Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson (English) Paperback Book

Description: Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson From bestselling author of An Enchantment of Ravens comes the enthralling adventure about an apprentice at a magical library who must battle a powerful sorcerer to save her kingdom. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description A New York Times bestseller! "A bewitching gem...I absolutely loved every moment of this story." -Stephanie Garber, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Caraval series "If you loved the Hogwarts Library...youll be right at home at Summershall." -Katherine Arden, New York Times bestselling author of The Bear and the Nightingale From the New York Times bestselling author of An Enchantment of Ravens comes an "enthralling adventure" (Kirkus Reviews, starred review) about an apprentice at a magical library who must battle a powerful sorcerer to save her kingdom.All sorcerers are evil. Elisabeth has known that as long as she has known anything. Raised as a foundling in one of Austermeers Great Libraries, Elisabeth has grown up among the tools of sorcery-magical grimoires that whisper on shelves and rattle beneath iron chains. If provoked, they transform into grotesque monsters of ink and leather. Then an act of sabotage releases the librarys most dangerous grimoire, and Elisabeth is implicated in the crime. With no one to turn to but her sworn enemy, the sorcerer Nathaniel Thorn, and his mysterious demonic servant, she finds herself entangled in a centuries-old conspiracy. Not only could the Great Libraries go up in flames, but the world along with them. As her alliance with Nathaniel grows stronger, Elisabeth starts to question everything shes been taught-about sorcerers, about the libraries she loves, even about herself. For Elisabeth has a power she has never guessed, and a future she could never have imagined. Author Biography Margaret Rogerson is the author of the New York Times bestsellers An Enchantment of Ravens and Sorcery of Thorns. She has a bachelors degree in cultural anthropology from Miami University. When not reading or writing she enjoys sketching, gaming, making pudding, and watching more documentaries than is socially acceptable (according to some). She lives near Cincinnati, Ohio, beside a garden full of hummingbirds and roses. Visit her at MargaretRogerson.com. Review "Rogerson proves herself a worthy successor to Diana Wynne Jones in this moody, atmospheric, and lively classic fantasy...This enchanting story is sure to appeal to teen readers eager for more of the world-building, fierce friendships, and feminist heroines of Robin LaFevers and Naomi Novik." * School Library Journal * * "An enthralling adventure replete with spellbinding characters, a slow-burning love story, and a world worth staying lost in." * Kirkus Reviews, starred review * "Like the grimoires that fill its pages, Sorcery of Thorns lives, breathes, and beckons you closer with each enchanting word. This is classic fantasy at its very best." * Julie C. Dao, author of Forest of a Thousand Lanterns * "Brimming with twisty enchantment, Sorcery of Thorns is Margaret Rogerson at her most playfully addictive. The heir apparent to Diana Wynne Jones, no one can match her dark whimsy or joyous magic. This book is sheer delight." * Jessica Cluess, author of the Kingdom on Fire trilogy * "If you loved the Hogwarts Library, or the Great Library of the Clayr, youll be right at home at Summershall. Tightly paced, hugely atmospheric, with a touch of wry humor, this book had me from its Gothic beginning right to the perfect end." * Katherine Arden, author of The Bear and the Nightingale * "If you are looking for magic you will find it inside this book. Sorcery of Thorns is a bewitching gem, full of slow burning romance, loyal friendships, and extraordinary world building. I absolutely loved every moment of this story." * Stephanie Garber, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Caraval series. * Review Quote "Rogerson proves herself a worthy successor to Diana Wynne Jones in this moody, atmospheric, and lively classic fantasy...This enchanting story is sure to appeal to teen readers eager for more of the world-building, fierce friendships, and feminist heroines of Robin LaFevers and Naomi Novik." Excerpt from Book Chapter One ONE NIGHT FELL AS death rode into the Great Library of Summershall. It arrived within a carriage. Elisabeth stood in the courtyard and watched the horses thunder wild-eyed through the gates, throwing froth from their mouths. High above, the last of the sunset blazed on the Great Librarys tower windows, as if the rooms inside had been set on fire--but the light retreated swiftly, shrinking upward, drawing long fingers of shadow from the angels and gargoyles who guarded the librarys rain-streaked parapets. A gilt insignia shone upon the carriages side as it rattled to a halt: a crossed quill and key, the symbol of the Collegium. Iron bars transformed the rear of the carriage into a prison cell. Though the night was cool, sweat slicked Elisabeths palms. "Scrivener," said the woman beside her. "Do you have your salt? Your gloves?" Elisabeth patted the leather straps that crisscrossed her chest, feeling for the pouches they held, the canister of salt that hung at her hip. "Yes, Director." All she was missing was a sword. But she wouldnt earn that until she became a warden, after years of training at the Collegium. Few librarians made it that far. They either gave up, or they died. "Good." The Director paused. She was a remote, elegant woman with ice-pale features and hair as red as flame. A scar ran from her left temple all the way to her jaw, puckering her cheek and pulling one corner of her mouth permanently to the side. Like Elisabeth, she wore leather straps over her chest, but she had on a wardens uniform beneath them instead of an apprentices robes. Lamplight glinted off the brass buttons on her dark blue coat and shone from her polished boots. The sword belted at her side was slender and tapered, with garnets glittering on its pommel. That sword was famous at Summershall. It was named Demonslayer, and the Director had used it to battle a Malefict when she was only nineteen years old. That was where she had gotten the scar, which was rumored to cause her excruciating agony whenever she spoke. Elisabeth doubted the accuracy of those rumors, but it was true that the Director chose her words carefully, and certainly never smiled. "Remember," the Director went on at last, "if you hear a voice in your mind once we reach the vault, do not listen to what it says. This is a Class Eight, centuries old, and not to be trifled with. Since its creation, it has driven dozens of people mad. Are you ready?" Elisabeth swallowed. The knot in her throat prevented her from answering. She could hardly believe the Director was speaking to her, much less that she had summoned her to help transport a delivery to the vault. Ordinarily such a responsibility fell far above the rank of apprentice librarian. Hope ricocheted through her like a bird trapped within a house, taking flight, falling, and taking flight again, exhausting itself for the promise of open skies far away. Terror flickered after it like a shadow. Shes giving me a chance to prove that Im worth training as a warden , she thought. If I fail, I will die . Then at least Ill have a use . They can bury me in the garden to feed the radishes. Wiping her sweaty palms on the sides of her robes, she nodded. The Director set off across the courtyard, and Elisabeth followed. Gravel crunched beneath their heels. A foul stench clotted the air as they drew nearer, like waterlogged leather left to rot on the seashore. Elisabeth had grown up in the Great Library, surrounded by the ink-and-parchment smell of magical tomes, but this was far from what she was used to. The stench stung her eyes and stippled her arms with goose bumps. It was even making the horses nervous. They shied in their traces, scattering gravel as they ignored the drivers attempts to calm them down. In a way she envied them, for at least they didnt know what had ridden behind them all the way from the capital. A pair of wardens leaped down from the front of the carriage, their hands planted on the hilts of their swords. Elisabeth forced herself not to shrink back when they glowered at her. Instead she straightened her spine and lifted her chin, endeavoring to match their stony expressions. She might never earn a blade, but at least she could appear brave enough to wield one. The Directors key ring rattled, and the carriages rear doors swung open with a shuddering groan. At first, in the gloom, the iron-lined cell appeared empty. Then Elisabeth made out an object on the floor: a flat, square, iron coffer, secured with more than a dozen locks. To a layperson, the precautions would have appeared absurd--but not for long. In the twilit silence, a single, reverberating thud issued from within the coffer, powerful enough to shake the carriage and rattle the doors on their hinges. One of the horses screamed. "Quickly," the Director said. She took one of the coffers handles, and Elisabeth seized the other. They hefted its weight between them and proceeded toward a door with an inscription carved atop it, the arching scroll clasped on either side by weeping angels. OFFICIUM ADUSQUE MORTEM, it read dimly, nearly obscured by shadow. The wardens motto. Duty unto death . They entered a long stone corridor burnished by the jumping light of torches. The coffers leaden weight already strained Elisabeths arm. It did not move again, but its stillness failed to reassure her, for she suspected what it meant: the book within was listening. It was waiting. Another warden stood guard beside the entrance to the vault. When he saw Elisabeth at the Directors side, his small eyes gleamed with loathing. This was Warden Finch. He was a grizzled man with short gray hair and a puffy face into which his features seemed to recede, like raisins in a bread pudding. Among the apprentices, he was infamous for the fact that his right hand was larger than the other, bulging with muscle, because he exercised it so often whipping them. She squeezed the coffers handle until her knuckles turned white, instinctively bracing herself for a blow, but Finch could do nothing to her in front of the Director. Muttering beneath his breath, he heaved on a chain. Inch by inch, the portcullis rose, lifting its sharp black teeth above their heads. Elisabeth stepped forward. And the coffer lurched . "Steady," the Director snapped, as both of them careened against the stone wall, barely keeping their balance. Elisabeths stomach swooped. Her boot hung over the edge of a spiral stair that twisted vertiginously down into darkness. The horrible truth dawned on her. The grimoire had wanted them to fall. She imagined the coffer tumbling down the stairs, striking the flagstones at the bottom, bursting open--and it would have been her fault-- The Directors hand clasped her shoulder. "Its all right, Scrivener. Nothings happened. Grip the rail and keep going." With an effort, Elisabeth turned away from Finchs condemning scowl. Down they went. A subterranean chill wafted up from below, smelling of cold rock and mildew, and of something less natural. The stone itself bled the malice of ancient things that had languished in darkness for centuries--consciousnesses that did not slumber, minds that did not dream. Muffled by thousands of pounds of earth, the silence was such that she heard only her own pulse pounding in her ears. She had spent her childhood exploring the Great Librarys myriad nooks and crannies, prying into its countless mysteries, but she had never been inside the vault. Its presence had lurked beneath the library her entire life like something unspeakable hiding under the bed. This is my chance, she reminded herself. She could not be afraid. They emerged into a chamber that resembled a cathedrals crypt. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all carved from the same gray stone. The ribbed pillars and vaulted ceilings had been crafted with artistry, even reverence. Statues of angels stood in niches along the walls, candles guttering at their feet. With sorrowful, shadowed eyes, they watched over the rows of iron shelves that formed aisles down the center of the vault. Unlike the bookcases in the upper portions of the library, these were welded in place. Chains secured the locked coffers, which slid between the shelves like drawers. Elisabeth assured herself that it was her imagination conjuring up whispers from the coffers as they passed. A thick layer of dust coated the chains. Most of the coffers hadnt been disturbed in decades, and their inhabitants remained fast asleep. Yet the back of her neck still prickled as though she were being watched. The Director guided her beyond the shelves, toward a cell with a table bolted to the floor at the center. A single oil lamp cast a jaundiced glow across its ink-stained surface. The coffer remained unsettlingly cooperative as they set it down beside four enormous gashes, like giant claw marks, that scarred the tables wood. Elisabeths eyes darted to the gashes again and again. She knew what had made them. What happened when a grimoire got out of control. Malefict . "What precaution do we take first?" the Director asked, jolting Elisabeth from her thoughts. The test had begun. "Salt," she answered, reaching for the canister at her hip. "Like iron, salt weakens demonic energies." Her hand trembled slightly as she shook out the crystals, forming a lopsided circle. Shame flushed her cheeks at the sight of its uneven edges. What if she wasnt ready, after all? The barest hint of warmth softened the Directors severe Details ISBN1481497626 Author Margaret Rogerson Pages 480 Audience Age 14 Publisher Simon & Schuster Year 2020 ISBN-10 1481497626 ISBN-13 9781481497626 Format Paperback Imprint Margaret K McElderry Books Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States DEWEY 813.6 Language English Audience Children/Juvenile UK Release Date 2020-07-23 Publication Date 2020-07-23 NZ Release Date 2020-07-23 US Release Date 2020-07-23 Illustrations f-c cvr--sfx: metallic stock, spot uv, emboss AU Release Date 2020-08-17 We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. 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