Sorcery of Thorns (34 page)

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?”