Rami shifted with the disquiet thought. “Claire and Brevity—”
“Do the best they can, I know.” Hero’s face was somber, and more open than Rami had ever seen it. Hero took a step forward, tentatively, then another, until he could put a placating hand on Rami’s knuckles.
He was crushing the gold fleece. Blast it. Rami forced himself to loosen his grip. “But that’s why this ink business has them with their hackles up and backed into a corner,” Hero said, steady but persistent. “They don’t know. And they need to know. But neither of them is free to question it. Claire only sees another threat. Brevity only sees redemption. That means it’s up to us.”
“Up to us to do what, exactly?” Rami tried and failed to insert the proper amount of skepticism in that question. Worry had begun to gnaw at him too.
“To find answers. Answers that won’t be found here, with too much lost from both the Arcane and Unwritten Wings. But answers that might have been preserved in other wings of the Library. Wings not in Hell. You saw Valhalla—there are answers out there, Rami. I know it.”
“In the other wings of the Library,” Rami repeated. And he couldn’t quite believe he was saying it, to be honest. “But you’re . . .” He made a vague gesture first at Hero’s wrist and then at the . . . well, the rest of him.
“Stamped. Part of the permanent collection of the Unwritten Wing, yes. I remember.” Hero took on an indulgent tone. “And I won’t be breaking the rules. Books are lent between libraries all the time via the IWL.”
“Librarians lend books. Last I checked, you were not a librarian.”
“I’m an assistant to the librarian,” Hero said firmly, then shrugged. “I’ve found clever openings in the Library wards before. It’s not hard if you know where to look.”
Rami narrowed his eyes. “You never told anyone how you did that.”
“Well, then.” Hero hummed. “I’d think it your duty to take any opportunity to investigate this security flaw.”
Hero’s wide-eyed look was impressive. Rami was not impressed. “Or I could just tell Brevity and Claire.”
“Yes, tell them I discovered a way to escape the wards of the Library. Which they already know. And that I have been a loyal—”
“Stamped—”
“—loyal character and book and assistant ever since. Wounded in the line of duty, even.” He tilted his head, allowing the light to hit the dark whirl of scar tissue on his cheek, still discolored with inky shadows even after healing. Hero was a vain creature and had definitely taken to standing to the side, tilting his expression just so to show his “good side.” He chose not to do so now, and though his smile was crooked and mocking, Rami didn’t miss the twitch of discomfort as he did so.
Rami held little pity for him. Watchers might have long lives, but long lives come with long memory, and so he remembered every pointless struggle, every doomed fight. Even with the ones he won he felt the pieces of what he lost. Every survivor wore scars and weariness. Ramiel was an angel, a first creation of his Creator, but he knew he was not finely or gloriously made.
Not like Hero.
But Rami was practical. And even if this plan was entirely nonsense, the reasoning behind it was not. The existence of the ink threatened to drive a wedge between the wings of Hell’s Library, and the Library had only just become Rami’s new sanctuary. His purpose. It even dared to become a home, given enough time, but Rami wasn’t foolish enough to hold out hope for that. Still.
It was something worth protecting. And the people in it. Rami had come to that conclusion six months ago, adrift after saving Leto’s human soul—then losing him to Heaven. Rami had watched Uriel, the archangel driven vengeful and mad over her own fear, be unmade right in front of him. She’d been unmade, by a single word from Claire’s lips. Even as a fallen Watcher, he should have sought justice, exacted vengeance. Instead, he’d told Claire he’d protect the Library, serve the Library. There might indeed be answers elsewhere. But Claire couldn’t leave Hell, not without a ghostlight and especially not injured and stained with malicious magic. But Rami had no such challenges placed upon him.
He supposed it was a way to serve.
“Supposing . . . we investigate,” Rami said slowly. He abruptly remembered the fleece in his hands. He turned away from Hero’s intense gaze to place the artifact on a shelf in the vault. He took his time smoothing down the wool and shooing Hero out to lock the vault behind him. It gave him time to think. Rami needed time to think. He finally faced Hero again. “Supposing we investigate. You will swear to return to the Unwritten Wing, with answers?”
“Villain’s honor.” Hero held out a hand, grinning as Rami’s scowl deepened. “I’ll come back, promise. What’s the use of running? Brevity can summon my book back anytime. I’ll have you to keep an eye on me, and a mystery to unravel. What more could I want?”
“A mystery, you call it. To find out what the other realms know that we don’t. To find out what books are.”
Hero’s smile faltered, but he rallied as Rami reluctantly shook his hand. “To find out what I am.”
Hero’s hand was surprisingly warm, and as Rami closed his hand around it, the book’s long fingers fluttered over the skin of his wrist.
An investigation. Just an investigation. Rami rooted the thought in his mind, hoping it would drive away the uncertain turn in his stomach.
7
BREVITY
You’ll have
