She blew out a breath, realizing she’d been holding it the entire time. “He prepares for everything. That was one thing I came to understand while trapped in his manor. It seemed too good to be true—being able to spy on him—but I had to try.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Nathaniel sympathized. “Imagine if we’d caught him in the privy. Or trimming his nose hairs. Or even—”
Elisabeth made a face. “Show me Katrien,” she said to the mirror, before he could add anything else.
Her fingers tightened on the frame as the glass swirled again. She had prepared Katrien and Nathaniel for this moment as best she could, considering she’d only had a minute or so to speak with Katrien that morning, but now that the time had arrived for them to actually meet, she felt disturbingly queasy. For some reason, she didn’t think she could bear it if her best friend ended up hating Nathaniel.
Katrien’s face appeared in the mirror. She sat cross-legged on the floor, wrapped to the chin in an oversized quilt. Somehow, she managed to make the effect look threatening. Perhaps it was her gaze, dissecting Nathaniel like a laboratory specimen.
“Thorn,” she intoned.
“Quillworthy,” he replied.
A long pause elapsed, during which Elisabeth wondered if she might throw up. Finally, Katrien poked a brown hand from the quilt and pushed up her spectacles. The hand retreated back out of sight as though it had never existed. “I suppose you’ll do,” she said. “Now, what else do I need to know before we get started?”
Just like that, the awkwardness vanished. Elisabeth barely resisted leaping to her feet and cheering. She angled the mirror so Katrien could see both their faces. “To start with, Ashcroft is a couple of days late attacking the Great Library of Fairwater.”
Katrien frowned. “Do you think that’s because he hasn’t made any progress on the Codex?”
“Exactly—he could be buying himself more time, because he isn’t ready to move on to whatever he has planned for Harrows. . . .”
The three of them spoke well into the night, interrupted once by a random room inspection that left them scrambling to cancel the mirror’s spell before a warden saw their disembodied faces hovering above Katrien’s armoire, and a second time by Silas, who insisted on serving them a three-course dinner on the coffee table. Katrien watched Silas with keen interest, but thankfully said nothing.
They capped off the meeting by trying to get Nathaniel into the Codex. First they tried having him go alone—in order to establish a control, Katrien explained, but Elisabeth suspected she just wanted to watch Nathaniel struggle. Next they tried going together, linking their arms in the hopes Elisabeth could somehow pull him along with her. But every time, she simply materialized in the workshop dimension on her own. Prendergast grew so upset by her repeated arrivals that he began throwing jars full of severed fingers at her, at which point they decided to call it a night.
“Elisabeth,” Katrien said, as they all got up and stretched. “Can I talk to you about something? In private.”
Alarm jolted straight to Elisabeth’s stomach. No doubt Katrien had noticed the way she had turned red every time Nathaniel took her arm. Did they truly need to talk about that? As Nathaniel and Silas left the study, she sank back onto the couch, sandwiching her hands between her knees.
“Are you all right?” Katrien asked. “You look like you have indigestion. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about your resistance to magic. Where it might have come from, and so forth.”
Elisabeth slumped into the pillows. She felt as though her organs were liquefying with relief. “Did you come up with any ideas?”
“Well,” Katrien hedged, “there must be a reason why you’re the only person who’s been able to get inside the Codex, and it has to be related.” She paused. “Do you remember that time you fell off the roof, and you didn’t break anything?”
Elisabeth nodded, thinking back. She had been fourteen at the time, and had climbed two stories to avoid being seen by Warden Finch. “I got lucky.”
“I don’t think so. That fall should have hurt you, but you only walked away with a few bruises. Stefan swears you cracked one of the flagstones. Then there was the incident with the chandelier in the refectory—it practically landed on you. And the time you got strawberry jam all over—”
“I know!” Elisabeth interrupted, flushing. “I remember. But what does any of that have to do with me being able to get inside the Codex?”
Katrien gnawed on her lip. “You aren’t just resistant to magic. You’re also more physically resilient than a normal person. You’ve survived things that would have killed anyone else.”
Elisabeth started to object, then remembered her battle with the Book of Eyes. The Malefict had squeezed her until she thought her lungs would pop, but as far as she knew, she hadn’t so much as cracked a rib. In retrospect, that did seem strange.
“I was thinking about how those qualities might be connected,” Katrien went on slowly, “and something occurred to me. Do you remember those experiments I did when we first met?”
“The ones with booklice?”
Katrien nodded. Her eyes grew slightly misty. “Fascinating creatures, booklice. They spend all day scurrying around in parchment dust, eating and breathing sorcery, but it doesn’t harm them. They’re gigantic, and hard to kill. I thought they were a different species at first, unrelated to normal booklice. But after studying them, I realized that wasn’t the case. They start off normal when they hatch. It’s the exposure to the grimoires that changes them.”
For a moment, Elisabeth couldn’t speak. Her head spun. She imagined herself as a baby, crawling between the shelves. As a little girl, sneaking through the passageways. She could hardly remember a time in her childhood when she wasn’t covered from head to toe in dust. “Do you mean—are you saying I’m a booklouse?”
“The human version of one, at least,” Katrien said. “As far as we know, you’re the only person to have ever grown up in a Great Library. By the time most apprentices arrive at age thirteen, we must be too developed for any changes to occur. But you . . .”
Elisabeth felt as though she had been struck over the head with a grimoire. She had lived sixteen and a half years with a case of double vision, and suddenly, for the first time, the world had snapped into focus. This was why she had woken the night of the Book of Eyes’ escape. This was why she had been able to resist Ashcroft, and why the volume in the archives had called her—what had it called her?
A true child of the library.
Ink and parchment flowed through her veins. The magic of the Great Libraries lived in her very bones. They were a part of her, and she a part of them.
• • •
At the Royal Library that week, Elisabeth thought of little else. She went about her work as if lost in a dream, observing countless things she hadn’t noticed before. Grimoires rustled on the shelves when she walked by, but remained still and silent for the librarians. Bookshelves creaked. Rare volumes tapped on their display cases to get her attention. Her route to and from the storage room took her past a Class Four that was infamous among the apprentices for its foul temper—they fled down the hallway, shrieking, as it spat wads of ink at their heels—but all she had to do was nod at it every morning, and it left her alone. In one particularly memorable incident, a section of shelving sprang open unprompted, knocking Gertrude from her feet in its eagerness to beckon Elisabeth toward a secret passageway.
But the longer she swept, scrubbed, and polished, the more the sparkling sense of wonder drained away, replaced by an emptiness that hollowed out a chasm in her chest. If she were never able to regain her standing with the Collegium, what was left for her in the world? Outside the Great Libraries, she felt like an animal in a menagerie—an oddity torn from its home and paraded through places it didn’t belong. Every day, she tried to convince herself to quit so she could focus all her energy on Ashcroft. And every day, a wave of terror paralyzed her at the mere thought. The moment she set aside her un
iform and stepped out the door, there might be no going back.
Gertrude tsked and sighed, still convinced that Elisabeth was preoccupied with a boy. In a way, Elisabeth was. Her lack of sleep now owed itself to late nights around the flickering green fire in Nathaniel’s study. Cluttered with the results of their meetings, the room increasingly resembled the base of operations for a war. They had rearranged the furniture and tacked notes to the walls. But despite their efforts, Prendergast remained as uncooperative as ever, and they hadn’t gotten any closer to uncovering Ashcroft’s plans.
Today Elisabeth had been put to work cleaning the floor of the Observatory, whose blue-and-silver tiles gleamed like gemstones with every stroke of the mop. The room was designed for grimoires whose text could only be revealed by moonlight or starlight, or during certain planetary alignments. Astronomical devices whirred gently, off-limits to touch, particularly the enormous bronze armillary sphere that hung from the center of the Observatory’s glass dome like a chandelier. When she strayed to the edge of the room and peered down, she discovered a dizzying bird’s-eye view of the Collegium’s grounds. All appeared quiet this afternoon, except for a single rider galloping toward the library, dressed in travel-stained Collegium livery.
She was almost finished when the Observatory’s door creaked open. She looked up, expecting Gertrude with another task. Instead she caught a glimpse of a gold cloak entering the room.
“What would you like to speak to me about, Deputy Director?”
Shock numbed her at the sound of Ashcroft’s voice, as though the floor had collapsed and plunged her into frigid water. She darted behind a pedestal, clutching the mop to her chest. Hiding there, frozen, she listened to the rustle of Mistress Wick’s robes, willing her not to lead Ashcroft any nearer. No doubt the two of them believed the room to be empty.
Elisabeth’s gaze strayed to the bucket of soapy water sitting a few feet away, and cold sparks danced over her skin. As long as Ashcroft didn’t glance in the wrong direction . . .
“Just moments ago, we received news from a courier,” Mistress Wick said. “I thought you should be the first to know that the Great Library of Fairwater has been sabotaged.”
Elisabeth’s breath halted. Turning, she peeked through the interlocking rings of the instrument atop the pedestal. The pair of them had stopped near the center of the room, where an array of mirrors reflected a concentrated beam of sunlight onto the tiles. Ashcroft stood partially inside it, the light slicing a stripe across his sleeve and winking brightly from something in his hand. He held a decorative walking stick, the gold handle carved into the shape of a gryphon’s head.
“Oh, dear,” he said. “I am so terribly sorry.” Though he sounded genuine, amusement shone in his mismatched eyes. “Were there many casualties?”
“Four wardens and three civilians are dead, poisoned by the Malefict’s miasma. Director Florentine survived, but she sustained a serious head injury. Reportedly, she cannot remember any details of the attack.”
Ashcroft’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. A head injury, or the effects of a spell? Elisabeth’s stomach turned. If only Mistress Wick could see his expression.
As the two of them continued speaking, she remembered last night’s meeting with Katrien and Nathaniel. By this point, they were almost certain that Ashcroft didn’t leave Brassbridge when the attacks happened. Unless he knew an unheard-of spell powerful enough to transport himself halfway across the country, he couldn’t possibly have carried out the attacks in person—not the one on Fettering, while he was interrogating Elisabeth every day in his study, and not this one, either; his clothes showed no signs of travel. Nathaniel’s best guess was that he had to be working with another sorcerer as an accomplice.
Finally, Ashcroft turned to go. “I will return to the Magisterium at once,” he was saying. “I assure you, we have our best sorcerers on the case.”
“If I may speak bluntly, Chancellor, I fear your best sorcerers may not be up to the task. Thus far, only the Great Library of Harrows remains untouched. The saboteur has even targeted the Royal Library without consequences. . . .”
A shiver ran through Elisabeth as Ashcroft opened the door for Mistress Wick. Of course word of the Codex’s disappearance had already reached him—the moment they’d attributed its theft to the saboteur, it had become part of the investigation. Would the Collegium have given him access to the Royal Library’s records? And if so, would he bother taking a look at the new servants who had been hired?
Halfway out the door, he paused. His fingers thoughtfully caressed the carved gryphon’s head. He turned to scan the Observatory, his ruby eye passing over the instruments. She tensed as his gaze neared the bucket, but he didn’t appear to see it; his attention swept onward toward her hiding spot. She ducked out of sight, her heart pounding in the roof of her mouth. Even after the door clicked shut a moment later, she remained paralyzed for the better part of a minute before she dared look again.
Ashcroft had gone. She was alone.
• • •
That night, a solemn mood hung over the study. Nathaniel had spent all day working on his illusions for the Royal Ball, but the butterflies flapping incongruously around the room failed to lift Elisabeth’s spirits. Over the past few days it had seemed more and more possible that Ashcroft had put his plans on hold, and that they might have extra weeks or even months to apprehend him. No one knew what to say to Elisabeth’s news. Her painful decision not to return to the Royal Library had drawn a sympathetic look even from Silas.
She took a deep breath. The time had come to make an admission. “I don’t think Prendergast is going to tell me anything about Ashcroft’s goal. He still doesn’t trust me. And if I’m the only person who’s able to visit him, which seems likely, we can’t use the Codex as evidence. We have nothing left to go on.”
She looked around at their faces and saw the truth reflected there. The three of them believed everything she had told them, despite never having witnessed any sign of Prendergast for themselves. But to everyone else she would merely come across as a girl who had escaped from a mental hospital, making wild claims about a stolen book. They had reached a dead end. Gloom descended over the study, punctuated by a lash of rain against the windows.
Finally, Silas stood. “I shall fetch some tea.”
Somehow, the tea helped. Elisabeth cradled her steaming cup, grateful for the warmth that spread from her stomach down to her toes. She offered Nathaniel a faint smile when he joined her by the fire. The rain had intensified to a steady drumming outside. Wind moaned through the eaves, and the fire hissed as droplets found their way down the chimney. The green glow of the flames turned Nathaniel’s eyes the same color as the storm he had summoned on her first night in the city. He hesitated before speaking.
“I wanted you to know—in the end, if we aren’t able to stop Ashcroft, I’m not going to abandon you afterward. I—”
He looked troubled, on the verge of some difficult confession. A bolt of nerves flashed through her, as though loosed by a crossbow, thudding straight to the pit of her stomach.
“I’ll do everything in my power to restore your position with the Collegium,” he finished, casting his gaze into the fire. “To make sure you’re safe, in a place where Ashcroft will never find you. Knockfeld, perhaps, or Fairwater—somewhere that sorcerers don’t often visit.”
Elisabeth nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She didn’t understand the disappointment that stung her eyes. He was offering her exactly what she wanted. It was just that she had thought, for a moment, that he might say something else.
“What do you think Silas and Katrien are talking about?” she asked, desperate to change the subject. The two had been deep in conversation for several minutes.
“My best guess is that they’re plotting world domination.” Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think we should leave them alone together. It unsettles me.”
“At least if they take over the world, we won’t have to wor
ry about Ashcroft any longer.” She watched a butterfly land on top of the scrying mirror and fan its sapphire wings. No doubt Ashcroft would be at the Royal Ball, too. She wouldn’t even be able to see Nathaniel’s completed illusion. . . .
She sat up straighter. “Wait a moment. I’ve thought of something.”
“Tempting as the prospect is,” Nathaniel said, “we are not attempting world domination. It sounds fun in theory, but in reality it’s a logistical nightmare. All those assassinations and so forth.” At her blank look, he explained, “Silas used to tell me bedtime stories.”
“I’m serious,” she insisted. “I’ve had an idea. We may not have the evidence to make an official accusation against Ashcroft, but that doesn’t mean we’re helpless. We can still show everyone who he truly is.”
“I don’t follow.”
“We confront him in public, at an event where all the important people in Brassbridge can see his reaction. He believes he destroyed my mind. And even before he used that magic on me, he had no idea that I overheard everything he said while I was under Lorelei’s glamour.”
She saw the moment that Nathaniel understood, because his expression went carefully neutral. “You want to take the offensive,” he said slowly. “Reveal yourself to Ashcroft, and make a public accusation before he can regain control of the situation.”
She nodded, leaning forward. “Everyone might think I’m raving mad at first, but there are too many suspicious coincidences to ignore. He won’t be able to talk his way out of it. And with you by my side, accusing him along with me . . . think about it. Even if he tries to hurt us, he’ll only prove—”
“No,” Nathaniel interrupted. “Far too dangerous.” He stood and briskly clapped his hands. “Meeting adjourned.”
She grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back down before he could cast the spell to dismiss Katrien. “When is the Royal Ball? It’s soon, isn’t it?”
Nathaniel scowled.
“The ball is this weekend, Miss Scrivener,” Silas provided. “Master Thorn, of course, is expected to attend, and his invitation includes a companion.” When Nathaniel shot him a look of betrayal, he returned an angelic smile. “You did not order me to be silent, master.”
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