"The guy you got this from, did you let him go?" she asked.
"He's waiting for you in my office. "
Xhex got up and came around the desk. Nailing Big Tom in the arm with a quick punch, she said, "I always did like you. "
Chapter Fifteen
Up in the Sanctuary, No'One led Tohrment to the library, and expected to leave him to his investigations, whatever they might be. When they arrived at their destination, however, he opened the door for her, and beckoned her forward.
Of course, she stepped over the threshold.
The temple of books was long and thin and tall, built rather on the dimensions of a folio standing on its end. All around, leather-bound volumes, filled with the careful strokes of generations of the Chosen, were set in white marble cases in chronological order, the stories therein nonfictional accounts of lives lived far down below, and witnessed upon water's transparent screen.
Tohrment stood for a moment, his crutch keeping him stable as he cocked his bandaged foot up.
"What are you looking for?" she asked as she glanced at the nearest shelves. The sight of the volumes made her wonder about the future of keeping the past. With the Chosen exploring the real world, they were not recording as much, if at all. This long tradition could well be lost.
"The afterlife," Tohrment replied. "Any idea if there's a section on that?"
"I believe the chronicles are arranged by year, not subject. "
"You ever hear of the In Between?"
"Of what?
He laughed with a hard edge as he hobbled forward and began inspecting the stacks. "Exactly. We got the Fade. We got Dhund. Two opposite ends that I assumed were the only choices when you die. I'm looking for any evidence that there's another option. Damn it. . . yup - these are chronological, not by subject. Is it different elsewhere?"
"Not that I'm aware. "
"Any index system?"
"Only by decade, I believe? I am not an expert, however. "
"Shit, it could take years to go through all this. "
"Perhaps you should speak with one of the Chosen? I know that Selena was a scribe - "
"No one needs to know about this. It's about my Wellsie. "
The irony of that phrasing seemed lost upon him. "Wait. . . there is another room. "
Leading him down the center aisle, she then took him left, into what was essentially a vault. "This is the most sacred place - where the lives of the Brotherhood are kept. "
The heavy doors resisted the invasion, at least when she tried to open them. Before Tohrment's strength, however, they yielded to reveal a tight, tall room.
"So she kept us locked away," he said dryly as he inspected the names on the spines. "Look at these. . . . "
He drew out one of the volumes and cracked the spine. "Ah, Throe - father of the current Throe. Wonder what the old man would think of who his son's in bed with. "
As he replaced the volume, she made no bones about staring at him, his brows tight in concentration, his strong yet refined fingers handling the books with care, his body leaning into the shelving.
His dark hair was thick and glossy, and cut very short. And that white stripe in front seemed shockingly out of place - until she thought of his tired, haunted eyes.
Oh, those eyes of his. Blue as the sapphires in the Treasury - and just as precious, she supposed.
He was very handsome, she realized.
Funny, the fact that he was in love with someone else made it possible for her to even assess him on that level: With him feeling as he did for his shellan, he was. . . safe. To the point where she no longer felt awkward that he had seen her unclothed. He would never regard her with anything sexual. That would be a violation of his love for Wellesandra.