Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
T horne
They have us lined up as usual along the perimeter of the academy, boys on one side, girls on the other, the ancient towers looming behind us and icy mist swirling over the moorland in front of us.
I stand with my brothers at the head of the line, the other shadow weavers right alongside us, and gaze straight ahead, vision lost to the mist, oblivious to the surrounding chatter. Every so often, I swing my head around to peer along the line to where the other students stand and wait, the pathetic forms of the kids from the Slate Quarter right at the end of the line. Eventually I spy her, dressed in the oversized gray tracksuit the other students wear, the sleeves rolled up and her hair, as always, scraped back tight against her scalp. I watch her, my skin seeming to tingle in response to her vicinity, my magic prickling the air.
I ball my hands into fists, lift my chin and stroll down the line.
“Hey,” Dray calls out, the amusement clear in his voice. He’ll never understand me, just like I’ll never understand him. “Where you going?”
I don’t reply. I walk the line, glaring into the face of every student I pass. Several step backwards in alarm, others drop their eyes to the floor.
When I reach the girl, I halt and spin back around to face the students. No one has missed my march down the line. Everybody is watching.
“Listen up,” I bellow, using the magic in my veins to amplify my voice. And they listen. They listen because I rarely speak. “This girl here,” I jab my finger at her, “she’s ours.” I don’t look at her face. I don’t need to. I can imagine she’s scowling. Maybe even about to argue with me. I don’t give her the chance. “She’s our thrall and under our protection.”
“I don’t see no collar,” some wiseass mutters under his breath, probably thinking I wouldn’t hear.
I shoot my arm out in front of me, sending shadows soaring his way. They strike him on the chest, wrapping him in a darkness that squeezes the air from his lungs and has him choking. I leave him spluttering and groaning and address the crowd.
“If anyone harms one hair on her head – if you so much as touch her belongings, look at her funny, mutter under your goddamn breath in her direction, I will sear the fucking flesh off your bones and scatter what’s left of you out there for the ravens to feast on.”
I lower my arm and slowly the shadows retreat from the boy writhing on the floor and gasping for air, back into my body.
Then I march right back up the line and reclaim my place beside my brothers.
“That was fucking dramatic,” Dray mumbles.
“It was fucking necessary,” I hiss.
The girl is ours and no one touches her.