“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.”
“That’s good,” Elisabeth said. Her chest ached a little. Just days ago, Nathaniel wouldn’t have had the heart to carry on this conversation.
“It is. And I’ll have time for other things.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“Let’s see. I’ve always wanted to take up fencing. What do you think? I’d look awfully dashing with a rapier.”
She made a face.
“You’re right—swords are your area, not mine. What about cheese making? Flower arrangement? There are so many possibilities, it’s hard to know where to begin.” He paused in thought. “Perhaps I should start with something simpler. Would you still like to go ice-skating?”
“Yes!” she burst out. “But—” She tried not to glance down at his injured leg.
A grin tugged at his mouth. “We saved the world, Scrivener. We’ll figure out a way.”
She relaxed. He was right. They would figure out a way.
“Even if you have to pull me on a sled,” Nathaniel went on.
“I am not pulling you on a sled!”
“Why not? I dare say you’re strong enough.”
She sputtered. “It would get into the papers.”
“I hope so. I’d want to save a clipping. I could put it in my scrapbook, next to all the articles about Ashcroft spending the rest of his life in