination, or is his expression different? Usually, it holds nothing but contempt and disgust – like he can’t quite bring himself to accept that once upon a time he slept with a girl like me. The expression on his face today is different. Fearful perhaps? No, that can’t be right.
“Nothing,” he mutters, although by the way the boys gathered around him all glance at one another, it must have been something. “What happened to you?”
I lift my hand to my nose. I’d almost forgotten about it. “Well, it wasn’t you for once,” I say, sneering at him.
Stanley’s gaze drops down to his shoes and the entrance hall falls into silence, everyone staring at me, then Stanley, then back to me.
Eventually Fly says, “Come on, we’d better get moving. You’re running out of time.”
Clare beckons us forward and the boys squeeze out of our way without protest as we climb the stairs.
As soon as we’re out of earshot, Fly hisses, “What the hell was that about?”
“We used to date,” I tell him simply, “if you can call it that.”
“He is your ex-boyfriend?” Clare says in amazement, peering down the stairs the way we’ve just come.
“It was a long time ago. We were just kids, and he didn’t look like that back then.”
“I bet he didn’t look too different,” Fly mutters.
“He was also the one who gave me the original black eye,” I explain.
Fly frowns and follows Clare’s gaze down the stairwell. “Shithead. I wish you’d told me earlier. I’d have–”
“He’s massive, Fly. You would not. Anyway, it seems he’s had a taste of his own medicine.”
Is it bad that I can’t help smiling about that?
“Your life seems really complicated,” Clare says, shaking her head.
“Are you regretting helping fix my nose and eating lunch with us?” I tease.
“I don’t know,” she says uncertainly, “ask me again in a week.”
“I’ve known her three days longer than you have and I can honestly say it’s not so bad. Although, as you’ve seen, she does eat with her mouth open.”
“I do not!” I protest.
“Cupcake, you do. Along with the talking to yourself.”
“I’m beginning to see why you have no other friends,” I mutter and he gives me the finger.
“Were your friends hurt on the first night as well?” Clare asks.
“Nope, we just don’t have any,” Fly says. “Me because I don’t exactly fit in in Iron Quarter,” he sweeps his hand down his frame in way of explanation, “and Briony because …” He frowns. “Actually, why don’t you have any friends?”
“Because I murdered them all,” I say coolly.
“I don’t know whether to believe her or not,” Fly whispers to Clare. I give him a menacing look. “You look just like Odessa – so, yeah, I think you did.”
“Odessa?” Clare asks as she unlocks her room.
“It was her friend who broke my nose,” I explain. “It’s not the first time she’s tried to kill me.”
Clare turns around and stares at me. “Maybe I am regretting being your friend. Seems dangerous.”
“Not if she becomes the Princes’ thrall,” Fly points out.
“Is that why you’re so desperate for me to do it?” I ask, following Clare into her room. It’s also much nicer than mine and Fly’s. The sheets and blankets look newer, the mattress actually made of something other than straw, and there is a desk in here as well as a window seat, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. Clare has obviously attempted to brighten up the place too. There are at least five potted plants dotted around the room.
“Yep,” Fly says. “There has to be some benefits to being your friend.”
“Other than my wonderful personality?”
“You have one?” he deadpans and I stick my tongue out at him again.
“Right,” Clare says, flinging back her wardrobe doors. “Let’s see if anything in here is any good.”
“Woah,” I say, taking a step forward. She must have ten times the number of clothes I have, and while they aren’t made from the exuberant materials the shadow weavers wear, they are colorful and new looking.
Fly pushes past me and starts to rummage through the hanging garments, tossing a few over his head and onto the bed.
“Try those on,” he instructs.
I pick a blue dress up from the pile. It has a high back, little capped sleeves and probably reaches to below the knee on Clare.
“This looks nice,” I say, gathering it up in my arms. “Thank you so much, Clare.” I walk towards the door.
“What are you doing?” Fly screeches.
“Taking it back to my room to get ready.”
“Uh uh. We need to see it. And you need to try the others on too so we can judge what’s best.”
I hold the dress to my chest. “I don’t think we need to–”
“Don’t be silly, we do,” he insists.
I hesitate. I really don’t want to undress in front of them. I peer towards the door.
“Are you worried about us seeing you naked?” Fly laughs. “Cupcake, we already went over this, you’re not my type.”
“I know, I’m just … shy.”
“Are you?” Clare says, unconvinced.
“Yes, I’d rather try this on in the privacy of my own room.”
“No need,” Fly says, grabbing Clare by the hand and spinning them both around. “We won’t look. I’ll even cover my eyes, see?”
I hesitate again, then quickly as I can, strip out of my uniform and tug on the dress.
“Are you done?” Fly asks impatiently.
“Errr, yes,” I say, smoothing down the skirt that falls right above my knees.
“Ooo,” Fly murmurs, turning around to face me again. “That color suits you. It would look even better if you took down your h–”
“No,” I say.
He shakes his head and leans towards Clare, saying in a faux whisper, “She has a thing about her hair too.”
“Why?” Clare asks, blinking.
“I don’t have a thing about my hair, I just prefer it up, that’s all.”
Fly rolls his eyes, then yanks Clare around again. “Right, try on another.”
“But you said this one looks good.”
“Yes, and the others could look better.”
I know I’m not going to win this battle, so I strip again and try on one of the other outfits he’s flung on the bed.
Five outfits later, we’re all in agreement that the blue dress is the best.
“It’s pretty, and a little bit sexy,” Clare says, “without being too sexy.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t make you look desperate,” Fly agrees.
“I’m not,” I remind him, wondering if the uniform was better after all. I glance down at the dress. “Does it look like I’m trying too hard, like I’m making an effort?”
“I have a feeling boys like the Princes would like that,” Clare says.
“Yeah,” I say; the problem is, I think they would.