Paper and Fire (The Great Library #2)(97)

Another knife cut of guilt slicing a piece of his heart away. He had no answers for her, nothing but a whispered, “I’m sorry,” which was no comfort. He wished she had been thinking of Dario. It would have been a simpler subject, an easier answer. This cut to the core of who Khalila was.

She made the choice, some part of him said, but he hated that he thought it. Of course she had. That didn’t make it all right. In some ways, it only made it worse.

While Jess stood helpless, Thomas walked directly to Khalila and wrapped her in a hug that lifted her off her feet. After a second of surprise, she put her arms around him—as far as they would stretch—and put her head on his broad shoulder.

“I would be dead if not for you,” he told her. “I would be dead to everything and everyone I knew if you hadn’t come for me. All of you. Don’t think I will ever forget what you’ve done for me.”

“I had to,” she said. “I was glad to.”

“Even so,” he said. “If you lose your family, I will be your family. Always.”

She took a deep breath and said, “Thank you. Now put me down, you lumbering bear.”

He laughed a little and put her back on her feet. “Sorry. It’s like picking up a tiny bird. You should eat more.”

“So should you,” she said. Her smile was back. So was the light in her eyes. It’s remarkable, Jess thought, that Thomas can do that. He had so much light inside him that it warmed those around him. “Will you be my escort to dinner?”

“I will,” Thomas said gravely, and offered her his arm, like an ancient country gentleman. She put her hand lightly on it.

Jess was laughing at them, but it stopped quickly as Morgan opened the door of his room and their eyes met. He nodded to her warily. She nodded back. Her eyes looked red and swollen, but there were no tears now. And no forgiveness, either.

He was still considering what to say to her when the door to Wolfe and Santi’s room opened and the two men stepped out. Wolfe gave them all a dour glance and said, “What are you waiting for?” as he pushed past and opened the door at the end of the hallway. Santi followed, and then Khalila and Thomas.

Jess cleared his throat and gestured, and Morgan preceded him out.

It didn’t really feel like peace.




Somehow Jess had expected a small, private room that would have been set aside for them, but instead the dining room of the Iron Tower was a large, open space filled with many, many tables and groups gathered at nearly every one. Most of those in the room fell silent and turned toward them as they entered, and Jess had an instinctive defensive reaction until Morgan murmured, “They never see new faces here. You’re novelties.”

Novelties. He felt Thomas flinch, saw Morgan avert her eyes, and it made him even angrier. We’re not your entertainment, Jess wanted to shout. He began to have a small inkling of what Morgan’s life might be like here, being the rebellious outcast in what seemed to be a group of true believers.

Morgan, gaze down, wasn’t looking at any of the other tables, but they were all staring . . . and whispering and pointing. A young girl rose from a nearby table and walked toward them. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen and had an unpleasantly smug look on her face, but what drew Jess’s attention was the rounded swell of her stomach beneath her dress. It took him a long moment to comprehend what that meant, and then he shot a fast, unguarded look at Morgan. Her face—what he could see from this angle—had set into a bland mask.

“Sister Morgan!” the girl almost purred, and extended both hands as if she expected Morgan to grasp them in welcome. “We’re so glad you decided to rejoin us. We missed you!”

She managed to make it look like her own idea to clasp her hands in excitement and pull them back when Morgan didn’t take the hint. Her smile turned brittle and a little vile. The silence stretched . . . and then Morgan said, “Rosa, we’re tired and hungry. Please excuse us.”

It was bare courtesy, and Rosa couldn’t have missed it, but she somehow managed to hang on to that smile and put both hands now on the curve of her stomach. “The baby’s started to kick. Do you want to feel it?”

“I’m afraid we are all far too tired this evening,” Khalila said, which sounded brusque but, in the way that only Khalila could manage, also sounded warm and kind. “Rosa, is it?”

“Yes,” Rosa said, and turned to her. She took in Khalila in one sweeping glance, head to toe. “You’re not one of us.”

“I am a Scholar,” Khalila said. “How does that make me alien to you?”

Rosa dismissed her and went back to Morgan. “Don’t worry,” she said, and pitched her voice a little louder to carry. “I know you missed your time, but Dominic is a patient young man. I’m sure you look forward to it.”

Dominic. Jess felt something dark settle into the pit of his stomach, because now he had a name for the Obscurist Morgan was expected to bed. Dominic. He scanned the room, wondering which of them it was. The puffy, pale one at the back with his attention fixed on his plate? The lean one watching them with silvery eyes? It would drive him mad, not knowing which one of them to hate.

Rosa started back toward her table but then turned around, as if she’d just thought of something. Pure, petty theater. “Oh,” she said to Morgan. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about poor Sybilla?”