Page 96 of The Mirror of Beasts

As the fire spread, it wasn’t any protective ward or spell that activated to protect the library, but the modern-day sprinklers. They dropped from the ceiling, raining water down over the fire, and the smoke detectors joined the cats’ piercing yowls.

Do something, I thought, do anything … But I didn’t know who I was speaking to—myself or Cabell.

The silver flames leapt from one shelf to the next with ease, spreading their caustic fingers over the varnish and old, brittle volumes. The air filled with a dizzying chemical stench.

Lord Death bestowed flames on all of his servants with a look of cold pleasure. Others, like Primm, took it upon themselves to smash the display cases of the relics, feeding the invaluable instruments, the scrolls, the fabrics, the weapons into the fires, or battering them with their sword pommels until they were beyond recognition.

The sound of pain that bellowed from Librarian was so human, so utterly tortured, that it felt like my body had caught fire too.

The automaton broke from the ranks of the riders, dropping the fire extinguisher and clasping his sword in both hands. He faced Lord Death like the last soldier left to defend his keep.

“Desist,” Librarian said. “Or you and your ilk will be dealt with.”

Lord Death laughed, reaching beneath the folds of his cloak to retrieve his sword. Instead of brandishing it, however, he held it out to Cabell.

The same dark magic whined and hissed over its blade, dancing like lightning.

No. The word became a stone in my throat. Please.

Cabell looked up through his curtain of dark hair, then straightened.

“You seem surprised,” Lord Death noted.

Cabell spoke, but it was too quiet to hear over the cats, the roaring fire, and the alarms screeching like untuned violins. When he didn’t move to take the blade, the pressure on my chest eased.

My brother was still in there, somewhere. Even as the fire raged around him and the cats fled the shelves, searching for safety, he resisted.

But, a small voice whispered in my mind, he’s not stopping them either.

I read the words as they dripped from Lord Death’s lips like venom. Look at me.

Cabell did.

The last, fading hope in me dimmed. His expression wasn’t that of a devoted servant, unfailingly obedient. Indecision creased his brow, and he hesitated just long enough to force me to see it. To truly understand.

He was only my brother. He was only Cabell.

Someone imprisoned by another’s magical influence would act without question. Someone struggling against an all-consuming tide of power would be desperately clawing for any moment to break free. They wouldn’t take several unsteady steps toward the automaton, jaw clenched, spine rigid. The debate painted on their face in shadow and flame.

He was only Cabell.

“Young Lark … ?” Librarian queried softly, lowering his own sword.

And he made his choice.

Cabell drew in a breath—and drove his blade through the automaton’s chest.

He’s gone.

My brother stood watching as Librarian’s heavy body staggered back, the quicksilver liquid that gave him life gushing out through the open cavity of his chest. He stumbled back once—twice—struggling to regain his balance.

Librarian stood a moment longer, lifting a hand toward Cabell, letting it hang in the air like an unspoken question. Then, with a harsh clatter, the automaton’s body finally collapsed, quicksilver seeping from every joint. Finally the rattle of his struggling limbs stopped, and he was still.

As Cabell stood there, his face impassive, that same wrenching thought returned to cut me again and again. He’s gone.

The brother I’d grown up with, the one who had been sensitive and funny and prone to dreams … He hadn’t been chained by Lord Death’s magic. He’d been free this whole time. Every decision … every life lost … he’d done it knowingly.

And the pain I felt was unspeakable.

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