Sorcery of Thorns (41 page)

“Ten years, Elisabeth.” His voice cracked with emotion. “You shouldn’t have done it. Not for me.”

She had braced herself for this moment during the long hours of waiting, trying
to imagine how he would react once he regained his senses enough to recall what had happened, but she still wasn’t prepared for the intensity of his expression. She had thought he might be angry with her, or perhaps berate her for her foolishness. With his gaze upon her now so raw with despair, she saw that she couldn’t have been more wrong. One by one, her rehearsed arguments fell away.

Quietly,
she asked, “Would you have done the same for me? I think you would have.”

“That is not—” But he couldn’t finish, for his stricken look plainly said,
Of course; that and more. Anything Everything
. He pressed his eyes shut before he could betray himself further, but she had already seen enough to leave her shaken. He continued evenly, “When Silas brought you back, I knew no good would come of an
association between us. I wished daily that you would leave.” He dragged a hand over his face. “I thought—I hoped—that after the battle, you might have come to your senses. That I would wake and find you gone.”

The words were harsh. She held her breath, waiting for the rest.

“But you stayed with me. And selfishly, I was glad—I had never wanted anything more in my life. Damn you,” he said. “You
unmanageable, contrary creature. You have made me believe in something at last. It feels as wretched as I imagined.”

She wiped at the wetness on her cheek. “You wouldn’t like me if I were manageable,” she said, and he laughed, a soft, tormented sound, as though she had slipped a knife between his
ribs. She thought she understood what he was feeling, because she felt it too: a sort of joy and
pain at once, an unbearable yearning of the heart.

“I’m sure you’re right.” He sounded hoarse. “Though I have to admit, I could have done without almost getting crushed by a bookcase the first time we met.”

“That only happened once,” she said. “There were extenuating circumstances.”

This time his laugh was louder, surprised. His eyes locked with hers, and her breath caught. His longing for
her was plain, as tangible a sensation as an invisible thread drawn tight between them. He tensed and looked away, his gaze landing on the window.

“It’s been snowing?” he asked.

“You did that while you were asleep.” At his expression of horror, her heart plunged, and she added quickly, “It’s all right. You haven’t hurt anyone. It’s just snow.” She stood and took his hand. “Come look.”

Nathaniel
appeared doubtful, but he stiffly climbed out of bed and allowed her to help him to the window seat. As they settled there, Silas opened one yellow eye. He regarded them for a moment, and then he leaped off the bed and padded from the room.

There was barely enough space for both her and Nathaniel on the window seat’s cushions. A frosty chill penetrated the glass, but his body was warm from bed,
and close, his bent leg pressing against hers.

Snow had transformed the city. Even in the blue twilight she could see impossibly far across the rooftops, their shingles etched in white, the view luminous and clear. Chimneys sent up wisps of smoke. Clouds parted to reveal a glittering sky.
Every glow was refracted: the warm burnishing shine of the streetlamps, the cold luster of the stars, banishing
the darkness to almost nothing. Night would never truly fall in the presence of so much light.

She had expected the streets to be empty, and for the most part they were—of traffic, of shoppers. But people trooped nevertheless through the snow and the golden lamplight, some in groups, others in pairs holding hands, all traveling silently in the same direction. There was an almost sacred quality
to the procession, like a vision of saints crossing from this life to the next.

“Where are they going?” she asked.

“To the river.” Nathaniel’s breath fogged the glass. Gradually, the tension bled from his shoulders. “When it freezes, everyone goes skating.”

“Even in the dark?”

Slowly, as if caught in a dream, he nodded. “I haven’t been in years—I used to go with my family. They light bonfires
along the shore, and roast so many chestnuts you can find your way there by smell.” He paused. “If you’d like, I’ll take you there this winter.”

There were an infinite number of reasons to turn him down. It was unlikely she’d be here come winter. She might not even be alive. A mere twenty minutes away by carriage, Ashcroft was in his manor, scheming.

But it seemed to Elisabeth that evil could
not exist right now, in this place, not with all those people making their pilgrimage by lamplight to the river; there was too much beauty in the world for evil to possess any hope of victory.

“I would like that,” she said.

“Are you sure? I’m already having second thoughts. I just
had an image of you speeding around with knives attached to your feet.”

She frowned at him. He was grinning. She
realized, with a pang, that she had missed his smile: the wicked look it gave him, the amusement that sparkled in his eyes like sunlight dancing across water. As they gazed at each other, and seconds passed, his grin began to fade.

“Don’t stop,” she said, but it was no use. He looked serious again.

Yet it was not the same seriousness as before. The air had changed between them. She grew keenly
aware of every place their bodies touched, which now felt hot instead of merely warm, a heat that spread to her cheeks and tightened her stomach—a sweet, almost painful anticipation.

She swallowed. “I wanted to ask,” she said, “about when we were on the pavilion—when we . . .” Nathaniel was looking at her in such a way that she nearly couldn’t finish. “Was that you?” she asked. “Or was it Ashcroft’s
spell controlling you?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead he leaned forward and kissed her, his lips as soft as crushed velvet, his fingers tangling in her hair.

Afterward, he drew away. Disappointment flooded her, but he only moved far enough to rest his forehead against hers. “God, Elisabeth, I’ve been doomed since the moment I watched you smack a fiend off my carriage with a crowbar. How
could you not tell? Silas has been rolling his eyes at me for weeks.”

She laughed. In a dizzying rush, a great many of the things he had said and done suddenly made perfect sense. She felt transformed by the revelation. Nothing else existed but their mingled breath, the chill of the window against her side, the memory of
the softness of Nathaniel’s lips lingering on her own. It was her turn to
lean forward.

“Wait,” he said, forcing out the word with an effort. “This is—we shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to you. I can’t offer you a decent future. Even as a child I gave up any hope of leading a good or normal life. To subject you to that, to drag you into the shadows with me—”

Tenderness swelled in her chest. Everything was always so complicated with him. She found his
hand, resting on her cheek, and laced their fingers together.

“I’m already with you, and it suits me perfectly well,” she said. “You’re enough for me the way you are, Nathaniel Thorn. I want nothing more.”

Then they were kissing again, with urgency. Back on the pavilion, she had been right; this did feel like drowning, a desperate, gasping, weightless plunge, Nathaniel’s mouth as vital as air,
the world receding far away as they sank together into a fathomless depth of sensation. She reached for him, wanting to feel him close against her, only to hear his breath catch. Too late, she remembered his bandaged chest. Before she could apologize, he pressed her down against the cushions.

Raised above her with his hands braced on either side, he took her in, his eyes dark and his lips flushed.
His loose, rumpled hair cast blue shadows over the angular planes of his face; she thought distantly that he would need to have it cut soon, or start tying it back like Silas.

He leaned his weight onto one arm and reached for the belt of her dressing gown. With her heart in her throat, she nodded. She watched him slip the knot deftly, using just one hand, and
part the garment with infinite care.
Candlelight shimmered over the pale cream satin of her nightgown. She was aware of her quickened breath, her chest rising and falling, the tickle of the garment’s lace edge and the cling of its sleek fabric.

“I fought the Book of Eyes in a nightgown,” she told him, barely a whisper.

“In that case,” he replied, “I expect I don’t stand a chance.”

She couldn’t tell whether he was joking. His expression
was almost one of agony. She took pity on him and placed her hands on his shoulders, nervousness quivering through her like a note of music as she pulled him down.

They kissed gently this time, shyly, now that the first heady rush was spent. Nathaniel cupped her face, caressing her hair, and then ran his hand down her side until he found her waist, his calloused fingers catching on the satin.
Her skin had grown so sensitive to his touch that she surprised herself by shuddering in pleasure; the nightgown’s slippery fabric melded with her body, and she barely felt as though she were wearing anything at all. Her focus narrowed to the heat of their lips and breath, the lush squeeze of his hand on her hip, the shifting muscles of his back as she skimmed her fingertips across his shoulders,
marveling at how strong he felt, the way their bodies molded as though made to fit together. When she turned her head to let him press kisses to her neck, the chill air beside the window tasted of snow and starlight. The city’s lights shimmered through patterns of frost.

Time seemed to slow. Reflected in the glass, the wavering flames of the candles stood still. Snowflakes hung sparkling in the
air. She didn’t know if it was Nathaniel’s doing, or a different kind of magic entirely.

A fierce, urgent joy thrummed through her body. She felt as though she could leap out the window and take flight, soaring
high above the rooftops, impervious to the cold. She closed her eyes and gripped Nathaniel’s back, lost in the overwhelming sensation of his mouth against her skin.

A knock came on the
door.

Heat scalded Elisabeth’s cheeks as they both jerked upright. Minutes ago, the door had been open. Silas must have closed it at some point, and she could only imagine what he’d seen. “We’re decent,” she said, tugging the edges of her dressing gown into place.

The door creaked open. As usual, Silas’s expression gave no indication of his thoughts. She instantly felt foolish for imagining
that, after centuries of living among humans, he might have the capacity to be shocked by her and Nathaniel’s behavior.

“Master,” he said. “Miss Scrivener. I am sorry to disturb you, but you must come at once. Something is happening to the Codex Daemonicus.”

For a split second, Elisabeth sat frozen, her ears ringing with Silas’s words. Then she burst upright, almost bowling the armchair over
in her haste to seize Demonslayer from the corner. Without a second thought, she charged outside.

Her eyes watered. She coughed. A haze hung over the hallway, and when she reached the stairwell, smoke billowed up from the foyer in oily clouds. The sour, unmistakable stench of burning leather choked her nostrils. Dimly, she was aware of Nathaniel and Silas following her as she flew down the stairs.

“Did anything spill on the Codex?” she shouted over her shoulder, mentally going over the precautions they had taken. Following the night that it had transformed into a Malefict, she had been careful not to set any candles nearby. But perhaps one of the potions in the study had exploded, or a magical artifact had acted up—

“No, miss,” Silas replied. “Until a moment ago, all was well.”

Elisabeth’s
stomach twisted. If the damage to the Codex hadn’t happened on their end, that could only mean one thing.

Ashcroft had found a way inside.

THIRTY

W
HEN ELISABETH REACHED the study, she drew up short, squinting through the smoke that filled the room. Her blood ran cold as she took in the scene. The Codex hovered several inches above Nathaniel’s desk, its pages fanned
out, splayed at such a hideous angle that it risked breaking its own spine. Embers danced along the edges of the pages, and the cover’s leather bubbled like boiling tar.

Nathaniel appeared next to her, his shirt pulled over his nose to block out the smoke. “It looks like it’s being tortured.”

That was precisely what Elisabeth feared. “I have to go in,” she said, starting toward the grimoire.

He caught her arm. “Wait. We have no idea what’s happening. You could get trapped in there.”

His face was pale. Regret pierced her like a blade. She would give anything to reverse time, to be back upstairs with him, her troubles far away.

“You’re right, but we have no other option. If Ashcroft is
torturing Prendergast, I must stop him, or at least try.”

He opened his mouth to object, but she
didn’t hear what he said. She had already reached out and taken hold of the Codex, its cover searing her hand like a hot iron even through the bandages, and the world was spinning away.

She appeared in Prendergast’s workshop with a stumble, almost slipping on the wet floorboards underfoot. The room looked as though it had been through an earthquake. The table lay overturned on its side; cracks
splintered the ceiling beams. A tremor shook the dimension, and jars slid down the buckled shelves and shattered, spilling their slimy contents across the floor.