He put the knife down on the bed table with a soft clink, and her eyes opened. Morgan sat up and brushed her hair from her face. She was, he noticed, wearing a soft nightgown, something that showed the blush of her skin underneath it, and he had to drag his gaze away from that, back to her face. And the smile-warm, sleepy, welcoming . . . and then changing into something else as she came fully awake.
He sank down wearily on the edge of the bed, watching her. "You've been waiting here," he said. She nodded without saying anything at all. "I'm sorry."
She studied him so closely that he felt strangely uncomfortable, as if her power allowed her to reach too far into him. Maybe it did, because she said, "I'm not a fool. You and Dario, you've been whispering together for days. You and your brother, too. Every day, I see the shadows get stronger in you. What are you doing?"
"Is that why you're here?"
She put the back of her hand to his cheek, and he held it there as he closed his eyes. Soft and warm. "No, you fool, that's not why I'm here, but maybe it's why I ought to be here. Where were you?"
He shook his head. I have two more days before I need to tell her, he thought. Two more days of her seeing me this way, as the Jess she likes. But that would require lying to her in a way he didn't think he could do. Not anymore. He moved her hand away from his face and captured it in both his hands. Rough hands, hard used lately in the workshop.
"My father's selling you and Wolfe to the Archivist," he told her, and watched the fragile peace in her break like dropped glass. "He's got some way to send you there. That's not all; he's planning on selling the rest off to Red Ibrahim, so our business partners can use them for leverage inside Alexandria, to save their own operations. Khalila's family is going to be executed in twenty-one days. It's all falling apart, Morgan."
///
Saying it out loud felt like relief, but it was just transferring the burden, not getting rid of it; he saw the shock in her, the anguish, then the resolution. "All right," she said, and the grip of her fingers on his was almost painful in its strength. "Then we fight. I can do that, Jess, I can-"
"You don't understand. We can't fight. My father's ready for that, and we've nowhere to go. No friends. No allies to magically swoop in to our rescue."
"What-what are you saying?" Morgan's voice had gone soft now, and unsteady. "We can't give up."
"You don't fight a battle you can't win," he said. He didn't sound strong now, either. But he did sound certain. "You take a loss to set your pieces where you need them. The Archivist won't hurt you, Morgan. He wants you in the Tower. And-we need you there, too. If we're going to get to him at all, in Alexandria, it can't be done if he still controls the Obscurists."
She took in a sharp breath, ready to argue with him, and he saw the anger flash in her eyes, and burn away. "You want me to take it from the inside for you."
"Because you can," he said. "You're stronger than Gregory. And you want what the rest of the Obscurists want: to be free. Once you're Obscurist Magnus-"
But Morgan was shaking her head now. "Not me," she said. "I can win the fight. I can't lead them, Jess; they don't trust me. They'll never trust me, and I can't blame them for that; I never made any secret of the damage I'd do if I had the chance. But . . ." She pulled in a breath and let it slowly out. "You understand what you're asking me to do? Go back in there? And if this fails . . ."
If it failed, he was sentencing her to a lifetime of slavery inside a prison. Alone. And he couldn't bring himself to admit that to her, out loud, so he only nodded.
"There might be someone else," she said. "Eskander."
"I don't know who that is."
"Some say he's more powerful than Gregory," she said. "But he locked himself away. Refuses to work or to speak with anyone. The only person he ever spoke to, as far as I know, was Wolfe's mother, when she was Obscurist. I've never seen him, not in person. But if I can convince him to help me, there might be a chance. A small one, but-" Her smile was beautiful, and shattered. "But you've been thinking this all along, haven't you? This was never about finding shelter. It was about planning the war. You're using your father as much as he thinks he's using you."
"Not from the beginning," he said. "But . . . yes. In a way, I suppose you're right."
"And Scholar Wolfe?" Her eyes searched his, looking for something he wasn't sure she'd ever find. "You know sending him there means sending him back to his death. And Santi will kill you."