I kept my place on the ground while he finished searching the bedroom. I knew he wouldn’t find anything in there, because I’d already removed the book … if there was only one book.

  Except there wasn’t. When he returned to the main room, in his arms was a tall stack of Lithuanian books. He crossed to the fireplace and began stirring the embers of the fire that must have cooked a supper recently.

  “No,” I mouthed. “Not the books.”

  And no, it wasn’t the books. When the fire had rekindled, he grabbed the unburnt end of a fiery stick, pushed past me to enter the bedroom, then dropped the stick in the center of the bed. At first I thought the stick would burn itself out, but within seconds, the quilt lit and began to blacken, then the fire spread. The soldier eyed me until he was certain it had taken hold, then frowned, picked up the books again, and carried them out the door.

  The instant he left, I ran to the bed and folded up the unburnt edges of the quilt in hopes of smothering the fire, but it had already spread to the mattress beneath. I dashed over to the pump at the kitchen sink, filling a bucket of water and dumping it on the fire to douse the flames.

  Then I opened the door and peered out. Other officers were on this road by now, but when their attention turned elsewhere, I darted from the home and ran until I couldn’t see them anymore. If only I could have gotten far enough away to no longer hear what they were doing. One by one behind me, I heard the whoosh of flames as homes were lit on fire, preceded by the shouts of soldiers calling to one another the numbers of illegal books they had found in the homes.

  “Tree.” Three.

  “Vosim.” Eight.

  “Nul.” None. The soldier laughed.

  No books had been in that home. The soldier merely wanted to burn it.

  Up ahead, I saw Lukas with another stack of books in his arms, racing up the hillside toward the forest. I started to follow him, when a young girl darted from her home with a single book. “Will you hide this?”

  I nodded, but as I turned to follow Lukas, I crashed directly into a soldier who was emerging from another home. I fell on my backside, both books landing in my lap.

  With a snarl, he grabbed my arm and hefted me off the ground, but once my feet were planted, I gave him a fierce kick on the shin, hard enough that I might have broken a toe to do it. He dropped my arm, allowing me to squirm out of his grip and run. He called after me, that when he caught me again I’d pay for this, but he didn’t chase me. Instead, when I looked back, he was picking up the books I’d saved and was walking away with them.

  The books I’d meant to save.

  The books I hadn’t saved.

  My heart shattered.

  A few meters ahead, Lukas was motioning me toward him, and when I caught up, he led the way into the forest. Others from the village had gathered here as well, and from behind the trees, sobbing women and children and stoic men with crushed hearts watched as a dozen or more homes went up in flames. Just as mine had.

  “How many books did we save?” I mumbled to Lukas.

  “Not enough.” He pointed to a pile of thirty or forty books, then looked up at me. “Come with me. There’s something you need to see.”

  I trudged behind Lukas deep enough inside the forest that we wouldn’t be seen from the village but close enough to its border that we still got glimpses of the horror. I saw roaring flames with their light filtered against the layers of trees; I choked on the pungent odor of smoke as homes were destroyed. But was it only the homes?

  Many of the villagers who hadn’t escaped into the forest had been herded into the square, and there I saw another fire in the center of the road.

  Burning no buildings this time, no homes. But I knew what this fire was.

  Books.

  This fire smelled different from other kinds of fires. I knew it was different because it wasn’t only ink and paper being consumed by the flames, but also the characters themselves, and their worlds and feelings and stories. Did they cry out for themselves, begging to be saved? I believed so, for I was certain I could hear them calling to me.

  A sudden panic sent a shudder through me. “Lukas, why are they—”

  He put a finger to his lips, then led us closer to the village square. There, the fire burned bright, its flames crackling with a hunger for more fuel, greedy in its destruction.

  Each lick of a flame took knowledge from us. It consumed our ideas and our stories, and what little freedom we thought we had claimed for ourselves with our smuggling.

  They were burning our books, and with them, I felt like holes were being burned into my heart. How could they do this? How could they attach such venom to words on paper?

  I followed Lukas to the crest of a hill overlooking the square. Fifty or sixty people were gathered around the bonfire—forced to stand there by the ten Cossack soldiers patrolling the road behind them. The townsfolk had their heads hung low, unable to look at the fire and unwilling to challenge the soldiers. Occasionally I saw a woman or child raise a hand to wipe a tear from their face.

  Officer Rusakov ordered the villagers to make way for him, and when he pushed through, he picked up a book that had fallen from the stack and threw it back onto the fire. I recognized it as the same alphabet book that Lukas had given me. Maybe my copy of it, or maybe someone else’s; I didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. A piece of me seemed to die as the book was swallowed up in the flames. Perhaps no other book in that stack was a greater threat to this man and the tsar he served so well.

  For that book was where it all began. Those simple letters became words that became our identity. That book was all we had to save our future; I saw that now more than ever before. If we were forced to speak a language that was not our own, then how long could we hold to thoughts that were our own? That was why I had to smuggle. If we failed to deliver books, then the collapse of Lithuania was only a generation away.

  Surely this had been the tsar’s intention ever since the press ban began—not to rob the older generation of their traditions, but merely to wait out their lives. And in their place, to raise a new generation, people my age, who didn’t know our traditions had ever existed.

  That’s why they had to burn the alphabet books.

  Officer Rusakov turned his back to the flames, and the people nearest to him instinctively stepped back. He began walking a circle around the fire, shouting, “You peasants, you fools! Why do you insist on clinging to that which is past, that which is dead? You are Russians now. Accept that and we will have peace.”

  He picked up another book, then held it up for the group to see. “Why must you pray in an illegal language? Do you think your God will not listen if your prayers are spoken in my language?” Then that book also went into the fire.

  He lifted a third book, holding it against the firelight to read the title, then said, “What need do you have for Lithuanian history now? There is no Lithuania. There is nothing here but Russia.”

  An older man stepped forward from the group and spoke in Lithuanian. “No, Officer Rusakov. We are not Russian; we are not one of you. We are Lithuanians, and long after you have been called back home, we will still be here.”

  Rusakov smirked. “Some of these people, perhaps. But you will not.” With a distinct tilt of his head, two other soldiers grabbed the man, forced him to his knees, and whacked him across his back with the butt of a rifle. I sucked in a breath, then stood, ready to walk down the hill and defend the man as best as I could.

  “No, Audra.” Lukas grabbed my arm and pulled me down behind the bushes with him. “You can’t save him.”

  By the time I looked at him again, two soldiers were dragging the man away. Above the gasps and cries of the crowd, Officer Rusakov said, “This is what happens to those who defy the Russian Empire! Everyone, go home. You have twenty seconds to leave the square or you’ll join this man in prison!”

  It took less time than that for the square to empty, including the soldiers who were prodding people down the roads, continuing to harass and frighten them. Rusakov picked up another book and opened it, shaking his head as he ran his finger down the page; then it was dumped onto the fire as well along with the remaining books. As soon as he’d finished, he shouted out an order that everyone had better get inside their homes and remain there for the night. When calls for help came back to him, he abandoned the fire and went to see what the new trouble was.

  Or really, to create even more trouble than what had already been done.

  I immediately turned to Lukas. “I’m going down there to save what I can.”

  “Are you mad? No, you aren’t.”

  “I’m not asking for your permission.”

  “And you’re not getting it. If someone sees you—”

  “If I’m going to smuggle books, shouldn’t I also save them? There are ones on the edge of the fire that may only be singed.”

  Lukas sighed. “All right, but I’ll go with you and keep watch. When I say run, we run. Agreed?”

  I nodded, and this time I led the way down the hill with Lukas immediately checking the different roads leading into the square. By the time he whispered that everything seemed safe, I’d already slid four books away from the fire. I couldn’t read the titles in the firelight, but that didn’t matter. Every book had suddenly become a life I could save, something that breathed out ideas as unique to the world as every person was unique.

  Right on top of the stack where Rusakov had dumped the last of the books sat a thick book that hadn’t started burning yet, but it soon would. I leaned over the fire as far as I dared and reached for the book, but when I did, a breath of flame licked my arm. I yanked my arm back with a cry, unsure of how bad the burn was, but my skin was already screaming with pain.

  “Someone’s coming.” Lukas ran toward me, scooped up the saved books in his arms, then said, “Let’s go!”

  I still had the rescued book from the top of the pile, and I hoped whatever it was would be worth the pain in my arm. There was no time for us to run back up the hill, so instead, Lukas pulled me behind a cobbler’s shop. He glanced down at my burned arm. “Oh no, Audra. Does it hurt?”

  My arm felt as if it were still on fire, but I couldn’t do anything about that here, nor did I get the chance to answer Lukas’s question. Instead, Rusakov must have returned to the square. In his deep voice, he said to the other soldiers with him, “Wait here until it’s burned down to ashes, then get some peasants to clean it up. If anyone else tries to challenge you, shoot them and make sure this village knows why we had to do it.”

  They didn’t have to do it. They had chosen to do all of this, to ruin a wedding, to search the homes of peaceful people, and then to destroy them for the crime of wanting their own language, their own lives. I hated that Rusakov saw himself as any kind of a hero for what he had done here tonight.

  “Hurry with this job,” Rusakov added as he began to leave the square. “I’m going for one more arrest—we know where all these books are coming from.”

  Milda.

  I turned to Lukas, locking eyes with him in silent desperation. Milda was going to be arrested!

  Lukas cocked his head, suggesting that we should take another route away from the square, and I followed directly on his heels, forgetting my burn. Forgetting everything but the need to warn Milda before the soldiers got to her.

  If they did, I was certain her fate would end up just as it had for my parents. Arrested, possibly sentenced to Siberia. Leaving me alone again.

  I would not let that happen.

  We were almost within sight of Milda’s home when Roze rounded the corner, nearly crashing into us. Tears streamed down her face as soon as she saw me.

  “Audra, I was looking for you!”

  “Is it Milda?”

  Roze folded her hand into mine. “Yes, she told me to sneak out and find you, to warn you to stay away. I escaped through the shed out back, but they almost saw me.”

  Lukas was still carrying the books I’d saved from the fire. I turned to him. “We’ve got to help Milda.”

  “No!” Roze tugged at my arm. “Milda wants us to save her books!”

  “She’s right,” Lukas said. “If they find the books, then they’ll have all the evidence they need against Milda.”

  “They must already have evidence against her—that’s why they are there! Lukas, we all care about the books, but this is Milda’s life!”

  Lukas exhaled deeply, leaving lines of worry across his forehead. “You’re right too. Any ideas for Milda?”

  My hand had been absently fingering the items in my father’s satchel while I’d been speaking. My fingers passed over one of my father’s tricks, and my stomach began to twist. I had an idea. A dangerous, terrible, almost-certain-to-fail idea.

  Almost certain to fail. Which meant I had some small chance of succeeding. It would have to be enough.

  Starting with Lukas. If he knew my plan, he’d never let me do it. I turned to him. “If Roze helps me get Milda out of the house, can you get the books out of the secret school?”

  His eyes narrowed. “What are you going to do?”

  I smiled as if it were nothing so big, as if the idea weren’t making my hands shake and my stomach feel sick. “Just a little magic. I’ll meet you in the forest as soon as we get Milda.”

  I hoped. One of the tricks was something I’d never done before, though I’d seen my father do it many times.

  Lukas nodded and ran off toward the back of Milda’s home. Once he’d left, I said to Roze, “How many officers are inside?”

  “Two.”

  “You snuck out, can you sneak back in?”

  “Probably.” Now she looked as nervous as I felt.

  “Go in, and when the two soldiers are distracted, you’ve got to get Milda out the same way you left. I can only give you a couple of minutes, so you’ll need to move fast.” I looked in her eyes, seeing them fill with tears. “Roze, can you do this?”

  She nodded, though her voice quivered when she squeaked out the words “I can.” She looked as if she wished the ground would swallow her up rather than have to carry out my plan, and I completely understood. I was just as terrified.

  “Go,” I said. “Hurry!”

  She ran off in the opposite direction as Lukas had gone, and when I was alone on the street, I walked to the front of Milda’s home and slipped my father’s magic ring over my forefinger. Papa wore it on his pinky finger, but it was too big for me there. I put three small cups facing downward on the flat end of the rail of the fence in front of Milda’s home. Next, I pulled out his disappearing sheet. It was only a length of fabric with three bars running through a seam at the top. I hooked the three bars together to form one solid bar that held the fabric at its full width. That was the part of the trick I’d never done before, and I genuinely didn’t know if I could do it, but I laid it at my feet anyway.

  I hoped Roze was in place to rescue Milda, because I was about to begin.

  Until becoming a book smuggler, I’d rarely spoken at all, and even when I did, it was always in the softest voice I could manage. But now I needed a loud voice if I was to get the attention of the soldiers inside. It felt like I was screaming to them, but I didn’t think I was. I tried to sound friendly when I shouted out, “Cossack officers, if you’re looking for book smugglers, I know where they are!”

  That brought one officer out to the front of the home. I needed both of them. If an officer was left inside to guard Milda, my plan wouldn’t work.

  He said, “You’re just a little girl. Go away or we’ll arrest you as well!”

  I forced myself to smile, though it surely looked stiff and unnatural … and suspicious. My heart was pounding so loud in my ears it was all I could hear—could he hear it too? So I spoke even louder to cover up my terror. “I’m a girl who can do magic. So I propose a game. Tell me where I’ve hidden the coin beneath these three cups and I’ll answer all your questions far better than the old woman inside.”

  He shifted his rifle into his other hand, making sure I saw it. “I have better ways to make you answer my questions, girl.”

  I swallowed that threat down with another smile. “So you think I can outsmart you with a simple magic trick?”

  The second officer ducked his head outside. “What’s this?”

  The first man pointed to me. “She’s offering to trade information for a bit of magic.”

  The second officer grinned. “I have a daughter about your age who once saw a magician perform on the streets of Kaunas. She’s been fascinated with magic ever since.”

  She had almost certainly seen my father. I hoped he would be proud of me now. Not my courage, for if he knew how badly my legs were shaking, he’d know I had none. But perhaps of my skills as a magician.

  In my left hand, I raised a coin. “Watch this carefully and tell me where it is when I’m finished.” Then I set it on the railing of the fence and covered it with the center cup. With my eyes on the men, I began switching the places of the cups. The railing was narrow enough that sometimes almost half of the cup crossed past the edge of the beam, which worked out well for me. I knew the soldiers were watching for the coin to drop to the ground, but it wouldn’t. I felt when the coin dropped and immediately caught on my father’s magic ring—my father’s magnetic ring. I folded it inside my palm and continued stirring the cups around.

  When I’d finished, I said, “Guess correctly the first time and I’ll answer every question you have. Guess correctly the second time and I’ll answer three questions. But if you don’t guess it, I will leave without answering any questions, agreed?”

  They grunted, certain they would guess the correct cup. The first officer pointed to the center cup. I lifted it, and naturally the coin wasn’t there.

  “Idiot!” his companion said, then pointed to the cup last in line. I lifted it, too, and now came the trickiest part—replacing the coin in my palm to make it look as if it had been there all along.

  I said, “Thank you for playing, but the coin is here.”