He dropped the stone and walked into the workshop. No sign of Thomas in here; Jess wondered where he'd gone and realized his father hadn't spoken of him. They'd drawn him off, somehow. That was probably wise. Taking Thomas in close quarters would be dangerous, if not impossible.
He tried not to think about that, and sailed in as if he were Brendan, as if he hadn't a care in the world except for the bloody wound in his head.
Khalila leaped to her feet in an instant and rushed to him. "Brendan! What happened?"
"Nothing," he said, and pushed past her. "Family squabble. I'm fine." Rudeness was the only defense against her right now, when he wanted so badly to look at her, apologize, beg for her forgiveness. Dario was coming now, and he gave Jess a horrified look, and then it turned to relief.
"Let me guess," he said, shifting back to the Dario Jess had always known and loathed. "You pushed your brother once too often? He's got a bite, that one."
"Tell me about it," Jess said. "He gave me the scar in the first place-did you know that? Trust him to hit me in the same spot again. Grainger's coming with your wine. Any moment now. Relax, you won't die of thirst."
Dario understood that perfectly, and he drew Khalila away with him, out of Jess's path. When she started to follow, Dario held her hand. "No, wait, flower. I need to tell you something." Jess almost, almost hesitated. If Dario lost his nerve now . . . but then he heard Dario continue, in a fierce, fast whisper, "I love you. I've always loved you. I will always love you. And I am entirely the wrong man for you, I know this. But I have to ask: will you do me the honor of marrying me? If you don't wish that, Khalila, tell me, and I will leave you-"
Silence.
Jess risked a glance back and saw she was kissing him. Dario broke the kiss with a gasp and put his arms around her.
Khalila said, in a voice that was full of heartbreaking happiness, "I do wish it. And don't you dare leave me, Dario Santiago."
Dario held her close and stared at Jess with a terrible joy in his eyes. I had to, it said. I had to know.
And maybe he was right to do it. They might never have another chance to be happy.
Jess was five steps from Morgan, Wolfe, and Santi. Then three steps. And then he stopped and managed to wink his good eye at Morgan. "Nothing fatal," he assured her. "Not that you'd care, I suppose."
She said nothing, but she stepped forward and pulled his arm down, and the handkerchief away from the open wound. Before he could take a breath, she'd drawn her fingers across it, and he felt the hot twinge of her power washing over him. Saw gold and black stars, and then blinked them away. When he reached up to touch the spot, he found it closed. Healed shut.
///
"It'll leave a scar," she said, "but then, you already had one anyway. Where's Jess?"
Her voice was steady, and her eyes bright on his. Don't look at me like that. Like I'm still Jess. But she wasn't, he realized. She was just afraid, and he saw her gaze shift behind him.
"Ah, the wine," Dario said, too loudly, and let go of Khalila as he turned to face Grainger, who held up the bottle. Jess dropped the bloody handkerchief to the floor, and at the last moment, he looked to the corner, where Frauke lay.
She was entirely still. No sign of life at all.
Morgan had been tasked to turn the automaton off, and she'd remembered, thank God, because in the next instant, it all became suddenly, crashingly real.
All the pieces moved, and adrenaline slowed to a precise, clockwork crawl. Jess stepped forward, one hand diving into his pocket. He came out with a Translation tag, one of three his father had procured for Brendan. He heard the first indrawn breath behind him, as the wine bottle hit the flagstones and shattered, as Grainger grabbed Dario from behind.
Two more guards rushed in. He heard the commotion, didn't bother to look, because he was staring at Wolfe now. The older man was looking past him, at Dario and Khalila, starting to react to their danger.
He didn't realize his own. Not yet.
And then Wolfe's gaze skimmed across him, and those dark eyes widened, and Jess saw the exact instant when he knew what was going to happen. Wolfe was quick and strong, and Jess knew that he had to be faster, stronger, and entirely ruthless.
He threw himself forward and slammed the Scholar back against the wall. He smelled something burning, thought it was the smoke of Philadelphia, but it was the stench of a burn mark on the wall, and Wolfe's head was against that crack, and he was bracing himself to push forward. His hands were coming up to punch, and he was already twisting and trying to pull free.