The Glass Magician (The Paper Magician Trilogy #2)(21)

She flushed, the pinkness visible on her chest and arms, and hurried to her closet, where she had hung her clothes to dry. The second set she had packed seemed wearable. The first would need to be washed, as they bore mud stains from the riverbank and had dried stiff.

She changed with haste and brushed out her hair, but didn’t bother with makeup. Not today. She didn’t think kohl and rouge would do her any good, and her cosmetics probably needed to dry out, too.

When she opened the bedroom door, she found the living room bathed in bright sunlight, thanks to its east-facing window. The lavender sofa was empty save for a folded blanket perfectly aligned with the rightmost cushion. Emery sat at a tall, walnut-stained desk against the wall. He had hung his indigo coat by the door and wore the simple white button-up shirt and gray slacks he had donned the day before.

He Folded Fennel’s front left leg.

“Emery!” Ceony exclaimed, running to him. He had a stack of clean, white paper—where had he gotten that?—next to him, as well as Fennel, almost fully formed now. The paper forming his ears and part of his torso was slightly wrinkled, damaged from the river.

“When did you have time to do this?” she asked, ogling his handiwork and the circles under his eyes. “You never went to bed. You pretended to go to bed and did this instead!”

Emery smiled. “I had a lot to think about. I didn’t mind.”

“You’re insufferable,” she mumbled, tears burning the corners of her eyes. She touched Fennel’s new muzzle, splayed sideways on the desk. A little more work and he would be able to reanimate. “You need to rest,” she added, a little quieter.

Emery leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out in a wide V. “A nap would be nice. What time is it?”

Ceony frowned. Had Emery really suffered a bout of insomnia, or had he done this for her?

“It’s seven thirty,” she said. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

His eyes smiled at her.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Ceony declared, taking one step toward the kitchen. She paused. “We have no food.”

Emery rubbed his chin. “I believe you are correct, unless Patrice took time to stock the cupboards before we arrived. Given the short notice, I consider that highly unlikely.”

He glanced back to his work. “Give me a few more minutes here and we can pick up some provisions.”

Ceony reached for his face—watching those tired eyes—but retracted her hand, thinking better of it. She remembered again the look Mg. Aviosky had given her.

“You should rest first,” she said instead.

“I’d rather not,” Emery confessed. “I’d like to stay alert. And hidden, but I know of no businesses that deliver groceries, and while I saw a telegraph in the lobby downstairs, I wouldn’t know how to contact them, besides.”

Ceony excused herself to write up a grocery list, which included soap for their filthy clothes. She stashed extra paper in her bag in case of an emergency and left the room. Emery had finished Fennel, but he left him unanimated on the desk. He pulled on his indigo coat and led the way out the door. Other early risers sparsely dusted the street outside.

“I suppose we should go to the west end of Parliament Square for these things,” Emery said as he looked over Ceony’s list. “It’s always crowded there, which will be to our benefit.”

He sighed and handed the list back to Ceony. “What a bother. This place is like a bad cold.”

“Congested and tiring?”

Emery’s eyes shimmered with amusement. “Precisely. I like how you think, Ceony.”

Ceony permitted herself to bask in the compliment for as long as it took them to reach the market, which, thanks to the location of the complex where they were staying, was only about ten minutes away. Long lines of vendors sold goods from stands clustered at the far west end of Parliament Square, most of them local farmers. The stands formed two narrow streets, which were already crowded with customers weighing tomatoes and holding beaded jewelry up to the spare sunlight. A few pigeons had gathered at the corners of the market to peck for crumbs, and Big Ben chimed the hour behind them.

As Ceony examined a small wheel of cheese at a dairy stand painted bright green, she said, “I am expecting an extension on my homework in light of everything.”

“Absolutely not.”

Ceony put the cheese in her cloth bag while Emery paid the vendor. “Why not?”

“Magicians must constantly work under pressure,” Emery said matter-of-factly, “and so must you. Perhaps one more attempt on your life will make me reconsider, but until then, lessons and assignments will proceed as normal.” He paused. “Though I suspect you left the paper doll behind, hmm? I’ll think of some other sort of busywork.”

Ceony frowned.

She approached a wide vegetable stand draped in a turquoise cloth edged with bobbin lace. A few departing patrons bumped into her as she squeezed by; the narrow street in combination with the narrow storefronts offered little in the way of personal space. Despite herself, her stomach churned uneasily, as if it were full of cream that couldn’t quite make itself into butter. She picked up a red bell pepper and examined it without really seeing it.

When Emery came closer, she said, “I really am sorry about last night. I understand if you’re upset.”