“I don’t deserve that, do I?” Her smile was broken and beautiful and very real. “A mother should always protect her child. And I haven’t.”

He stood for a moment holding her hand, and then suddenly pulled her forward into an embrace. It was fierce and fast, and then he turned away, head down. The Obscurist blinked away tears, took a breath, and said, “It’s time to go.”

She summoned the spiral stairs, and they descended quickly. The garden seemed deserted as they arrived, but Jess heard the sound of shouting echoing up from below. The Archivist’s troops must have already arrived. They were searching.

“There’s no time left,” the Obscurist said. “I’ll have to take the risk.”

“What risk?” Wolfe pushed forward, Santi just a step behind.

“I’ll have to send you all at once. If I send you one at a time, half of you won’t make it.”

“You can’t do that! Even you—” Morgan stopped, looking at the others. “It’s too much for anyone. It will—”

“Kill me?” The Obscurist looked around at the beautiful, peaceful garden and sighed. “So be it. I’ll need you all to put your hands on the helmet—”

Jess felt the warning hiss of instincts coming alive, and his head jerked up and around, looking for the threat.

It was all around them.

The Artifex Magnus himself stepped out of the shadow of a spreading plum tree, pale blossoms brushing his long white hair. Behind him, around him, all around the room, more soldiers rose from concealment. Aiming their weapons.

Santi trembled on the edge of raising his own gun, then raised one hand, bent, and carefully placed the weapon on the floor by his feet. “Disarm,” he said. His voice sounded flat and dead already. “There’s no point.”

Glain raised her weapon and sighted on the Artifex. “There’s every damn point.”

But she didn’t fire, because the Artifex pushed someone unexpected out into the path of any of her bullets.

Dario.

He wasn’t bound or restrained. He hadn’t been wounded or beaten. He looked rested, well nourished. Well dressed.

And he couldn’t look any of them in the eyes.

“Dario?” Khalila’s whisper was full of stunned relief, and she took a step forward . . . and then he looked up and met her gaze. “Dario.” All the life drained out of her voice. “What is this?”

“Traitor.” Glain’s hands were white around her gun, but she’d lowered it now to stare at the face of their friend. “Y mochyn diawl.”

He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then said, “I didn’t have a choice.”

Arrogant, clever Dario Santiago had sold them out. Of course he had. Maybe he’d been doing it all along; he hadn’t had a chance to report their plans to rescue Thomas at the last moment because they had moved too quickly. But he’d tried to sell them out.

It came to Jess in a cold wave that if they’d actually escaped to London, it would have probably been a trap. Dario would have seen to it. He’d survived in Rome alone because he’d never been in any real danger.