Chapter 55
Chapter Fifty-Five
B riony
With the next trial tomorrow, you can feel the tension growing among the students. The commoner students are quieter than usual – even those from Iron Quarter – and the shadow weavers are even more obnoxious. There’re plenty of displays of their powers and I’m sure I’m not imagining that even more kids than usual are walking around with black eyes and busted noses.
I’m sort of thankful for the upcoming trial. It’s going to be awful. I will probably end up with another broken nose and another sprained ankle, but at least it means everyone’s attention is diverted onto that and not onto me and the Princes.
Even Fly and Clare show no interest in my complicated love life. Despite his earlier skepticism, Fly and I have joined Clare in researching everything we can about past trials – me keeping half an eye out for clues about my sister as I do.
Although we’ve spent every spare moment of the last few days going over possible trial scenarios and how we’d handle them, the evening before the trial – when we should probably be in bed resting – we’re doing the same again.
There are several scenarios that have us beat – unless you’re a shadow weaver with magical abilities there’s no way you’d overcome the trial – but we have plans and ideas for the others. Of course, plans and ideas are one thing; putting them into execution is another.
“You know, I think it’s going to be a maze,” Clare says, looking up from her latest book as we lie out together on her bedroom floor.
“What makes you say that?” I ask, closing the old newspaper I was reading.
“I made a tally,” she explains, holding up a piece of paper with a table drawn across it. “Mazes are the most frequent trial type to be set – especially for the early trials.”
“Doesn’t that make it less likely to be picked again this time?” Fly says, scratching his cheek and yawning.
“I don’t think so. It’s obviously a favorite with the trial setters and they haven’t picked it for the last four years straight.”
“Maybe,” Fly says, sounding unconvinced.
“A maze doesn’t sound so bad,” I say.
Fly snorts. “Don’t count on it.”
“But aren’t there ways to solve mazes?” I persist. “Even for those of us without shadow magic?”
“Yes,” Clare says, slamming her book down in front of me. “There are!”
Clare spends the next hour going over the different techniques. She’d probably spend longer still, but Fly cuts her off and insists we all go get some sleep.
“Techniques or not,” he says, “we won’t be able to solve any maze if we’re so tired we can’t sleep tonight.”
“I don’t know,” I mull. “I think we should keep researching.”
“Uh uh,” he says, “trust me on this.”
He drags me to my feet and we hug Clare good night. Then we make our way back to our tower. Despite the late hour, there are lights on all over the campus. I guess we weren’t the only ones up studying tonight.
Outside our doors, Fly rests his hand on my shoulder.
“Okay?” he asks me.
“A little nervous,” I say. “You?”
“Same.” He kisses my forehead. “Try to get some sleep, Cupcake.”
Once I’m in my room alone, I realize he never promised me tomorrow would go okay. Because he can’t. He doesn’t know. And there’s a high probability it won’t.
Without my friends close by, I feel suddenly more nervous, less sure of myself, less confident in all the plans we made.
I climb into the old pair of pajamas Clare has gifted me, flick off the light switch and snuggle into my bed.
The mattress doesn’t feel nearly as comfortable as it usually does. It’s scratchy, lumpy and hard. One night in a luxurious shadow weaver bed and I’m spoiled. But I don’t think that’s truly the problem. My mind buzzes with worries and I toss and turn unable to find sleep no matter how desperately I try.
I start to panic as the tower bell chimes two. Fly’s right, without sleep I’ll be even more hopeless at this trial – and while I’m not expecting to pick up any points, while I don’t think I have any chance of making it into one of the other quarters, I want to make it out of the trial alive .
I flop over onto my back and stare up at the dark thatched roof, listening to the sounds of the creatures scurrying around inside. My heart beats loudly and my chest feels tight with worry. Speaking with Fly or Clare would make me feel better. It would probably calm me down. Lying here alone with only my spiraling thoughts for company isn’t helping. But I can’t wake them up in the middle of the night. They need their sleep as much as I do. It wouldn’t be fair.
I close my eyes.
There is one person.
One person I could talk to. One person who is going to ace the trial, sleep or no sleep. One person who I shouldn’t want to go and talk to – but I do.
I flip over onto my side, tucking my hands under my cheek.
I shouldn’t be relying on other people for support or comfort. I shouldn’t be trusting people.
Amelia was too trusting – so was I back then. I bet that was the true reason for her death.
I think of her now. Exactly my age. She seemed so old back then. Now I realize she wasn’t. I am twenty-one and yet I feel like such a kid half the time. There is still so much to do, so much to learn. I don’t want my story to end yet. I want to make it through this trial.
I fling back the thin blanket, slide on my boots, tug my coat over my pajamas and walk out of my room, locking the door behind me.
I creep down the staircase as quietly as I can, not wanting to wake anyone, also really not wanting anyone catching me on my way to where I’m going.
There is already so much gossip swirling around about me and to be caught creeping towards the Princes’ tower in the middle of the night would churn that gossip up into a whirlwind.
The lights that were burning earlier are all extinguished now and the only other being I meet is an owl, swooping low over the towers on his way out towards the woods.
At the Princes’ tower I hesitate. I’m not sure thumping on the door is going to wake them. This was probably a wasted night-time stroll. I try the door-handle anyway and to my surprise it clicks open.
I stand there dumbfounded as the door swings back and the dark hallway comes into view.
Do the Princes leave their tower unlocked? Or … did the door open specifically for me?
I’m not sure how I feel about that. Flattered maybe? Another strange new sensation to add to my collection.
I step inside, closing the door quietly behind me as I slip off my boots and tiptoe up the staircase.
This is extremely, one hundred percent stupid and possibly deadly. If Beaufort, Dray or Thorne catch an intruder in their tower, they will probably shoot first, ask questions later. I was worried about dying or being injured in the trial, I am just as likely to be killed or hurt climbing their stairs. I keep climbing though. I’m committed now.
No turning back.
As I step out onto the landing, I find my suspicions were correct. Beaufort Lincoln is not sleeping in his bed. Beaufort Lincoln is once again sitting in his study. Beaufort Lincoln is staring right at me.