Page 67 of The Art of Exiley

“I’m fine,” I snap. “Actually, no.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’m not feeling too well. I think I should go.”

“Of course,” she says. “We’ll come back another time. I’ll get Xander to help me put everything away. You go lie down. You look pale.”

I stand frozen for a minute. Then stalk out of the glass room.

I need to talk to someone about this.

We’re slaves to viruses and disease.

Kor warned me that the Makers were hoarding more than I could fathom, but even being here for months, I didn’t understand how right he was. I’ve been wasting valuable time. I remove my gloves and leave them on the desk, ignoring a startled Xander. I hurry down the stairs past Simon, who chases after me and returns my things, but I don’t even thank him as I storm directly to the Spring wing.

I bang on Michael’s office door, my eyes burning from unshed tears. Noteveryone here knows about the rest of the world, but he does. Plus, he’s a master and close to Headmaster Bloche; he has the influence to make change.

Michael opens the door. “Ada? What are you doing here?”

Kaylie is there too. “Are you okay?” she asks, rising from the ridiculously colored sofa. “Come sit. You don’t look well.”

I make direct eye contact with Michael and, without masking the accusation in my tone, I say, “I looked at the Alchemy testament.”

“And?” Kaylie’s expression is open and concerned, but Michael looks down. He knows why I’m upset.

“How can you let so many people suffer when you have the means to help them?”

“Help who, Ada?” Kaylie puts a calming hand on my shoulder.

I turn to her, softening my tone. “The world,” I say. “Everyone else. There’s so much wrong with the provincial world that could be solved with Maker knowledge. But you just stay in your bubble, helping only yourselves.”

Kaylie looks at me with pity. “It’s not so simple—” she says.

“That’s not how it works—” Michael starts at the same time.

I throw up my hands in exasperation, glaring at Michael. “We’re talking about an entire world of suffering!”

I brace myself for indifference or more excuses, but instead he says, “You’re right. I wish it could be different.” He turns away, slamming his hands onto his desk. “You think it doesn’t pain me, too? My grandmother only escaped genocide because it was a time that the Makers deemed it acceptable to interfere. But these days we’re not doing enough. I worry about it constantly.” He pushes off from the desk, drags both hands through his hair, and starts to pace.

Kaylie seems taken aback by his outburst, and Michael tries to explain to her. “You don’t understand; you haven’t seen it. Their world… There are so many things we could make better—” He gives up and turns to me with ahopeless look. “But you don’t understand either. You think if we just ship off boxes of medicine, everything would be solved? The Sophists have debated this for years. I’ve petitioned the Council myself. But the risks aren’t worth the little we can do.”

Kaylie adds, “Our advancements involve extremely sensitive knowledge that is bound to be misused. Every innovation that lands in provincial hands is eventually used for violence and war. They can’t be trusted—”

I know that Kaylie has grown up brainwashed by these ideas, but it’s still hard for me to keep the outrage out of my voice as I say, “You don’t know them. How do you know you’re more trustworthy than them?”

“It doesn’t matter, Ada,” Michael says, resigned. “Their world has plenty of solutions already, and it’s not enough to truly fix things.”

It’smyworld, nottheirworld. I want to shout it, remind him that this is personal for me. But I hold it in. I just joined a guild, made an unspoken commitment that I’m on my way to accepting this society as my own. I can’t let anyone, even Michael, doubt my allegiance. I need my cover to remain flawless because, ultimately, if I can’t convince the Makers to share their knowledge willingly, I’ll have to steal it. And I’ll need to be trusted to pull that off.

Michael continues. “Anytime we’ve tried, they find ways to hoard the knowledge, create scarcity, drive up prices, and make a profit.”

“As opposed to hoarding it for one tiny, insular society?” I challenge.

Michael’s brown eyes flash defensively as he steps closer, his tall frame towering over me. “You know hardly anything about us, Ada. We have expanded beyond our insular society many times in history. We shared everything with the Matriarchy of the Isles and the Prophets of Naiot. We share with those who place the needs of humankind above their own wants. With those who actually make an effort to tap into their creative potential and contribute to the advancement of the world.”

The absolute nerve of him. “Newsflash, Sophist master.” I jab my finger at his chest and am met with the solid resistance of stubborn man. “Most people can’t use all their creative potential because they’re too busy devoting their energy to dailysurvival. It’s easy for you to celebrate yourself for advancing society when all your basic needs are met forfree. When you don’t have to devote the majority of your time to whatever soulless job will pay the rent.”

“It’s a broken system. I don’t disagree.”

“A broken system you have the power to help! And it should be your top priority. Never mind individual suffering. Think of the planet. Isawthose scrolls, Michael. That information could be used to battle pollution, global pandemics, climate change.” I think of all the information that Grandfather forced me to read up on, the suffering of our planet that I didn’t want to face when I was powerless to prevent it.

But I’m not powerless anymore.

---