Shadow of Night (All Souls Trilogy, #2)

by Deborah Harkness

“Just how many de Clermonts are there? And why do you all have to be men?” I demanded when there was silence once more. “Because Philippe’s daughters were so terrifying we held a family council and begged him to stop making them. Stasia can strip the paint from walls simply by looking at them, and Verin makes her look meek. As for Freyja . . . well, Philippe named her after the Norse goddess of war for a reason.”

“Your constant interference is driving me insane.”

Matthew tried to pull free and draw me into his arms instead. “No, you stubborn man,” I said. “I don’t need comforting. Let me take care of you for once.”

“Nonsense. Marrying amid bloodshed is a de Clermont family tradition,”

Lives will be lost because of your love for my son. Some will sacrifice themselves. Others will die because someone must, and it will be for you to decide if it is you or them or someone you love.

At the end of our conversation, he ordered the death of thousands of men, women, and children. Words kill just as swords do.”

“Will you marry me, Matthew?” Given that I was a murderer, it seemed only right to ask. Philippe gave a choking cough. “Yes, Diana. I will marry you. I already have, but I’m happy to do it again to please you.” “I was satisfied the first time. This is for your father.” It

“How does Philippe manage to make every one of them feel that they’re the most important guest in the room?”

“I’d know you anywhere,” he replied, flashing me a smile, “veil or no veil.” Matthew’s eyes never wavered as Alain escorted me from the room. I felt the touch of them, cool and unblinking, long after I left the hall.

Like sun and moon, we were unconcerned at this moment with time, distance, and difference. All that mattered was our position relative to each other.

“You’re a far better dancer than Philippe, no matter what your mother says,” I told him, breathless even though the dance was measured. “That’s because you’re following my lead,” he teased. “You fought Philippe every step of the way.”

“Now that we’re married, will you keep forgiving my sins?” he asked, swinging back into the regular steps. “That depends,” I said warily. “What have you done now?” “I’ve crushed your ruff beyond redemption.”

“At last,” he said with satisfaction. Then he groaned. “Christ. There are more.” “Oh, you’re nowhere near through. I’m trussed up like a Christmas goose,” I said as he lifted the bodice away from the skirts, revealing the corset below. “Or, more accurately, an Advent goose.”

Hamish had been right: Matthew was not the same man here. He was even finer. And in spite of my fears at Mont Saint-Michel, he was still mine.

“If not for you, my last memories of my father would be of a broken shell of a man. We must take the bitter with the sweet.”

How could such a man ever be broken?

“I’ll find a way to be with you in the darkness, I promise. And when you think the whole world has abandoned you, I’ll be there, holding your hand.”

“He was looking for Diana,” Emily said with the certainty of someone blessed with second sight.

“Thank you, Diana,” Ysabeau whispered into the night, “for giving him back to me.”

“The music is a good thing, a sign that her mourning may at last be coming to an end. Only then will Ysabeau begin to live again.”

Happily, vampires don’t usually ask personal questions.”

“My whole heart, my whole life,” he promised, moving within me.

Omg

“Well?” I demanded. “Well what? Apparently my participation in this conversation isn’t required. You’re already finishing my sentences. You might as well start them, too.”

“I will not lose you, Diana,” he said, emphatic but quiet. “Not to look for an alchemical manuscript and not for the sake of an unborn child.” “And I will not lose myself,” I retorted. “Not to satisfy your need for control. Not before I find out who I am.”

“I’m always careful,” I said calmly, stepping straight into a puddle.

“That’s Matthew Roydon’s wife?” someone said with a chuckle as we stepped out of the throng. “Mon dieu. No wonder he looks exhausted.”

“The Blackfriars isn’t really part of London.” “I’m not going into Hubbard’s den and arguing the geography of the city with him again,” Gallowglass said,

Hancock picked me up without ceremony and handed me off to my husband.

“I am Philippe de Clermont’s blood-sworn daughter, as well as Matthew’s wife. I’m a de Clermont twice over, and neither I nor my child will ever call you father.”

“I trust my wife’s judgment,” Matthew said firmly. “That’s what Philippe says about Granny,” Gallowglass muttered under his breath. “Just before all hell breaks loose.”

Any woman would kill for lashes like those.

I’m really very well behaved. My father made sure of it.”

He was behaving like an eighteenth-century rake.

“We face a dark future if children stop asking questions, Susanna,” Goody Alsop remarked.

My eyes shifted to Matthew, whose claim on me went far deeper than his father’s blood oath.

“But I nearly drowned in my own tears,” I said stubbornly. “And to save Matthew I killed a wearh with an arrow of witchfire. My aunt recognized the smell.” “A firewitch has no need of arrows. The fire leaves her and arrives at its target in an instant.” Goody Alsop shook her head. “These were but simple weavings, my child, fashioned from grief and love. The goddess has given you her blessing to borrow the powers you need but not to command any of them absolutely.”

“Borrow them.” I thought over the frustrating events of the past months and the glimmers of magic that would never behave as they were supposed to do. “So that’s why these abilities come and go. They were never really mine.” “No witch could hold so much power within her without upsetting the balance of the worlds. A weaver selects carefully from the magic around her and uses it to shape something new.”

“Magic and witchcraft are but two paths that cross in the wood. A weaver is able to stand at the crossroads with one foot placed on each path. She can occupy the place between, where the powers are the greatest.”

“I can see the last remaining threads of their binding. Your father was a weaver, too. He knew you would follow his path.”

“Diana’s father was a weaver of great talent but no training. His spell was pieced together rather than properly woven. Still, it was made with love and served its purpose for a time, rather like the chain that binds you to your wearh, Diana.” The chain was my secret weapon, providing the comforting sensation that I was anchored to Matthew in my darkest moments.

“You are Diana Bishop—a historian, a witch.” He took me by the shoulders. “No matter what else you have been before or might one day be, this is who you are. And you are my life.”

“How long is a vampire minute, then?” I asked, snuggling under his chin. “It’s hard to say,” Matthew murmured. “Some length of time between an ordinary minute and forever.”

“Help! I think my husband is a vampire!”

With the head of the de Clermont family, the thanks always precede the threats.

“There is no reason to think you cannot conceive another child.” No reason at all, except for the fact that my husband wouldn’t touch me again until we were back in the land of birth control and fetal monitors.

“I’m in no mood to make magic, Goody Alsop.” “I’m in no mood to go to my grave without seeing you weave your first spell, so I shall expect you when the bells ring six.”

“No questions from Mistress Roydon?” Walter muttered. “I wish you luck with that, Matt.”

I was Cinderella, and the birds of the forest and the fairies of the wood would be called upon if the Countess of Pembroke felt it necessary.

“And I am tired,” Elizabeth said, turning her head away, “and have no stomach for poetry. Leave me.”

Still, Gallowglass prided himself on the hundreds of other times he’d refrained from rushing down the stairs of Yale’s bell tower, throwing his arms around Professor Bishop, and telling her how glad he was to see her after so many years.