Page 30 of The Book That Wouldn't Burn

Livira discovered that more than anything she wanted to be alone. Grief had been stalking her all day, dogging her trail in from the Dust, and now, though she feared it, she knew it was time to set aside her protective ring of strangers and their strangeness and to let the sorrow have its way with her. She shook her head.

“I’ll wake you in the morning,” Jella said. “Simpax rings a bell, but I always slept through it the first month I was here.”

Livira nodded.

“There’s ink on your desk and paper in the—”

“Come on.” Arpix plucked at Jella’s arm as if sensing Livira’s sudden need to see them gone. “Good night, Livira.”

And with that the four of them left, Carlotte last out, offering a brief smile and closing the door behind her.

—

Like all hunters, sorrow advances on slow, silent feet, until the last moment when it attacks from cover, springing with such speed that the impact rocks its victim on their heels. The first sob broke from Livira violently, as if her chest had been punched from the inside. She reached for the wall, seeking support, unable to haul her breath back in. Her legs gave way, incapable of bearing the weight of it all, and she slid to the floor. It had taken murder, death, blood in the dirt, the destruction and upheaval of everyone she had ever known, but the world had given her exactly what she had always wanted and never been able to name. Unknown gods had heard and answered the wordless prayer of her life. She had left the Dust behind her. She was clean, fed, chosen, and special. And it was all her fault.

And even if the library contained a million books and each book a million words, there couldn’t be among all that wisdom a single line that would convince her otherwise.

The larger a ship, the more consideration must be given to its course. Any turn must be plotted well in advance. Indeed, for the largest of vessels, it is advisable to set the rudder in the desired direction before casting off at the port of origin.

Great Sailing Ships of History: An Architectural Comparison, by A. E. Canulus

CHAPTER 13

Evar

Evar and Starval made their way slowly through the ruin of reading desks. Splinters and shards of ancient wood littered the floor beneath their feet. The enormous Escape had left a trail of destruction before the Mechanism sucked most of it back in. Only now, with the Assistant walking away from them, carrying her new wound, could Evar even start to wrestle with the scale of what had just happened. Instead, he chose something smaller to tackle.

“I’m the only one you can stand to be around?” Evar looked back at his brother, repeating what Starval had said after he’d hauled him into cover. “When are you even around me?”

Starval shrugged and took the lead.

Sometimes whole months passed when the two of them hardly exchanged three words. Conversations of any worth only seemed to happen on the sharp edge of things, and the library didn’t offer many such times.

Evar wasn’t expecting his brother to say more, but the silence only stretched as far as the mouth of the corridor.

“You’re the glue that keeps us together. You must know that.” Starval didn’t look back. “The walls stop us leaving—but you’re what keeps us together. Unlike me, you actually like people, or would if you had the chance. You spend ten times longer with me and Clovis and Kerrol than we spend with each other. You’re the overlap. Clovis likes you—”

Evar snorted at that.

“She pretends not to,” Starval said.

“Well, she has me fooled.” Evar rubbed his ribs, feeling the ache from the kick that finished his most recent training session with his sister.

“She likes you. And I don’t mean all that fucking when you were kids. She’d die for you.”

“She’d die for a chance at dying,” Evar said.

“It’s more than that.” Starval shook his head. “Even Kerrol likes you—if he can like anyone. You have that memory hole. It means he can’t read you as well as the rest of us. Means he can be more real around you. You can still surprise him. He can’t unlock you, which makes you the closest thing he’ll ever have to a proper person to talk to.” He paused. “You’re the only one of us that’s... real.”

Evar snorted again. “The weakest link, more like. I’m the broken one.”

Starval grinned. “I kill pretend people in pretend places, recreationally. What does that make me? Clovis is wrapped around a war that will never happen. Kerrol sees us all as equations... You’re the only one of us who cried for Mayland. I can guarantee you that.”

“That was weakness—Clovis said so.”

“It’s strength,” Starval said. “You’re sure as hell the only person who might cry if I were killed. That’s worth something. You escaped the Mechanism with a superpower—it’s called being nice.”

“I don’t feel nice...” Starval had called him their glue, yet Evar had spent most of his life trying to escape, and not just from the chamber but from everything and everyone in it. If one of those doors ever opened, he’d be through it in a heartbeat, dragging his guilt behind him.

---