Free Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson Page A

sporting a new dent on top.
    Her weariness forgotten, she rushed to the trunk and flung it open, rummaging around for anything useful.Dresses and stockings went flying across the room. Her hairbrush skidded beneath the bed. She had nearly reached the bottom, and resigned herself to a lost cause, when instead of encountering another layer of linen or cotton, her fingertips brushed leather.
    Warm leather, imbued with a life of its own.
    A thrill ran through her. Cautiously, she lifted the object from the bottom of her trunk. Itwas a grimoire, an unusually thick and heavy volume bound in glossy burgundy leather. Gilt lettering shone across its spine: A Lexicon of the Sorcerous Arts. Without hesitation, she pressed her nose to its pages and inhaled deeply. The edges of the paper had worn velvet-soft with age, and possessed a warm, sweet scent, like custard.
    “How have you gotten here?” she asked, now assured of the grimoire’sfriendliness. Ill-natured grimoires tended to smell musty or sour. “You’re as far from home as I am.”
    The Lexicon’s pages whispered as though trying to answer. She turned it over and found a numeral I stamped on the back cover. Class One grimoires were typically reference works or compendiums. They couldn’t speak to people directly like a Class Seven or higher, or even make vocalizations, anability that most grimoires demonstrated beginning at Class Two.
    The cover nudged her hand. Puzzled, she let go, and a scrap of paper slipped out from between the pages. She lifted it with a frown.
    Elisabeth , the note read in a familiar messy scrawl, if you’ve found this, then I was right, and the sorcerer has spelled your trunk to his carriage. I’ve hidden this grimoire inside in case it can help you prepare for whatever lies ahead. Never forget that knowledge is your greatest weapon. The more knowledge the better, so you can hit the sorcerer over the head with it and give him a concussion. That’s why I chose such a big one.
    I would tell you to remain brave, but I don’t have to. You’re already the bravest person I know. I promise we’ll see each other again.
    —K
    P.S.: Don’t ask how I managed to smuggle the grimoire out of bounds. I didn’t get caught, which is the important part.
    Tears stung Elisabeth’s eyes. Katrien made it sound like a small matter, but she could lose her apprenticeship if she were found to have stolen a grimoire. She had risked a great deal to sneak it out of the library. No doubt she had known how much it would lift Elisabeth’s spirits to hold a pieceof home.
    Elisabeth ran thoughtful fingers over the Lexicon’s cover, wondering where Katrien would begin. Surely there was something inside that could tell her more about Nathaniel. The more she knew about him, the better equipped she would be to fight back.
    She held the grimoire aloft. “Do you have a section on magisters, please?” she inquired. It was always wise to be polite to books, whetheror not they could hear you.
    The Lexicon folded open in her hands. A golden glow kindled within the pages, bathing her face in light. The pages ruffled asif stirred by a breeze. They moved faster and faster, flipping on their own, until they reached a point about halfway through. Then they halted with a flourish and graciously smoothed aside. A red velvet ribbon slid into place, marking the spot.The glow faded to a burnished gleam, like candlelight shining from polished bronze.
    The Magisterial Houses of the Kingdom of Austermeer, read the section heading at the top. And then, beneath that:
    Of all the sorcerous families, none are so powerful as those descended from the great sorcerers granted the title of “Magister” by King Alfred during the Golden Age of Sorcery, as a reward for the miraculous feats they performed for the crown. It was these first magisters who founded the Magisterium in the early sixteenth century. The organization, which began as a private occult society, later developed into a governing