that the wounds would leave fierce and permanent scars.
When Dr. Godfrey finished reapplying the bandages, he placed his palm on Nathaniel’s forehead and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” she blurted out.
“He’s developing a fever. That’s common with injuries of this nature. Wound fevers can be dangerous, but in his case, the wards should protect him from any serious harm.” He paused. “Magister Thorn? Can you hear us?”
Weakly, from the bed, Nathaniel had coughed. Elisabeth balanced on the edge of her seat, every muscle tensed. Soon Nathaniel’s eyes drifted open, the pale clear gray of quartz. He regarded her in silence, studying her face as though he had never seen it before, or as though he feared he had forgotten it while he slept. Finally he said, “You stayed with me.” His voice was barely a sigh, a breath.
She nodded. Tears filled her eyes. She swallowed, but the words came out anyway, unstoppable. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. It was my idea to confront Ashcroft at the ball. Without me, none of this would have happened.”
A wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows. At first she thought he was having trouble remembering. Then he said, “No. The scrying mirror . . . you couldn’t have known.” He paused, collecting his strength. Even breathing seemed to hurt. “Ashcroft. Did you catch him?”
Tearfully, she shook her head. She didn’t want to tell him the rest, but she had to. “Silas—” Her voice sounded high, odd, unlike itself. Her throat closed up. She couldn’t finish.
The wrinkle deepened in confusion. She saw the moment he began to understand. His gaze didn’t leave her face, but he went very still.
Silverware chimed in the hallway. Beatrice. She had gone downstairs to make tea.
Nathaniel went alert. Before Elisabeth could stop him, he heaved himself upright. He instantly went gray with pain and listed to one side, catching himself on his elbow, but he didn’t make a sound. He stared at the door with such intensity, waiting, that when Beatrice came into view and saw him, she froze.
“If you’d like to sit up,” Dr. Godfrey said, “we’ll arrange the pillows for you. You mustn’t strain yourself so soon.”
Nathaniel didn’t seem to hear him. A sense of impending doom hollowed Elisabeth’s stomach. Beatrice was holding the same silver tray that Silas always used. Nathaniel’s eyes were stark, wild, almost unseeing.
“Get out,” he said quietly.
Beatrice and Dr. Godfrey traded a look.
“Both of you. Get out.”
Beatrice came forward and set the tray on the nightstand, then stepped back, her hands folded against her pinafore. She had the manner of someone accustomed to dealing with difficult patients. But she didn’t know that to Nathaniel, what she had done was unforgivable.
Her crime was simple. She had brought tea. She wasn’t Silas.
Calmly, she began, “The laudanum may make you feel—”
Nathaniel surged out of bed, grabbed the tray, and flung it against the wall. Everyone flinched as the porcelain shattered, leaving a splash of tea dribbling down the wallpaper.
“OUT!” Nathaniel roared. “Get out of my house!”
His voice echoed from every direction, magnified. The walls shook and groaned ominously; a trickle of plaster dust fell from the ceiling onto the bed. He stood panting in his nightshirt and pajama trousers, his eyes ablaze with feverish light.
“Come along, Beatrice,” Dr. Godfrey said, closing his leather case with a snap. He shot Nathaniel one last look as he ushered his assistant from the room. Footsteps creaked on the stairs. A moment later, the front door clicked shut.
Elisabeth glanced out the window. The sun hung low in the sky, winking redly through the thorn bushes. Their tangled branches unwound to let Dr. Godfrey and Beatrice pass, then laced back together again.
She turned back to Nathaniel, her mouth hanging open.
His rage had vanished, though not the febrile glitter in his eyes. “Come on, Scrivener,” he said brightly. “We must go at once. Do you mind if I lean on you?”
“Wait,” she protested. “You aren’t supposed to be out of bed.”
“Ah. That explains why my legs have stopped working.” He gave Demonslayer an approving glance. “Good, you’ve come prepared.”
“But—” As he slumped, she rushed to catch him before he struck the floor. He had gone so droopy that it required some effort to arrange his arm over her shoulders. “Where are we going?”
He laughed as though she had asked a completely nonsensical question. “We’re summoning Silas, of course. We’re getting him back.”
Her eyes widened. She hadn’t known bringing Silas back was possible. But just like that, she knew where to take them without Nathaniel having