Sorcery of Thorns (53 page)

Their grins broadened. As it turned out, Finch had been using his new privileges as Director to illegally smuggle grimoires into the hands of private buyers. The entire time Katrien had been helping them with Ashcroft, she had also been plotting to rescue Summershall from his tyranny.

“You did excellent work, Quillworthy. I look forward to watching
your career advance, and of course, providing any references that you require. Speaking of which—Scrivener.”

A flush spread across Elisabeth’s face. She was so convinced of her impending humiliation that she found that she couldn’t speak. She looked down at her lap instead.

“Firstly,” Mistress Wick said, “I knew who you were the moment you set foot in the Royal Library. Had I objected to the
situation, I wouldn’t have allowed the steward to hire you.”

“Oh.” Elisabeth paused. Blinked. “How did you know?”

“Most prospective maidservants are not quite so sanguine about books that bite off people’s fingers. The steward was very impressed. Now, I have something here to give you.” She removed a parcel from her robes and passed it across the desk. “It will not bite off your fingers,” she
said dryly, when Elisabeth hesitated to take it.

Uncertain, she accepted the parcel with trembling hands. She undid the string, folded the blue paper aside—and stopped breathing. From within, a newly forged greatkey gleamed up at her. Most of the Great Libraries’ keys were tarnished from age and use, but this one was brand new, shining as brightly as gold.

“I know you likely would have preferred
your old one back, but we were unable to recover it from the wreckage.”

Mistress Wick’s voice faded out. For a moment Elisabeth was back there, feeling the atrium quake, watching it collapse around her. After Silas had entered the circle, the dome had caved in, leaving her, Nathaniel, and Ashcroft buried under tons of debris. Long minutes of silence had followed as she waited for help to arrive.
Pinned alone beneath the rubble, she’d had no idea whether Nathaniel had survived.

She blinked, and just like that, she was back in the sunlit office. She carefully touched her arms, but the last of her bruises had faded weeks ago.

“It’s all right,” she said, looking up from the greatkey. “I think I’m ready for a new one. But does this mean . . . ?”

Mistress Wick nodded. “Your apprenticeship
has been officially reinstated—if you choose to accept it. I will be honest: there are those on the Committee who did not wish to allow your return. But they are outnumbered by those who regard you as a hero. There is no doubt in my mind that you will be accepted for warden’s training should you decide to pursue it.”

Elisabeth paused. “I’m no longer certain that I . . . want to be a warden.”
Nothing compared to the relief of speaking those words out loud. “In truth,” she said, growing bolder, “I don’t know what I want to do any longer, or who I want to be.” She looked up from the greatkey and offered, “The world is so much bigger than I once thought.”

Mistress Wick looked thoughtful. “I know that your view of the Collegium has changed. But do not forget that the Collegium, too, can
change. It simply needs the right people to change it. There are a number of other, equally important posts in the Great Library in which you could make a difference. Wardens tend to forget that not all battles are fought with swords.” Her voice gentled. “But you do not need to make a choice now. This
key is a promise that whatever you decide, or don’t decide, you are always welcome in the Great
Libraries.”

Elisabeth did miss wearing her apprentice’s robes; the long sleeves were useful when there wasn’t a handkerchief around. She tried not to sniff too loudly as she wiped her cheeks.

“Finally,” Mistress Wick said, turning to both girls, “I must ask you to keep Cornelius Ashcroft’s purpose for the Great Libraries a secret—for now. At the moment, only a handful of people know what actually
transpired that day. The truth will get out eventually, but the preceptors wish to ensure that when it does, the Collegium is prepared to weather the storm.”

And what a storm it would be. As Elisabeth exited the office a minute later, she wondered what kinds of gatherings robed officials were holding in dusty rooms, discussing the revelation that the Great Libraries had been created to summon
the Archon. Soon, the news would tear the Collegium apart. And oddly enough, she thought that might be a good thing. It was about time that the old gears got ripped out and replaced with something new.

She and Katrien turned a corner. Deep in her thoughts, Elisabeth almost collided with a boy wearing the robes of a junior librarian.

“Hullo,” he said, brightening at the sight of them. He turned
from Elisabeth to Katrien. “Are you Katrien Quillworthy? My name’s Parsifal. I’m the one who’s supposed to show you to your room, and then give you a tour of the library.” He swiveled back to Elisabeth, beaming. “And you must be Elisabeth Scrivener.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, sticking out her hand.

He gave it a conspiratorial shake. He also, possibly, attempted to wink—either that, or
a piece of dust had flown past his spectacles and gotten in his eye. She couldn’t tell which.

It had been a relief to discover that he was still alive. Contrary to her expectations, few librarians had perished during the summoning. When Ashcroft arrived with an army of demons to begin his ritual, they had barricaded themselves here in the offices of the Northeast Wing. Surprisingly, after the
atrium collapsed, Parsifal himself had borrowed an axe from the armory to break them out.

Elisabeth prepared herself to walk on alone. Before they went their separate ways, Katrien caught her arm. “How are you doing—truly?” she whispered under her breath.

Elisabeth attempted a smile. “I’m all right.”

Katrien’s expression grew serious. “I know you cared about him. He meant a lot to you.”

She
nodded, her throat tight. “It’s been . . . difficult. But things are getting better.” Hoping she wasn’t changing the topic too obviously, she glanced at Parsifal. “You’ll like Parsifal. He’s kind. Smart. And—er, gullible.”

“Oh, perfect,” Katrien said.

“Don’t get him into too much trouble.” She had a strong feeling that Parsifal was going to replace Stefan as Katrien’s unwitting collaborator.

She grinned. “I will, but I’ll get him out of it afterward. I promise.”

Elisabeth spirits lifted as she crossed the atrium. The sound of workmen hammering echoed throughout the space, nearly drowning out the friendly rustling of pages. The sorcerers were long finished by now, but she had been there to watch them work as they raised the shattered balconies, mended pillars, made the bookshelves
whole again, like a marvel at the dawning of the world. The atrium wasn’t quite as it once was; half the shelves stood empty, and the map in the tiles hadn’t been replaced. But
beams of sapphire light still filtered through the newly repaired dome, and the air still smelled of parchment dust and magic. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt a stirring, a whisper—a ghost of the consciousness
that had woken to rouse the library to battle, now lapsed into a long and peaceful slumber.

When she slipped past a group of librarians out the front doors, the chill in the air startled her. It was so warm inside, she had briefly forgotten that it was already winter.

A tall, slim shadow was leaning against one of the statues flanking the entry. As she made her way down the steps, the shadow
detached, limping into the light with the help of a cane. Her heart leaped. After spending all those hours trapped in the wreckage, uncertain of Nathaniel’s fate, she still experienced a moment of joy every time she saw him.

The emerald cloak was a thing of the past. In its place, he wore a dark overcoat with its collar turned up against the cold. It looked especially striking against his pale,
angular features, with the breeze tousling his pitch-black hair; by now, she had gotten used to the way it looked without the silver streak. Another difference was the cane, which never left his side. As it turned out, there were some wounds even his household wards couldn’t heal, especially after spending hours awaiting rescue in a library’s rubble.

It was a miracle that they had survived. Hundreds
of tons of stone and glass, and it had happened to fall in such a way that both of them had been spared. A miracle, people said, but Elisabeth knew the truth. It had been the library’s doing, watching out for them until the very end.

“You’re smiling,” he observed, his gray eyes sparkling. “How did it go?”

She reached into her pocket and showed him her shiny new
greatkey. “I haven’t made a decision
yet. But it went—well. Far better than I expected.” She sounded surprised even to her own ears.

“I’m glad,” he said, with feeling. “It’s about time something wonderful happened to you.”

“Something already has, according to the papers. His name is Magister Thorn, Austermeer’s most eligible bachelor.”

“Ah, you know how they exaggerate. Just last week, they were still claiming that I planned to
run for Chancellor.” As they stepped down onto the sidewalk, he made a stifled noise of pain.

She shot him a concerned look, taking his arm in hers, which promptly bore a considerable portion of his weight. “Did Dr. Godfrey give you permission to walk all the way here?”

“No. He’s going to have some choice words for me tomorrow. But as it appears the injury is going to be permanent, I’m of the
opinion that I might as well begin getting used to limping around.” Thoughtfully, he tapped his cane. “Do you think I should get one with a sword inside, like Ashcroft’s?”

She shuddered. “Please don’t.” Her shudder turned into a shiver as a flurry of snowflakes whirled past. She squinted upward, astonished to see that the sky, which had been blue just minutes ago, was now filling with soft winter
clouds. White flakes spiraled downward, spinning past the Royal Library’s dome, swirling around the bronze pegasus atop its spire, which she was convinced now reared in a slightly different position than before.

Nathaniel had also stopped to take in the view. “Do you remember the last time it snowed in Hemlock Park?”

“Of course.” Blood rushed to her cheeks at the look he was giving her. How
could she forget? The frost and the candlelight, the way time had seemed to stop when they kissed, and how he
had parted her dressing gown so carefully, with only one hand—

She wasn’t sure which of them leaned in first. For a moment nothing existed outside the brush of their lips, tentative at first, and then the heat of their mouths, all-consuming.

“I seem to recall,” Nathaniel murmured as
she twined a hand into his hair, “that this”—another kiss—“is a public street.”

“The street wouldn’t exist without us,” she replied. “The public wouldn’t, either.”

The kiss went on, blissful, until someone whistled nearby.

They laughed as they parted, their lips flushed and their breath clouding the air between them. Suddenly, the snowfall struck Elisabeth as very conveniently timed. “This
isn’t your doing, is it?” she asked, catching a few flakes on her palm.

She realized her mistake as soon as she spoke. But this time, his eyes barely darkened. He merely snapped his fingers, demonstrating the lack of a green spark. “Alas, my days of controlling the weather are over. To some people’s relief, no doubt.”

She ducked her head as they continued onward toward Hemlock Park. “Have you
thought any more about—you know?”

He gave a considering pause. “I miss doing magic, but it wouldn’t feel right, summoning another demon,” he said finally. “The Magisterium offered to hand over a name from their records, but they aren’t exerting as much pressure as I anticipated. Now that the Chronicles of the Dead has been destroyed, and Baltasar’s spells along with it, there’s no great urgency
to have a Thorn waiting in the wings.”

“That’s good,” Elisabeth said. Her chest ached a little. Just days ago, Nathaniel wouldn’t have had the heart to carry on this conversation.

“It is. And I’ll have time for other things.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Let’s see. I’ve always wanted to take up fencing. What do you think? I’d look awfully dashing with a rapier.”

She made a face.

“You’re right—swords
are your area, not mine. What about cheese making? Flower arrangement? There are so many possibilities, it’s hard to know where to begin.” He paused in thought. “Perhaps I should start with something simpler. Would you still like to go ice-skating?”

“Yes!” she burst out. “But—” She tried not to glance down at his injured leg.

A grin tugged at his mouth. “We saved the world, Scrivener. We’ll
figure out a way.”

She relaxed. He was right. They
would
figure out a way.

“Even if you have to pull me on a sled,” Nathaniel went on.

“I am not pulling you on a sled!”

“Why not? I dare say you’re strong enough.”

She sputtered. “It would get into the papers.”

“I hope so. I’d want to save a clipping. I could put it in my scrapbook, next to all the articles about Ashcroft spending the rest
of his life in a stinking, rat-infested dungeon.”

She smiled the rest of the way home, admiring the snow beginning to dust the rooftops of Hemlock Park, causing the occasional gargoyle to flick its ear in irritation. Wreaths and garlands decorated the houses in preparation for the winter holidays. Carriages clattered past, flakes coating their roofs like powdered sugar. Meanwhile passersby paused
to nod in Elisabeth and Nathaniel’s direction, taking off their hats or even stopping to bow, their faces solemn. No one knew the entire story, but the battle in front of the Royal Library, their recovery from the rubble, and Ashcroft’s subsequent confession had painted
Elisabeth and Nathaniel as saviors of the city.

Every once in a while, a witness to the battle would pause to ask if there had
been a third person there that day. Someone else who had fought with them on the library’s steps, as slight and pale as a ghost, there one moment and gone the next. They looked puzzled when they asked it, as though recalling a half-remembered dream.