I peer down at my wrist watch. “Another fifteen minutes.”
“Then I think I’ll go … how do you say it here?” She adopts a posh-sounding voice. “Powder my nose.”
“Are you sure?” I say.
Her brow crinkles. “Err, yes, I’m sure.”
“Then I’ll come with you.”
“To the bathroom?”
“I’ll escort you there.”
“Beaufort, I’ll be fine.” She kisses my cheek and smiles at Thorne. Then she’s disappearing into the crowd of people herself and I’m not blind to all the people watching her go.
Chapter Twenty
Briony
It takes me a little while to maneuver myself through the grand room – partly because it’s flipping big, partly because there are more people in this room than I think I’ve ever seen in my entire life. More people than even attend the academy. Definitely more people than I’ve ever seen gathered together in Slate Quarter.
And lastly, because these shoes are freaking agony. Every step is like a thousand knives piercing up through the soles of my feet. Honestly, when I get back to that apartment, I’m going to use the heel of this shoe to beat my friend senseless.
Finally, I find the bathroom. I’m not surprised that it’s even more glamorous than the one in Beaufort’s apartment. Once again, there’s marble, gilded gold, sparkling chandeliers, and mirrors so smoothly polished they reflect every beam of light.
I’m tempted to lock myself in one of the glamorous cubicles and stay here for the night. I didn’t want to admit it to the Princes, but this experience is far more intimidating than I imagined. It’s not helped by the fact that everyone seems tobe staring at me – and not in the way that Fly had promised. Although some do seem to be admiring the dress (because, let’s face it, it is gorgeous). No, most of them are staring at me with intrigue or worse, disgust.
It’s because I’m from Slate.
I wonder how they can tell just by looking at me. Maybe there’s something in my demeanor, or my air. Maybe it’s just written right across my forehead. Or maybe they just know everyone in Onyx, and a stranger stands out like a pigeon in a nest full of peacocks.
Although, surely there must be other people in this room who are from the other Quarters – important officials or other students who were spotted as talented, and brought to Onyx to live among the shadow weavers. Maybe some of them were found to be shadow weavers and brought here before the Madame started her killing spree.
Now that I think about it, I don’t recognize any of the officials I’ve seen during the trials. The mayor from Slate isn’t here, for example, nor the one from Iron or Granite.
However, remaining in the toilet all evening isn’t an option. Like so many occasions recently, I’m going to have to suck it up. I’m going to have to be brave.
For Fox’s sake. And for Fox’s sake, I can do it. I know I can.
So I leave the cubicle with my head held high and stroll toward the luxurious basins, where hot water is free-flowing and the soap smells like the sweetest of flowers. They’re still looking at me – several elegant ladies peering from the corners of their eyes, one or two whispering to each other.
Gosh, the palace seems no better than the academy.
I’m so focused on ignoring them and washing my hands that I almost jump out of my skin when a voice says, right beside me, “Oh, it’s you.”
The voice is snotty and disappointed. And I’d know it anywhere.
Henrietta Smyte.
When I look up to the mirror, I see her reflection glaring right back at me. Her vibrant red hair is smooth and loose around her shoulders and the dark make-up around her eyes makes them even more piercing than usual.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s me.”
“How did you get an invitation?” she says sneeringly, scrubbing her hands in obvious annoyance.
“How do you think?” I say, not particularly interested in playing any of Henrietta’s games this evening. “Beaufort.”
To my surprise, I’m not slapped with another of her usual snide comments. In fact, all she does is nod. She’s staring at her hands, continuing to scrub. She opens her mouth and closes it again.
