“You read to me,” he said. “Perhaps, now all this is over, we could read it again, together?”

Reading together. Never had Cordelia heard of anything so romantic. She started to nod, just as Matthew called out sharply:

“Someone’s coming! I see witchlight.”

Cordelia turned to look. Lights had appeared between the trees: as they came nearer, she saw the glimmer of torchlight. She tried to rise, but the iratzes were already fading: her leg hurt too much. She sat back down.

“Oh, dear,” said Lucie. “The Silent Brothers aren’t going to be at all pleased, are they? Nor the Enclave. We’re probably going to be in awful trouble.”

“Maybe we could leg it,” suggested Matthew.

“I am not going anywhere,” said James. “I will remain here and take whatever punishment is given out. The rack, the iron maiden, death by spiders. Anything but getting up.”

“I don’t think I can stand up,” said Cordelia apologetically.

“ ‘Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing Boy,’  ” Matthew intoned. “Coleridge.”

“Wordsworth,” James corrected.

The lights swung closer. A sharp voice cut through the clearing. A familiar voice. “What on earth is going on?”

Cordelia twisted around, trying not to move her leg. Alastair strode into the clearing. He looked disarmingly normal in an old tweed coat of her father’s, as if he’d been out for a stroll. His unnaturally pale hair gleamed under the faint starlight. Beside him was Thomas, his hair mussed, carrying what looked like an apothecary’s case.

“Why are you all on the ground?” said Thomas, and then waved his case in the air. “The antidote—it’s ready—what’s the quickest way to Christopher?”

There was a babble of voices. Matthew got to his feet and hugged Thomas hard, being careful not to knock the case out of his hand. “Let’s go alert the Brothers,” he said, and began to pull his friend toward the path leading to the Silent City.

“You needn’t come with me,” Thomas protested, amused.

“Just in case there’s chanting,” Matthew said. “I don’t think there will be, mind, but you never know.”

Alastair had been watching as Thomas and Matthew disappeared into the shadows between the trees. He shook his head, and turned his attention back to Cordelia. “Biyâ,” he said, bending down to swing her up in his arms. “Come along home.”

In surprise, she looped an arm around his neck. “But, Alastair. I can’t leave my friends—”

“Layla,” Alastair said, in an unusually gentle voice. “They’re not going to be alone. Thomas and I took care of sending a message to the Institute. Look.”