Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(47)

“And I would hope they’d seek forgiveness for it,” she replied. “But I am not responsible for their souls, only for mine.”

“Of course.” He didn’t understand that, she thought, but at least he respected it. And she respected him for it. “At least it keeps you occupied. I should have known his envoy would be late. Typical royal punctuality.”

“The weather is foul out there, and you’re too impatient. Have some of . . . what is this again?”

“Tortilla de patatas,” he said, and cut himself a broad slice of the round egg dish. “Eggs and potatoes. Delicious.”

“And that?” She pointed at something that resembled a bread tube. He cut off a piece and handed it to her. She forced herself to chew and swallow. It was better than she’d expected. She’d eaten a bite or two of the tortilla, enough to keep hunger at bay but not enough to feel she was sated. She didn’t want to be comfortable, not while writing the news of a person’s death. It seemed wrong.

“Bluefin tuna. You like it?”

“It’s good. But I’m not very hungry.”

“I’ll be happy to finish it.” His tone was light, but he was restlessly shifting and staring grimly at the lobby doors. “I hate wasting time. While you’re scribbling and I’m nibbling, God only knows what’s happening to the others.”

“Thomas and Glain? Captain Santi?”

“You’re deliberately misunderstanding me.”

“Apparently.” She signed her name to the bottom of the letter, folded it, and put it into an envelope she’d already marked with the family’s address in Lisbon. “You’re usually less concerned about the fate of Jess Brightwell.”

“That’s because my ultimate survival generally doesn’t depend on him.”

“Dario.”

“Mi amor, it isn’t that I don’t care what happens. He’s a good ally. A fine one to have at your side. I even count him as a friend. Is it wrong to say that in other circumstances, I doubt our paths would have crossed except when he steals me blind?”

She shook her head. Dario was in a foul mood, scowling now at the doorway and toying with the pearl earring dangling from his left earlobe. He’d traded someone aboard the ship for it, or else won it at dice. She preferred not to know. It did suit him, though. So did the clean new clothes he was wearing—black shirt, black trousers in a particularly attractive cut that she really shouldn’t have noticed. A flash of red lining in his coat. He looked accustomed to the best, and the only thing spoiling it was his unmistakable anxiety.

Khalila said, “No, you aren’t wrong. It only shows that Allah’s given us a great gift in blessing us with such interesting people.”

“Allah hates a thief, I’ve heard.”

“So does God, I believe. And yet, here we are, in debt to one.”

Dario’s scowl deepened, and he sighed. “Don’t remind me, flower.” He paused for a moment, then burst out, “If the fool’s gone and gotten himself killed—”

“Then we will have to make it our mission to rescue Morgan and Scholar Wolfe,” she finished for him. “And bury our dead friend with honor. Yes. I’m sure that is what you were about to say, since you are an honorable man at heart, Dario.”

He sent her a quick, apologetic glance. “Am I?”

“For the most part, you aspire to it, and that is all anyone can ask. Now, would you do me a service and take these letters to be mailed?”

“Anything to keep me occupied,” he said, and took the handful of envelopes. “You wrote for all of us? To all the families?”

She felt a hard pull of guilt inside and blinked. “As you said, those men would have killed us all or sold us into the hands of the Archivist without a second thought. But that doesn’t make it right. And the families deserve to know.”

“I’ll never understand you,” he said. “I doubt Santi writes letters to the families of soldiers he kills in battle. Only those he loses from his own side.”

“You’re right—I don’t,” Captain Santi said. Khalila had glimpsed him coming down the stairs from the third floor, where they’d taken rooms; no doubt Glain was still on duty there to guard their space. “But she’s not a soldier, and it’s a good habit, remembering that every life we take breaks dozens more. It keeps us from killing when there are other options.”

“Fine, then, I’m outvoted and half a monster . . .” Dario’s voice trailed off, and the silence made Khalila look up and follow the direction of his stare. “Dios mío, he hasn’t just sent someone; he’s actually come himself. That’s why we’ve been cooling our heels so long.”

“Who’s come?” Santi asked, and she could see him changing his stance subtly, bracing for a fight if one was brewing.

“The king,” Khalila said softly. She could see the cordon of sharply dressed soldiers who surrounded the golden carriage and who now peeled away to form an armed wall on either side of the hotel doorway leading between the carriage door and the entrance. She stood up and belatedly rubbed ink from her fingers against her dark dress, thanking Allah she hadn’t chosen the sky blue fabric today. The deep purple hid all sins. “Did you expect this?”