فصل 17

SEVENTEEN

ELISABETH STIRRED AGAINST the bed’s soft sheets. She lay for a moment with her mind as empty as a summer sky, pleasantly adrift, and then jolted awake all at once, her nerves sparking with energy. She sat up and threw off the covers. The motion disturbed something nearby, which jingled.

A silver breakfast service had been laid out on the bed beside her, glinting in the morning sunlight. Tempting aromas of melted butter and hot sausage wafted from beneath the covered dishes. Saliva flooded her mouth, and her stomach growled. Perhaps stopping Ashcroft could wait a few more minutes.

She reached for the silverware arranged atop a folded napkin, then hesitated. She had vague memories of being washed and tended to before being lulled to sleep by the soothing motions of a comb gliding through her hair. Blood rushed to her cheeks, but she resolved to thank Silas in spite of her embarrassment. He had been far gentler with her than Hannah, and by now she was certain that when he’d expressed his lack of interest in human bodies, he had been telling her the truth.

As she tore into breakfast, she tried to make sense of her current state. The time of day suggested that she had slept for almost twenty-four hours. Her fever had broken. She was in the lilac room again, like last time. A black silk dressing gown enveloped her, almost exactly the right length for her tall frame, which she suspected meant it belonged to Nathaniel. It smelled of expensive soap and a curious scent she could only identify, rather disconcertedly, as boy—which didn’t seem as though it should be a good smell, but was.

A realization sank in: all of her possessions were gone. She didn’t even have clean clothes. The only item in the room that belonged to her was the letter from Summershall, still folded, resting discreetly on the nightstand. Silas must have retrieved it from her pocket. How was she supposed to fight the Chancellor when he had so much, and she so little?

A knock came on the door. “I’m awake,” Elisabeth said around a mouthful of pastry. She expected Silas, but instead Nathaniel strode in, fully dressed this time, armored in a tempest of emerald silk. Before she could get in another word, he paced to the window and braced his hands on the sill. He didn’t seem to want to look at her. In fact, he seemed to want to say whatever it was he’d come here to say and then vacate the room as quickly as possible.

Elisabeth finished chewing, and swallowed. The pastry lodged dry in her throat.

“I should have known you’d go charging headlong into trouble at the earliest opportunity, you complete terror,” Nathaniel said to the window. His words came out in a rush, as though he’d been rehearsing them in the mirror. “It appears that even the Chancellor wasn’t up to the task of keeping you out of danger. Why aren’t you in Summershall? Never mind. We’ll contact the Collegium, and they’ll arrange a coach for you.” He tensed, angling his face. “What is that?” Elisabeth had approached him with the letter from Summershall. Reluctantly, he took the paper. Their fingertips brushed, and she noted in surprise that he had calluses on his hand. She retreated, folding her arms tightly across her stomach, suddenly conscious that she was wearing Nathaniel’s clothes with little else on underneath.

His brow furrowed as he read the letter once, twice, his gray eyes eventually lifting to hers, uncomfortably piercing in their intensity. “I don’t understand.” “The new Director doesn’t want me back. He’s struck me from the records.” She sank down on the end of the bed. “And I have more to tell you.” “Is it about the threat Silas mentioned?”

“I think so. You might want to sit down.”

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows, but he compromised by leaning against the wall beside the window. Elisabeth opened her mouth, then hesitated and squeezed her eyes shut. The words formed knots inside her chest. It was harder to begin than she’d expected. She had been betrayed too many times, by so many different people. What if she was wrong about Nathaniel, and she couldn’t trust him, either?

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Her eyes flew open. Nathaniel was contemplating her with an unreadable expression. “It’s all right,” he said. “I know . . .” He considered his next words. “I know what it feels like to have things you can’t say. To anyone.” A torrent of relief flowed through Elisabeth. He isn’t the Chancellor. He isn’t like the physician, or Warden Finch. Helplessly, hoarsely, she began to laugh. Hysterical sounds wrenched from her body, bordering on sobs, and tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She tried to stop, but that only made it worse; her laughter turned into panicked gasps.

She expected Nathaniel to stare like everyone else had, as though she’d gone mad, for even she felt that she had gone mad, but instead the way he looked at her was—was—it was like turning a corner and unexpectedly meeting her own gaze in a mirror, in the split second that her startled eyes belonged to a stranger. A shock ran through her. Somehow, he did understand. She looked away, at last able to breathe until she calmed. He said nothing, only waited.

“I must tell you,” she said finally, curling her hands into fists. “This is too important. Someone has to know aside from me.” She took another deep breath. “It started that first night, with the Book of Eyes, when I came downstairs and smelled aetherial combustion. . . .” The longer she spoke, the more a weight lifted from her shoulders. Until now, she hadn’t realized how punishing it had been to keep all of those secrets—to be the only person who knew about Ashcroft, constantly aware that if something happened to her, the truth would vanish forever.

Nathaniel listened intently, never interrupting, his expression darkening the further she progressed. When she reached the part about the spell Ashcroft had used on her, a shadow fell across the room. At first she thought the sun had passed behind a cloud. Then she saw the emerald sparks dancing around Nathaniel’s fingers as the room plunged further and further into a midnight gloom.

She broke off. “What—?”

Nathaniel had been so focused on her that he hadn’t noticed his own reaction. He glanced around, and went pale. The darkness retreated.

“Sorry,” he forced out. “I didn’t . . .” He struggled to compose himself. Then he said evenly, “What the Chancellor did to you—that spell—you shouldn’t have been able to recover from it. And you shouldn’t have been able to see through his illusions, either, or resist his servant’s glamour. It sounds like you have some kind of resistance to demonic influence—which would explain quite a lot, actually, about everything that’s happened to you since the Book of Eyes.” He raked a hand through his hair, distracted. “But it’s strange. I’ve never heard of anyone . . . never mind. Go on. Why on earth are you smiling?” Elisabeth wasn’t sure. The sun was shining through the window again. The silver streak in Nathaniel’s hair was sticking straight up, and he clearly hadn’t noticed. And he believed her. Finally. He believed every word. Looking down at her knees, she continued.

“So you see,” she finished at last, “I must go to the Collegium straightaway and tell them everything I’ve learned. I think Ashcroft will strike the Great Library of Fairwater next, then Harrows. He’s moving in a circle around the kingdom, sabotaging each Great Library in order. Perhaps he’s saving the Royal Library for last. But the attack on Harrows is special to him for some reason.” Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “The defenses at Harrows should be impenetrable. It’s more secure than the Royal Library.”

“His ancestor built the Great Libraries. He might know a secret way inside.” She bit her lip. “And there are two Class Ten grimoires in its vault. If he succeeds—” Nathaniel straightened. “I see your point.”

“You don’t seem surprised by anything I’ve told you,” Elisabeth said tentatively. “You’ve known Ashcroft for a long time, but you still believe me.” He looked out the window again, the angle concealing his face. “I have spent the past day thinking of every possible thing that might have happened to you, and every person who might conceivably be responsible for it. I’ve moved past the point of surprise. And besides,” he added quickly, bitterly, before she could comment, “I make a point of never underestimating what a sorcerer can do. No matter how good, or kind, or trustworthy they seem—I’ve seen what they’re capable of with my own eyes.” The lines of his shoulder and back were tense. To him, this was obviously a personal matter. “You’re speaking about your father,” she said quietly, as all the comments people had made about Alistair began to come together.

Nathaniel stiffened. Silence reigned for a long moment. Then he said, in a clear attempt to change the subject, “You didn’t trust me before. What changed your mind?” Elisabeth picked at the dressing gown’s hem. “I was afraid of you at first. Now I understand that you helped me. And I believe . . .” He turned and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“I believe there is kindness in you,” she blurted out. “Even though you try to pretend otherwise.”

The eyebrow lifted higher. “So you’re hoping I might help you expose Ashcroft?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Why?”

“It’s the right thing to do.”

He barked out a disbelieving laugh. It sounded almost pained, as though someone had struck him. “Tell me, do you have any evidence? A motive? Ashcroft is the most powerful man in the kingdom, and his reputation is as spotless as the Queen’s linens. Everyone adores him.” “I know he’s studying the Codex Daemonicus. Whatever’s inside it will explain his plans.”

“Sorcerers have studied the Codex for centuries and found nothing of worth.” He shook his head. “You could bring your allegations to the Collegium, to the Queen herself, and no one would believe you. Ashcroft had you declared insane. He has a diagnosis from a physician and, by the sound of it, dozens of witnesses from high society.” Elisabeth’s hands twisted the dressing gown. Nathaniel went on relentlessly, “It would be your word, a disgraced apprentice librarian’s, against the opinions of the most respected people in Austermeer.” “But if you came with me, and told them—”

“I have nothing to tell. I could swear to your honesty for days, but the fact remains that I witnessed none of what you’ve told me firsthand. Everyone would see me lavishing attention on you, and after that debacle with the press they’d just assume that I . . .” He ran a hand through his hair again, more roughly this time.

“That you what?”

He grimaced. “A word of advice, Scrivener. Whatever Ashcroft is doing, let it go. He’s finished with you—you’re safe now. I’ll find a way to straighten out the matter with Summershall and then you can return home to your innocent country life.” “No.” Elisabeth thrust herself up from the end of the bed. “I won’t go back until I’ve stopped him.”

Nathaniel’s face hardened. “Sometimes people die,” he bit out, “and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

“I will save them.”

“You will join them,” he snapped.

Fury surged through Elisabeth. It swelled in her heart, crackled over her skin, fizzed up the roots of her hair. She advanced on Nathaniel until their noses almost touched. “That is better than doing nothing!” she shouted.

For a moment he made no reply. They stood glaring at each other, matched in height. His breath stirred against her face. When he finally spoke, he struggled to keep his voice level. “You’ve been attacked, violated, tormented, left on the streets to starve. The odds you face are impossible. If you continue down this path, you’ll die. Why won’t you just give up?” She stared. Was that a thing people did—just gave up? When there was so much in the world to love, to fight for? “I cannot,” she said fiercely. “I never will.” Nathaniel’s lips parted to deliver a retort that never came. Her gaze flicked to his mouth, and that was all it took for the air between them to change. Heat flushed her face at the realization of how close they were standing; Nathaniel’s eyes widened, his pupils dark.

He took an abrupt step back. Then he pivoted and seized the edge of the door. Recovering quickly, Elisabeth caught it before he could slam it shut between them.

“What did Silas mean, when he said you cared about me?” she challenged.

A fall of hair hid Nathaniel’s face from view, showing only the line of his jaw. “You of all people should know better than to make a habit of listening to demons.” He was right. What would the Director think if she saw Elisabeth now, willingly accepting refuge in the house of a sorcerer and his demon? Her fingers loosened in shock. The door tugged from her grasp, but Nathaniel didn’t slam it, as she expected—it swung shut with a quiet click. As his footsteps faded, she slumped against the inside of the door and dug her knuckles against her eyes. She tried to rub the ghostly image of the Director from her mind.

It used to be so easy to tell right from wrong. Wardens followed a simple code: protect the kingdom from demonic influences, and never involve themselves in sorcery. But what was she supposed to do when the code turned against itself? Had she not accepted Silas’s help, she might have died, and any hope of unmasking Ashcroft would have been lost along with her. Surely it was her duty to seek justice, no matter the cost.

Confusion roiled within her like a sickness. Perhaps having such thoughts meant she wasn’t fit to be a warden. Even so, she refused to turn back. She needed to find a copy of the Codex. She had to find out what Ashcroft was after. And there was no better place to start than in a sorcerer’s home.