Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(35)

“If I hadn’t, she’d be dead,” he said. “But you’re right. Best you go, then,” he agreed. “Morgan. Thank you.”

She moved to Glain’s bedside and clasped her friend’s hand. Glain’s color was better, and there was a shadow of strength in the way her fingers tightened. “Thanks,” she said. “Apparently that was dramatic.”

“A little,” Morgan said. “You’ll be all right now. Just don’t—”

“Get in the way of another bullet? I’ll try.” Glain’s eyes focused and searched Morgan’s expression. “You’re as bad as Jess, you know. Courting death when it doesn’t come calling.”

“It always comes calling. I’m popular that way.” Smiling felt empty, but at the same time, it helped. “Take care, Glain.”

“And you, Morgan.”

Glain was already falling asleep when Morgan fled the room, away from Scholar Wolfe’s too-bright presence and into the atrium of the house. There was a garden through the central door, and she went that way. Waterfalls splashed into a cleverly designed pond, and sleek, shimmering fish glided under the surface. She sat down on the edge and closed her eyes. Around her, the room was glowing in lines and surfaces; the fish were individual moving lights. Quintessence all around her, as the ring had promised. She opened herself and waited, and the power began to flow toward her. Don’t pull, the ring whispered. Allow nature to balance itself.

It takes too long, she argued. The ring seemed utterly unmoved by the concept of time. I have to hurry! I’m needed.

You are unique. But not alone. And demands are not needs. I entered this ring as a frightened soul to escape my death, only to discover that death is hardly even the beginning of anything at all. We are so much more than flesh, Morgan. Allow yourself to feel this.

“I’m arguing philosophy with a ring,” she said out loud, and surprised herself into a laugh. Her fingers were in the water, drifting like pale weeds, and a fish nibbled gently at them, then swam away when she moved. There was peace in this place. Maybe there was peace everywhere, if she’d slow down to look.

There was a sound of footsteps from the doorway.

It was Jess.

She rose to her feet when she saw him because for a startling moment she thought he was a ghost. His own brother’s ghost. He looked starkly pale, changed somehow. And she could sense the damage from here. No. No, not Jess . . .

“Morgan,” he said, and came toward her. The closer he came, the more she felt the sickness that had rooted itself deep into him. He was bleeding quintessence; she could see it like a cloud floating away from him.

And then he was embracing her, and she felt the ring taking his fog of escaping life. It wouldn’t harvest from inside him, but this . . . this was different. The quintessence he was losing was being wasted. The ring was simply absorbing it.

Jess was broken. Cracked like a glass. It took her breath away, and she wanted desperately to help him. She reached for power.

Hit an unyielding wall.

No, the ring said. Not for this.

She’d healed Glain. She could heal Jess, too. Surely, she must. Because she loved him.

Jess’s fate is his own. No one can change it. He lives or dies because of his own actions, not yours.

It felt breathlessly true. She had tears in her eyes, and they burned with that truth. Glain’s wound had been inflicted on her. Jess’s had been a conscious choice.

She couldn’t take that from him.

“You’re hurt,” she whispered. She buried her face in his shoulder, and his arms tightened around her. “Oh, Jess. Why?”

“I’ll be all right,” he told her. “I’ve seen the Medica. Got treatments. I’m instructed to take it easy for a while.”

“And will you?”

He laughed. It sounded grim. “Now? With all that’s going on? How can I?”

“No!” She shoved him backward, which surprised him, and he caught himself as he staggered. “No, you don’t get to kill yourself like this! You will not!”

“Hey! Hey, easy!” He held up both hands in surrender. “All right! I won’t. I’ll rest. I promise.”

“Don’t coddle me!”

“I’m just—”

“You’re just humoring me and we both know it.” She took in a deep breath. “How bad is it?”

He didn’t answer. He slowly lowered his hands. Watched her.

“That bad?” She knew it already, but the fact that he knew . . . it hurt. “Jess.”

“I had to do it,” he said. “Wolfe would have killed himself trying. I had a better chance. I’m not sorry I did it. Wolfe said it was important.”

She despised Wolfe in that moment, but she couldn’t deny that it had been important. She and Thomas had found what they needed from it. “Do you want me to tell you what they really said?”

“No.” He shrugged. “I have a chance. That’s better odds than Brendan got.”

Brendan. The brothers had been two stars circling each other in an orbit, and now that one was gone, the other had lost its anchor. Spinning wildly out of control. “I’m sorry about him,” she said. “So sorry, love. He didn’t deserve that.” You didn’t.

“He’d have never guessed he’d go out a hero.”