Spark of Sorcery (The Firestone Academy Book 2), page 18
I walk several feet into the forest until we’re well hidden and then I peer down into my coat, finding Blaze peering back at me.
“I’m going to let you out for about an hour of play time.” Talking to a dragon this way is ridiculous. He is not Barney, my old dog. Then again, it seems as good a way of talking to him as any other. “Do not fly above the tree-line, stay down in the canopy, okay?” He blinks up at me. “I’m serious, if you fly up high, you’ll be spotted and then …” He cocks his head as if waiting for my next words. “And then … I don’t know exactly, but I’m not sure it will be good for you or for me.”
I unbutton my coat and immediately Blaze zigzags through the trees with so much speed and energy, it’s hard to keep track of him. Alarm shoots through my gut. If he takes off now, I’ll never be able to catch him, and I’ll have no hope of finding him. Although, as I watch him swoop up into the branches and pluck a squirrel twice his size from the branches, I query whether he actually needs me. He can clearly take care of himself.
Should I let him go? Is it fair to keep him hidden away in my room?
The little dragon answers my question for me.
He comes hurtling back through the trees, dropping the now-deceased squirrel at my feet.
“Jeez, thanks?” I say.
The dragon turns somersaults, then shoots away again.
I stare down into the squirrel’s vacant eyes. Is that meant to be a present or a death threat?
Before I make up my mind, the little guy is back again, this time stopping to lick my face three times before zooming back into the canopy.
I wipe my face with my sleeve. I am going to need to scrub myself extra hard under the shower in the morning, otherwise even those with the weakest olfactory skills will be able to smell dragon on me.
The next hour passes in much the same way: Blaze flying up into the branches, sniffing around dead piles of leaves and generally causing mischief, but returning every few minutes to check I haven’t gone anywhere.
When the academy clock bell clangs seven, I call his name, and he comes fluttering in to land on my shoulder, this time taking issue with my bun, growling, pulling and biting at it.
“Hey, I’ve already lost patches of hair. I don’t need to lose any more.” I lift him off my shoulder and cradle him in my arms, stroking at his head. “I’m afraid it’s time to go back,” I say, with a yawn. The dragon whimpers as if he understands but doesn’t struggle as I tuck him back into my coat and smuggle him back up to my room.
The next few days, Blaze and I fall into a routine. We rise early every morning and I sneak him out to the trees for an hour’s fly-around. He spends the day in my room hunting rats, destroying my socks and napping on my bed. I sneak him out for a late night flight after dinner and then we snuggle up together in my bed. My friends are a little on the annoyed side, assuming I’m sneaking off to spend time with the Princes – but it’s not like they can complain about that. Both of them encouraged the relationship.
I’m also extra careful to scrub in the shower and change my clothes after every snuggle with the little dragon, although I still have to endure another lesson with Fox scowling at me and scrunching up his nose. Dray makes one comment about me smelling strange right before history class but then I secure a seat at the back of the classroom away from him so that he can’t spend the entire lesson sniffing at me.
By Saturday afternoon, I’m exhausted. The academy, with all its demands, is not exactly an easy ride as it is. Throw in a demanding baby dragon and I seriously need about two weeks’ sleep. After yet another grueling circuit training – one I’m most definitely am not acing like last time – I collapse down on the grass and try to catch my breath. Clare collapses down beside me.
We’re halfway through a serious bitching session about circuits and exercise in general, when a shadow falls over us both.
“Exercise is essential for a healthy body and a healthy mind,” Beaufort Lincoln says, standing over us dressed in shorts that show off a pair of muscular thighs and a shirt that stretches over his impressive chest. I can’t help but let my gaze meander over him. He definitely has a very healthy body.
“Perhaps,” I tell him, “but it still sucks.”
“If you ate more, it would suck less.”
Clare snorts. Then covers her mouth with her hands and looks up at Beaufort with alarm. “Sorry,” she mutters meekly.
“What was so funny?” he asks with amusement.
“Briony eats plenty. She has a very big appetite.” Beaufort cocks an eyebrow at me and I can guess how he’s interpreting that comment. “In fact, I don’t know how she does manage to eat so much. The food in the canteen is disgusting.”
Beaufort looks at me for a minute, hands on his hips, beads of sweat racing down his neck in a way that shouldn’t be as sexy as it is.
“Come to our tower at seven tonight. You can eat with us.”
I raise my own eyebrow. “Hello, Briony,” I say. “Do you have any plans for tonight? Would you like to have dinner with me?”
Clare swings a wide-eyed gaze from me to Beaufort, obviously alarmed I talk to the all-mighty Beaufort Lincoln with such sarcasm.
“You do have plans,” he says, kicking at the grass, “with me.”
“It would still be polite to ask.”
He huffs and strides away.
“Sometimes I think you like to provoke him,” Clare says. “Is it because it makes things hotter between the two of you?”
“No,” I squeal, rolling on to my side and punching Clare on her arm.
She laughs. “Just saying. He invited you to dinner. That was a nice thing to do.”
“Yeah,” I say, rolling up to my feet. “But it was the way he asked.”
“I wish someone would ask me to dinner,” Clare says, peering across the field wistfully.
“Do you need to wait to be asked? Couldn’t you ask someone yourself? (and by someone are we referring to the boy in your history class?)”
“Ask him?” she says, eyes wide behind her glasses.
“Yeah, why not? This isn’t the sixteenth century.”
“But what if he said no?”
“You’d be no worse off if he did. And we’ll give him such evil looks for the rest of his time at the academy, he’ll wish he was never born.”
Clare giggles. “I’ll think about it.”
I offer out my hand and yank her to her feet. “Don’t think about it, just do it. That’s my motto … which, come to think about, it may be why I end up in such shit.”
“Come on,” Clare says, “I think dinner with Beaufort Lincoln calls for a new outfit.”
I sneak back to my room first to check in on Blaze. I promise him I’ll be back in time for his evening fly-around, and then I meet Fly on the landing and we walk over to Clare’s.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time in your room lately,” Fly says casually as we weave around a group of students passing around a bottle of alcohol.
“Have I?”
“Yes. Are you sure you don’t have a fourth Prince hidden away in your room, Cupcake? Or maybe you have your own thrall.”
“Can commoners have thralls?” I ask, trying to divert the conversation as best I can.
“Sure they can. I mean it’s not like it is here in the academy with collars and protection and shadow magic. But if two consenting adults want to establish that type of relationship … of course,” he adds, with a frown, “there are relationships where it isn’t consensual and that is just plain abusive.”
I think of how Muriel used me as her own personal servant, forcing me, a young kid, to do all the chores and jobs she hated the most. How she made me do them even when it didn’t seem like they needed doing.
“And that’s why I hate this stupid thrall thing. A relationship is one thing – being a thrall quite another.”
“So you’re in a relationship with the Princes now?”
I stop walking. Am I? And am I happy about that? I didn’t really have much choice about things in the beginning but lately I’ve been spending time with them – doing things with them – of my own free will.
It just sort of happened. I haven’t stopped to consider if I’m happy about it.
If this mate thing is real, is this fate pulling us together?
“Don’t tell me, Cupcake,” Fly says, pulling on my arm. “It’s complicated.”
Clare’s door stands ajar, one of her records playing softly in the background. We find her arranging potential outfits on the bed. Fly goes over to inspect them.
“I like the way you’ve matched this skirt with this sweater. Your taste is definitely improving,” he comments. “It’s down to my influence.”
I pull Clare to one side as Fly rearranges clothes items. “Did you do it?”
Clare adjusts her glasses and nibbles on her lip. “Not yet, Briony. Give me a chance!”
“You need to do it before you build it up into this big thing and chicken out.” She grimaces. “Would you like to have dinner with him?” She hesitates, then nods. “Then do it.”
“Okay, okay,” she says.
We agree on the skirt and sweater Clare picked out because, to quote Fly, “it shows off your legs and makes your chest look bigger than it is”.
Then I kiss them both goodbye, guilty I’m leaving them for another evening, and hurry along to the Princes’ tower. I could deviate quickly to check in again on Blaze, but the bell chimes seven. I pick up my pace and am knocking on the door a few minutes later.
I cringe at the realization that Beaufort has already trained me to be here on time.
Son of a bitch.
Chapter Thirty
Beaufort
I open the door to find our little thrall scowling up at me as usual. I assume I’ve done something to irritate her, but what the hell that is, I have no fucking idea.
Not that it bothers me. Those scowls are hotter than the sun. The sun in Onyx Quarter. Because here at the academy we hardly ever see it.
“Nice to see you too,” I mutter, striding away down to the kitchen.
The front door shuts behind me and I hear her scurry to catch up. At the kitchen door, I pause and she comes to stand alongside me. She looks at me in puzzlement, then into the kitchen.
The table has been laid for two, with a tablecloth, the finest porcelain dishes and candlelight. More candles flicker all around the kitchen, and strings of burgundy flowers decorate the room, their fragrant aroma filling the space.
“Oh,” she says, blinking at the spectacle.
“Come on.” I take her hand and lead her inside.
The first course, scallops, lays waiting on the plates. I pull back her chair and wait for her to take her seat. Then pour her a glass of wine before taking the seat opposite.
“Is it only the two of us?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, lifting my wine glass to take a sip.
“Why?”
I lower my glass. Her question annoys me. She spent Wednesday evening with Thorne. She spent most of the ball with Dray. I’ve had fleeting glimpses of her attention and frankly I want more. Yeah, I know we’re meant to share. Yeah, that’s hot. But I also want her to myself. Her eyes on me, her mouth kissing my lips, her body entwined with my body.
I try to suppress my annoyance but it escapes in a pissy little sigh.
“It’s the full moon.” I point to the window where the large silver disc hovers, framed by the window.
“Is that meant to be an explanation or …” she says fiddling with her cutlery.
“Dray is a shifter. The full moon sends him, and all his other little buddies, half-crazed. They’ll be off rampaging through the forest, terrorizing squirrels most probably.”
Dray was pissed he was missing this meal. Especially as we’re leaving for the training assignment tomorrow. Extra pissed because usually he crashes after a full moon and takes a full twenty-four hours to recover. He’ll be slinking in after the moon sets and we’ll be out the door again in a matter of hours.
I twist my glass in my fingers. I haven’t told her about the leaving bit yet.
“Is Thorne affected by the full moon too?” she says.
“No, Thorne’s just fucking anti-social.”
“He’s not–” she starts to protest.
“You spend one evening with the dude and you think you know him better than me – his bond brother.”
She takes a sip of wine. “I guess not.”
I take a gulp of wine from myself. This isn’t going how I want it to.
I gesture to the food on her plate. “It’s scallops. I thought you might not have tried it before and I thought you might like it. Also,” I say, picking up my cutlery, “it’s good for you.”
“Clare was exaggerating. The food in the canteen is perfectly fine.” Although as she lifts a piece of scallop between her lips and starts to chew, I’m guessing the food in her mouth is a hell of a lot better than the food in the canteen. She actually swoons. “Oh my gosh, that is so good,” she moans.
I smile to myself. “I thought you’d like it.”
“If you’re trying to seduce me with food–”
“I already tried that,” I say. “I don’t think it was particularly effective.”
“You didn’t feed me this before,” she says, placing another piece in her mouth and making a face so reminiscent of how she looks when she comes, I’m stiffening in my pants.
“Actually,” I say, “I am trying to butter you up. I have some news you aren’t going to like.” Or maybe she will like it. Who the fuck knows with this one.
“Oh,” she says, with suspicion, chewing.
“We’re going away from the academy for a short period of time.”
A cacophony of expressions flicker over her face and it’s impossible to read if she is or isn’t pleased with this news. “All of you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“There’s been an infraction through the usual protections out of the East,” I say, playing down what I suspect has happened because I don’t want her to worry. “They want to use it as a training exercise for some of the shadow weavers at the academy.”
“Is it going to be dangerous?”
“No,” I lie.
“And … how long will you be gone for?”
“Most likely, four weeks.”
She nods. “Okay.”
That’s it? Just an okay?
I’m disappointed. I wanted her to be a little more pained by the separation. Because I am. I don’t want to leave her. Especially in this damn place.
“You could be a little more disappointed, sweetheart,” I snipe.
“Why? You’re coming back, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I say, even though that’s not guaranteed. Nothing is, after all. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t worry about you while we’re away.” And miss you. Fuck, I’m going to miss you.
“I can look after–”
“Yeah, I think we’ve established that you can’t.” She scowls at me, but doesn’t argue. The evidence is stacked against her and she knows it. “Promise you won’t do anything stupid while we’re away.”
“I didn’t do anything stupid before. It’s not my fault people want to kill me.”
“Who wants to kill you?” I growl.
“It’s just a figure of speech,” she dismisses.
“Just … don’t go poking into stuff about your sister while we’re not here.”
“Why?” she says, eyes narrowing.
“Because it could be dangerous.”
“And why, Beaufort Lincoln, would it be dangerous? Her death was an accident, remember?”
I look her right in the eye. “And if it wasn’t, if you are right and someone deliberately killed your sister, then who’s to say they won’t come for you too.”
Her mouth falls open and she stares back at me in disbelief. “You believe me.”
“I’m saying it could be a possibility. One I will help you look into. When we return.”
She smiles at me, her entire face brightening. It’s been a long while since she last smiled at me. She looks so damn pretty when she smiles. I prefer it to the scowls.
“I can’t promise you,” she says. “If something comes up, I won’t be able to help but–”
“How did I know you’d say that,” I mutter, shaking my head. The girl is damn infuriating. Whenever I’m with her, it’s like being inside a whirlwind, rattled and shaken so hard your brain bounces around inside your skull. I hold her gaze. “I guess I know you well.”
She takes the final bite of scallop, licking her lips when she finishes it.
“Of course, I wouldn’t have to worry about your safety, if you just wore this.” I pull the golden collar from my pocket, lay it on the tabletop and slide it towards her.
She examines it with a mixture of disgust and interest.
“You know I’m never going to wear it.”
“And you know I’ll never understand why. It will protect you, Briony. Keep you safe.”
She reaches out and strokes her finger along the fine silk.
“If it’s the color,” I say, “if it’s too showy. If it’s not showy enough–”
“It’s what it represents.” She turns it over in her hands. “Couldn’t it be a bracelet or a belt or something?”
“It wouldn’t be as visible. It wouldn’t act as a deterrent.”
“Deterrent?” She tosses the choker back on the table. “Do they even work?”
“Yes.”
“Funny, because Odessa was wearing hers when I punched her in the throat.”
I nearly choke on my food. “You what?”
“Punched her in the throat,” she says, with more than a little bit of satisfaction. “She was bad-mouthing my friends.”
“So you just walked up to her and punched her in the throat.” I tut. “This is what I mean by taking risks.”
This girl!
“No, I asked her very nicely to stop and in response she stabbed her knife into my hand. Then I punched her in the throat.”
“What the fuck! She is going to wish she was never born!”
“You don’t need to do anything. I already dealt with it. Despite her wearing that collar.”
