Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(30)

Morgan gave him a weary smile. “Well, not all of us have the constitution of an ox and the brain of Heron himself, so . . . yes. I’m tired.”

“I wish I could leave you to rest,” he said. “But while I’m sure your Obscurist colleagues are good at their work . . .”

“They’re not powerful enough to do this? Yes, except for Eskander, and you really don’t know him. Plus you’re right: we’re friends; we can communicate better and faster. I can get a potion from the Medica to keep me alert.” She yawned and laughed at the same time. “And I need one, obviously.” Her smile faded as she looked down at the papers spread out between them. “We had to remove poisons from these papers before they could be safe to handle. Did you know that? The Archivist had the room trapped with lethal gas.”

“I heard,” Thomas said. “But they all came out alive, ja?”

“Jess was the one who got them.” Her fingertips were just touching the page, and she felt a shiver run through her. “He was almost killed doing it.”

“But only almost. And you know Jess. He cheats death almost every day, and for far less reason. Morgan? Are you worried for him?” Thomas’s voice turned warmer. More concerned. She didn’t look up. “Jess is a survivor.”

“Until he isn’t,” she said, and took a deep breath. Forced a smile. “Forgive me. I get moody when I’m tired. And worried.”

“You miss him.”

“Yes,” she said, though even as she said it, it didn’t sound assertive. “I do.”

“But?”

“But I have too much else to think about,” she said, then immediately retracted that. “No, that’s unfair. I’m wondering if he’s all right, mostly. I—I should have stayed with him, Thomas. He needs . . . someone. After losing Brendan.” If you’d really loved him, you wouldn’t have left him, some part of her said. And she had to admit that was probably true. But she did love him. The question was . . . how much? For how long? How deeply? She’d been swept away by the breathless joy of being seen, being wanted. And so had Jess, she thought. But was that enough for the rest of their lives?

If you have to ask the question, you know the answer.

“Jess isn’t alone,” Thomas replied calmly. “He’ll need comfort, but right now I think he needs structure. He has Scholar Wolfe for that. I think he is better with tasks to occupy him.”

“Men,” Morgan said. “You all hide your feelings too much.”

“That is true, but not useful to want us to change, is it? We are as we were built.”

“People aren’t automata, Thomas. They can change if they want to do so.”

“Ah, but can they change for the better? And who decides? This is why I prefer my machines. Far easier to fix a broken automaton than a broken person.” His smile felt as warm as summer sun, and for a moment she forgot they weren’t just two students, debating. But then he turned back to the paper. “Can you find me a suitable god, then?”

She knew it wasn’t what he meant, but it was still a startling question. “I’ll find one. But we shouldn’t do this exhausted. It will take a lot of effort, at least for me. And probably even for you.”

Thomas nodded, stretched, and yawned. Neither of them had slept in more than a day with the stress of what was happening, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d paused for more than a bite or two of food. Her throat was dry, despite the tea. She craved a large glass of water and her bed.

“Go,” she told him. “It’s getting late, and you and I both need the rest.”

“May I sleep in one of the empty rooms?” There were plenty of empty bedrooms in the Iron Tower where the Obscurists lived; the population within had been steadily declining for a long time. “It saves me a walk back to the office I was given. I don’t have sleeping quarters yet.”

“Of course. Annis can see to it for you. And call at the kitchens, see if they can make you food. They should have plenty.”

He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder and squeezed very, very carefully. She was grateful. Thomas’s full strength could easily crack her collarbone. “Don’t stay up brooding,” he told her. “We are doing what we can do. What we can’t do we must leave to others.”

She nodded. Thomas’s genius was legendary, but what most overlooked was the gentle care he took of his friends. Sleep would be relief, but she knew it might yet elude her no matter how much her body ached for the release. “I’ll go to bed,” she said. “Go on, Thomas. Annis is just outside. She’ll see you settled.”

When the big young man was gone, she felt cold. Alone. And although deeply tired, still agitated. Power sizzled in her veins, dark and glorious; she’d used so much in the battle at the Colosseum, and yet she felt bursting with it still. It wasn’t the same power she’d grown up feeling; that had been a steady, slow trickle from the world around her, just enough to fuel the modest efforts at elemental manipulation, cleverly rewriting Obscurist codes, concealing herself from detection. She’d spent most of her life in hiding, trying to erase her existence from the Great Library’s ever-seeing eye. But once she’d stopped hiding, once she’d used the power she was born with . . . it had changed. Grown. Darkened.