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The morning air felt pleasant moments ago, but now it seems to slip right through my flesh and into my bones. I shiver, unable to move, to speak, to do anything but watch as Inara orders the students to come forward.
“Let’s remind this mortal of what she really is: trash.”
A few seem to enjoy the spectacle, but most shadows’ eyes are apologetic as, one by one, they dump their plates and cups over my head.
Hot coffee. Cool orange juice. Greasy eggs. Still-warm biscuits sticky with blackberry jam. A veritable feast cascades over me.
Stay strong. Inara can only hurt you if you let her.
But each time I feel someone’s breakfast fall around my shoulders, each time sticky apple juice soaks my hair and wets my bra—the one I carefully wash every night because it’s the only bra I own—a piece of my dignity gets chipped away.
When it’s Mack’s turn, tears clump the eyelashes framing her soft blue eyes. Tears I know she won’t shed because she’s strong, and we prepared for this possibility.
It’s not your fault, I think, trying to will my thoughts across the air between us.
After she’s through dumping her latte and bowl of oatmeal over my head, Inara dismisses her.
Grinning, Inara waves her fingers in front of my face. My lips soften; the magic muzzle preventing me from speaking falls away.
“Ready to leave the academy?” she asks. “I promise, you don’t want this to escalate.”
It’s hard to summon dignity when you’re half-naked and covered in other people’s breakfast, but hell if I’m not going to try.
I refuse to let her break me.
I. Fricking. Refuse.
Holding her stare, I lick a glob of chocolate from the side of my cheek and grin. “Thanks. I was starving.”
That’s right, you snowflake psycho. You can’t break me.
Reina’s grin falters. She lowers the camera. Kimber and Lyra exchange surprised looks. There might be a sliver of respect in Kimber’s face . . . or she might simply find me more appealing as a mortal snack when I’m lathered in sugary pastries.
But the emotion beneath Bane’s icy features is one hundred percent rage. “Are you going to let her talk to you like that?”
Inara’s expression is terrifyingly blank as she laughs, a sharp, murderous sound. “We’re just playing a game, that’s all. Rhaegar, come here.”
In my periphery, Rhaegar eagerly follows her command. My stomach lurches. I know I’ve gone too far, embarrassing her in front of the Six. Goose bumps prickle my exposed skin, my chest tight with dread.
Basil is behind Rhaegar, whispering heatedly in his ear. With a growl, Rhaegar shoves the poor fawn, sending him tumbling into a trio of planters. Blue ceramic, soil, and cotton-candy pink pansies go flying.
“Here.” Inara gives a dismissive wave in my direction, as if I truly am trash to be discarded. “She’s yours for the day. Do whatever you’d like with her.”
My stomach lurches. All my dreams of thriving at school, of graduating and doing something good with my life, disintegrate.
Fae like Inara and Rhaegar will never let that happen.
Walling off my emotions, I grit my teeth, ready to face whatever happens next.
I’m so wrapped up in my anger that I don’t notice the scent. Not at first. Not until the others are already falling back, their sneers transforming into confusion.
Rhaegar’s head snaps up, his nostrils flaring as he inhales.
Alarm flickers inside his eyes. Like a wolf suddenly scared off by a larger predator, he darts away.
All at once, the perfume fills my nostrils, a potent, overwhelming bouquet of floral scents. As if lilies, roses, jasmine, and honeysuckle all got busy and had a giant flower baby.
Inara screams. At the same time, the courtyard trembles. Flowering vines surge from the ground, exploding from the small fissures between the cobblestones.
