Paper and Fire (The Great Library #2)(45)

“What is it?”

“Alcoholic,” Dario said. “Come on. We’re drinking to my vast stupidity. Where’s Glain? Surely she wouldn’t miss the chance to rub it in.”

Jess said nothing. He sipped the liquid. Strong, all right, with a deceptively fruity taste. Dario had been crying; that was clear from the red, swollen state of his eyes. He’d also had a fit of temper. Papers littered the floor, no doubt brushed off the desk to make room for the drink.

“I was wrong,” Dario said. “Say it.”

“You took a chance,” Jess replied. “We’ve all taken them. I’m sorry it came out this way. She was—”

“She was brilliant. Brilliant.” Dario’s voice broke, and tears beaded in his eyes. He tried to blink them away, but they broke free and he had to angrily wipe them away. “She liked me. She trusted me. I got her killed.”

“It might have been an accident,” Jess said, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears.

Dario tossed off the rest of his drink and refilled the glass. “Shut up and drink.”

It took some time, but Jess finished what he’d been served, and before he was halfway through he was feeling the effects. Dario had two glasses to his one, and no doubt more before that. He tried to pour another out for Jess, but Jess quickly pulled the glass back. “That’s enough,” he said, and reached over to stopper the bottle. “You’ve had enough, believe me.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Dario blurted, and drained the last of his drink. “She never walked in front of a carriage in her life. It was murder, and it was because of what I did. Her blood is on my hands—don’t try to tell me anything else.”

Jess didn’t. He let silence set for a moment, then said, “We all knew this would cost lives. Ours, our friends’, maybe our families’. Going against the Archivist is a blood sport.”

“He killed a Scholar,” Dario said. It was almost a whisper, and his voice shook and nearly broke again. “Me cago en todos los santos, he killed one of the best of us, and for what? To hide his dirty secrets? No. Khalila’s right. This has to stop.”

“I never said to give up.” Khalila’s voice came from behind Jess in the open doorway. “I never will. Dario, I’m so sorry.” The gentle sadness in her voice made Jess take in a breath, and as he turned his head, she moved past him, around the desk to open her arms. Dario lunged up and into them, and put his head on her shoulder to cry in quiet, wrenching sobs. It lasted only a moment, and he murmured a quiet apology as he pulled back.

She kissed him. It was a sweet, gentle kiss, and Jess found himself looking away to give them some privacy. She stepped away first and took in a slow breath as Dario sank down again in the chair. “What have you been drinking? I think I might be intoxicated on the fumes.”

“It’s not haram for me,” Dario said, and reached for the bottle. She moved it out of his reach. “Khalila. Please.”

“You’re beyond drunk enough,” she said. “And this is the end of your mourning. If they’ve killed a Scholar, we are all in danger, and you need to be alert. I need you at your best. We all do.”

He leaned back in his chair, staring at her, and then nodded. “You’re right. From now on, we stay together.”

Khalila turned to Jess. “The same for you. Stay with Glain. Watch your backs.”

“Thomas—”

“There’s nothing we can do for Thomas if we’re dead,” she said. “Stop asking about him, about secret prisons, about the Black Archives, about all of it. In a month, we may be able to start again, but they are watching. It will take only a stroke of the Archivist’s pen to kill us all. You know that.”

He did. He hated it with a cold, aching fury, but Khalila’s words were wise. Any sane person would pull in their head and proceed with caution.

Jess stood up. The Pacharán had worked all too well, and he felt his head spin a little. The Archivist won’t have to push me in front of a carriage, he thought. I’m liable to stumble in front of one all on my own.

“Stay safe,” he told them, and embraced Khalila first, then Dario.

Then he left the Lighthouse.

He’d lied. He didn’t intend to proceed with caution. It was far too late for that.

He intended to make sure Scholar Prakesh hadn’t died in vain. If that meant selling his soul to his brother, then he’d pay the price. However high it was.




When he knocked on Brendan’s door, it was late for most in the area, but hardly too late for a Brightwell. Still, he got no answer. Jess stepped back and studied the high windows. All dark. He didn’t believe that his twin, of all people, would be so early to bed, whether Neksa was in it or not.

Calling out for him was a stupid idea. Jess moved down to the far end of the wall, which surrounded a garden, and effortlessly swarmed over it and dropped down on the other side. Darker there, though a fountain whispered in the corner, and lotus flowers drifted on the surface of a pond.

He found the side door, quickly touched his fingers to the household god next to it, and got out his tools. Not a bad lock, but, then, thieves always bought the best. It took him more than a minute to open it, and then he stepped inside, into the soft shadows and the smell of sandalwood incense. Quiet.