Page 116 of The Book That Wouldn't Burn

Clovis slammed her forearm into Evar’s face, leaving him dazed, then sprang to her feet. “Your eyes, maybe. Not mine.”

And Livira, still kneeling by the pool, understood in that moment that the sabber was right.

Kindness is a language in and of itself. In order for it to be understood it requires that both the speaker and the listener be trained in its syntax.

Linguistics: A Study of the Heart, by Kian Najmechi

CHAPTER 49

Livira

Evar rolled onto his front and levered himself up, blood trickling from his nose and mouth. Livira could see the sabber in him now, written into every line. The Exchange hadn’t hidden him beneath illusion, it was more that somehow her expectations had accentuated what might be taken as human and pushed the rest into the background. With his sister, Clovis, there’d never been any doubt. People were wrong to call them dog-soldiers. There was certainly something of the wolf about them, especially in the mouth, but their movements held something more feline.

Clovis broke the spell that had bound them in the broken moment of realisation. She hurled herself at Livira, only to fall, snarling, as Evar lunged and caught her trailing ankle with both hands. The force of Clovis’s heel stamping into his face was sickening.

“Run!” Shouted through a mouth full of blood as Evar hung on to his sister despite the awful punishment.

With a cry of confusion, Livira launched herself towards what she hoped was her own pool, as she did so becoming peripherally aware of something closing on her with awful speed. The rush of that advance filled her ears as she dived for the pool. The waters closed around her and in an instant she was rolling hip over shoulder across the library floor.

She came to a halt on her backside, facing the portal, and scrambled away from it, terrified that the sabber would burst out of it to tear her throat open with its teeth.

Nothing.

Livira realised that even if the sabber had followed her it would be a ghost, unable to harm her, venting its impotent fury unseen and unheard. On any other day Livira might have laughed in relief but now she just fell back, covered her face with both hands, and let her thoughts churn. The black sea of her emotions refused to settle on a reaction. Sorrow, anger, and shock wrestled each other. Hate warred with softer instincts. Time passed: it felt like an age. And at last, with her face still covered and the battle inside her unresolved, Livira let out a single scream that carried all the conflict inside her head out into the silence of the library at a volume that would even have impressed the Raven.

—

“Livira! You’re bleeding!”

Livira sat up sharply. “Arpix! Thank the gods!” Here at least was one good thing. One mistake that had corrected itself. One less thing to feel guilty over.

Arpix fell to his knees at her side. “Where are you injured?”

“I’m not inju— Oh!” The blood had stained the lower part of her robe crimson. Cautiously, she reached for the hem. Her leg had started to hurt... or it had been hurting all along and she’d just been too chained in her thoughts to notice? She pulled the robe up. A long ugly wound had been torn down her calf. Clovis had come closer to catching her than she knew. The sabber had laid a single claw on her as she dived into the pool.

Arpix reached for her leg, but Livira flinched away before his long, print-stained fingers made contact.

Evar is a sabber! A horrible thought had twisted its way into her mind. “How do I even know you’re you?”

Arpix looked confused. “Don’t I look like me?”

“That place is full of lies!” Livira tossed her head at the portal that had spat him out.

“Don’t I sound like me?”

“It’s not enough.” She snarled the words past gritted teeth, the pain pulsing in her calf muscle now. Part of her welcomed the distraction. Anything to keep from thinking about Evar. She pressed him from her mind with a vicious force of will. He didn’t exist.

“Livira.” Arpix met her eyes. “It’s me. Let me help you.”

Everyone else she knew would have called her mad or laughed at her or taken offence, or at least tried to argue. She let her head fall and slumped back.

“It’s not too deep.” Arpix took her leg and turned it slightly. “Needs to be cleaned though. Right now.” He released her and started to unsling his water-skin. “This is going to hurt.”

Livira winced. “Can’t we go to the centre circle and let it do the work?”

“That’s our next stop. Otherwise it would need stitching and a week’s rest.” He spoke gently, not mentioning her strange accusations. She could sense he was aware that something else was wrong but was giving her the space to tell him rather than pressing for answers. “It’s a long hobble to the circle, and it’s best to clean the wound first. I know the centre’s good for physical damage. But does it treat blood poisoning? Let’s not gamble on it.” He took out a small sharp knife.

“Whoa there, Surgeon Arpix!” Livira backed away. “What are you planning to do with that?”

---