Page 33 of Sonnets and Serpents
“You’re wrong,” she finally whispered. “You’re so verywrong. Love is all that gives life meaning.”
Before he could dispute that, she whipped around, snatching a small book from his desk. It wasn’t one of his; judging by its worn cover and rippled page edges, it had seen more use than any of his books, and that was saying something. She flipped to a page near the beginning and shoved the book under his nose, forcing him to lean back before it clipped him in the face. He took it on instinct.
“There,” she said, as if she’d offered the grandest proof in the world.
He restrained the smile tugging at his lips, and he let his eyes scan the page. A Loegrian sonnet. Curious, he glanced at the book’s first page for the author.
“Fernsby is better known for his nonfiction than for his sonnets,” he said. “Have you read hisTreatise on Instability?”
Eliza’s furrowed brow said she hadn’t.
“He claims every structure in life is fragile and inevitably collapses. Even love.” Silas closed the book and handed it back. “It’s a depressing read. Understandable why you skipped it. Now, back tooursituation—this is our way out, and a kiss doesn’t mean anything.”
After glancing between him and her worn-out book, she tucked it into her pocket like a cherished treasure.
“Yes it does,” she insisted. “Youmay have gone around kissing girls you don’t love—”
“They both kissed me,” he drawled.
“—butI’venever kissed anyone. Because a kiss ismeantto bea declaration of love.”
He opened his mouth, but before any new argument could leave his tongue, she cut in again.
“Besides, Yvette said I had to mean it, and I couldn’t mean it with anyone but Henry.”
Magicdidintertwine fiercely with intention. Silas grimaced.
“There’s an easy solution.” Eliza gave what was clearly meant to be a charming smile. “You help me find Henry, and then Yvette breaks our Cast. Done.”
“Right. I’ll just set aside my life and obligations in favor of yours for however long it takes. That’s fair.”
“It will only take a day!”
She seemed to really mean that. A headache stirred in the back of his skull.
“A schedule,” he ground out. “We’ll make a schedule.”
He knelt at the desk, reaching for his pen. Eliza scurried off the cushion, the mouse fleeing a snake, and he did his best to ignore the sting of that. With quick strokes, he sketched two schedule options in his journal, turning the page for her to see.
“Either we each take part of a day to pursue our goals, or wealternate days—the exception being if I’m needed in Kerem’s office.”
She clenched her fists against her knees. Clearly, her royal entitlement urged her to say her search deserved first priority.
“Finding Henry will only—” she started.
“No matter which one we choose,” he said, “I have to work for Kerem today. I’ve already committed. Unlike you, if I neglect my work, I lose my livelihood.”
“I suppose you really can’t be a lord, then.” When he frowned, her gaze slid away. “There’s a Lord Bennett at court. I thought you might be his heir.”
“No, he wouldn’t claim me as such.” Silas kept the words droll, but they left a bitter taste in his mouth.
She gathered in a breath, clearly planning a scheme, and Silas clenched his jaw.
“You can finish your work,” she said, “and then we can search tonight.”
“Tonight,” he repeated flatly. “In the dark. In Pravusat.”
“I’m not going to sleep anyway,” she muttered. Raising her voice, she added, “We can take a lantern—”
