Sorcery of Thorns

into Brassbridge. "I can't believe he stole you."
The grimoire gave a guilty rustle. She looked over her shoulder at the marvelous, sparkling chaos of the study.

Elisabeth demonstrated to the steward that she would be an ideal candidate by lifting up one end of a cabinet in his office, uncovering a booklouse underneath and stomping on it, much to the delight of a young apprentice who happened to be passing by. She then sat down opposite the steward's desk and answered a number of job-related questions such as how quickly she could run, and whether she strongly valued keeping all ten of her fingers. The steward seemed impress that she found all of his questions perfectly reasonable. Most people, he explained, walked straight out the door.
"But this is a library," she replied in surprise. "What do they expect - that the books won't try to bite off their fingers?"

"What are you writing?" Among the physician's scribbled notes, she had made out the word "delusions."
He snapped the notebook shut. "I know all of this must be very frightening for you, but try not to agitate yourself. Excitement will only worsen the inflammation."
She stared. "The - what?"
"The inflammation of your brain, Miss Scrivener," he explained patiently. "It is quite common among women who read novels."
Before Elisabeth could think of a reply to this baffling remark, he called Hannah back into the room, who looked pinched with worry. "Please tell the Chancellor that I prescribe a strict period of bed rest for the patient," he said to her. "It is clear that this is a classic case of hysteria. Miss Scrivener should exert herself as little as possible. Once the swelling in her brain subsides, her mind may return to normal."

Silas's gaze disengaged from Nathaniel, slowly, as though he found it difficult to look away, and fixed upon her instead. Her breath caught at the emptiness in his night-dark eyes, but she didn't waver.

"How old are you?"she asked.
"Eighteen."
She sat back in surprise. "Truly?"
"I haven't sacrifced virgins tor my pertect cheekbones, if that's what you mean. Virgins, in general, have fewer magical properties than people tend to assume."
Elisabeth tried not to look too relieved by that information.

It was always wise to be polite to books, whether or not they could hear you.
–and–
Books, too, had hearts, though they were not the same as people's, and a book's heart could be broken: she had seen it happen before. Grimoires that refused to open, their voices gone silent, or whose ink faded and bled across the pages like tears.
–and–
“You like this place?"

"Of course I do. It has books in it.”
–and–
"I knew you talked to books. I didn't realize they listened."

“I like girls too, Scrivener.” Amusement danced in Nathaniel’s eyes. “I like both. If you’re going to fantasize about my love life, I insist you do so accurately.”
–and–
Nathaniel nodded. “If you can believe it, I used to fancy him. Then he went and grew that mustache. Or he murdered a gerbil and attached it to his face. For the life of me, I can't tell which.”