Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
B riony
Monday I wake up with a new determination in my gut. A determination boosted by the fact that today is the day of my very first history class.
Professor Cornelius is a scholar of history – of historical events, facts and records. Which means he must know everything that’s ever happened in this academy – every unusual, unique or peculiar event. And if he doesn’t, he’d be able to tell me where I could find more information if I wanted to conduct my own historical investigation.
I’ve neglected Amelia these last few days, and my promise. I’ve been too caught up in making new friends, navigating my way through this strange new world and generally trying to stay alive.
Professor Cornelius might present me with my first real opportunity in days to actually make some progress.
However, all that hope and excitement vanishes as Fly and I approach the classroom. Waiting at the front of the line is Dray Eros, blazer once again slung over his shoulder, chewing gum in his mouth as usual. Today, it seems he’s not just on time, he’s early.
After what happened with Beaufort on Saturday night, I am very much expecting him to blank me – either that or give me a piece of his mind.
I’m learning that Dray Eros does nothing that I predict him to do, because when he spots me, he smiles with what looks like genuine eagerness and pushes the boy standing next to him to one side, almost sending him tumbling to the floor.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he calls over to me, beckoning with his hand. “I saved you a spot.” He points down to the ground right beside him.
I glance at Fly who shrugs his shoulders. I can feel all the other students lined up around us, watching me.
“I’m just fine where I am,” I mumble.
“ I don’t think so. I think you’d be a hell of a lot more comfortable resting right here.” He tilts his chin back, his eyes full of wickedness.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I say flatly.
He chews on his gum, those eyes flicking all over my face.
Then something catches his attention behind me.
He pushes off the wall and strolls towards me. I take a step back but I’m too slow, he’s already slung an arm around my shoulder.
“Hey Odessa,” he purrs.
I twist around in his hold and find the Hardies’ thrall has joined the back of the line.
Horror is written all over her face and she pales right in front of us, dropping her gaze straight to the floor.
I’m guessing whatever happened on Saturday night, she didn’t share the details with her little band of friends. None of them seem cowed like she does and several of them flick their gaze between her and Dray with puzzlement.
“Beautiful day today, isn’t it? And doesn’t Briony here look fucking amazing? Definitely the most beautiful girl in the school, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Erm, yes, Dray,” Odessa murmurs.
Fly and I glance at each other a second time. What the hell did happen on Saturday? As far as I can tell, she’s not injured or hurt. But she is not acting like her usually obnoxious self. They must have scared her half to death.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Dray whispers in my ear as the classroom door swings open and an elderly man wearing a tweed suit and bow tie, his hair and beard white and bushy and his glasses so thick it’s impossible to see through them, beckons us all inside. “You can come sit next to me.”
I duck out of his hold and grab Fly’s arm.
“I’m going to sit next to my friend.”
“Perfect,” Dray says, taking my bag of books from me and swinging it up onto his shoulder, “he’ll sit on one side and I’ll sit on the other. It’s a good idea, right?” he says to Fly, who nods his head mutely, way too scared to disagree. I jab Fly in the ribs.
He coughs, then says, “Wouldn’t you prefer to be in the front row with all the other shadow weavers?”
“Nah,” he says, spitting his gum into the trash can as we walk into the classroom. “I’d rather be where I can smell her wet-pussy scent.”
My cheeks burn so aggressively, I’m surprised I don’t set the classroom on fire, and the little old teacher fumbles with his chalk and blushes too.
“Do you have to?” I hiss as we take our seats, Dray dragging his right up next to mine so there is only an inch of space between us.
“Yeah, I do.” He drops down, his right thigh pressing against my left.
“Why are you even in this class? You’re not meant to be in this group.”
“Wanted to spend some quality time with you.”
I shuffle around on my chair and try to ignore him. It’s not easy. I can feel the heat of his body; I can see how broad his shoulders are; I can appreciate how sculpted his chest is.
I don’t want to be distracted by him. I want to concentrate on the lesson. This is important.
But pretty soon, I realize the lesson is a lost cause. The professor drops his piece of chalk five times in the first two minutes, forgets what day of the week it is and spells his own name wrong on the blackboard.
Nobody can understand a word he’s going on about because he keeps hopping from one timeline to the next and in the end nearly everyone gives up, either drawing books out of their bags and reading, or talking quietly among themselves.
I try to listen anyway, even if most of what he’s droning on about appears to be ancient history – it’s the best option available to me to ignore Dray.
“Some believe it was the firestones themselves that provided those original shadow weavers with their powers. Although other sources … erm, Peters and Hadrian for example … or was it Andreas … indicate that from firestones came dragons. The sources disagree on these points and, of course, many were written centuries after the events – around the time of Empress Leah – a keen historical scholar. Oh … no … perhaps it was actually her granddaughter, Leah the Third.” He pauses for a coughing fit that makes several dozing students jerk awake. “Firestones continue to crop up in sources right up until about four hundred years ago. They disappear from the records around the same time it appears dragons died out. Dragon pox – not to be confused with the less harmful chicken, spider and pig poxes – a deadly plague that caused many deaths among humans – and by some accounts dogs too – as well as killing almost all the breeding dragons. The last known dragon was owned by Emperor Gilead and the skeleton is kept in the palace crypt. There are no known remains – partial or complete – of firestones.”
“You following any of this, little one?” Dray whispers, leaning towards me, his hand resting on the back of my chair. I shrug. “I didn’t see you at the field yesterday.”
“Can you be quiet please?” I say as stiffly as I can. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
“I wouldn’t bother,” he yawns, “he’s getting his facts and his dates all confused.”
“It could be important.”
“You a history nerd, little thrall? I can give you your own private history tuition if you’d like. In fact,” he leans even closer, his mouth right by my ear, his breath whistling all over my neck and making me shiver, “I could teach you all sorts of things if you like.”
I consider stabbing him with my pen just to get him away from me. As I suspect it’s a possibility he could stab me right back, I stick to ignoring him. I don’t answer any more of his comments and do not respond to the way he’s sniffing at my neck.
It’s not easy, partly because his presence is disorientating, but also because most of the other students in the classroom are stealing furtive glances our way.
I have never wanted the floor to disappear and the ground to swallow me up more than I have done in this moment and am relieved beyond belief when the bell finally clangs for the end of the lesson. I grab my belongings and dart out of my seat as quickly as my legs carry me. I’m not quick enough though, because I’m only halfway across the classroom when Dray calls out, loud enough for everyone to hear:
“Little thrall, be at our rooms Wednesday night, 8pm. And bring that sweet-smelling pussy with you.”
I keep my head down for the rest of the day, but it makes no difference. After that little display in history class, everyone is talking about me again. I can hear them whispering as I walk past in the corridors and along the pathways. I even spy one or two girls pointing me out to their friends.
By the time dinner is over, I’m feeling utterly dejected. I leave Fly and Clare chattering away in the canteen and stomp back up to my room.
Amelia’s old room turned up nothing. The history teacher is next to useless. And the Princes still want me as their thrall.
Nothing is going to plan.
I go to unlock my bedroom door ready to crash straight into bed and sink into a pit of misery, but as I reach for the door, it pushes open.
My heart leaps into my throat.
I’m sure I locked it. I know I locked it.
I swing the door all the way back and gasp, my hands flying to my mouth.
It’s trashed. Utterly and completely trashed.
The bed, the wardrobe, all my belongings.
Everything has been smashed to pieces and ripped to smithereens.
“No!” I cry out, racing straight to the wardrobe. “No, no, no, no, no!”
I can’t feel it. Is it gone?
I’m in such a panic, I trip over my own feet and struggle to make my stupid lungs work.
The wardrobe door hangs at a funny angle and the paneling has been kicked in. All my clothes have been dragged from the shelves and what remains of them tossed around the room or lying destroyed at the bottom of the closet.
“No!” I screech again, “Please no!”
I toss the pieces of torn up clothes over my head, scrabbling down to the bottom of the wardrobe.
Tears slide down my cheeks and bile rushes up my throat.
How can I have been so careless? Why didn’t I keep it somewhere safer?
I find the blanket at the bottom of the pile of clothes.
I close my eyes and cross my fingers and my toes.
“Please,” I whisper, “please.”
I pull the blanket away, holding my breath as I do.
My bag lies underneath. It’s still there.
Of course that doesn’t mean the contents are.
I can barely look, my hands trembling as I yank down the zipper and open the bag.
My hands shake even more, as I tip my head forward and peer inside.
Then I slump back in relief, all the air rushing from my lungs.
It’s still there, resting at the bottom of my bag.
Whoever did this, they didn’t find it.
It’s safe.
In fact, as I survey the carnage, I’m certain the perpetrator wasn’t looking for my one hidden treasure. They were here to trash my room. To punish me.
And I’d bet my last coin, I know who is responsible.
She would have to have the last word. She’d have to let me know that, even with the Princes protecting me, she’d find a way to get back at me.
Because she’ll deny it of course. And there’s no evidence it was her. No way to prove she did this.
Odessa.