“No, she wouldn’t. She’d look at me through her glasses with that blank expression and say, ‘How are you going to be useful, Fly Arison?’” He snorts. “And she may have a point, but fuck it, Briony. I’m going to give it my best shot.”
I nod and stand, letting him throw back the covers. He slept in the clothes he was wearing last night and doesn’t seem bothered for once about changing them, which is so unlike Fly it’s shocking.
“So where do you want me?” Fly asks.
The temptation is to keep him by my side, where I can keep a close eye on him and ensure he doesn’t get hurt or injured. But that wouldn’t be fair to Fly. I know he’s been judged all his life – for who he is, for not matching up to his brothers, or to the ideal that’s paraded around back in Iron Quarter. And yet I know he’s brave, creative, clever, kind, and damn loyal. He may not have an impressive right hook, the ability to run as fast as a shifter, or magic humming in his veins, but to me he is perfect just the way he is. And I know he’ll be a damn good fighter if it comes to it.
“Beaufort has some of the students gathered in the canteen,” I say. “They’ve been crafting makeshift weapons. I think they could use your help.”
“Are you sure about that?” he asks. “I don’t really have much experience with weapons.”
“You can craft beautiful dresses from scraps of material and make even the worst-fitting outfits look freaking amazing,” I tell him. “You’re a genius. And I’m sure they could use your expertise.”
“Oh. Okay,” he says, seeming content with my answer.
I take his hand in mine, and we descend the tower staircase and step out into the cold air. We pause and, almost at the same time, turn to face one another.
“Take care of yourself, Cupcake,” he says. “I believe in you. Always have. Right from the beginning there was something about you. Even if you did look scrawny and slightly pathetic.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say, swallowing hard. “Look after yourself too, please, Fly.”
“This is silly,” he says. “We’re both going to be fine. And celebrating a victory by fucking our very hot boyfriends.”
I laugh. “Totally. Totally going to do that. And get smashed.”
He leans forward and kisses my cheek, lingering there for a moment, then spins away. I watch him for a second longer.
Then I hear an almighty bang.
And I know the waiting is over.
It’s started.
Chapter Forty-Three
Briony
I race to where I left the others, sprinting along the pathways, swerving around one corner, then veering around the next, before coming to a sudden, abrupt halt.
Someone has jumped out from among the shadows of the tower, grabbing me by the shoulder and jamming a sharp dagger at my throat. They’re behind me, and I can’t see their face, but I know as soon as they speak who it is.
“Got you. You little bitch,” Stanley sneers right by my ear, pressing the sharp point of the dagger beneath my chin, jabbing it so that it scrapes and stings at my skin.
“What the hell are you doing, Stanley?” I mutter through gritted teeth, unable to talk properly, because if I move my jaw, the knife will pierce straight through it.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he says. “I’m handing you in to the Empress. I’m going to collect whatever reward there is and I’m going to see you locked away forever, you little traitor.” He laughs. “You really think I’m going to stick around here and fight for you and those assholes?”
“And you think I’m just going to come with you? How do you think you’d even get me there, Stanley? Honestly, I used to think you were clever. When did you lose all your brain cells?”
I notice the hand that grips my shoulder is struggling to hold me still. It’s the hand I saw bandaged several days ago, one I suspect is permanently injured.
“I’ll take you the back way. I’ll find a way.”
His voice drips with a hatred I can’t understand. Why? When once we were so close. Or were we?
Now I look back and think about it, he was just a boy using a vulnerable girl. He never cared for me. Not in the way the Princes do, or the Professor does, or even Fly does, or Clare did. Even my dragon cares for me more than this boy ever did.
But I’m curious, nonetheless. I want to know. I want to understand what I did to make him this way.
