Chapter 4Henry woke at dawn, under the musket-fire of cold brittle light slicing through thick slow glass. He woke with a stifled gasp and a shocked small scream of broken magic at his fingertips, the last blood he’d have left to pour out if asked to defend someone.
He sat bolt upright in bed, and heard his heart racing.
The bed, soft and placid, simply held him; the nightshirt, too short but loose and bunched up, cradled him. Dawn went on beyond the tower’s window, serene.
The tower. Theo’s tower. Theo’s bed.
Henry looked down at himself. Theo’s nightshirt.
Theo, his librarian. Which was a frankly ridiculous way to phrase it, as they’d only met the evening before. Theo wasn’t his anything.
Well. His rescuer, perhaps. And Henry caught himself very near smiling, through ruefulness. Hi
