Chapter 7Theo agreed to an early night mainly because Henry seemed so anxious, hovering over him, ensuring he had tea and a fire and toast and a lack of frostbite. Henry’s eyes were worried enough that Theo wondered what’d happened, what he’d looked like, in the few seconds he couldn’t recall. He knew he’d been bleeding—he’d bitten his lip, which hurt—and the memory of pain lingered, a newly healed bone, a fragile repair. But he was, he thought, repaired. More or less.
He’d brought the record with Sir Roderick’s note back to the tower, mostly just to stare at it and hope it would unlock some secrets. It did not. Clarence’s note, however—delivered in the rain by a wide-eyed first-year, who’d obviously been entrusted with the task and told it was urgent—informed them that the supper-party h
