Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(48)

“Well.” Dario didn’t seem to quite know how to feel. “We were close when we were children, but I didn’t expect him to stir out of Madrid. Still, the King’s Train to Cadiz, coach to here . . . he’s only put himself out a couple of hours at most. I wouldn’t put too much emphasis on it.”

The hotel front doors burst open, held back by two soldiers who, despite their shimmering, perfect livery, looked well capable of killing everyone in seconds, and then the king of Spain swept in.

He was nothing like Dario. For one thing, he was a plain young man, very nearly ugly, with narrow, close-set eyes and a nose that flattened too broadly . . . and yet, the smile he aimed at them was wide and warm and erased all such shallow thoughts. As he strode toward them, she realized he was a short man, shorter than she was in her flat boots, and he wore gold shoes with significant heels to raise him above his natural height.

But he strode like a giant and dazzled like a gem, and when his gaze flashed to her, she felt like the sun had burned through clouds.

“You must be Scholar Seif,” he said, and came straight toward her, ignoring Dario. “It is my delight and honor to meet you.”

She bowed—just a little, enough to show her thanks, not enough to show subservience—and it must have been correct, because the king’s smile grew even wider and warmer. “Sire, I’m not certain I’m at all worthy of your time, but I do appreciate your words.”

“Not worthy? Nonsense. You and your friends are moving the balance of the world. Did you not realize how significant that is?”

He was, she realized, not simply flattering. There was real intent in those sharply intelligent eyes, and a message despite his warmth. She felt some of the dazzle lift, just as Dario said, “Honestly, Cousin, could you please not sweep the love of my life away on your glittering golden wings?”

Without breaking his smile, but somehow markedly shifting it, the king turned on one heel to face Dario. “You have never shown any weakness in the area of the ladies. But I do congratulate you on finally choosing one who is so considerably better than you deserve. She’s having a good effect, I hear.”

“It’s not my business to rehabilitate him,” Khalila said. “Nor the business of any woman. Should he improve himself, then it is his own doing, and not mine. Respectfully. Your Highness.” She added that quickly, in case the king of the country in which she stood might take offense.

He laughed. “I’m not the kind of man who lops off heads for speaking truth,” he said. “And you have improved him, like it or not. God knows we’ve all been struggling to accomplish that for years. When we were children together, I had to bloody his nose to get him to stop calling me names. I didn’t think I could ever beat him hard enough to make the leopard actually change his spots.”

“I should have fought back,” Dario said. “Would have, if you hadn’t been—”

“The king?”

“Smaller.”

“Ha, Cousin, I know you better. Please, Scholar, don’t stand on ceremony with me. I’m happy to be simply Ramón Alfonse, as long as I’m with friends. I do consider you friends. Even you, Dario.”

Dario managed not to quite roll his eyes. “Family, at least.” He sobered. “But we have important things to discuss, Ramón, do we not? Most notably, whether or not we are all about to be crushed under the heel of the Library.”

“If you are asking if we are officially at war, well.” The king of Spain snapped his fingers, and a retainer stepped up to proffer a rather official-looking scroll, which he took without looking and handed to Khalila, not to his cousin. “In a sense, we are.”

Khalila unrolled the stiff paper, heavy with seals and redolent of the sweet beeswax that had formed them. She was holding something that would be an important piece of history, she realized: a withdrawal from the ancient Treaty of Pergamum, the foundational document that ensured the neutrality of the Great Library. And not just by Spain; Spain, it appeared, was a latecomer to the agreement, following Wales, England, Portugal, Turkey, Russia, Japan, the exiled queen of France, and the United Colonies of America. It was a stunning list, and she gasped without meaning to do it, as Dario leaned in to take a look.

“I see Spain was reluctant to join the party, Cousin,” he said. Which was not what she was thinking at all.

She was imagining the chaos that would ensue from this, and she felt sick. The Library would, of course, be withdrawing its Scholars and librarians from these countries and locking down their Serapeums . . . but they couldn’t strategically turn their backs on such a large part of the world. Russia alone was enough to rip the fragile fabric of the Library’s grip on power. And Japan and Wales were known to hold learning in such high regard that any attempt to cast these rebel countries as barbarians would be worthless.

Spain and Portugal were conservative lands. England was proud in defeat. And while France’s queen in exile might be expected to support any such measure, for the American colonies to break with tradition meant something dire had changed.

The Library had burned Philadelphia, and America would not forget it.

Santi, as usual, was practical in his analysis. “Dramatic, but these are all lands that don’t touch Egypt,” he said. “Easy to be rebellious at a distance. We still need a better way in.”

“Or a navy,” Ramón Alfonse said, and bowed slightly. “Captain Santi, Spain and Portugal have the honor of offering you ships and men to your cause. But first, we must agree on what the goals of this battle will be.”