The Archive of the Forgotten (Hell's Library #2) - A. J. Hackwith Page 0,54

are innately cruel like that.” Hero shrugged. He welcomed the opportunity to bicker. He held no illusions about his own mistakes and failures, not when they’d been performed so openly in front of all the Library. But the memory jogged through him. Hero frowned and tugged until Ramiel released the scroll into his hands. “But there was that line—”

“About cruelty?”

“No.” Hero chewed on his lip as he scanned the page. “There! The written and the writer are the same, after all.” He read aloud. “What does that mean?”

A bemused look settled on Ramiel’s face. The confusion curdled the half smile that Hero had noticed earlier. A pity. “I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong one. I never worked with your Library, not like Claire and Brevity. I know souls, not books.”

Yes, everyone loved to remind him how different Hero was. “Yes, I’m aware how unhelpful you are.” The huff came out a little harsher than Hero meant it, but the riddle had sunk its claws in and now he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was important. “The written and the writer . . .”

“You books do have a documented affinity for your human creators,” Ramiel tried.

And because he tried, Hero bit back the barbed reply that welled up. He settled for pinning the Watcher with a patient look. “And you have an affinity for swords and filthy raincoats. That doesn’t mean you are one.”

Ramiel took that with the same graceful acceptance he took every harsh word Hero had for him. It was infuriating, really. That had to be why Hero couldn’t stop. The Watcher’s brow furrowed as he scrutinized the letter again. “What qualities you share . . . it appears at least that this Arcanist was convinced that books could not be destroyed.”

“If that was the case, we wouldn’t have spent the last months with Claire and Brevity walking around as if we’d kicked their puppies,” Hero muttered.

“Their grief is natural, and sincere.”

There was a guilt in his chest that ached every time a stray comment caused the librarians to get that haunted look in their eyes. The defense of the Unwritten Wing had been his strategy, his. And it’d failed. If he’d fought harder, perhaps—but no. Hero had a policy about mistakes and failures. The guilt could stay and ache, but he wouldn’t pick at it. He had enough scars, after all.

Hero rolled the scroll closed impatiently. “Either the Arcanist is mistaken, or the librarians are. The existence of this damned ink supports the scroll’s claim. It’s not as if we can ignore that.” The scroll closed with a snap, and Hero caught movement out of the corner of his eye as he shelved it. The damned metal lioness stirred to her feet at the noise. Its gold eyes emitted a faint light as it tracked Hero. He tried to ignore it and began to pace. “Shame this golem woman wasn’t still Arcanist instead of Andras. We might have gotten some answers.”

“Or not had the question to ask in the first place.” Ramiel watched Hero with nearly as much concern as the cat. “I wonder what happened to her.”

Hero dismissed that with a wave. “Perhaps she got rusty. Surely your wing keeps some kind of record.” Hero paused midstep and turned back to Ramiel. “Of all the . . . Could the answers be in there?”

“The Arcane Wing?” Ramiel blinked. “Doubtful. If such knowledge was recorded, surely Claire—”

“Claire has been preoccupied with not drowning in the history of her regret,” Hero said, not ungently. “She—she can’t see straight since the coup. You know that. That’s why she needs us.”

Needs me, Hero wanted to say, but no, he did not believe in kidding himself. Ramiel had stepped in when Claire had been forced to reposition herself as the Arcanist, shoring her up with an implacable calm, a peace when all that Hero could offer was flippant distraction. They were both walking, nettling reminders to each other of what they once had been. Ramiel kept Claire standing, and Hero kept her on her toes.

Hero’s opinions on that were grudging and unresolved, so, as he did with all unpleasant things, he ignored them.

Ramiel nodded thoughtfully, as if Hero had merely commented on the weather. “Claire has been sequestered with the few documents the Arcane Wing holds. So, you are suggesting we should return, then, and search the wing on our own?”

“Yes—no.” Hero’s gaze strayed to the scroll he’d just put away. He led the way down the corridor the way they’d