Khalila led him down the hall to a closed door, which she opened with a key. It led to a small, enclosed atrium, open to the night sky, crowded with clipped hedges and a spreading olive tree. In the center of the tiny garden, a graceful statue of a winged woman balanced on one foot with her drapes flowing in an invisible wind and a hand holding up a laurel wreath—Victoria, the Roman goddess of victory. Not an automaton, thankfully.

In the shadow of Victoria sat Dario, Captain Santi, and Glain. A pitifully small crew, Jess thought, to go to war with the Library.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Khalila said, and gave Jess a quick embrace. “We had to be careful.”

“Of course you did.” He nodded to Dario. “I’d say it was an impressive display of arrogance you put on, but—”

Dario laughed, stood, and gave him an embrace as well—a quick one, with a heavy slap on his back that stung hard enough to remove any sentimentality from it. “But it comes naturally, of course.”

“Did the Artifex force you to come, or was it your own idea to ride along?”

Dario and Khalila exchanged a quick look, and she said softly, “Something of both, I’m afraid. We did apply to be on his staff, you remember. But he rejected us as applicants.”

“Until yesterday,” Dario added. “When suddenly our presence was not just desired, but required.”

“He means to kill us here,” Glain said. “That’s why he brought us all. Death, or we join Thomas in the cells under here. Why else would he do this?”

Santi, Jess noticed, hadn’t spoken. His head was bowed, as if he were lost in thought. “Captain?” Jess asked. “Do you agree?”

“I think he means this as a show of strength,” he said. “And as intimidation. I don’t think he’d quite dare to make all of us vanish at once.”

“He couldn’t make you disappear. You’re too prominent.”

“You think too small, Jess. High Garda soldiers die in combat. A nicely staged Burner attack, some conveniently destroyed bodies, and no one but Christopher will ever doubt the story.” His hands, which had been resting on the bench on either side of him, clenched the lip of the marble and tightened, until his knuckles were almost the same pale shade. “We’re hostages for Wolfe’s good behavior, at best. And through him, his mother’s. I don’t think this is so much about us or him as it is a power struggle between those two.”

Wolfe’s mother, the Obscurist Magnus, was a formidable woman, but trapped by her own power. Her influence didn’t extend to freeing herself or those locked away with her. At the same time, the Obscurists had a fragile hold over the Library; without them, the essential components—the Codex, the Blanks, even the automata—ceased to operate properly.

The Artifex would use Wolfe to keep her in check—and the rest of them as leverage against Wolfe.

“I suppose you were assigned the honor of escorting the Artifex at the last minute, too,” Khalila said to Santi. He nodded. “I’m sorry. I know it’s difficult for you.”