of Hell. You, the runaway book. They’ll never allow it.” Rami shook his head and stomped down the aisle, cursing himself for humoring Hero for even a moment. “This is just an excuse to you.”
“It’s not. I swear it’s not! Watcher—” He heard Hero’s steps scrabble with less grace than usual behind him. Rami picked up his speed and Hero uttered a curse. “You plodding stone of an angel, if you would just—”
Rami would not just. He stormed ahead, turned the corner to the vault Claire intended for the artifacts—and nearly ran straight into a narrow wall of velvet and copper.
Hero stood in front of the vault entrance, limbs splayed like some kind of particularly stylish spider. The pose was ridiculous, but Hero still managed to look determined.
“Move,” Rami gritted through his teeth.
“Not until you listen, stone man.” When Rami didn’t rush him, Hero slowly lowered his arms. “I’ve thought a lot about this—”
“I bet you have.”
“I’ve thought a lot about books, you clod,” Hero corrected, clicking his tongue. “Claire took over the Library prematurely, right? After her little act of heartsick rebellion and murder?”
“Claire has suffered enough. I won’t have you—”
Hero fluttered a hand. “Not my point. I mean her training was . . . truncated. Cut. Short. What did Gregor not get a chance to pass down? I have read the entries, at least what the log would show me. Training went on for decades typically. Claire had three years. That’s it. What knowledge was lost in that moment? And what knowledge was lost about the Arcane Wing because Andras had to go and get that damned plot in his head?”
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