Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(22)

“You work for her.”

“I work for my god,” she said. “But I am loyal to my friend, too. And careful of her safety, so you’ll be wise to hand your weapons to your colleague.”

Jess didn’t intend to fight, and he wasn’t in any real shape to in any case. So he drew his sidearm and kicked it to Glain, who picked it up. “Good enough?” he asked the priestess.

She nodded. “She mourns her father,” the priestess said. “She’s asked not to be disturbed.”

“As much as I wish to respect that, I need to talk with her. Can you arrange it?”

The priestess started to answer, but a voice from behind the statue of Anubis, deep in the shadows, said, “She can’t. But you can join me in our shared mourning.”

Anit stepped forward. The shadows, he realized, hid more than just her; he saw the gleam of three more sets of eyes behind her. She’d dressed in a red pleated dress, as traditional as the priestess herself, and with kohl around her eyes and henna mourning inscriptions inked on both her arms, she looked like she’d stepped straight out of the time of the Pharaohs. She seemed older, and it wasn’t just the makeup and clothing. She seemed to have aged years. Her copper skin looked richer, her hair a ripple of black silk left loose around her shoulders.

She was beautiful. It struck him hard, and he wished he hadn’t noticed.

“Anit,” he said. It was a ridiculous thing to say; she knew her name, and he didn’t need to sound so damned surprised. But he’d expected to find an unnaturally clever child, and instead, here stood a dangerous young woman.

She raised one eyebrow. “Were you expecting someone else? Don’t tell me you’re here on account of your brother. I mourn him, too, but Brendan would laugh to think either of us was overly concerned for the state of his afterlife. He told me once that he’d always thought of you as his shuyet, his shadow-self. And I know you thought the same of him. But now his immortal soul stands before Osiris and the forty-two judges of his heart, and there we cannot help him.”

“I couldn’t help him in the arena, either,” he said quietly. “Some shadow-self I am.”

“Jess . . .” She shook her head. “Why did you come here?”

“You know why.”

“The Archivist and his lackey, the one who killed Brendan. Yes. I expected you to be looking. But one glance tells me you’re in no shape to exact any kind of revenge,” she said. “And do you really think I know where the bastard is, and haven’t taken action?”

“I’m fine, and if you don’t know, you can find out.”

Anit’s eyes went cool and distant, like stones beneath running water. Far older than her years. “The old man is good at hiding,” she said. “And his Elites stand with him. No good comes of putting your hand down a snake’s hiding hole.”

“No good comes of leaving a poisonous serpent where it can strike, either,” Jess pointed out. He leaned against the dark stone wall and felt the chill of it through the thick cloth of his uniform. Suppressed a shiver. “And you know he will. Hard, and often. We can’t let him take anything else from us. Not one more thing.”

“Oh, I don’t intend to,” Anit said. “If I knew where he was, he’d already be begging Anubis to lead him to judgment. But I’m happy to let the Great Library take care of its own problems.” She cast a glance toward Glain. “Fierce as she is, she’s hardly an army, though.”

“Help me bring him to justice,” he said. “Common cause for killing a Brightwell.”

She laughed. It sounded low and raw in her throat. “Justice. There is no justice for the likes of him that doesn’t come slowly, with screams. And I know you, Jess. You’re squeamish about such things.”

“I’m practical. We can bring the bastard before the Conclave and let them decide his fate. He’s a traitor to the Great Library. He’ll get death, but it ought to be done in public, not in private. Justice isn’t done in the dark.”

“Come off your high ground, Jess. The shadows are where we live.”

He didn’t want that to be true, but somehow, he felt she’d just spoken an important truth to him. He wanted to be better than that. He wanted to be a Scholar, to live in the light. But he, like Anit, had been born in shadow, and she was right: he functioned better there.

But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“I won’t assassinate him,” he said. “But I will find him. And I’ll bring him back alive, in chains.”

She smiled. Not a nice expression, but a profoundly calm one. “Not alone you won’t.”

“Then help me,” he said. “Unless you’re pausing for your mourning period.”

“Henna washes off,” she said. “And I will be mourning what I did for the rest of my life, my cousin of shadows. But if we go together, you must understand this: your notion of bringing him to justice is quaint, Jess, but useless. He won’t come quietly. He won’t come at all, given any choice. He’ll force his own death rather than endure trial and disgrace.” Anit looked eerie just now, in the shadow of Anubis; she seemed almost supernatural in her calm. “This city will settle only when he’s dead. Not before. Put him in chains, you risk riots and revolts, and that gives those ships and armies around us the opening to claim us as their own. Politics is a blood sport. The old man knew that when he started this. He’s perfectly willing to destroy the Great Library and Alexandria without flinching.”