The library is small and unassuming, as if the planners were embarrassed by the need for one. Inside, the fixtures are plain, but the librarians have done their best to soften the stone with carpets and wall hangings. Most of the library is devoted to poetry and history, but there’s also a robust selection of books on biology and medicine. It comes from the research on the Taint, how it came to be, and its treatments.

Apparently, there’d been a war three hundred years ago between the then Empire of Dawrtaine and the Alliance of Southern Swords. The war was waged using technology that’s long been lost, and in its aftermath, the land was devastated. The weather fluctuated wildly as the world’s meteorological phenomena were permanently disrupted, causing tornadoes and hundred-mile winds, floods and droughts, blizzards during the summer, and heat waves in the winter. All until the weather crystallized into its current form.

The early days after the war were a brutal and unforgiving time, the people displaced and starving, wandering the land for food and safety. It was then that the children started being born disfigured, crippled, and monstrous. In the first hundred years after the war, the world’s population shrank by eighty percent.

People struggled, fought, and clawed their way back towards civilization. They devoted precious resources to curing the Taint, their study of biology and medicine far surpassing Milo’s knowledge from his own world. Eventually, they discovered rethak and its ability to protect children from the Taint.

At the same time, the study of the other sciences slowed. No one wanted to repeat the ruin of the Empire-Alliance war, and so legal restrictions were put into place to hinder the study of physics and mathematics. No wonder Mr. Groud put Milo in charge of the Lion. Milo’s understanding of engineering is decades ahead of anyone else in Dawrtaine. And now he’s attempting to catch up on their understanding of the human body.

Tonight, he spends time with Suneil’s Treatise on the Role of Calcium-Binding Proteins in the Nervous System until he’s the last patron remaining. The librarians fondly shoo him out before locking the door. The wind turbines have shut down for the night. The day breeze is gone, but there’s a bite in the winter air. Anyone rational would be somewhere warm and cozy, but there are three young men in front of the library, surrounding Milo’s taxi.

“Go back to No Town, Gloop. Your kind isn’t wanted.”

Zaid towers over the young men, but he doesn’t dare do anything against them. There was a story last week about a group of Untainted who decided to play a game of Beat the Brown. They’d found a messenger running errands Brickside. The Brown in question didn’t know any better and fought back. When the police came, they arrested him instead of the assailants. Later that night, he was found dead in his jail cell.

Zaid’s lack of resistance only encourages the bullies. They slap and prod and poke at him.

Milo stomps down the library steps. “Hey now! What are you doing? He’s my ride back home.”

The young men turn to face Milo. The one in front sneers. “What? Are you a Gloop-lover?”

“I don’t want any trouble,” Milo says carefully, “but I need him to get home. It’s a long walk, and I have a dinner appointment to make.”

The men stare, and Milo does his best not to flinch. “All right,” their leader says, but instead of leaving, he punches Zaid in the stomach. The cabby goes down to one knee, and the bully spits in his face. Turning back to Milo, he says, “Next time, give your business to real people and not these animals.” He gestures to his friends and they walk away.

Milo helps Zaid to his feet. “Are you hurt?”

“Sorry for the trouble,” Zaid says. “Don’t mind me, I can still get you to the Standing Goat. Our deal’s good, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

The equations around Zaid shift in relief. He grunts as he puts the carriage’s harness back on. “If you please then, we’ll get going now.”

Milo sees there’s nothing else to be done and climbs into the carriage.

###

The Standing Goat is livelier than usual. A qanun player is on stage, his fingers rippling across the strings, throwing complicated equations into the air in waves. Wahid is behind the bar, and Safi with the General and Noor at their table. All around the numbers are bright and boisterous.

“Milo!” Noor’s voice carries across the room, and the qanun player lays his hands across the strings to still them. The whole room turns to look at Milo.

Unnerved, Milo nearly steps back outside. “Wh-what?”

“She’s awake!” Noor yells.

“Who’s awake?”

“Who else, you daft boy—Hallon. Hallon’s awake!”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The words spool out in Milo’s head, and he looks at them critically to make sure he understands them. The General nods in encouragement, and so do Safi and Wahid.

“Hallon’s—” Milo says, and then the meaning penetrates. He dashes for the stairs, taking them two at a time, his body moving without him. Everything is a blur except the way up, up to Hallon’s room, where she’s been unconscious for seventeen months, three days, twenty-one hours, and eight minutes. The crowd laughs, but it doesn’t matter, because Hallon, Hallon’s finally awake.

Rahima guards the door and brings him to an abrupt, out-of-breath halt. “Hold on, hold on. I see they told you downstairs. Yes, she’s awake, but she’s also still recovering, so you’re not allowed to tire her out.”

“Yes, yes, how is she? Can I see her?”

Rahima’s face softens. “It’s a miracle. She’s not paralyzed after all. Her limbs are weak, but with time and treatment, she’ll be all right.” She reaches up to straighten Milo’s shirt and combs his hair with her fingers. “There. Now you can go in.”

Milo opens the door, and there she is—Hallon. All the words he’d been saving up vanish, replaced by his heart in his throat, jammed tight along with the relief and joy and a million other things he can’t express. She looks so very, very tired with dark circles under her eyes, but there’s life there—life after so much awful stillness.

“Hello, Milo. It’s good to see you. Whoever’s playing downstairs is good. The music is nice.”

Milo nods, not trusting his voice. He kneels and takes her hand in his.

Hallon’s eyebrows rise in surprise.

“Oh, ah, sorry,” he says. “Habit. I mean, it’s a habit. I hold your hand when I read to you, which I do every night, so it’s a habit. Sorry.”

“I see.” There’s an expression on Hallon’s face that’s much too complicated to decode. “I—I suppose I left you all alone in a strange place. I’m sorry for that.”

Milo’s heart feels like it’ll burst.

“What were you reading me?” Hallon asks.

Books. Books are safe. “The last one was The Fourteen Flowers: The Long Staff in Dynamic Motion by Mansur al-Sayfun. The General thought you might like it after I explained your interest in the fighting arts. The book’s from his personal collection. You don’t know the General, but he’s a fighter too and likes to play chess with Noor. She’s a Green and can read fortunes, except she can only see the past, not the future. I don’t understand how she does it, but it’s true. She’s passed every test I’ve devised. They both live here, but I don’t. I live with Karam, the boy who was our guide when we first came to No Town. When you were hurt. But now you’re awake, and I’m babbling, aren’t I? I’ll stop now.” Mortified, Milo covers his mouth with his free hand.

Hallon trembles. Is it a fit? Milo’s about to call for help, when a hiccup of laughter escapes her lips. Even though she’s laughing, she looks in pain, and there are tears at the corners of her eyes.

“Are—are you all right?”

Hallon shakes her head. “Oh, Milo. No, I’m not all right.” The laughter passes, leaving behind a small, sad smile

The world inside Milo melts, and tears he didn’t know he was holding back spill out. Hallon wipes them away, oh so gently.

See, boy. I told you she’d wake, the dragon outside the windows says.

Usually, Milo ignores Eratosthenes, the manifestation of his insanity, but today—with Hallon here and awake—he happily nods in agreement.

###

The rooftops of Dawrtaine are flat, and the extra space is convenient for drying laundry, small gardens, and storing the water tanks every household needs to survive. In the summer months, the city’s residents sleep on the rooftops to escape the unrelenting heat. This chilly night though, they’re all indoors, wrapped up in the warmth of their families.

Mary leans against the low wall surrounding the Standing Goat’s roof and looks up at the night sky. No clouds. There are never any clouds over Dawrtaine. She recognizes that she’s weary, soul tired from her travels and hungry to go home to her family and the Green things in her garden, but there won’t be any going back for another day at least. Later tonight, she’s meeting with Jawad and Reem, the last of Dawrtaine’s guardians. It has taken so long to earn their trust, but they’re finally starting to work together now. They have a lead—finally—on the power that resides under the city. That’s for later though. For now, there’s—

Eratosthenes rises from the floor in his human shape, his face glum. He sits beside her.

Mary’s heart sinks. “No, huh.”

He shakes his head. “She doesn’t hear me.”

Mary closes her eyes and sighs. They’d hoped—hoped that when Hallon finally awoke, she’d be the same person she was before the fight with Sab, but the damage refuses to heal, no matter what they try.

“I know you’re disappointed,” Mary says.

That surprises a laugh out of him. “Disappointed? That’s such a flimsy word. It can’t even begin to contain—” He stops and looks away.

“We’ll continue her treatments.”

Eratosthenes nods. His voice is rough. “Yes. Of course.”

“They’ll help eventually, I’m sure of it.”

“As am I.” A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “I’m a patient dragon.”

“And we have Milo,” Mary says. “He can translate—”

“He won’t. At least not as he is. To him, I’m a figment of his madness.” The tension around his eyes tightens. “And we’re running out of time.”

“What are you thinking to do?” Mary asks.

“First, I’m going to sit here until I calm down. Then we’ll meet with Jawad and Reem as planned. After that, I don’t know, but it’s clear that something has to change.” Eratosthenes looks down at his hands. “Noor mentioned Milo specifically when she called us to Dawrtaine. He must have a role yet to play, and it may take us pushing him past what he’s comfortable with for him to play it.”

“And Hallon?”

“She’s awake, and that’s going to have to be enough for now. The puppet protecting her will stay. That’s the best we can do.” Eratosthenes takes a shuddering breath. “She feels alone and lost, even after I promised that she’d never feel that way again. I’m with her—I’ll always be with her—but she can’t feel my presence and doesn’t hear my voice. I might as well be invisible to her.”

Eratosthenes stops talking, not willing to say anything else. Mary puts an arm around his shoulders, and he doesn’t shrug it off. They stay that way until they must head to the meeting with Dawrtaine’s remaining guardians.