Sorcery of Thorns

“What is the point of life if you don’t believe in anything?”

It was always wise to be polite to books, whether or not they could hear you.

“Can you go on?”

“Of course I can.” He gave her arm a feeble pat of reassurance. “I may be useless, but my good looks might prove critical for morale. Si

Nathaniel looked at her sidelong. “Scrivener, I know I cut a devilishly handsome figure lying here on the floor all covered in blood—which I hear some girls find quite appealing, strangely enough, and if you’re one of them I’m not going to judge—but please stop crying. It’s only a flesh wound. I’ll be back to fighting evil any moment now.”

She sniffed loudly. “I’m not crying. My eyes are watering. You smell awful.”

“What? I never smell awful. I smell like sandalwood and masculine allure.” He lifted his head to smell himself, and gagged. “Never mind.”

Gazing down at Nathaniel, Silas sighed. “Truth be told, miss, I suspect he did not possess a plan, and was simply making it up as he went along.”

Elisabeth, who seized him in an embrace, followed by Nathaniel, who hugged him from the other side. He froze, completely rigid, enduring their affection in the manner of a purebred house cat being squeezed by a toddler. When he twitched, they finally released him.

“We shall never speak of that,” he warned, brushing off his sleeves

, the last of her strength spent defending herself in the alley.

“Silas!” Nathaniel exclaimed. “Do you have my—augh! What is that?”

“That is Elisabeth Scrivener, master.”

This was worse than using the scrying mirror. Worse even than stealing from the Royal Library. On the first day of her apprenticeship, Elisabeth had vowed to protect the kingdom from demonic influences. If she participated in a summoning, and a rumor somehow got out, even a whisper of speculation, every Great Library would be closed to her. No warden would speak to her. She would become an outcast from the only world in which she had ever belonged.

But her oaths meant nothing if they asked her to forsake people she cared about in their greatest moment of need. If that was what being a warden required of her, then she wasn’t meant to become one. She would have to decide for herself what was right and what was wrong.

The grief, when it came, struck her like a punch to the gut. She doubled over and sank to the floor, her breath coming in strangled gasps. She was not made of air or light. She was weakly, devastatingly human, and she did feel pain, more than she could bear.

that what it meant to lose someone? The pain never went away. It just got . . . covered up.