Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(31)

“How would you hear that?”

“My girl, I’ve made it a point to, ah, intimately befriend the guards when they seem so inclined. And they seem happy to talk under those conditions. Especially since they know I can’t tell anyone outside these walls. Oh, don’t give me such a blushing look. I’ve always enjoyed the pleasures of a good bed partner, and heaven knows, we’ve got little else to do for entertainment.” Morgan started to laugh in uncomfortable delight but managed to keep it to a muffled giggle. Annis’s grin widened. “So. You’re right that if you somehow break the links of the Iron Tower to the Archivist, the High Garda might not be as firm an ally as he imagines. No one likes what he’s doing.”

“I like it even less. It’s a terrible, cruel waste. And thinking that he might put Scholar Wolfe on that pyre . . .”

Annis shut her eyes briefly and then opened them again. The shine had taken on a hard quality. “He has Keria’s son? You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“She died to protect Christopher, you know.”

“I know. I was there.” Morgan swallowed hard. “I wanted to like her. But I only ever knew her as my jailor. Seeing her with Wolfe . . .”

“She never wanted to give that boy up,” Annis said. “She hated that he was taken away. Once she became Obscurist, she bent the rules regularly to keep children with parents as long as she could, even when there was no hope that they would test as talented. She wasn’t a monster, Morgan. She was a woman trying to do her best, under tremendous pressure.”

“What about Wolfe’s father?”

Annis fell uncharacteristically silent. She rose and walked to the tall mirror in the far corner of the room, adjusting the fall of the warm robes she wore. “He broke her heart.”

“Is he still here? In the Tower?”

“Oh yes, he’s here, though he’s not been seen in many years. Self-imposed exile, though I suppose Gregory will make it more official than that and lock him in for good one of these days.”

“Is he as powerful as they say he is?”

“Aye.” Annis turned slowly to regard her. “And that’s what you really wanted to know, isn’t it? About him?”

“I’m just curious,” Morgan lied. “What’s he like?”

“Like? Like a wild, mad bastard who never accepted his fate. He loved Keria. Too much, I think. When he turned down the chance to become the Obscurist and she took it instead . . . that was the end of them. That, and how she let their son be sent away, or at least, that’s what he came to believe. We all thought he’d come crawling out, sooner or later; few seal themselves away and mean it, you know. But he did. He shut the door and never left those rooms again.”

“You’re sure he’s still alive?”

“Dead men don’t take deliveries of food and supplies, have their clothes cleaned, and all the other mundane necessities of life. But he’s put wards on his doors that only Keria could break—and I know others, including Gregory, tried.”

Morgan was desperate to ask exactly where Eskander’s room was located. The Tower was large and complicated; she’d explored some of it before, but hardly all, and though the whispers about the Hermit of the Iron Tower had come to her attention, she hadn’t been interested then in following them.

She’d pushed Annis enough, though. There was no doubt Gregory was forcing the older woman to spy on whatever Morgan did, and while Annis would likely cover for her out of sheer dislike for the Obscurist, if it became too obvious, she wouldn’t have too much of a choice.

“I’m going to turn the ears back on,” Morgan said. “Pretend they’re not there. But don’t mention Eskander or anything we talked about. All right?”

Annis nodded. “You said there’s a word to speak to turn it off. What turns it on again?”

Morgan said, “Presta atención.” Pay attention. “Thank you for the medication, and letting me rest. I think it’s starting to help. I think I might be a little hungry.”

Annis stumbled a little but finally said, “Well, then, we’ll be having something to eat. Come on. I’ll refresh your memory on just how good the cooks are here.”

She seemed relieved when they left the room, and whispered, “So they’re listening? God help me, I say the most indecent things.”

“Pretend they’re always listening,” Morgan said. “And if you want to have private conversation . . .”

“Yes, I understand. I told you, I’m brilliant with Spanish.” Annis winked at her and led the way to the winding stairs. “And with Spaniards, too.”

Morgan was sure that was at least partially true.





CHAPTER ELEVEN




Annis escorted her to the Iron Tower’s dining hall, where Morgan forced herself to smile at Obscurists who welcomed her back—some even meaning it—and ate her food in silence. She’d choked down most of it when a hush came over the large room—and over the fifty or so Obscurists gathered in it—as a High Garda soldier wearing the symbol of Iron Tower dedicated service strode in, scanned the room, and headed straight for the table Morgan and Annis shared. Others in the room averted their gazes; in such confined spaces, privacy was paramount, just as gossip was king. The soldier was a man of native Australian heritage, with solid features and deep-set eyes. He nodded to Annis, who silently took her cup of tea and left the table, leaving Morgan quite alone in the midst of a crowd.