Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(98)

“But—”

“Gregory will leave the Tower in a procession with the Curia. Once he’s out of the doors, I’ll amend the wards, and he’ll never cross this threshold again. Whatever happens to him from there isn’t my concern.”

“I thought you were going to set us free!”

“And I will. As soon as I amend the wards, any Obscurists who wish can come and go as they please. Is that fair?”

“No!” she shouted. “It isn’t fair! You have the power to protect everyone, not just Obscurists!”

“I couldn’t protect Keria,” he said, and it stopped her cold. Not the words, but the tone. The bleak, obsidian-hard reality of it. “I’ve learned bitter lessons about limits. I wish I could be what you all want. But I don’t think that’s my fate.”

“You make your fate! We all do! And if you turn your back on him . . .”

“Wait until sunrise,” he said. “As for the Iron Tower soldiers, you’ll need to deal with them yourself—and you, unlike these other hothouse flowers, are fully capable of doing that. The doors will open for you. After that, you’re on your own. May the gods keep you, Morgan.”

“Eskander, you have to help—”

She was talking to his back. Eskander was walking away. He firmly, but calmly, opened the door and ushered her out, and shut the portal behind her. She felt the hot rush of the wards locking back in place. She could see them now, a marvel of power and intricate planning.

She knew she could break them. But that wouldn’t solve anything. Eskander was so like his son.

Except that in one important sense, he wasn’t like Wolfe at all. Wolfe was a hero. Wolfe stepped forward.

And his father had just disappointed her.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE




Morgan stood on a padded bench to look out of the window of their room. It didn’t face east, but she was watching the Lighthouse, which would show the sunrise first in a dazzle in the reflective mirrors at its top. The sky had turned a beautiful, delicate blue, something neither morning nor night, and as she watched, it continued to slip lighter. She toyed with the collar clasped around her neck, but it didn’t feel like a trap anymore. Though it still resonated as active—Eskander’s doing—she could unsnap and remove it at any time. Like most of what she was doing in this tower, it was a misdirection. A lie.

“You remind me of Keria,” Annis said from below. She was up and dressed, and instead of comfortable Tower robes, she’d put on a pair of thick canvas trousers, a red silk shirt, boots, and a thick belt loaded with the travel case Obscurists carried when sent on missions for the Library . . . something with pens, paper, ink, and Translation tags to carry them back to safety in the event of emergency. The case was beautifully worked leather and embossed with the Library symbol.

“I don’t look anything like her,” Morgan said.

“No, of course not, but she liked it up there, watching the sunrises and sunsets. She liked to imagine being out there. And, of course, once she became the Obscurist Magnus, she was free to live out those dreams, in some part. But more than that, you remind me of Keria because you’re so unhappy.”

Morgan watched the Lighthouse. She couldn’t command the sun to rise any faster, but she couldn’t look away, either. “My friends are going to die today unless miracles happen. Why wouldn’t I be unhappy?”

“You’re unhappy because you feel guilty.”

“About what?”

“That you’re worried you’re not in love with a young man who’s in love with you.”

Now she did look away, because that was a truth that lanced straight through her. She instinctively started to deny it—she did love him; she knew she did. The problem was that she wasn’t sure she was in love with him. Or capable of that kind of feeling. He was as close as she’d ever been to the grand sweeps of emotion she’d seen others take. She wanted to be in love. Jess was everything she should crave: brave, kind, clever, and funny, and her heart fluttered and skin warmed when their eyes met.

She swallowed and said, “How do you know if . . . if he’s the one?”

“Oh, that cherished old nonsense. For some people, there’s only one, all their lives. For others, love comes twice, or three times, or more. For others, none at all. And, well, for me, I’m the latter category, but that doesn’t make me unhappy or stop me from enjoying the men—and women, for that matter—around me. You see? Once you know yourself, you’ll know how you feel.” Annis’s tone shifted. “It’s almost dawn.”

Morgan snapped her attention back to the window and, yes, there was a blaze of sun lighting the golden top spire of the Lighthouse and beginning to shimmer on the reflectors.

Morning, on the day of the Feast of Greater Burning.

She jumped down and reached for her robe. Annis’s eyebrows arched. “You’re wearing an Obscurist robe? Do you really think that’s wise?”

“Not wise,” Morgan said, and pulled the cloth on over the shirt and trousers she wore. “But I’m tired of hiding what I am.”

There was a polite knock at the door just then, and after a quick look between them, Annis said, “Yes?”

Gregory opened the door. Behind him stood a full contingent of the High Garda. He wore the formal robes of the Obscurist Magnus, bright red silk covered with gold and jeweled alchemical symbols, and he carried a staff crowned with the eye of Horus.