Taste of Thorns (The Firestone Academy Book 3) by Hannah Haze

Author:Hannah Haze [Haze, Hannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-10-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Briony

I say goodbye to Fox, aware I’m being deceptive.

He thinks I’m going to the Princes; while I haven’t officially moved into their tower yet, I have been spending more of my evenings in their company.

Tonight, however, I walk around the corner, then, when I’m sure Fox is gone, I retrace my steps and head towards the Great Hall.

I’m not going to confront the Madame but I am going to find the evidence I need to prove to everyone that she is behind the deaths at the academy.

A few torches burn around the outside of the building, casting flickering light onto the statue of the firestone and its dragons. The hall itself is dark though and I expect to find its doors locked. However, they’re not. I slip inside, then up the carpeted staircase and along the landing, stopping outside the Madame’s door.

My heart is hammering at about a million miles an hour and my hands are shaking as I lean my ear against the wood and listen.

Vampires can move around silently but I hold my breath and strain my ears anyway. No noise, no light shining under the doorway, no smell of cigarette smoke.

I think I’m safe.

I try the door handle, but this time, the door is locked. Crouching down so I’m eye-level with the lock, I pull a grip from my hair and get to work. It’s much harder than the lock on the door to Amelia’s old room and when it finally pops, I find the door still won’t open. It’s held shut by what I can only assume is some kind of spell. I curse under my breath, but I’ve come this far and I won’t be deterred.

Fox says we need proof and I’m sure I can find it. I’m convinced more than ever that she is the one responsible for my sister’s death, for all the deaths.

I close my eyes, searching for that magic like I’ve been practicing out in the forest. It sits there humming away, but it’s prickly, alert, as if it knows we’re doing something dangerous.

I try my best to conjure it out, but it doesn’t come as easily as it has these last few days. Is it my nerves, my agitated state? Am I trying too hard?

I suspect there is one sure-fire way I can force my magic out, one I’m not keen to undertake. I rattle the door-handle. Obstinately, it refuses to move.

With a dissatisfied huff, I close my eyes and remember what it was like in the trial: picturing the scene; Thorne on the ground; the monsters attacking him; fearing he would die; that I was going to lose him. Those feelings flood through my body and I sob, and then the light comes, much stronger than it had done with Fox, pouring from my hands towards the door. I don’t know what to do with it or how to manipulate it, but it doesn’t matter. It seems to have a mind of its own, swimming towards the door and slipping around the edges.

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