Chapter 58
Chapter Fifty-Eight
B riony
I storm back to my tower so angry I could trash my own room tonight, shaking so hard I can barely unlock my own door.
I want to scream. I want to tear everything down.
This world is so unfair, so twisted, so corrupt. It took my mother and my sister. It broke my father and gave me a woman that abused me. And now it wants to torture me some more.
I throw myself on the bed and pummel my fists and my legs against the hard mattress, hitting as hard as I can, until I’m choking on my own strangled breaths and the tears hurtle down my cheeks.
I’m such a fool. What did I think would happen? That he’d believe me? That he’d help me? That he’d understand?
He is a shadow weaver. He’ll never understand what it’s like to have your only hope ripped away, to have the most precious person in your life torn from you. I shouldn’t have trusted him.
I lie there sobbing until there are no more tears to cry and the tower bell strikes five in the morning.
And then I stop.
This is pathetic and hopeless and ridiculous.
There is nothing to be gained from feeling sorry for myself. Might as well use all this anger, channel it somewhere useful.
I settle on the floor with my notebook and pencil.
The library may be out of bounds for now but I can still attempt to make progress on the mystery of my sister’s death. I’m going to start by writing down everything I know – the indisputable facts and the ones I don’t believe, as well as everything I’ve learned about the academy since coming here.
Before I begin, I lift my bag from its hiding place in my wardrobe and, as I do every morning and every evening, check the contents.
Then I lick the tip of my pencil, press it to my page and begin.
After an hour, I’ve scribbled notes across pages and pages of my notebook. It hasn’t led me to any new insights or brainwaves but at least I feel like I’m taking action.
Fly and Clare knock on my door at seven as planned and, after gathering up all my notes, I invite them in. Both of them are still dressed in their pajamas. We planned one last cramming session before getting ready for the trial.
“Hey Cupcake, how did you …” Fly trails off, spotting my tear-stained face. “What’s wrong?”
I’ve been dreading this moment. I hoped I could pretend like nothing had happened. But Fly is far too observant for that. What exactly am I going to tell them and what am I going to keep to myself? I’ve already made the mistake of divulging my secret tonight. Can I truly trust my friends?
“Hmmm,” I say, contemplating this dilemma.
“Cupcake, you’re scaring me. Did something happen?”
I sigh, finding it hard to meet his eyes. “I couldn’t sleep last night–”
“Me neither,” Clare says.
“–so I went to see Beaufort Lincoln.”
“Ooooh!” Fly says.
Clare adjusts her glasses and examines my face. “There’s more isn’t there?”
I fidget on the floor. “Well, yes … Beaufort and I slept together.”
“Slept together as in the same bed or slept together slept together?” Fly asks.
“We had sex on his desk.”
Clare’s mouth falls open and relief floods over Fly’s face before he rocks backwards and kicks his feet against the floor.
“Oh my gosh!” he squeals.
“Was it good?” Clare asks.
“Don’t be stupid. It was Beaufort Lincoln. Of course it was good. She’s just full of the usual good-girl guilts,” Fly dismisses, then sees the expression on my face and adds: “It was good, right?”
“Yeeeeessss,” I say, “but then we had this massive fight right after, where he revealed just what an asshole he is.”
“Isn’t that how your budding relationship goes? You fight, you make up, you fight again.”
“This was a big one. It’s over between us. I don’t care what they say or do, I don’t want anything more to do with any of them.”
“Oh,” Fly says, all the joy on his face quickly evaporating.
“What was it about?” Clare asks.
“Huh?”
“The fight. What was it about?”
“My sister,” I say.
They both gape at me blankly. “You had a massive blow up about your sister?” Fly says.
“Did I know you had a sister?” Clare asks, straightening her glasses again.
I stare at my two friends and weigh up the decision in my mind. I’ve known them for only three weeks and what do I really know? Yet, I trust them. I trust them to have my back.
“I don’t anymore. She died. Here at the academy.”
“Oh my gosh,” Fly repeats, this time with sympathy. “Bri– I had no idea.” He shakes his head. “You never said anything.”
I drop my gaze to my lap, my notebook resting on my thighs; I straighten the loose pages escaping the cover.
“It’s not exactly the bright, cheery topic you bring up when trying to make new friends,” I say, managing a half smile.
“But we’re old friends now,” Fly protests, resting his hand on my shoulder. “We’ve known each other for three long weeks.”
“They have been long, haven’t they?” I say, peering up into his face, which is a mistake because his eyes are brimming with empathy – such a strong contrast to Beaufort’s – and it has my eyes stinging with tears again.
“How did she die?” Clare asks softly.
“They say she was killed in an accident. That she strolled into the crossfire of shadow weavers practicing their magic. But I don’t believe it. She wasn’t stupid,” I say with steel, waiting for them to challenge me. They don’t, they both nod.
“You think something else happened to her?” Clare asks.
I nod. “And I’m going to find out what.”
“How exactly?” Clare says.
I drum my fingers against the cover of my notebook and bite my cheek. “I haven’t worked that out yet. I tried searching for information in the library but Professor Tudor stopped me before I got anywhere.” I don’t divulge what happened on my most recent trip to the library. I may be feeling more trusting, but I’m not quite ready to reveal all my secrets just yet. Especially as those secrets could get my friends into trouble.
“It all makes sense now,” Fly says.
“What does?”
“The reason you hate shadow weavers so much.”
“Can you blame me?”
“Well, I don’t exactly get on with my brothers,” Fly says, “they are a bunch of shitheads who have made my life unbearable for the last twenty-one years. As bad as it sounds, I wouldn’t hate the person who removed them from my life. But I’m guessing you and your sister …”
“She was older than me. She was like a mom to me. She took care of me. And she was beautiful and clever and so so special.”
Fly smiles at me. “Then I can totally understand why you hate those shadow weavers.”
“But the Princes weren’t the ones that killed your sister, were they?” Clare says with confusion. “If she was older than you, they would have been kids when she was at the academy.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Fly says. “It’s made her distrustful of them all.”
“Not just distrustful,” I clarify. “I hate them. They don’t care about us. They’ve bent and corrupted this world for their own gain. And Beaufort confirmed all my worst suspicions about them tonight.”
Clare lunges forward and wraps her arms around me. “I’m sorry, Briony.”
I pat her back. “It’s okay. I’m fine. And it’s better this way. I don’t need any distractions like those three. I need to find the truth.”