Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(78)

“I—” Neksa seemed caught off guard. She bit her lip and tried again. “I did, sir. Some time ago, now. But that was long before there was any hint that his brother would turn against the Library. I can only beg your understanding and assure you of my loyalty.”

“Did you help?” the Archivist asked.

“I don’t understand. Please, sir, I have never betrayed you in any way, if that is what you are saying. I never would. You are the Archivist, and I would never betray my oath.”

The Archivist looked at Brendan. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, and it chilled Jess to the bone. “Is that true?”

Brendan returned the old man’s gaze for a long moment before he said, “She rented me a house for money. I was here to check up on my brother while he was in High Garda training. Then I left. I hardly exchanged half a dozen words with her.”

“Hardly an impassioned plea for her life, young man,” the Archivist said. “Do you want her to live?”

Jess heard a muffled gasp from Neksa, but he couldn’t look away from his brother’s face. Even now Brendan didn’t betray any anxiety or any fear.

“I don’t much care,” Brendan said, and turned to look at the young woman with the same indifference. “Please yourself, I suppose; she’s your employee, not mine.”

It was a ploy, Jess realized, and a good one; even knowing his brother, he would’ve believed that Brendan didn’t care either way. And it was the only way that Neksa still had a chance of walking out alive. If she reached the outer office, he could only hope she had the sense to run, because the Archivist wouldn’t forget, and he certainly wouldn’t forgive.

The Archivist nodded. “It’s true,” he said. “She’s never given me the slightest hint that she might be anything but loyal. She’s bright, efficient, and a tireless servant of the Library. I could never find anyone half as competent to take her place. She knows my secrets. And that’s why this is such a loss.”

Brendan knew, in that instant, and he began to move toward her, but it was already too late. The statue of Horus stepped from its alcove and, in one terrifying, fluid motion, drove the spear it carried through her back with so much force it emerged from her chest and buried itself in the floor. Jess shouted, but his voice blended with the sound of his twin’s scream. Brendan reached her just as the automaton withdrew the spear in a spray of blood and stepped back into its alcove. He caught Neksa as she fell forward and wrapped his arms around her as he eased her to the floor. She was still alive. Jess tried to get to her and to his brother, but in the next instant he was shoved down on his knees next to Wolfe, and there were guns at the back of both of their heads. Don’t, Jess thought wildly at his brother. Don’t try it.

And if it entered Brendan’s mind at all, his brother dismissed the idea of killing the old man because he was trying to stop the rush of blood from Neksa’s wounds. It was useless, and no one could’ve saved her, not even the most skilled of Medica, and Jess closed his eyes and tried not to listen to the words his brother was whispering to the woman who was dying in his arms. It was private. It was heartbreaking.

He knew she was gone when his brother went quiet. Brendan’s back was to him, and his brother was still, but there was something forming under that stillness that was very, very dangerous.

Brendan eased Neksa back to the carpet and closed her eyes with bloodied fingers.

Then he went for the Archivist.

Jess timed his move precisely; he threw himself forward, hit his brother in mid-lunge, and knocked him sideways to the floor. They tangled together and rolled, and then Brendan’s fingers were around Jess’s throat and there was no way he could defend himself except to try to writhe free, and his brother’s eyes were wide and dark and wholly mad with fury . . . and then they went blank, as the High Garda soldiers dragged him off and forced him to his knees in the spreading pool of blood from Neksa’s fallen body.

“You two, settle down,” the Archivist said. He hadn’t moved from where he’d been sitting, and he still had a calm, remote look on his face. Jess had always hated him. He’d never hated him so much it felt like physical pain before. “It had to be done, of course. The girl couldn’t be trusted, and that’s deeply unfortunate. And now I find I can’t trust either of you. Much as I’d hoped that your father and I could reach a lasting agreement, it seems he’s no more trustworthy than any other criminal. For the protection of the Great Library, I have to remove all contaminants from our society. Rebels. Burners. Criminals. And you . . . you are at least guilty of at least one of those things, if not more.” He nodded to the High Garda captain. “Take them back to the prison. Remove the body for funeral rites. She deserves that from us, at least.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Brendan said. His voice held all the rage that Jess had swallowed, and more. “You evil old bastard, you’re going to pay for this if I have to crawl out of hell to bring you the bill.”

“Save your breath,” Jess told his brother. “He’s not worth wasting it.”

The Archivist smiled and shrugged. “Wolfe? No threats from you, then?”

Wolfe kept silent. His dark eyes were half-hidden under his wild hair, and he didn’t look capable of much, weak as he was. But somehow, Jess thought that was more frightening than his brother’s raw, wounded fury.