Page 24 of Sonnets and Serpents
She’d failed.
Thinking the words was like a blow to her spine, cracking what remained of her foundation. Her knees hit the polished library floor.
Curling against a shelf, she buried her face in her arms in a poor attempt to hide, and her shoulders shook as she tried and failed to suppress everything spilling from inside. The shapeshifter might kill her now, not because she was easy prey but just to silence her. She didn’t care. There was nothing left to care about.
Yet no attack came. There was only the storm inside. She’dtried to pretend the thunder was just rolling in, but she was already a shipwreck. She’d been clinging to broken scraps of hull to stay afloat, and all she could feel now was a grasping current, dragging her down.
Then Silas heaved a sigh.
With a disgruntledwhump, he sat beside her.
Eliza jerked her head up, looking at him through bleary eyes as he flicked a handkerchief onto her face. She swatted it free, irritation slowing her tears.
If he’d given her a handkerchief the day before, she would have thought him half a gentleman. Now she wondered if it was some kind of trick. He didn’t say anything, so after a moment’s hesitation, she wiped her face. The tears still trickled, her breath coming in hiccups.
Silas pulled a book from the shelf behind them and started reading.
Eliza stared at the strangeness, and eventually, the pressing force on her chest eased, allowing her to breathe without a catch in her throat. She didn’t know how long it had been, only that Silas had turned more than a few pages.
“Come on,” he finally said. “Stand up. We’ll get someone to reverse the Cast.”
After returning the book to its shelf, he climbed to his feet, clearly waiting for her to follow.
Eliza swallowed. “You can—can do that?”
“I know a revered Stone Caster. She’s a professor here. Helped build the Great Eastern Wall.”
Eliza pressed her hands to her cheeks, which were dry now but raw from the tears. No doubt her nose was red and her eyes much worse, but she’d never been much of a pristine princess. Her father had scolded her for that many times, but her mother had told Eliza to be her own person, no matter her station.
She’d gotten herself into this, and if there was a way out, shewould take it. One step at a time. That tiny sense of control gave her enough strength to stand, even if her knees still wobbled.
Silas watched her with dark, unreadable eyes. Then he nodded toward the library exit. He kept his hands in his pockets as they walked, like he was as afraid to touch her as she was to touch him.
Like they were both monsters to each other.
The princess’s breakdown had been a blessing; it had given Silas a chance to gather his own emotions, to view things with a level head once more. Clearly, neither he nor Eliza wanted this arrangement, so the easiest thing to do was fix it. He knew just the person for that.
Iyl Yvette had her office door open, and Silas knocked as he crossed the threshold. He expected a warm greeting, maybe even a hug, but instead he received the fiercest of scowls, enough to stop him in his tracks.
“Silas Bennett!” she snapped, rising from behind her desk. “You dare show your fanged face in this office?”
Silas blinked. “What did I ever do to you, Yvette?”
Yvette was barely taller than Eliza, and her demeanor was suited to being a Stone Caster—between her stoic expression and stocky frame, she often gave the impression of being a statue herself. While many Pravish women wore scarves as head wraps, Yvette wrapped hers around her throat. No matter what else she wore, that scarf was always the same, inherited from her mother, red as wine and striking against her beaded black hair.
“That’sIylto you. I expect sufficient groveling before you earn back your first-name privileges.” She stomped over and jabbed him in the chest, making him hiss.
“Grovel forwhat?” Silas demanded.
“You left without saying goodbye.”
He shifted his weight to the other leg, and not just because itdrew him one step back from the threat. “You knew I’d finished my studies.”
“Yes, and every time I saw you in the library, you said, ‘Any day now,’ ‘Just a few loose ends,’ and what did I say to you, Silas,aptal?”
He rubbed his chest; she’d poked quite hard. One of the books on her shelf had a skull carved on the front leather, its gaze offering an empty-eyed condemnation.
“Whatdid Isay?”
