Page 113 of The Book That Wouldn't Burn

CHAPTER 48

Livira

Livira broke the kiss. She had started it, so it was hers to finish. Part of her wanted to stay locked in Evar’s arms until their lips were sore and their jaws ached. There was a kind of peace to it that reminded her of the wood between now and then, and a thrill that carried the exhilaration of jumping from shelf top to shelf top, and another more primal excitement that made her want to find a private place in which to learn all his secrets and share her own. But, as always, it was a question that demanded the services of Livira’s tongue.

“Was that your first kiss?”

“It was that obvious?” Evar’s grin faltered.

“No!” She reached for his hand. “It was marvellous. I just wanted to know. That’s who I am. I like to know things. That’s something you should know.” She stopped, aware she was babbling.

“It was my first.” Evar nodded. “Clovis doesn’t kiss. She’s more the punching type.” His grin returned.

Livira echoed it. It wasn’t her first kiss, but it was, by a long way, the one that mattered most to her. Evar might have met her only a couple of days before, but for her it had been ten years. Ten years in which the Exchange and its mysteries had populated her dreams. But gradually it had been Evar himself, not the trees, quiet skies, and endlessly deep pools, that had occupied her thoughts in the quiet moments when she was alone. Evar, every time her many questions left her in peace for long enough to let her mind wander. Evar, trapped in time, a fly in amber, emerging into a world—into many worlds—equipped only with the naivety that the years had stripped from Livira. She’d been the child and he the adult, but she’d grown, learned, a year’s study for every few hours that Evar had spent in his snail’s crawl through two pools.

He’d fought to save her from monsters. Risked his life for a stranger. Malar had done something similar. She’d told herself she’d wanted to save Evar back, but it had become more than that. Perhaps she’d wanted to save him for herself. Time would tell. A kiss could lead to all sorts of places. Not all of them good. The library’s stories had taught her this before practice confirmed it. She had her eyes open about that, she wasn’t an idiot, as the majority of girls in the stories seemed to be.

“Livira?”

Livira blinked. “Yes?”

“I thought I’d lost you there. What were you thinking about?”

“Everything.” She reached for his hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Evar looked as though anywhere with more kissing would suit him.

“We need to find someone. You don’t think it’s odd that this whole temple seems to be empty?” More kissing would suit her too, but for once in her life she resolved not to run headlong into something. This felt too important to rush.

Evar frowned and nodded. “It is strange.”

Livira turned for the doors. Her lips prickled with the memory of his kisses. Strangely, although he was clean-shaven, he had still seemed bristly against her skin. A silly smile took possession of her mouth, remembering how good it had felt to have his arms around her, and how she could have them around her again. She pushed through the great doors, still surprised when they offered no resistance whatsoever. It wasn’t until she reached the steps again that another of the many questions swimming in the ocean of her mind surfaced to plague her.

“Expectation...” She stopped halfway down the stairs.

“Yes?” Evar asked behind her.

“We built the Exchange ourselves. Or at least we furnished it. You gave it pools, and trees not much taller than you, and no birds.”

“I have birds now...”

“And I gave it portals, and tapwoods, and ravens.” She turned towards him.

Evar nodded.

“And here, the ground kept us up because we expected it to. And when I expected to fly... I could. Hells, our footsteps were echoing back in that temple—what sense does that make, except that we expected them to?”

“True.”

“So, we might still be in the Exchange for all we know. Seeing what we expect. Or a mix of what we expect and what the Exchange shows us.”

Evar licked his teeth. “It’s possible.”

“And what about me and you?” Livira edged towards her main concern. “We’re speaking the same language. What are the odds? Are we even seeing each other, or just what we expect to see?”

“I... I don’t know.” A note of concern entered Evar’s voice.

“In Crath City the young women have taken to painting their nails with coloured lacquer—a new creation from the alchemists at the laboratory. A friend of mine located the book that taught them the formula.” Livira extended her hand and spread her fingers, concentrating furiously. Her nails turned scarlet, then a poison green, then a deep blue. She held them up. “Do you see it?”

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