Ash and Quill(47)

"Flavia stood on the corpses of everyone who died first trying to protect her. So think about that a moment." His tone had gone so hard, cold, and final that he scarcely believed it was his.

"Flavia was a child," Glain said. "And you don't have a moral right to treat Morgan as one!"

It was a poisonous argument, done in whispers, but fierce enough to cut. Jess didn't acknowledge her point. He was already walking away, with long, angry strides-not to the prison, but toward the workshop. As he passed her, the female guard stood and walked after him, tucking away the cloth and needles. When he reached the door, he fumbled for his copy of the key. His fingers felt thick and clumsy, but he finally managed. He was angry, but he knew it was for all the wrong reasons-because he was frightened by what Glain had uncovered, by the fact that Beck was more than willing to kill them for his own purposes. And because she was right about Morgan. Of course she was.

He just didn't want to face it.

When he looked back, Glain had gone inside the prison. Good. He didn't think he could stomach being next to her another moment. He felt betrayed, and stupid for feeling it. The fact that he was wrong was going to haunt him. Is there no way that this ends well for Morgan? She was being used, either by the Library, which at least took utmost care of her, or by him and the rest of her friends, who didn't. 

He hated that he couldn't protect her. That, in truth, he didn't have the right.

So he went into the workshop, stripped off his shirt, stoked the fire, and began forging letters for the press instead.



Jess threw himself into the work. Nothing else to do, and it was pure physical labor, blanking his mind and erasing the worry that was never far away now. He hardly noticed time passing. Thomas joined him, and they didn't speak-well, Thomas tried, but Jess was in no mood for it.

It wasn't until half the day was gone before he asked, "Is Morgan making the Codex?"

"Yes," Thomas said. "I made a needle for her earlier. Glain cut the leather for the binding from her boots. It's a good idea-"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Morgan requires a drop of Brightwell blood to link it to Brendan."

"I'm damn well not doing it."

"Jess," Thomas said. "Look at yourself. Your fingers sliced open getting the glass for us. Burns and bruises on you. You've gone to skin and bones because you're giving me your food, and don't think I haven't noticed. We all have to risk things. All of us. Together."

It's different, Jess wanted to insist, but he couldn't. It sounded hollow, and Thomas, of all people, knew him too well. So he went back to work and tried not to think.

He was so focused that he nearly missed the arrival of their visitor.

"Hard at work, I see," said a voice from the door of the workshop, and Jess, sweating from the constant pulse of heat from the forge, wiped perspiration from his face, blinked to focus.

Captain Santi stood in the doorway. Well, stood was an exaggeration. He leaned both on the wooden frame and on Scholar Wolfe's shoulder, and without both of those supports he likely wouldn't have stayed upright for long.

He looked better, though. His arm had been bound up in a sling, and even at this distance, he smelled quite oddly of honey.

Jess helped Wolfe ease Santi down onto the only bench. "Oh, stop hovering like I'm broken," Santi snapped; there was a tight flush to his cheeks from the effort spent making the walk. "I've taken worse than this."

"Liar," Wolfe said, but briskly, as a statement of fact rather than an accusation. "I know all your glorious war wounds. You've never been burned this badly."

"And I've never had honey and moldy bread smeared on my skin, either. It's a week for new things." Santi turned his gaze to Jess. "So. Progress?"

"We're almost done," Thomas said as he left the glow of the forge; he wore a makeshift apron made from an old quilt, and mittens of the same material, and an eye covering he'd made from scavenged pieces of leftover broken glass and bits of cloth. He was glowing with sweat, hair glued tight to his head with it, and his grin looked exultant as he stripped off the extra layers. "Captain. I'm so glad to see you better!"

Santi nodded, acknowledging the good wishes but clearly not wanting to discuss them. "You realize that once you build this for Beck, he could easily reverse engineer it?"

"Yes, we've taken all that into account," Thomas said. "And it won't even be our fault, really."


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