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.

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.

You’ve reminded me to live. That’s worth having something to lose.

I couldn’t send you away to an orphanage. You belonged in the library, as much as any book.”

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

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.”

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.”