Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(111)

But they’re losing, Morgan thought. She didn’t take her gaze from the Archivist as Jess stood and raised that Ray of Apollo again. The shield that had protected him had died with Gregory, and she doubted it would have stopped Thomas’s solid light . . . but when Jess fired, nothing happened.

The weapon was empty of power.

He dropped it, grabbed his rifle, and fired once, but he missed as the Archivist finally realized his danger and raced for an exit.

“Stop them!” Shouts went up, from both Santi and Anit, but also from Scholars who were coming to the railings and vaulting down into the arena. Joining them. Scholars were joining them!

Morgan felt tears burn her eyes as she watched the Archivist and his Curia driven together into the center of their golden box by a ring of Scholars, High Garda soldiers, thieves. Santi’s troops were quickly and competently destroying the automata; there were losses, but fewer and fewer. A lion bounded at them, and Khalila moved in front of it, stepped under the slashing paws, and turned it off with a single, accurate slap of her hand.

Khalila climbed up onto the back of the thing, balanced on the snarling head, and shouted at Santi. “Captain! Don’t kill them!”

Santi relayed the order to his people, and when Anit’s thieves didn’t seem inclined to obey, they were thrown out of the box back to the arena with quick, efficient violence. The alliance, it seemed, was coming to an end.

That was when she saw Jess climbing into the box.

No, it wasn’t Jess. Jess was here, with her.

It was his twin.

Brendan.





CHAPTER FORTY




JESS

Jess saw his twin climb the railings, but he didn’t have time to wonder why; he was too busy slipping under the spear of a Spartan and finding the switch to stop the thing. It had already killed a few people, by the smears of blood on it, and he felt a surge of bitter triumph as it froze in its crouching lunge.

Then he looked for Brendan.

His brother avoided Lieutenant Botha’s outstretched hand and went straight for the Archivist.

Yes, Jess thought. Kill him. As long as the Archivist lived, there wouldn’t be peace here, or progress. Killing Gregory had been a good start, but only a start. He knew Khalila didn’t approve, and likely Wolfe wouldn’t either . . . but he’d watched Neksa die.

Fitting, that his brother should be the one to end this.

He saw a shadow behind Brendan, and then as his brother grabbed for the Archivist, he saw his twin stumble.

He felt the knife, somehow. Its phantom shadow slid into his back, and he felt its cold presence tear his heart in two.

No. NO!

Jess must have shouted it, must have screamed, but he didn’t hear himself doing it; he was too far away to get to his brother, but he ran, dodging the claws and spears of automata, launching himself up to grab the railing, and when he landed on the floor of the box, the Archivist was being pushed toward an exit that had opened in the floor. A trapdoor.

The black shadow was a High Garda uniform without insignia, and she was hurrying the old man into the escape hatch. As she looked back, her gaze caught Jess’s.

Green eyes. A sharp, pale face.

In her hand, a bloody dagger.

Zara.

Anit lunged for the opening, but it slammed shut before she could reach it. Santi leaped over Gregory’s fallen body and reached the trapdoor a second later, but it was seamless from this side.

“Find the exit!” Santi shouted. He’d gone sickly pallid, and Jess knew he’d seen her, too.

Zara Cole had betrayed all of them.

Zara Cole had murdered his brother.

Jess didn’t watch the rest. He grabbed Brendan from where he’d fallen. His twin was still breathing, but his eyes were already blind and wide, as if he were trapped in a dark, dark room searching for an exit.

“Jess?” he whispered. “Jess?”

“I’m here, Brother,” he said, and grabbed Brendan’s trembling hand. No blood on Brendan’s front. The wound was in the back, invisible. Deep. Deadly. “Medica! I need a Medica!”

“Jess,” Brendan gasped. Blood on his lips. Foaming from his mouth. “Jess, tell Da—”

And then he was gone. Just . . . gone. Brendan lay heavy in his arms, and just a moment ago, seconds ago, he had been vital and alive and his brother.

“Brendan!” Anit was by him now. And Santi. Santi tried to take his brother away, and he shoved the man backward, hard.

“Leave him alone!” Jess shouted. “Get me a Medica!”

“It’s no use, son.” That was Scholar Wolfe, grim and bloodstained and holding one arm at an awkward angle, but there was bitter compassion in his eyes. “Jess, a Medica can’t save him. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your sympathy. I want a Medica!”

“Jess.” Morgan’s hands fitted themselves to his cheeks and made him turn toward her. She looked exhausted, bloody, and her face was wet with tears. “Jess, he’s gone. He’s gone.”

It wasn’t true until he let Scholar Wolfe take the weight of his brother in his arms, and then he knew it was true, because Brendan had never been so limp, so quiet, so empty.

“She killed him,” Jess said, and swallowed. “Zara killed him.”

“I know,” Wolfe said. “We’ll find them. I swear that to you.”