Sorcery of Thorns (Sorcery of Thorns, #1)

by Margaret Rogerson

For all the girls who found themselves in books.

Unexpectedly, Nathaniel began to laugh. “You impossible menace,” he said. “I suppose it’s my fault for assuming you were harmless.”

“Very well, you unutterable menace,”

“I should have known you’d go charging headlong into trouble at the earliest opportunity, you complete terror,”

“You like this place?” “Of course I do. It has books in it.”

When she ignored him, he threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine! Have it your way, you absolute terror.

“Of course you can stay, you menace.

The appetite of a human boy of twelve is almost as frightening as that of a demon. And the lack of manners; I shudder to recall it.”

Looking down at him, her heart ached with a song that did not have words or notes or form, but strained nonetheless to be given voice—a sensation that was not unlike suffering, for it seemed too great for her body to contain.

“I thought—I hoped—that after the battle, you might have come to your senses. That I would wake and find you gone.” The words were harsh. She held her breath, waiting for the rest. “But you stayed with me. And selfishly, I was glad—I had never wanted anything more in my life. Damn you,” he said. “You unmanageable, contrary creature. You have made me believe in something at last. It feels as wretched as I imagined.”

“Sometimes I wonder whether he simply assumes I get into trouble by default when he isn’t around to keep me out of it, but I prefer to credit his supernatural intuition.”

He looked around dubiously, as though he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to wake up yet, and then slowly opened the other, focusing on Elisabeth’s face. “Hello, you menace.”

“Thank god,” he said finally. “I don’t think unrequited love would have suited me. I might have started writing poetry.”