“Yes?” Hero hesitated as Probity straightened attentively. “Or no. That depends what I’m accused of.”
Probity drew up close, peering into his face for apparent confirmation. She only came up to Hero’s chest, so she strained to her tiptoes. There was a little awe in her voice, and a limpid amount in her wide eyes. “You really are. Hero, the character that broke his own book. The book that’s forgotten itself.”
“Broken, that’s me. Charmed.” Hero cleared his throat, red in his cheeks. Evidently Brevity had not warned Probity that behind all the bluster, Hero was wary of strangers. He made to step back, but Probity clapped her hands abruptly around his face.
“Oh,” Probity whispered with reverence. “You’re amazing.”
Hero made a noise of stifled discomfort. Claire was about to intervene when Probity withdrew her hands with a blush. “We heard so much about you, after the burning. The book so damaged to reject its own character. Do you . . .” She stepped into his space again. “Do you have it on you? I’d love to see it.”
“A gentleman never tells. Quite forward, aren’t you?” Hero didn’t jump back, but it was a near thing. He stepped sideways, placing the desk between Probity and himself.
“Probity gets straight to the truth,” Brevity explained, and Claire thought there was a graphite streak of protectiveness in her light tone. “You get used to it.”
“Will I?” Only once Hero was certain that Probity would not pursue did he straighten his jacket. “I had no idea muses took such interest in lost causes.”
“Those are the causes I have the most interest in,” Probity said, smiling. “I would very much like to examine your book someday, if you would allow me. Nothing is truly lost. That’s just where the brand-new opportunities lie. Brevity taught me that.”
“I did? Oh, I did. Probity and I grew up together. Back”—Brevity made a purposefully vague gesture—“when we were younger.”
Muses did not age, so much as they came into their innate nature. Young muses, from what Claire understood, often clustered and grew relationships around sympathetic affinities. A muse of Brevity befriending a muse of Probity made a certain kind of sense. Brevity did not like to talk about her past as a muse, and Claire respected that. It didn’t keep her from eyeing Probity carefully. At least she’d drawn her attention away from Hero, who looked almost grateful for it. “The muses honor us with a visit.”
A small crease appeared between Probity’s brows, as if Claire had asked a question that troubled her. “Yes.”
“Probity’s an amazing muse,” Brevity interjected. “Her skill with inspiration gilt is better than anyone’s, and the way she can work with even old gilt—”
“You remember that,” Probity said with a soft color to her cheeks.
“Why?” Claire asked, too sharp and too quick. Hell, her social skills had gotten rusty. “Why visit now?”
The blush curdled on Probity’s cheeks and she frowned. Brevity rushed in. “Of course, I’m thrilled to see you again. But the muses haven’t been exactly . . . communicative . . . with the Unwritten Wing in recent years.”
“And we regret the breakdown as much as we’re sure the Library does.” Probity’s eyes flicked once to Claire, wary as a cat’s, but then were all warmth and kindness for Brevity and the others. “I am here because we thought, with the change of curatorship, we could make amends. Offer support to the Library and the books.”
“Support.” Hero repeated the word, and for once Claire was grateful for his prickly suspicion. He crossed his arms. “Everyone seems so interested in supporting us since the fire.”
Rami grunted his agreement, and the sour look on his face said he was thinking of Malphas, the entirely terrifying demon general of Hell who had visited Claire in the aftermath and instigated all the changes in the wake of Andras’s downfall. To be precise, the books of the Library had removed Claire as the librarian, but it was Malphas who had delivered the message. Probity’s genuine interest was a thin veneer at best, so it was no wonder Rami and Hero looked on any new offers of help the way one would look on a rabid raccoon playing dead.
“Hero,” Brevity said softly. “Don’t be rude.”
Claire opened her mouth with a reply but closed it just as quickly. There was a precise tilt to Brevity’s shoulders, and her hands bunched at her sides, as if cradling a small and fragile thing.
Claire forced her jaw to relax, her tension to leak out. Probity seemed fond of Brevity, and if they were childhood friends she could imagine what hopes Brev might harbor about muses and the Library. And here her supposed friends were picking fights like alley cats. It was Claire’s doing, and she should be the one to make the effort. She took a deep breath, swallowed her dislike, and held out a hand. “Of course. As the Arcanist, I hope we can build a cooperative relationship with the corps.”
Brevity’s smile was so grateful it made Claire feel even worse. Probity, for her part, considered Claire’s hand with a doubtful hesitation. “That is kind but unnecessary. The muses have no relationship or business with the Arcane Wing.”
“Probity!” It was Probity’s turn to get scolded by Brevity’s big eyes. “I invited Claire and Hero up here to introduce you. We’re all members of the Library. Claire taught me everything.”
Claire was watching closely, so it was possible that only she noticed the quiet anger that flinched across Probity’s face, then was gone. “She did. Even in the corps we heard about the former librarian and her methods.”
“Probity,” Brevity said, a little bit plaintively, “Claire is a friend.”
For her part, Claire held still, and all it took was a single finger raised behind her back to get
