Something to which they should aspire.
The Artifex looked up as the last Scholar left his presence, and his sharp gaze moved around the room, snagged on Jess, and stopped. He blinked slowly, then turned his attention to a cup an assistant delivered, as if Jess didn’t matter at all. Which, Jess thought, he likely didn’t. But the Artifex had recognized him. No doubt of that.
Jess found a seat with some of his Blue Squad mates, and they ate with typical High Garda speed. Even so, he’d gotten only a few bites before he felt a hand press down on his shoulder.
It was the squad leader, Troll. “Brightwell,” he said. “With me.”
“Sir?” Jess stood up.
“The Artifex wants a report. I want you with me.”
Troll turned and led the way across the room. Jess caught sight of Captain Santi; the captain sat at a table near one of the exterior walls and gave Jess and Troll a look as they passed that Jess couldn’t read at all.
The noisy room fell away. It seemed as if the Artifex sat in a bubble of silence, far from the others, though it wasn’t far at all, and then Jess was standing just a few feet away from him, from the man who’d coldly engineered the ruin of Scholar Wolfe, killed who knew how many, sent his best friend to a prison. And for what?
Power.
The Artifex’s bright blue eyes fixed on him.
Jess wanted to curl his hands into fists and beat the smile off of him, but he forced himself to stay still as Troll said, “Artifex, sir, you asked for a report on the Burner encounter outside. I’m pleased to say that we had no Library casualties, and no apparent civilian involvement in our response. Nine Burners died. Their information is being retrieved and forwarded to your Codex.” He turned toward Jess. “Brightwell is a new addition to our squad, and was the one to alert us to the Burner attack on our flank. He saved many lives today.”
It dawned on Jess that the Artifex hadn’t requested his presence; his squad leader was trying to do him a favor. Troll had no idea how wrong that was.
The Artifex’s cold gaze fixed on Jess, and that smile deepened. It looked real enough. “Well done, Squad Leader. You continue to show great promise, by all reports. I’m sure you will rise high in the ranks. Captain Santi has an eye for talent.” There was a slight change in his voice as he said Santi’s name, as if he couldn’t quite keep the distaste at bay. “Brightwell, Brightwell . . . Ah yes. You studied under Scholar Wolfe, did you not?”
“Yes, sir.” Jess had to force that out. His teeth ground together hard enough to hurt. As if you don’t remember, you bastard. “I was in his most recent class. The one you sent to the Battle of Oxford.”
No reaction from the old man. None. Even his smile stayed warm. “Ah yes, of course. Exemplary work, though the challenges were far beyond what we thought you’d face when we dispatched you there. Your class has proven quite exceptional.”
“Yes, sir,” he said. “Those of us who survived.” If the Artifex read that as a challenge, so be it. “You may want to have a look at the automata outside, sir. They might be malfunctioning. Seems like they almost attacked me. By accident, of course.”
“How unusual,” the Artifex replied blandly. “I’ll have my staff look into it. We certainly wouldn’t want any accidents.”
“Sir.” Jess nodded slightly, which was all the respect he could stomach showing the man. He didn’t intend to push his luck any further. But then the Artifex leaned forward in his chair, and there was a cold fire in his eyes that made Jess’s stomach tighten.
“Have you said hello to my new assistants?” he said. “They asked to be added to my research staff some time ago, and, of course, I could not say no to such excellent candidates once I realized their worth.” There was a vicious humor in the Artifex’s eyes that was meant only for Jess. “Friends of yours, I think.”
For an instant, Jess couldn’t think what he was talking about. Not Wolfe, surely, and Santi was here in his capacity as High Garda captain. He’s insane, Jess thought, and then he realized, as the Artifex gestured somewhere behind him, what the old man meant.
Jess turned, and Khalila Seif and Dario Santiago stood up from the table where they’d been sitting nearby. He hadn’t seen them there; he hadn’t been looking for them. Khalila gave him a tentative smile, but there was fear in her eyes. Dario—more handsome and well-dressed than ever—stepped forward and offered Jess his hand. “Brightwell,” he said. “Still just a recruit, I see. Nice to see you continue to keep to your natural level.” It was just the kind of insult Dario had always given him, but there was a warning flash in Dario’s eyes and his handshake felt painfully firm. “Maybe I’ll request you as a special guard detail when I go shopping.”