To save the Great Library, the unforgettable characters from Ink and Bone , Paper and Fire, and Ash and Quill put themselves in danger in the next thrilling adventure in the New York Times bestselling series. The opening moves of a deadly game have begun. Jess Brightwell has put himself in direct peril, with only his wits and skill to aid him in a game of cat and mouse with the Archivist Magister of the Great Library. With the world catching fire, and words printed on paper the spark that lights rebellion, it falls to smugglers, thieves, and scholars to save a library thousands of years in the making...if they can stay alive long enough to outwit their enemies. Praise for Paper and Fire "Made me weep, clench my fists in anger, and gape in amazement...an engaging ride from beginning to end."--Caffeinated Book Reviewer " Ocean's Eleven meets The Hunger Games , with Logan's Run and The DaVinci Code thrown in for good measure."--Kings River Life Magazine Praise for Ink and Bone "A magical new series that will leave readers begging for more."--Deborah Harkness, #1 New York Times bestselling author "Dark, riveting, heart-in-the-throat storytelling, with characters who caught me up and hold me even now."--Tamora Pierce, New York Times bestselling author Rachel Caine is the New York Times , USA Today , #1 Wall Street Journal , and international bestselling author of more than fifty novels for adults and young adults, including the Stillhouse Lake series, the Weather Warden series, the Outcast Season series, the Revivalist series, and the Morganville Vampires series. Rachel Caine lost her fight with a rare and aggressive cancer in November of 2020. The popularity of her novels subsequent to her tragic passing is a tribute to the timelessness of her creative spirit. CHAPTER ONE   It had all started as an exercise to fight the unending boredom of being locked in this Alexandrian prison cell. When Jess Brightwell woke up, he realized that he'd lost track of time. Days blurred here, and he knew it was important to remember how long he'd been trapped, waiting for the axe to fall-or not. So he diligently scratched out a record on the wall using a button from his shirt. Five days. Five days since he'd arrived back in Alexandria, bringing with him Scholar Wolfe and Morgan Hault as his prisoners. They'd been taken off in different directions, and he'd been dumped here to-as they'd said-await the Archivist's pleasure. The Archivist, it seemed, was a very busy man. Once Jess had the days logged, he did the mental exercise of calculating the date, from pure boredom. It took him long, uneasy moments to realize why that date-today-seemed important. And then he remembered and was ashamed it had taken him so long. Today was the anniversary of his brother Liam's death. His elder brother. And today meant that Jess was now older than Liam had ever lived to be. He couldn't remember exactly how Liam had died. Could hardly remember his brother at all these days, other than a vague impression of a sharp nose and shaggy blondish hair. He must have watched Liam walk up the stairs of the scaffold and stand as the rope was fixed around his neck. But he couldn't remember that, or watching the drop. Just Liam, hanging. It seemed like a painting viewed at a distance, not a memory. Wish I could remember , he thought. If Liam had held his head high on the way to his death, if he'd gone up the steps firmly and stood without fear, then maybe Jess would be able to do it, too. Because that was likely to be in his future. He closed his eyes and tried to picture it: the cell door opening. Soldiers in High Garda uniforms, the army of the Great Library, waiting stone-faced in the hall. A Scholar to read the text of his choice to him on the way to execution. Perhaps a priest, if he asked for one. But there, his mind went blank. He didn't know how the Archivist would end his life. Would it be a quiet death? Private? A shot in the back? Burial without a marker? Maybe nobody would ever know what had become of him. Or maybe he'd end up facing the noose after all, and the steps up to it. If he could picture himself walking without flinching to his execution, perhaps he could actually do it. He knew he ought to be focusing on what he would be saying to the Archivist if he was called, but at this moment, death seemed so close he could touch it, and besides, it was easier to accept failure than to dare to predict success. He'd never been especially superstitious, but imagining triumph now seemed like drawing a target on his back. No reason to offend the Egyptian gods. Not so early. He stood up and walked the cell. Cold, barren, with bars and a flat stone shelf that pretended at being a bed. A bare toilet that needed cleaning, and the sharp smell of it was starting to squirm against his skin. If I had something to read . . . The thought crept in without warning, and he felt it like a personal loss. Not having a book at hand