“The deaths of the Zhentarim’s enemies?”
“Because the Harpers never kill anyone,” she said acidly.
“Don’t pretend they’re the same,” he said, sharper than he meant to. “You could see those things without the Black Network.”
“Then maybe you should have offered me a pin.”
That surprised him. “If I offered it now?” he managed.
Mira unrolled another scroll, her eyes flicking over the text so quickly, he was sure she wasn’t really reading it. “If you offered it to me now, it would just be to keep me under your wing. Don’t pretend it wouldn’t be. I won’t be kept-not by my father and not by some farmer.”
“Mira, I could be hanged for letting you go. Do you understand that?”
“And for letting Harpers live with Zhentarim secrets, I could take a dagger in the back.” And she chuckled to herself. “We do like to live dangerously, don’t we?”
And despite himself, Tam smiled too. It should have broken his heart, he thought, that the fact that she trusted he wouldn’t turn on her made him so glad. “Much as I suspect we both wish the other didn’t.”
“Yes,” Mira said. Then, “Do you really think they’ll hang you?”
“They can’t spare an old warhorse like me,” he added lightly. “They wouldn’t hang me for anything short of pure treachery. And accidentally allying with an old enemy-and not the worst of our enemies-I’ll make them see reason. I hope.”
“If they try it …” Mira grew quiet. “There are rats in the Harpers’ house,” she said after a moment. “This isn’t the only time the Zhentarim has gotten their hands into one of your missions.”
“There’s a traitor?”
“There are many,” she said. “The Fisher, to begin with, is not to be trusted.”
For all Tam wished, that surprised him; it fit more neatly than any other bit of knowledge he’d gained in the last few tendays. A Harper spymaster, traitor to his oath-gods. He didn’t like to think how far and wide such a betrayal would reach. “How long?”
She shook her head. “You’ll have to ask him.”
Oh, and he would. He might not be a proper Harper by the Fisher’s measure, but he knew the Code and moreover he knew what a spymaster owed his spies. Putting them into danger was part of the job. Putting them into enemy hands was not.
The thought of Mira in those same enemy hands didn’t sit any better. Tam pulled his pack nearer and withdrew from the small pocket sewn into the bottom a medallion the size of a gold coin. Embossed with a harp and stars and shivering with enchantment. He held it out to Mira. “Take it.”
Her brows raised. “A Harper token?”
“Just in case,” he said. In case she changed her mind, in case she ran afoul of other agents, in case the Zhentarim turned on her and she needed to run. A Harper would know the signal. A Harper would keep her safe.
She looked at it, flat in the palm of her hand. “You aren’t afraid I’ll take advantage of it? Sully your good name?”
“It didn’t even cross my mind,” he said. “If you use it, I’m sure it will be because you need it.” He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “You would make a good Harper, you know.”
“That isn’t where the dice fell this time,” she said firmly. But she tucked the token into a pocket all the same, and Tam took it for what it was: a start.
The rune still glowed where Farideh had left it. What would have happened if she’d shattered it, expecting the doors to the library to swing wide? Would the space have opened, revealing the remains of Emrys and the last scroll of Tarchamus? Would she have thought to take the scroll or left it there for the ghosts to reclaim, seeing the corpse as a warning?
“Why do you think the ghosts haven’t smashed it?” she asked.
“They’re afraid of magic,” Dahl answered. “They know it hurts them.” He considered the rune. “Which means it might discharge when it’s triggered. We should keep back.”
“He would have warned us.”
Dahl shook his head. “He knows there’s more than one of us. And he was Netherese. He probably wouldn’t think to care if his spell killed someone not human.” Farideh started to argue, but he cut her off, “Look, just move back and when you don’t die, both of us can be happy.”
From off in the distance came the din of the others pulling down shelves and books. Every crash made Farideh want to jump, to cast after the Netherese who might any moment break through the door. She imagined Adolican Rhand striding down the aisle toward her, and wished she hadn’t. Farideh repositioned herself, and Lorcan with her-off to the left and as far back as she could go and still have her spells reach the wall. The cambion came up behind her.
“Here,” he said, putting his hands over hers.
“I can handle it.”
“It’s not a lump of firewood. Plus your rod is in splinters. Take the assistance, darling. Stop being difficult.”
She glowered at him over one shoulder. “Which of us is being difficult?” She positioned her hands again. “You don’t have to like him, but stop trying to prod him into a fight. You’re acting like an owlbear marking territory nobody wants.”
“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, darling,” he said low and in her ear, and she shivered. She was almost positive he was looking at Dahl when he said it, too. Gods.
She cast the spell and left Lorcan where he was, channeling an extra burst of power through her, like a sudden flood of water forced through a narrow stream. The rune shattered with a sound like thunder and a burst of blazing light. The air smelled of sulfur and burnt cedar and stone dust, and there was no doubt if she’d been standing in front of the sigil she would have been obliterated by the blast. She stepped out of Lorcan’s arms, toward the revealed room.
“See?” Dahl said smugly. “Now we’re both glad.”
Beyond the wall lay the scroll, untouched and shining pale as the day it was made, along the crumbling hand bones of Emrys’s sad remains. The empty skull seemed to look up at her, its jaw hanging askew, with an expression of disbelief. “Poor fellow,” she said.
Dahl crouched down, picked up the scroll, and carefully unrolled it. “I wasn’t making it up before. The Netherese were terrible bigots. No one’s worth as much as a human in their eyes. He really wouldn’t have thought well of you.”
“Well, he wouldn’t be alone, would he?” If they can set hands on it, then it is theirs. Tarchamus was not the rarity I thought. I did not see it in time … Whatever Emrys had thought in life, she suspected the ghost had changed its mind, at least a little.
“Is it the right scroll?” she asked.
Dahl nodded, rolling the parchment back up. “It looks like the sketches.” He considered the skeleton. “Maybe we could just destroy the scroll. Maybe we don’t need to destroy the entire library.”
“There are all the spellbooks,” she said. “And the notes about breaching the planes. And the Book.” She looked at him solemnly. “And the arcanist.”
Dahl considered Emrys a moment longer. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s such a shame. But you’re right.” He sighed. “At least I don’t have to worry about what Oghma will do if I blow up a library.” He frowned and looked up at her. “What did you mean, ‘he wouldn’t be alone’?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes, knowing he wouldn’t be able to tell, and left the little hidden room. “If Mira’s finished the maps, we should be able to find the best point to cast from. Maybe where the arcanist escapes.” She was still turning that over in her memories-where had the roar come from? Where might the hidden door be?
“Do you actually think I would have let that explosion kill you?” Dahl demanded, following after her.
“No,” she said tartly. “And I will be forever grateful you don’t hate me as much as the wicked Netherese. Good work.” She collected Lorcan. “We need to hurry. Before that alarm goes off and we don’t have the time to plan.”