Paper and Fire (The Great Library #2)(3)

“You know Dario—he’s always got an idea,” Glain said. “Something to think on, anyway. Something we can do. I know you want to find out how and why Thomas died as much as I do.”

“The Archivist told us why,” he said. “Thomas was convicted of heresy against the Library.” Tell her what you know, for God’s sake. The thought beat hard against his brain, like a prisoner battering at a door, but he just wasn’t ready. He couldn’t tell what saying the words out loud, making them real, might do to him.

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” Glain said softly. Her dark eyes had gone distant and the look in them sad. “Thomas would never have done anything, said anything to deserve that. He was the best of us.”

Just tell her. She deserves to know!

He finally scraped together just enough courage and drew in a deep, slow breath as he looked up to meet her eyes. “Glain, about Thomas—”

He was cut off by a sudden hard rapping on the door. It sounded urgent, and Jess bolted up off the bed and crossed to answer. He felt half relieved for the interruption . . . until he swung it open, and his squad mate Tariq Oduya shouldered past Jess and into the room. He held two steaming mugs, and thrust one at Jess as he said, “And here I thought you’d be still lagging in bed . . .” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Glain standing against the wall. She had her arms crossed, and looked as casual as could be, but Tariq still grinned and raised his eyebrows. “Or maybe you just got up!”

“Stuff it,” Glain said, and there was no sign of humor in her expression or voice. She moved forward to take the second cup from Tariq and sipped it, never mind that it was probably his own. “Thanks. Now be about your business, soldier.”

“Happy to oblige, Squad Leader,” he said, and mock saluted. Technically, they were off duty, but he was walking a tightrope, and Jess watched Glain’s face to see if she intended to slice through it and send him falling into the abyss for the lack of respect.

She just sipped the hot drink and watched Tariq without blinking until he moved to the door.

“Recruit Oduya,” she said as he stepped over the threshold. “You do understand that if I hear a whisper of you implying anything about this situation, I’ll knock you senseless, and then I’ll see you off the squad and out of the High Garda.”

He turned and gave her a proper salute. His handsome face was set in a calm mask. “Yes, Squad Leader. Understood.”

He closed the door behind him. Jess took a gulp of the coffee and closed his eyes in relief as the caffeine began its work. “He’s a good sort. He won’t spread rumors.”

Glain gave him a look of utter incredulity. “You really don’t know him at all, do you?”

In truth, Jess didn’t. The squad had bonded tightly, but he’d held himself apart from that quite deliberately; he’d formed deep friendships in his postulant class and seen some of those friends dismissed, injured, and dead. He wasn’t about to open himself up to the same pain again.

Still, he considered Tariq the closest he had to a friend, except for Glain. Glain he trusted.

His uniform jacket was still clean, and he put it on as he finished the coffee. Glain watched in silence for a moment before she said, “You were about to tell me something.”

“Later,” he said. “After the exercise. It’s going to be a longer conversation.”

“All right.” As he stopped to check his uniform in front of the mirror, she rolled her eyes. “You’re pretty enough for both of us, Brightwell.”

“Charmed you think so, Squad Leader. You’re quite handsome yourself today.” Handsome was a good description. Glain had chopped her dark hair closer for convenience; it suited her, he decided, and fit well with the solid curves of a body made for endurance and strength. There was no attraction between them, but there was respect—more now than before, he thought. Some, like Oduya, might mistake it for something else. She might be right to be concerned. Jess met her eyes in the mirror. “That compliment stops at the doorway, of course.”

She nodded. It seemed brisk, but there was a look in her eyes that he thought might be some form of gratitude. “Stop preening and let’s go.”

They left his room together, but, thankfully, no one was in the hall to see it. The squad had gathered toward the end, talking casually, but all that stopped as Glain approached. Jess silently took position with the rest of the squad, and Glain led them out at a fast walk for the parade ground. Despite his sweaty weariness, he looked forward to this; it was a chance to let a little of his anger out of that locked, chained box. There wouldn’t be any real surprises. It was just an exercise, after all.




He was dead wrong about that, and it cost him.

They were in the tenth long hour on the exercise ground when Jess saw a flash of movement from the corner of his eye and tried to turn toward it, but he was hampered by thick layers of cloth and the flexible armor, and just simply too slow, too tired, and too late.

A shot hit him squarely in the back.

Then he was on the ground, looking up at a merciless Alexandrian sky scratched white by the heat, and he couldn’t breathe. The pain crushed all the air out of his chest, and for a split second he wondered if something had gone badly wrong, if all the safety measures had failed, if he was going to die . . . And then his frozen solar plexus unlocked and he gulped in a raw, whooping mouthful of air.