The Dark Archive (The Invisible Library Novel)

by Genevieve Cogman

  “Why did you tell Alberich I was his daughter?” She’d meant to keep calm, but anger and disbelief made her voice shake. “I know it confused him and that’s how I escaped his control—but why would you say something like that?”

  “Because all the evidence suggests that you are, Winters.” He sat down wearily in one of the chairs, resting an elbow on the table. “You are the adopted child of two Librarians, and your parents have always been extremely reluctant to discuss this with you—they didn’t even tell you that you were adopted until the information came out through other channels. Alberich had a child who was lost to him, whom the mother bore inside the Library. And you managed to break Alberich’s warding circle using your own blood. You thought that you did it by exploiting a metaphorical loophole, relying on the metaphorical ‘family’ of Librarians. But he himself said that should have been impossible. That only leaves a genuine blood connection with Alberich . . . which you could only have acquired through your parents—or parent.”

  “How did you know that? About the warding circle?”

  “Catherine told me.”

  “Alberich could have been wrong about the warding circle,” she argued. “Just because he managed to create something doesn’t mean I couldn’t subvert it.”

  “To be frank, Winters, one of the most convincing pieces of evidence was seeing you both together when Alberich took the form of his original human body.”

  “You mean I look like him?” The idea was not only ridiculous; it was repulsive.

  “There is a . . . family resemblance.”

  “This is all complete supposition.” Irene wanted to grab Vale by the shoulders and shake him. Her hands curled into fists, and she felt the scar tissue that laced her palms. A reminder of the first time she’d encountered Alberich. “Vale, you pride yourself on your logical deductions, but what you’ve given me is no more than a hypothesis. Two negatives don’t make a positive. Just because I may be an orphan and he’s missing a child doesn’t make us related. It was just a lie, a very good lie, and one that staggered him enough for me to break his link—”

  “But you may wish to ask yourself why he believed it.”

  Irene remembered those moments when Alberich’s thoughts were inside her mind, the way that they’d invaded her like the spores of fungus, like decay . . . and what his conclusion had been. Slowly, quietly, the foundations of her world began to fall away. She wanted to say that it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t right, and that it couldn’t have happened that way. But in front of her lay the clear and obvious possibility that it could be true.

  That it was true.

  Vale must have recognized her moment of acceptance. His shoulders sagged and she saw that he was as exhausted as she was. “Sometimes fate plays unkind tricks on us, Winters. Morally you are everything that he isn’t—and yet, there is a resemblance.”

  “Then why did nobody ever see it before?”

  “Probably because very few have seen Alberich’s original face.” Vale considered this, then added, “And lived to describe him afterwards. And even fewer have seen him with you. Perhaps some of the older Librarians . . .”

  “They’d know. They must know. Even if my parents don’t know where I came from, the Librarians who organised the adoption must have known . . .” She turned away and began to pace the chamber. She was remembering every time a senior Librarian had looked at her strangely, every time she’d been reprimanded for doing something wrong . . . Everything seemed to signal that the whole Library had known except for her. “I don’t care what my superiors want any more, what they think would be best for me. I’m going to demand the truth—whatever it costs. Even if I have to leave the Library. I have to know.”

  She took a deep breath and made herself stop pacing. Then she turned and saw Kai in the doorway, and her self-control went out of the window. She couldn’t meet his eyes. For the first time she actually understood the impulse that made fictional protagonists scream they were unclean, damned for life, just because of some little problem like being bitten by a vampire or blackmailed for a past love affair. She didn’t want him to know this about her. She didn’t want him to have any reason to connect her with Alberich.

  And yet, she also wanted his comfort, his understanding. She felt her lip wobble and suddenly wanted to sit down, to curl in a ball and hide. She could talk to Vale about this rationally, or at least relatively rationally. But with Kai it was . . . different. He’d given her the gift of his trust. She didn’t want to lose it. To lose him.

  “It doesn’t matter whether it’s true or not,” Kai said softly. He crossed the room and took her hands in his. “Even if it is, you’re not your father.”

  “You heard?” she faltered.

  “I heard enough.” He wouldn’t let go of her hands, but he did raise them so that he could inspect her wrist. “That needs bandaging again. Sit down and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Vale rose and placed his hand on Irene’s shoulder for a moment. “I’ll see to the others, Winters,” he said. “You stay here until you’ve got your breath back.” He left the two of them together.

  “But, Kai, I need to report this . . . I must go back and help Catherine!” Irene’s mind was spinning after Vale’s revelations, and she needed the structure of her default position—taking charge, doing something.

  “You’re in shock.” Kai backed her towards one of the chairs and gave her a gentle push. The chair caught her behind the knees and she sat down involuntarily. He knelt in front of her and began unwinding the crude bandage round her wrist, inspecting the wound. “As someone who loves you, it’s my duty to make sure you don’t do anything now that you’ll regret later.”

  Irene opened her mouth, then shut it again. They’d avoided the word love. It had been enough for them to know that they’d go into danger, risk their lives for each other . . . do whatever was necessary for each other’s life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. They both knew their superiors could order them apart, and that they’d be expected to obey. Irene might be assigned elsewhere. Kai might also be posted to a different world, or ordered into a mating contract by his father. And even if none of that happened—she was human, and he was a dragon. He would outlive her by centuries.

  The fact that they were together, that they’d somehow managed to reach this point where they could share a bed, a house, and each other’s trust, was more than Irene had hoped or dreamed. She didn’t need to add the word love to it as well. Wasn’t that too dangerous? Wasn’t it tempting fate?

  She wanted to cry. She bit her lip instead and stayed silent, looking down at Kai’s hands on hers as he rewrapped her wound with another strip torn from his shirt. Her wrist ached. Her whole body ached. And her mind ached—both from Alberich’s attempted possession and from what she’d just discovered. Here in the silence of the Library, at home, she thought she’d be able to find peace. But instead her mind ran in circles and she couldn’t find a way out.

  “Kai,” she said very quietly, “what am I going to do?”

  “Stop. Think. We’ll find a way.” He shrugged. His arms were bare: he’d torn off his shirt-sleeves to make bandages. “You’ve already dealt with the Guanteses and checkmated Alberich. This revelation is just the next thing, one more problem to solve.” He looked up at her and smiled. And in spite of the smoke and blood that matted his hair, the grazes on his alabaster skin and the tiredness in his blue eyes—or perhaps because of them—he was utterly beautiful. “I know you, Irene. So do your friends. And if anyone tries to make assumptions, on the basis of blood or family, they will be badly mistaken.”

  But what—the thought crossed her mind belatedly—what about her mother?

  “Is your brother all right?” she asked, trying to focus on something manageable.

  Kai shrugged. “He’s unhappy. He really wanted that artificial intelligence research. He says he’s going to apply to my father to have me re
moved from my post—for incompetence.”

  Irene sat up straight. “Incompetence? He was the one who jumped in uninvited and almost . . .” She restrained herself from stronger language. “Made a big mess of things. You did an excellent job.”

  “So did you.” He finished tying the bandages. “And you brought Catherine into the Library. An amazing job. No one else has ever managed such a thing—”

  “Which means an even harder assignment next time,” Irene said with a sigh. But this was familiar territory.

  Catherine chose that moment to poke her head around the door. “Are you up for answering questions, Irene?”

  “Possibly,” Irene said. “Probably. What questions?”

  “Mostly, what’s next?”

  “Right this minute? We wait for help to arrive. We have injured. Including me. On a wider scale—I’d say it’s up to you.” Irene met the Fae’s eyes. “What do you actually want, Catherine? Are you still prepared to give up everything to be a librarian—or do you want to be a Librarian?”

  Catherine affected a look of deep consideration, but she’d clearly already come to a decision. “I may have been a bit hasty before,” she said with the air of someone making a major concession. “I can actually see a number of good points in being a Librarian spy, like you. As long as missions don’t all end up like this. Of course, I need more lessons. More experience. Perhaps some more book-collecting expeditions . . .”

  “We can definitely work on that.” Irene let Kai help her to her feet, leaning on him, and remembered why she’d become a Librarian in the first place. Whether or not Alberich was her father, her love of books, her pure enthusiasm for the job, had been all her own. It was healing to see it reflected in her apprentice’s face. “Yes,” she said, squeezing Kai’s hand and feeling it returned, “we’ll help you become a Librarian.” She looked around at the Library, her home. “Whatever else may come—that journey starts here.”

  EPILOGUE

  The heavy books were crowded together on their stone shelves. A fanciful bibliophile might imagine them fossilized into strata, forming veins of precious literature running through the rock. There were no artificial lights down here, but glowing translucent forms flickered along the book-lined corridors and illuminated the place, allowing a hypothetical observer to at least read the titles of the volumes they passed. There had been no attempt at organization or classification; this was a black hole of tightly packed fiction.

  Subterranean passages wound through the stacks. It was possible to lose oneself amongst books in multiple directions, up and down and in between, but the walkways finally led to an open space. This seemed incongruous when compared with its cramped surroundings—it was somehow larger than it should have been, with no discernible ceiling. The stonework that supported its sides was ancient, yet well-preserved. The river that ran through its centre, before plunging into the hidden depths below, supplied a constant background murmur of sound. Two figures lounged at a table by the river’s side, and a third paced nearby.

  “Well,” said one seated figure. Shadows trailed behind him in a long serpentine sweep, and yet more shadows crowned his brow with horns. “Finally.”

  “It took them long enough.” The second seated figure was swathed in darkness, its face changing from one moment to the next, as though constantly shifting between a selection of masks. “But certain criteria had to be fulfilled for us to move forward. First, we needed peace and stability. Next, Fae needed to be able to get in here. If we’d given them a nudge, prompted someone earlier—”

  “We’ve discussed this matter before.” A brief thunder echoed in the wake of the first speaker’s voice, rumbling in the impossible sky above. “We agreed no interference. They can’t be allowed to suspect anything until we’re ready to move. The traitor showed just how dangerous that could be to us.”

  The masked figure made a dismissive gesture; thousands of actors would have died with envy at the sheer perfection of the movement. “That was why we installed the fail-safe in their brands, remember. Though I still think that ‘instant death’ was overdoing it. Triggering deafness would have been just as effective.”

  “But not as reliable,” the first said.

  The third figure stopped pacing to approach the seated pair. Her robe was plain, her manner deferential, but she spoke with the ease of centuries of acquaintance. Her use of honorifics seemed more of a habit than a genuine courtesy. “My lords, we’ve been through this so many times before. Does this mean we’re ready to set things in motion at last?”

  “We’re ready to deploy our agents, on both sides,” the second figure said. “But what about the traitor? When he finds out that a Fae’s accessed the Library, he’ll know we’re ready for our end game. He’s been a danger throughout, but if he perceives we’re about to move . . .”

  “We could kill two birds with one stone?” the third suggested. “The other Librarian’s uncomfortably well-informed. I still don’t know why she was directed to the Egyptian document, as it told her far too much. If we have her dispose of the traitor, neither might survive the encounter. But even if she makes it and he doesn’t, we still come out ahead.”

  “There’s the risk of the traitor converting her,” the second said. “If he can tell her his story . . .”

  The first snorted. “No risk now. He’s put himself beyond forgiveness. Very well, I concur. And if we send her after him, she won’t be investigating what we’re doing with the treaty. She’s the Library’s official representative, so there’s a good chance she’d be drawn into that otherwise. We need the treaty and the stability it brings—but we don’t need her.”

  The second slowly nodded. “Agreed, then. But tell me—why was the Egyptian document marked for Library acquisition in the first place? We agreed centuries ago that nothing relating to our history should be brought here.”

  The first turned his head to look at the third figure. “You’re the one with the closest relationship to the living mortals who work here. Why was it permitted?”

  She spread her hands. “I don’t know, my lords. I regularly curate the acquisition lists to check these risks are managed—but somehow it slipped past. As to why she was given the assignment, I don’t understand that either. I sometimes think . . .”

  “Yes?” the second asked, when she was silent a little too long.

  “I sometimes think, my lords, that the Library has a will of its own.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Sometimes characters come back—even if you killed them off five books earlier. Is it necromancy when an author brings them back to life?

  Some of the events in this book had been planned all the way back in book one. Others are new—as Lois McMaster Bujold has said, the author always reserves the right to have a Better Idea. (Of course, sometimes those ideas come partway through the story and necessitate huge rewrites, but that’s life—or at least, that’s writing.)

  Many thanks to my editor, Bella Pagan, whose questions and guidance turned this book into something that I could be pleased to have written. Thanks to Lucienne Diver, my agent, for her support, and to my beta-readers and friends, Beth and Jeanne and Phyllis and Anne, Aliette and Charlie and Stuart and Sarah, for your suggestions and comments. Thanks to my family for being there when I needed them—and thanks to Crystal for the names of certain dragons.

  Thank you to everyone who helped in the creation of this story. Authors act on the world around them, and it acts on us; imagine, if you will, a whirlpool sucking up everything around it, physically and electronically and hypothetically, and feeding it all into the author’s head, and a book eventually spooling out through the author’s fingers. You may be somewhere in that universe that I borrow from, and that I use when writing—if so, thank you.

  This book was written and edited in a world with problems ranging from climate change to COVID-19, and that’s just within the letter C. Different people get
different things from stories: it may be a moment of distraction from the present trouble, or a daydream for the future, or a thought that makes sense of the past, or something entirely different. If you enjoyed this book, then I’m glad. Thank you for letting me tell you a story.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Genevieve Cogman is a freelance author who has written for several role-playing game companies. She currently works for the National Health Service in England as a clinical classifications specialist. She is the author of The Invisible Library, The Masked City, The Burning Page, The Lost Plot, The Mortal Word, and The Secret Chapter.

  What’s next on

  your reading list?

  Discover your next

  great read!

  Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.

  Sign up now.