Deeplight

by Frances Hardinge

Despair was a numbing poison. The moment you decided the worst was inevitable, it was.

“That is the trick of it,” remarked Vyne. “Listening to someone’s story and hearing what lies behind it. People always tell you more than they realize.” Hark looked up and found the doctor watching him again, in her unnervingly acute way. No, she was not softened at all. Her gaze was hard and bright.

They’re not weeds, Jelt. They’re thoughts. And they’re mine. Was it always this way? Did Hark start to get ideas of his own when Jelt was away, ideas that Jelt took pains to kill as soon as he got back?

“You always think like that! ‘Oh, Hark’ll do it if he has to!’ So you always arrange things so I do have to. Like when you made me agree to Rigg’s plan! Every time I find I’ve got no choice, and it’s life and death, so I just have to make it work somehow.”