“I am a demon,” he said. “You cannot see me as anything more.”
Elisabeth shook from head to toe. She knew that if she tried to stand, her knees would give out beneath her. But it was not fear she felt. She did not know what this emotion was. Pity, perhaps, though she couldn’t tell for whom, and anger and despair, tearing through her like a storm. She believed that Silas cared about Nathaniel; she had seen it as plainly as day. But how could someone care for another and still take so much from them?
Twenty years. If Nathaniel was fated to die young—in his early forties, perhaps—then with that much taken away, he might only have a handful of years left. Her chest squeezed at the thought, the air wrung from her lungs like water from a dishrag. She couldn’t meet Silas’s gaze any longer.
When she looked down, a gleam of metal caught her eye. Another object lay at the bottom of the wrappings, where it had been concealed beneath Demonslayer. Master Hargrove had sent her more than just a sword. Slowly, she set Demonslayer aside. She reached into the wrappings and lifted out a chain. She ducked her head and drew the chain over it, feeling the weight of her greatkey settle against her chest: cold, but not for long. Then she ran her fingers over the grooves, so familiar they were a part of herself, designed to open the outer doors of any Great Library in the kingdom.
“Silas,” she said slowly. “If I got us inside the Royal Library after hours, would you be able to open the gate to the restricted archives?”
He paused. “There is a way.”
She looked up at him, gripping the key. “Help me.” The storm within her had stilled. “You’ve taken lives. Now help me save some.”
He gazed down at her, beautiful again, an angel considering a mortal’s petition from afar. “Is it that simple, Miss Scrivener?” he asked.
“It must be,” she replied. “For it’s the only thing to do.”
TWENTY-ONE
A GREAT LIBRARY NEVER slept, even after all the people had gone to bed. Voices echoed through the atrium as Elisabeth crept along, keeping to the curve of the wall, where her white cloak blended in with the marble. Some of the grimoires snored, while their neighbors made disgruntled noises at them for snoring too loudly; others whispered, and laughed. One lone grimoire sang a piercing lament that soared high above the rest, a sound that lifted past the shafts of blue moonlight spilling through the starry dome, and rang unearthly in the firmament, like music played on a crystal glass.
Whenever a lantern bobbed into view, Elisabeth hid and waited until the warden had passed. The Royal Library was even more heavily patrolled at night than she had expected. She envied Silas, strolling along beside her as a cat. After one particularly close call—the warden came near enough that Elisabeth was able to see her green eyes, and count the number of buttons on her coat—Silas transformed back into a human, and caught her shoulder before she emerged from hiding.
“I must tell you something before we continue,” he murmured. “The wardens wear too much iron for me to influence them. If they spot you, I cannot make them turn away and forget what they have seen.”
She suspected she knew what he was getting at. “And if that happens, you’ll leave me to face the consequences alone?”
He inclined his head, the faintest hint of regret etched across his brow.
“I understand,” she whispered. “You owe your loyalty to Nathaniel, not to me.”
As they moved on, Elisabeth wondered if her own proximity made Silas uncomfortable. She wore her greatkey, and there was also the thin layer of iron that lined her cloak. Demonslayer, slipped through her belt, formed a reassuring weight at her side. But if it did, he would have to tolerate it. She couldn’t enter the archives unprotected.
They passed several more patrols before they reached the entrance to the Northwest Wing. The skeletal angels carved around the archway stared down at her, their eyes hollow pits, bronze skulls agleam, and the hair stood up on her arms as she imagined them turning their heads to watch her go by. But none of them moved. They didn’t need to. Far worse things awaited her ahead.
She and Silas slipped past the velvet rope. Mist spilled over her boots and lapped at the hem of her cloak. It was thicker now