Mark Lawrence

The secret war that defines the Library has chosen its champions and set them on the board

The fate of an infinite library hangs on one book, a book that holds the power to break the unbreakable. In the face of such forces, fragile things like hearts, family, and the world seem certain to fail.

The people most vital to Livira are scattered across time and space, lost, divided into factions, in mortal peril. Somehow, she must bring them together and resolve the unresolvable argument that fuels the library’s war. The bond between Livira and Evar has stretched and stretched again. Can it hold at the end, when things fall apart? Can it bring them together against impossible odds? This is the last chapter, the final page. The end threatens and no one, not characters, readers, or even the author, will emerge unscathed.

The Book That Held Her Heart

Laura Dobie

‘The Chosen One trope.' Mayland snatched up some loose pages and used them to clean his blade. ‘Easy to get caught up in. You need to be careful down here. There's a lot of dead fiction and it's still looking for an audience. If you're not paying attention, it’ll suck you down faster than quicksand.'

Livira had always suspected that, in matters of romance, destiny's role was overstated. Most of the magic was in how any two vaguely suited people could discover the wonder of each other if given space and time. Would she have fallen for a different canith if they had been there in Evar's place? One of his brothers perhaps? She would never know. Accepting that truth both took away some of the enchant- ment in love, the romance book type of magic, and added a different kind of wonder in its place, one that perhaps made you a better person.

‘What?' Starval spread his arms. We live in a library for gods' sake. Have you never read a book? You let the bad guy go and he comes back to make you regret it.’

The library, Anne had come to think, was an imperfect reflection of something divine, a shadow of the impossible. It was shaped by bias, prejudice, and held within its pages every human failing. And yet, in its conception, and in its ideals there ran an echo of some great song that if it could only be heard would wrap every listener in its beauty and lift them to some higher, unattainable ground.

Bethany

“There will be blood, and horror, and probably all the worst things that humanity is capable of. The library can make sure that nobody has a good excuse for forgetting what happens and striving to prevent repetition. But it cannot stop even that. People have to want to know. I wish I could tell you that free and easy access to information solves these problems—it doesn't. People find their own wells of poison to drink from." 

"You could give them only truth," she said. 

"Who judges? Who decides what truth is and which truths to hand out?" Yute shook his head, slow with sorrow. "We take to ourselves the power of the almighty when we control it. So, not intending to rule, the library just gives access. The truth is there on the shelf. You just have to reach out and take it. Information is like water—without it you won't live long, too much and you'll drown. And there's a difference between truth and information. Even correct information is not the same as truth—truth does not mislead—correct information bereft of context can be more dangerous than a lie…

"But it is important to note that those preparing to carry out such horror, those who want to lead humanity down the darkest paths it can—their first instinct is to burn books, ban books, close the gates of information, allow no voices of dissent.”

Anne squeezed his hand. “You came to see me. That's a wonder in itself. And one thing I've found over the years, is that if you stay in one spot long enough, and pay close attention, you'll find that there's magic everywhere."

The library, Anne had come to think, was an imperfect reflection of something divine, a shadow of the imposible. It was shaped by bias, prejudice, and held within its pages every human failing. And yet, in its conception and in its ideals there ran an echo of some great song that if it could only be heard would wrap every listener in its beauty and lift them to some higher, unattainable ground.

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