فصل 25

TWENTY-FIVE

PRESENTED WITH THE genuine article, Elisabeth conceded that it had, indeed, been foolish of her to mistake Ashcroft Manor for a palace. The real palace was so large that she couldn’t see the entire building through the carriage’s window. Instead she gaped at its towers upside down in the reflecting pool, which flashed past for an eternity, lit by votives floating on the water. She felt as though they had passed into a different world, leaving the city far behind. The drive up the lane clung to her like a spell—the trees sparkling with fairy lights, hedges trimmed into geometrical mazes, and fountains in the shape of swans and lions, everything veiled in the alluring shimmer of dusk.

But her bewitchment faded like a glamour as the coach slowed, joining the line of carriages pulling up at the front doors. The carriages stretched in a chain all the way around the reflecting pool, ejecting an endless stream of guests, who ascended the steps in candlelight. Soon, she would have to convince all of them of Ashcroft’s guilt.

Her stomach lurched when the coach came to a full, final stop. A servant in the palace’s rose-colored uniform opened the door, and Elisabeth accepted Nathaniel’s hand, stepping down carefully in her tightly laced silk shoes. His severe expression faltered as his hand grazed the cape covering her gown.

“Scrivener,” he said carefully, “I don’t mean to be forward, but is that a—”

“A sword hidden underneath my dress? Yes, it is.”

“I see. And how exactly is it—”

“I thought you didn’t mean to be forward.” She squeezed his arm. “Come on,” she said, with a confidence she didn’t feel. “Let’s go.” Chandeliers glittered through the palace’s windows, almost too dazzling to look at directly. She was aware of a number of curious looks being sent in her direction as they mounted the stairs, everyone eager to see the first companion Nathaniel had ever brought to the ball. Her heart pounded. If only they were attending as a real couple, about to pass the night dancing and laughing and sipping champagne.

At the top of the stairs, a pair of footmen ushered them inside. Slowly, she let go of Nathaniel. Pillars soared upward to a curved ceiling painted with moving clouds and cherubs. The gold-and-cream clouds drifted across the pastel blue sky, and the cherubs fanned their wings. The archway at the far end of the hall had to lead to the ballroom, its entrance sending down a curtain of golden leaves. Guests gasped in delight as they stepped through the illusion, vanishing into the room beyond.

A servant approached to take Elisabeth’s cloak. She hesitated before she undid the ribbon tying the garment at her throat, feeling the silk glide through her fingers, the fur and velvet lift away. Afterward, she resisted the urge to fold her arms across her chest. The air chilled her bare skin as though she had shed a skin of armor.

Nathaniel glanced at her, and paused. He hadn’t yet seen her in her gown. The chandeliers threw prisms over its ivory fabric, setting the ruched silk aglow with a silvery sheen. Golden leaves flowed across the bodice, clustered at the top to form a scalloped décolletage, and again at the gown’s hem, where they floated atop a sheer layer of organza. Pearl earrings shivered against her neck like chips of ice.

Nathaniel had passed the ride to the palace in silence, his thoughts impossible to guess. Now his eyes widened; he looked lost. “Elisabeth,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You look . . .” “Marvelous,” a man said, bustling over to shake Nathaniel’s hand. With a sinking heart, Elisabeth recognized him as Lord Ingram from Ashcroft’s dinner party. “Marvelous to see you, Magister Thorn. I just wanted to say, what excellent work on the illusions. When we heard you had been commissioned this year, we half expected to arrive and find the place decorated with skeletons!” He let out a braying laugh at his own joke. Nathaniel’s jaw clenched, but Lord Ingram didn’t notice. “And who is this lovely young lady?” He turned to Elisabeth, looking up, and then up some more, as he discovered that she was nearly a head taller than him.

“That is Miss Scrivener, dear,” said Lady Ingram, arriving alongside her husband. “From the papers.” “Oh. Oh.” Lord Ingram rocked back on his heels. “Miss Scrivener, I was under the impression you had been sent—well, that’s hardly appropriate for me to—please excuse me.” Lady Ingram was tugging him away, a frigid smile fixed on her face. He went without complaint, shooting troubled glances over his shoulder.

Elisabeth’s heart sank further. Now that she looked, she saw signs of the rumors everywhere. Women paused to stare, then whisper to their partners, their lips molding around the word “hospital.” No one else tried to approach her and Nathaniel as they made their way toward the ballroom. Gossip churned in their wake, hidden behind gloved hands and polite smiles.

“I’m ruining your reputation, aren’t I?” she asked, watching the spectacle unfold.

“Don’t worry,” Nathaniel said. “I’ve been hard at work trying to ruin my reputation for years. Perhaps after this, influential families will stop trying to catapult their unwed daughters over my garden fence. Which actually did happen once. I had to fend her off with a trowel.” Elisabeth smiled, unable to resist his grin. But her smile faded as they neared the archway.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked.

She shook her head, trying to ignore the vise that closed on her lungs. It was too late to turn back. Even if it weren’t, even if the ballroom teemed with Ashcroft’s demons, she would still press on; she had no other choice.

As they passed through the curtain of leaves, wonder briefly overcame her fear. They stood in a great chamber overgrown by a forest glade. A flock of sapphire butterflies swirled around them, flashing like jewels, only to dart away toward the orchestra and scatter between the instruments. Ivy twined through the music stands, and wildflowers engulfed the refreshment tables. The enchanted scene was filled with people dressed in silk and fur and diamonds, laughing in amazement as leaves drifted down from the chandeliers.

But no amount of beauty could overcome the fact that somewhere within this grandeur, Ashcroft awaited them.

“Would you care for a drink, miss?”

Even before Elisabeth turned, she knew whom she would find standing beside her. Still, she almost started in surprise when she laid eyes on Silas: blond and brown-eyed, dressed in palace livery, holding a tray of champagne flutes. He looked thoroughly, resignedly human. She and Nathaniel made a show of selecting their glasses in order to buy themselves a few seconds.

“Thank you for doing this,” Elisabeth whispered.

Silas sighed. “I assure you, I would not have agreed to the plan had this indignity been part of your original proposal. The livery is ill-fitting, and I would not wish to serve this detestable vintage even to a commoner. No offense intended, Miss Scrivener.” Elisabeth coughed, hiding a laugh. “None taken.”

Demons weren’t permitted inside the palace, but Nathaniel had been able to sneak Silas in that afternoon, illusion and all, when he’d arrived to enchant the ballroom. Silas had been keeping an eye on things ever since.

“Chancellor Ashcroft is on the other side of the room,” he went on, “speaking to Lady Ingram. I believe he’s preparing to make his way over. I will remain close.” With that, he gave them a brief nod and blended back into the crowd.

Elisabeth’s stomach twisted. She craned her neck, straining for any hint of Ashcroft, but even though her height allowed her to see far across the ballroom, there were too many guests blocking her view.

Nathaniel caught her hand. “This way. I’ve spotted a likely crowd. Prince Leopold is a sensitive type—he’s bound to be sympathetic to what we have to say.” Her thoughts stuttered at the unexpected sensation of his fingers twining with hers. She forced herself to focus. He was pulling her toward a group of people that included Lord Kicklighter, all of them bowing and scraping to a young man in a red military uniform.

“Is that him? The prince?”

Nathaniel nodded. “If you can believe it, I used to fancy him. Then he went and grew that mustache. Or he murdered a gerbil and attached it to his face. For the life of me, I can’t tell which.” She glanced at him in surprise. “I didn’t realize—then do you mean—”

“I like girls too, Scrivener.” Amusement danced in Nathaniel’s eyes. “I like both. If you’re going to fantasize about my love life, I insist you do so accurately.” She frowned. “I am not fantasizing about your love life.”

“Strange. This is unfamiliar territory. Young women are usually more than happy to devote a sizable portion of their brains to the task of contemplating my splendor.” “What about the ones who throw champagne in your face?”

“That only happened once, thank you very much, and there were extenuating—” Suddenly, his cheer vanished. “Never mind. Here he comes. Remember what we practiced.” “Nathaniel,” Ashcroft said behind them. “Miss Scrivener. How excellent it is to see you.” His voice slid down Elisabeth’s spine like a trickle of cold sweat. She braced herself, and turned. As soon as she met his eyes, the misery of her days in Ashcroft Manor came crashing back down on her in force. Her mouth went dry, and her hands shook. She had forgotten how handsome he was up close—how closely he resembled a storybook hero, with that golden hair and charming smile. Lady Ingram stood beside him, clearly wishing to get to the bottom of Elisabeth’s reappearance as soon as possible. For a moment it was as though Elisabeth were back there, trapped with no possibility of escape.

A space discreetly formed in the crowd. The other guests carried on their own conversations, but Elisabeth felt the weight of their attention. For all that they appeared occupied, they were hanging on every word.

“We were all so worried when you disappeared from Leadgate Hospital,” Ashcroft said. His eyes crinkled with concern—the same concern that had fooled her just weeks ago. “We feared you had been lost on the streets. Some areas of the city can be terribly dangerous for a young woman on her own.” “You’re right,” Nathaniel said. His gray eyes assessed Ashcroft’s pearl-colored suit, and paused to take in his walking stick, which had the same gryphon’s head handle from the Observatory. “She was in danger,” he went on, his scornful gaze flicking back to Ashcroft’s face. “But as it turns out, the criminals on the streets aren’t half as bad as the ones living in mansions.” Ashcroft’s smile hardened. Elisabeth might have imagined it: a flicker of uncertainty in his expression, a shadow of dawning realization.

“I hear you’ve made a miraculous recovery, Miss Scrivener,” he said smoothly, turning back to her. “Is that true?” Anyone could have bathed Elisabeth, dressed her, brushed her hair, and brought her to the Royal Ball, even if she had no mind left to speak of. She knew that was what Ashcroft was hoping, even expecting: that she was little more than a living doll, incapable of talking back. Now came the moment he would discover that despite all he had done to her, he had failed to break her. The thought filled her with resolve, like a molten blade plunged seething into water.

“I did not recover,” she said. Gasps rang out around them. “I’m the same now as when you condemned me to Leadgate Hospital, on the recommendation of a physician who barely spoke to me. The only miracle is that I survived.” Ashcroft opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off.

“It’s shameful to call that place a hospital.” She recalled Mercy’s sorrowful face, and knew she wasn’t the only girl who had remained voiceless for far too long. “The overseer, Matron Leach, accepts money from wealthy patrons who abuse the patients for pleasure. Or at least she did, before she turned herself in to the authorities this morning.” That had been Silas’s doing; he had returned in the early hours, sighing over the lower city’s grime.

Lord Kicklighter’s booming voice almost made her jump. “I say, Chancellor Ashcroft, is that not the same hospital that receives your funding?” “I’ll be sure to look into the matter.” Ashcroft’s smile had grown thinner, and his eyes had lost their genial warmth. “Bear in mind, these claims are coming from—” “A young woman from whom you expected to profit?” Nathaniel inquired, with a savagery that startled Elisabeth. “Matron Leach produced documents connecting you to the scheme, after all. Or is there another, more pressing reason why you wanted Miss Scrivener out of sight, Chancellor? Perhaps you could enlighten us.” “I remember everything, Ashcroft,” she added quietly. “Everything you did to me. Those afternoons in the study. The spell you used on me. The fiends.” Shock rippled outward. “My god,” someone murmured, “did she say fiends?”

Ashcroft was no longer pretending to smile. “These allegations are absurd. Remember, everyone, that poor Miss Scrivener was diagnosed with hysteria by a licensed physician. She suffers from extreme anxiety. Delusions.” “I don’t think I imagined the fiends,” Elisabeth said. “They were in the papers.”

In the crowd, someone gave a nervous laugh. People glanced between her and Nathaniel, then back to Ashcroft. The atmosphere had changed.

Elisabeth held her breath. They had practiced Nathaniel’s next lines a hundred times.

“If truly you have nothing to hide,” he said slowly, his gaze pinned on Ashcroft, “I’m certain we would all like to hear why you were so eager to silence a witness in the Great Library investigation. By now, it almost seems as though you don’t want the saboteur to be found.” A hush fell as everyone waited for him to answer. In the newfound silence, Lord Kicklighter was conveying information to Prince Leopold in what he no doubt imagined was a whisper: “Yes, Leadgate Hospital. That’s the one. The most disturbing accusations . . .” When the orchestra started up with a flurry of violins, Ashcroft twitched. Several people took a step back from him. Lady Ingram seized her husband’s arm and stalked off, her ramrod-stiff posture indicating that she wanted no part in this new, unexpected scandal.

“Excuse me,” Ashcroft said briskly, offering everyone a forced imitation of his usual smile. “I have matters to attend to elsewhere.” Then he turned and strode away.

Everyone watched him go, openmouthed. Guests parted to let him pass. Heads bent together, jewels sparkling, as the news of what had happened spread like wildfire across the ballroom. Horrified glances followed Ashcroft’s departure. No one aside from Elisabeth and Nathaniel paid any attention to the palace servant who set aside his tray and, a moment later, tailed Ashcroft out the door.

The glitter of the chandeliers filled Elisabeth’s vision. The bubbles in her champagne flute ticked against the glass, each one a miniature explosion beneath her fingertips. Suddenly the ballroom was too bright, too loud, too full of people, all of them turning in her direction.

“Miss Scrivener?” An unfamiliar man’s face swam in front of her. Her hearing fluctuated strangely as he introduced himself as an official from the Magisterium. “If you would be available to make a statement—” “Tomorrow,” Nathaniel interrupted. He was scrutinizing Elisabeth, his eyes intent. A rush of gratitude overcame her when he took her arm. “Let’s go somewhere quieter,” he said.

Her memory seemed to skip. One moment he was steering her through the crowd, and the next he was supporting her in a hallway, allowing her to cling to him as her lungs rebelled. Each labored gulp of air slammed against her ribs like a punch. Black spots swarmed at the edges of her vision.

“It’s over. Just breathe. Just breathe, Elisabeth.”

She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, screwing her eyes shut. She was aware that she was gripping him so hard that it probably hurt, but she couldn’t make herself stop. She felt as though she were dangling off the edge of a tower, and she would fall if she let go. “I’m sorry,” she gasped.

“It’s all right.”

“I don’t—I don’t know why—”

“It’s all right,” he said again. He paused, and then added, “When terrible things have happened to you, sometimes the promise of something good can be just as frightening.” She didn’t know how long they stood there. Finally her shaking eased, and when she opened her eyes again, she found them standing in a hallway lined with windows and paintings. No people were in sight, aside from a servant passing with a tray at the end of the hall. Distant strains of music drifted in from the ballroom.

“How did you know what to do?” she croaked, turning back to Nathaniel.

His expression was unreadable. “Experience. I could barely leave the house for months after my father’s death without having a similar attack.” She sucked in a breath. She realized that she was still gripping his coat, and forced her fingers to uncurl. “I’m sorry.” “I said it was all right.”

“I meant for you. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

For a moment, he was silent. Then he pushed the drapes aside and looked out the nearest window. “Ashcroft got into his carriage a few minutes ago—he left in a hurry. A Magisterium coach is pulling out now, too. It appears we might not have even needed Silas.” Elisabeth took a few more steadying breaths, cautiously accepting their victory. Her plan had worked. What had happened was real. “Did you see the looks on everyone’s faces? I think they truly . . .” She paused. “Nathaniel?” He had steadied himself against the wall, blinking hard. She was about to ask whether he was all right when he set his glass down on the windowsill, sloshing champagne over the rim. She hadn’t touched her own drink, wherever it had gone, but evidently he hadn’t been as careful. Now that she looked more closely, she made out the darkness of his widened pupils. His color was high, his cravat disheveled.

“Nathaniel . . .”

“Will you come with me?” he asked quickly, as though he feared what she might say. “I’d like to show you something.” She hesitated, her chest tight. “What about Ashcroft?”

“I suspect that we might not need to worry about him any longer. Not tonight. Possibly not after tonight, either.” He looked down, a muscle shifting in his jaw. “I just thought that we—” The realization came upon Elisabeth swiftly, leaving her dizzy. If suspicion took hold against Ashcroft, everything would change, and soon. There would be no more evenings in Nathaniel’s study, heads bent close together, sharing dinner by the fire. She would have to face her future, and her future might not have him in it.

“Yes.” Before he could have second thoughts, she took his hand. Distantly, she observed that the music had turned sweet and sad. As though she had stepped outside her body, she watched him wrap her in his coat, exquisitely careful, and draw her out through the glass doors at the end of the hall.

The night air cooled her flushed cheeks. Their footsteps crunched along the path toward the gardens. Somewhere close by, a fountain splashed. Tall hedges enfolded them, perfumed with the wistful scent of blossoms past their prime, and Nathaniel’s arm warmed her side. After her attack in the hallway, she felt drowsy and dreamy and strange, weighed down by the unsaid words between them.

At last they reached a gate, nearly hidden by the hedges. Nathaniel found a latch and let them inside.

Elisabeth’s breath caught. Summer hadn’t lost its hold on this secret place. Roses flourished in a hundred different shades of pearl and scarlet, their heady perfume drenching the cultivated paths. At the end of the walled garden stood a pavilion of white marble, shining in the moonlight, its balconies overgrown with vines. They walked forward arm in arm, passing beneath arbors that dripped with blooms, the paving stones carpeted in petals.

“How did you find out about this?” Elisabeth asked, as they climbed the pavilion’s steps. She felt as though it might vanish beneath her feet at any moment, like an illusion.

“My parents used to bring me here when I was young. I thought it was the ruin of an ancient castle. Maximilian and I would play for hours.” He paused. “I haven’t been back here since. He would have been fourteen now—my brother.” Silence fell between them. They had reached the top. Over a balustrade twined with blossoming white roses, the view looked out across the gardens, back toward the palace. Its windows sparkled like diamonds in a stone setting, the towers framed by stars. They were too far away for Elisabeth to guess where the ballroom was amid all that light: a different world, one filled with music and dancing and laughter.

Sorrow constricted her throat. She considered Nathaniel, his pale features just as distant. She didn’t know what to say or how to reach across the gulf between them. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him, as everyone else had done, everyone but Silas, whose service came at such a terrible cost. The pain of it sang inside her like music, every note a wound.

“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel said. “I didn’t bring you here to tell you about my family.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Please. Never apologize to me for that.”

“It’s hardly an appropriate topic for a celebratory occasion.”

She saw him drawing inward, preparing to lock himself away. “You aren’t like Baltasar,” she blurted out, realizing this might be her only chance to say it. “You know that, don’t you?” His face twisted. For a terrible moment, she thought he might laugh. Then he said, “There’s something you have to know about me. When my father began researching the ritual, I knew exactly what he was planning. I never tried to stop him. I hoped that it would work. I wanted them back, Max and my mother. I would have done any evil thing to have them back.” “You were twelve years old,” she said softly.

“Old enough to know right from wrong.” Finally, he looked at her, his eyes bleak. “My father was a good man. All his life, he was good, except for the very end.” His expression said, So how can there be any hope for me?

“You’re good, Nathaniel,” she said quietly. She placed a hand on his cheek. “You are.”

Beneath her touch, a tremor ran through him. He looked at her as though he were drowning, as though she had been the one to push him, and he did not know what to do. “Elisabeth,” he said, her name wrung from him as a plea.

Her heart stopped. His eyes were as dark and turbulent as a river in midwinter, and very close. She felt as though she stood on a precipice, and that if she leaned forward, she would fall. She would fall, and drown with him; she would never resurface for air.

She tilted toward him, and felt him do the same. Her head spun. Nothing could have prepared her for this: that she would experience her first kiss in moonlight, surrounded by roses, with a boy who summoned storms and commanded angels to spread their wings. It was like a dream. She readied herself for the shock and the plunge, for the quenching of this agony inside her, which strained her soul to breaking.

Their lips brushed, divinely soft; the barest touch, more intoxicating than the perfume of the roses. “You don’t taste of champagne,” she breathed out dizzily, wonderingly. “I thought you would taste of champagne.” This time, he did laugh. She felt it as a shiver of air across her cheek. “I didn’t drink any. I thought I had better not.” “But—” She drew back, and looked at him. Had she imagined that moment in the parlor? The moment he had suddenly lost his balance, seemed disoriented, right after he’d looked outside and said . . .

The hair stood up on her arms.

“Is something the matter?” Nathaniel asked.

“I don’t know.” She glanced around. “If you didn’t want to talk about your family, why did you bring me here?” “I . . .” His brow furrowed. “Oddly enough, I can’t precisely . . .”

He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember. Because he hadn’t made the decision to bring her here—someone else had. She yanked up her skirt and drew Demonslayer, whirling to face the rest of the pavilion.

In the shadows, someone began to clap.

“You caught on more quickly than I anticipated, Miss Scrivener,” Ashcroft said, stepping into the moonlight, poised in midclap.

Elisabeth could barely breathe. “You cast a spell on him,” she whispered. Demonslayer trembled in her grasp.

“Now, there’s no need to fight me,” Ashcroft said. “I’ve only brought you two here to make a simple transaction.” He reached behind himself, and yanked. Iron chains rang out against the marble as a slim figure went sprawling at his feet. At first Elisabeth couldn’t make sense of what she saw: long white hair, fanned unbound across the stone. A beautiful face contorted with suffering, sulfurous eyes downcast.

“Give me the girl,” Ashcroft said to Nathaniel, “and I’ll give you back your demon.”