He bent over Nathaniel. Elisabeth swallowed. But he only brought Nathaniel’s hand to his lips and kissed it, just as he had done after his summoning, even though agony wracked his face to do so, the hunger struggling every second for control. Then he put Nathaniel’s hand down. He stood and faced the Archon.
“Silas,” Elisabeth whispered.
Pain rippled across his features at the sound of her voice. He closed his eyes, driving the hunger away. “I am not its equal,” he rasped. “I cannot fight it and win.” Every word seemed to strain him. “But I have strength enough to end the ritual, and force it back to the Otherworld.”
She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs felt tight as a drum, locked around an unvoiced cry. She saw again the sword through Silas’s heart. Demons could not die in the human realm. But if he went into the circle, and left them—
“What will Nathaniel do?” she choked.
Silas paused even longer. Finally he said, in a voice almost like his own, “I fear he must learn to put his clothes on the right side out. He will have twenty more years now to master the art. Let us hope that time is sufficient.” He took a step forward. “Take care of him, Elisabeth.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. She jerked her chin in a nod. Somehow, Silas looked calm now, his face transformed by relief. Faintly, he was smiling. She remembered what she had thought upon seeing Silas smile for the first time: she had never seen anyone so beautiful. She had never known such beauty was possible.
Understanding at last what Silas meant to do, the Archon blazed to greater heights, sweeping its wings through the wreckage. Fragments of marble rained down around them. Tiles shattered, and the dome’s glass sparkled like snow as it fell. But she saw only Silas’s face, radiant, as he walked into the light.
EPILOGUE
ELISABETH FIDGETED IN her seat. Under different circumstances, the wait would be making her sleepy. Sun poured in through the window, glancing from the Collegium’s bronze spires, casting a warm rectangle across her chair. Snores issued from a grimoire resting open on a stand in the corner, who occasionally woke up and wheezed dyspeptically before lapsing back into slumber. The room smelled of parchment and beeswax. But this office belonged to Mistress Petronella Wick, and Elisabeth was wound as tightly as a spring.
She nearly leaped from her skin when a loud, sucking whoosh broke the near silence, followed by a thump and a rattle. Just a delivery via the system of pneumatic tubes, arriving in the office from somewhere else in the Royal Library. Even so, her knuckles turned white. If she kept gripping the armrests like this, her fingers would go numb.
“Are you all right?” Katrien asked.
Elisabeth jerked her head up and down in what she hoped passed for a nod.
“If they’d brought us here to clap us in irons,” Katrien said, “I’m fairly certain they would have done it already.”
Elisabeth glanced at her friend. Katrien was wearing a set of pale blue apprentice’s robes, her greatkey hanging against her chest. She was short enough that the chair’s edge hit her below the knee, forcing her legs to stick out in front of her, a pose that made her look uncharacteristically innocent.
“But it never hurts to come prepared,” she went on, craning her neck to inspect the desk’s contents with interest. She was particularly fascinated by Mistress Wick’s paperwork, which wasn’t written in ink or regular script, but rather embossed with rows of bumpy-looking dots. “I snuck in a set of lock picks and a metal file just in case. They’re in my left stocking.”
“Katrien! What if someone finds them?”
“Then I suppose we’ll have to resort to the second file. But I have to warn you, that one will be less pleasant for you to retrieve if I’m incapacitated. It’s in my—”
Katrien clapped her mouth shut as the doorknob turned. Mistress Wick entered, resplendent in her deep indigo robes. The sunlight glinted on her key-and-quill pin as she took a seat opposite them behind her desk. Though her eyes never shifted in their direction, Elisabeth nevertheless experienced the same sensation of scrutiny as last time.
Last time, when she had sat in this office and lied.
“Elisabeth Scrivener. Katrien Quillworthy. I thought it would be most efficient to deal with both of you at the same time.”
What did that mean? Elisabeth shot Katrien a look of pure terror, which was met with a shrug.
“First,” Mistress Wick said, “I would like to update you on the situation with the scrying mirror. I appreciate your candor, Scrivener, in bringing the artifact to the Collegium’s attention.”
In the aftermath of the Archon’s summoning, Elisabeth had been too exhausted to do anything but babble out the truth—all of it—in one long, barely interrupted stream to the wardens who had dug her out of the atrium’s rubble. Shortly thereafter, the scrying mirror had been confiscated from Nathaniel’s attic. Now a stab of panic set her heart pounding. For the first time, she realized that her honesty might have gotten Katrien in trouble, too.
Relief flooded her as Mistress Wick went on, “Based on my strong recommendation, the Preceptors’ Committee has decided to omit the mirror from both of your records. There are some in the Collegium who would not look kindly on your use of a forbidden magical artifact, even in pursuit of saving the kingdom. I would prefer the information to never fall into their hands.” She turned her head slightly. “Now, Quillworthy.”
Katrien sat up straighter. “Yes, Mistress Wick?” she said, with a politeness that instinctively caused Elisabeth to brace herself, as that particular tone, coming from Katrien, had once preceded a firecracker going off in Warden Finch’s face. This time, however, it seemed as though Katrien meant it sincerely.
“I’m pleased to share that the Committee has also approved the transfer of your apprenticeship from Summershall to Brassbridge, also on my recommendation. Once this meeting has finished, you will be shown to your new accommodations in the Royal Library.”
Elisabeth barely kept herself from laughing out loud in delight. She and Katrien shared a grin. From now on, they would only be a fifteen-minute walk away.
“My suggestion to the Committee was influenced not only by your efforts against Ashcroft,” Mistress Wick continued, “but also your bravery in exposing ex-Director Finch’s crimes. Had you not investigated his activities, it is possible he would never have been caught.”
Their grins broadened. As it turned out, Finch had been using his new privileges as Director to illegally smuggle grimoires into the hands of private buyers. The entire time Katrien had been helping them with Ashcroft, she had also been plotting to rescue Summershall from his tyranny.
“You did excellent work, Quillworthy. I look forward to watching your career advance, and of course, providing any references that you require. Speaking of which—Scrivener.”
A flush spread across Elisabeth’s face. She was so convinced of her impending humiliation that she found that she couldn’t speak. She looked down at her lap instead.
“Firstly,” Mistress Wick said, “I knew who you were the moment you set foot in the Royal Library. Had I objected to the situation, I wouldn’t have allowed the steward to hire you.”
“Oh.” Elisabeth paused. Blinked. “How did you know?”
“Most prospective maidservants are not quite so sanguine about books that bite off people’s fingers. The steward was very impressed. Now, I have something here to give you.” She removed a parcel from her robes and passed it across the desk. “It will not bite off your fingers,” she said dryly, when Elisabeth hesitated to take it.
Uncertain, she accepted the parcel with trembling hands. She undid the string, folded the blue paper aside—and stopped breathing. From within, a newly forged greatkey gleamed up at her. Most of the Great Libraries’ keys were tarnished from age and use, but this one was brand new, shining as brightly as gold.
“I know you likely would have preferred your old one back, but we were unable to recover it from the wreckage.”
Mistress Wick’s voice faded ou
t. For a moment Elisabeth was back there, feeling the atrium quake, watching it collapse around her. After Silas had entered the circle, the dome had caved in, leaving her, Nathaniel, and Ashcroft buried under tons of debris. Long minutes of silence had followed as she waited for help to arrive. Pinned alone beneath the rubble, she’d had no idea whether Nathaniel had survived.
She blinked, and just like that, she was back in the sunlit office. She carefully touched her arms, but the last of her bruises had faded weeks ago.
“It’s all right,” she said, looking up from the greatkey. “I think I’m ready for a new one. But does this mean . . . ?”
Mistress Wick nodded. “Your apprenticeship has been officially reinstated—if you choose to accept it. I will be honest: there are those on the Committee who did not wish to allow your return. But they are outnumbered by those who regard you as a hero. There is no doubt in my mind that you will be accepted for warden’s training should you decide to pursue it.”
Elisabeth paused. “I’m no longer certain that I . . . want to be a warden.” Nothing compared to the relief of speaking those words out loud. “In truth,” she said, growing bolder, “I don’t know what I want to do any longer, or who I want to be.” She looked up from the greatkey and offered, “The world is so much bigger than I once thought.”
Mistress Wick looked thoughtful. “I know that your view of the Collegium has changed. But do not forget that the Collegium, too, can change. It simply needs the right people to change it. There are a number of other, equally important posts in the Great Library in which you could make a difference. Wardens tend to forget that not all battles are fought with swords.” Her voice gentled. “But you do not need to make a choice now. This key is a promise that whatever you decide, or don’t decide, you are always welcome in the Great Libraries.”
Elisabeth did miss wearing her apprentice’s robes; the long sleeves were useful when there wasn’t a handkerchief around. She tried not to sniff too loudly as she wiped her cheeks.
“Finally,” Mistress Wick said, turning to both girls, “I must ask you to keep Cornelius Ashcroft’s purpose for the Great Libraries a secret—for now. At the moment, only a handful of people know what actually transpired that day. The truth will get out eventually, but the preceptors wish to ensure that when it does, the Collegium is prepared to weather the storm.”
And what a storm it would be. As Elisabeth exited the office a minute later, she wondered what kinds of gatherings robed officials were holding in dusty rooms, discussing the revelation that the Great Libraries had been created to summon the Archon. Soon, the news would tear the Collegium apart. And oddly enough, she thought that might be a good thing. It was about time that the old gears got ripped out and replaced with something new.
She and Katrien turned a corner. Deep in her thoughts, Elisabeth almost collided with a boy wearing the robes of a junior librarian.
“Hullo,” he said, brightening at the sight of them. He turned from Elisabeth to Katrien. “Are you Katrien Quillworthy? My name’s Parsifal. I’m the one who’s supposed to show you to your room, and then give you a tour of the library.” He swiveled back to Elisabeth, beaming. “And you must be Elisabeth Scrivener.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said, sticking out her hand.
He gave it a conspiratorial shake. He also, possibly, attempted to wink—either that, or a piece of dust had flown past his spectacles and gotten in his eye. She couldn’t tell which.
It had been a relief to discover that he was still alive. Contrary to her expectations, few librarians had perished during the summoning. When Ashcroft arrived with an army of demons to begin his ritual, they had barricaded themselves here in the offices of the Northeast Wing. Surprisingly, after the atrium collapsed, Parsifal himself had borrowed an axe from the armory to break them out.
Elisabeth prepared herself to walk on alone. Before they went their separate ways, Katrien caught her arm. “How are you doing—truly?” she whispered under her breath.
Elisabeth attempted a smile. “I’m all right.”
Katrien’s expression grew serious. “I know you cared about him. He meant a lot to you.”
She nodded, her throat tight. “It’s been . . . difficult. But things are getting better.” Hoping she wasn’t changing the topic too obviously, she glanced at Parsifal. “You’ll like Parsifal. He’s kind. Smart. And—er, gullible.”
“Oh, perfect,” Katrien said.
“Don’t get him into too much trouble.” She had a strong feeling that Parsifal was going to replace Stefan as Katrien’s unwitting collaborator.
She grinned. “I will, but I’ll get him out of it afterward. I promise.”
Elisabeth spirits lifted as she crossed the atrium. The sound of workmen hammering echoed throughout the space, nearly drowning out the friendly rustling of pages. The sorcerers were long finished by now, but she had been there to watch them work as they raised the shattered balconies, mended pillars, made the bookshelves whole again, like a marvel at the dawning of the world. The atrium wasn’t quite as it once was; half the shelves stood empty, and the map in the tiles hadn’t been replaced. But beams of sapphire light still filtered through the newly repaired dome, and the air still smelled of parchment dust and magic. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt a stirring, a whisper—a ghost of the consciousness that had woken to rouse the library to battle, now lapsed into a long and peaceful slumber.
When she slipped past a group of librarians out the front doors, the chill in the air startled her. It was so warm inside, she had briefly forgotten that it was already winter.
A tall, slim shadow was leaning against one of the statues flanking the entry. As she made her way down the steps, the shadow detached, limping into the light with the help of a cane. Her heart leaped. After spending all those hours trapped in the wreckage, uncertain of Nathaniel’s fate, she still experienced a moment of joy every time she saw him.
The emerald cloak was a thing of the past. In its place, he wore a dark overcoat with its collar turned up against the cold. It looked especially striking against his pale, angular features, with the breeze tousling his pitch-black hair; by now, she had gotten used to the way it looked without the silver streak. Another difference was the cane, which never left his side. As it turned out, there were some wounds even his household wards couldn’t heal, especially after spending hours awaiting rescue in a library’s rubble.
It was a miracle that they had survived. Hundreds of tons of stone and glass, and it had happened to fall in such a way that both of them had been spared. A miracle, people said, but Elisabeth knew the truth. It had been the library’s doing, watching out for them until the very end.
“You’re smiling,” he observed, his gray eyes sparkling. “How did it go?”
She reached into her pocket and showed him her shiny new greatkey. “I haven’t made a decision yet. But it went—well. Far better than I expected.” She sounded surprised even to her own ears.
“I’m glad,” he said, with feeling. “It’s about time something wonderful happened to you.”
“Something already has, according to the papers. His name is Magister Thorn, Austermeer’s most eligible bachelor.”
“Ah, you know how they exaggerate. Just last week, they were still claiming that I planned to run for Chancellor.” As they stepped down onto the sidewalk, he made a stifled noise of pain.
She shot him a concerned look, taking his arm in hers, which promptly bore a considerable portion of his weight. “Did Dr. Godfrey give you permission to walk all the way here?”
“No. He’s going to have some choice words for me tomorrow. But as it appears the injury is going to be permanent, I’m of the opinion that I might as well begin getting used to limping around.” Thoughtfully, he tapped his cane. “Do you think I should get one with a sword inside, like Ashcroft’s?”
She shuddered. “Please don’t.” Her shudder turned into a shiver as a flurry of snowflakes whirled past. She squinted upward, astonished to
see that the sky, which had been blue just minutes ago, was now filling with soft winter clouds. White flakes spiraled downward, spinning past the Royal Library’s dome, swirling around the bronze pegasus atop its spire, which she was convinced now reared in a slightly different position than before.
Nathaniel had also stopped to take in the view. “Do you remember the last time it snowed in Hemlock Park?”
“Of course.” Blood rushed to her cheeks at the look he was giving her. How could she forget? The frost and the candlelight, the way time had seemed to stop when they kissed, and how he had parted her dressing gown so carefully, with only one hand—
She wasn’t sure which of them leaned in first. For a moment nothing existed outside the brush of their lips, tentative at first, and then the heat of their mouths, all-consuming.
“I seem to recall,” Nathaniel murmured as she twined a hand into his hair, “that this”—another kiss—“is a public street.”
“The street wouldn’t exist without us,” she replied. “The public wouldn’t, either.”
The kiss went on, blissful, until someone whistled nearby.
They laughed as they parted, their lips flushed and their breath clouding the air between them. Suddenly, the snowfall struck Elisabeth as very conveniently timed. “This isn’t your doing, is it?” she asked, catching a few flakes on her palm.
She realized her mistake as soon as she spoke. But this time, his eyes barely darkened. He merely snapped his fingers, demonstrating the lack of a green spark. “Alas, my days of controlling the weather are over. To some people’s relief, no doubt.”
She ducked her head as they continued onward toward Hemlock Park. “Have you thought any more about—you know?”
He gave a considering pause. “I miss doing magic, but it wouldn’t feel right, summoning another demon,” he said finally. “The Magisterium offered to hand over a name from their records, but they aren’t exerting as much pressure as I anticipated. Now that the Chronicles of the Dead has been destroyed, and Baltasar’s spells along with it, there’s no great urgency to have a Thorn waiting in the wings.”
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