Page 29

I didn't sleep that night.

The charm lay on my nightstand, its scorched edges like tiny teeth against the polished wood.

Ellie slept peacefully in her cradle, unaware of the magic that had reached for her—and failed.

Hobbie had rewoven the wards as promised, her small hands deft and purposeful as she worked hawthorn into the thread.

I’d watched her lips move in silent incantation, her eyes narrowed with concentration that bordered on anger.

When she finished, she'd looked up at me, solemn and direct. "Better," she'd said.

Now, in the thin gray light of pre-dawn, I dressed quietly. The floor creaked beneath my feet as I moved about the room, gathering my shawl and a small leather satchel. Ellie stirred but didn't wake, her tiny fist opening and closing against the blanket as she dreamed.

I slipped the charred charm into my satchel, careful not to crumble it further. Then I bent and kissed Ellie's forehead, inhaling the scent of her—milk and clean linen and something uniquely her own.

"I'll be back soon," I whispered.

Hobbie appeared silently in the doorway as I straightened. She gave a curt nod, as if to say she understood.

"Keep her close," I said softly.

Another nod. No questions. Just those watchful eyes and the set of her small shoulders—protective, determined.

I left her there, guardian of my greatest treasure, and made my way down the stairs. The rest of the house was still asleep, though I could hear Gruha in the kitchen, the rhythmic thump of dough being kneaded and the soft clatter of pans.

When I reached the Archives an hour later, the early light was casting long shadows through the high windows. Edwin was already at his desk, spectacles perched on his nose as he sorted through a stack of correspondence.

"Ah, Miss Fairbairn," he greeted me, looking up with a mild smile. "You're early today."

I approached his desk without preamble. "I need to show you something."

His eyebrows rose slightly at my tone, but he set his papers aside and gave me his full attention. "Of course."

I withdrew the charm from my satchel, unwrapping it carefully before placing it on his desk. "Have you ever seen magic do this?"

Edwin leaned forward, adjusting his spectacles as he examined the object. His expression remained neutral, but I noticed the slight tightening around his eyes, the way his fingers hovered just above the blackened edges without touching them.

"Where did you find this?" he asked quietly.

"It was hanging above my daughter's cradle. A protective charm. It... intercepted something."

His gaze flicked up to meet mine, sharp with sudden focus. "When?"

"Yesterday evening. Hobbie made it—she said it wasn't local magic. That it came from afar."

Edwin reached for a small wooden case on his desk, opening it to reveal a set of slender tools. He selected a pair of silver tweezers and used them to turn the charm, examining it from all angles.

"The pattern of corruption is unusual," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "Half-burned herbs, warped copper... but no actual flame."

I watched him work, his methodical movements somehow reassuring despite the circumstances. "So you've seen it before?"

Edwin was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured, careful. "I saw something like this once. During the war. A sealing artifact that twisted the air around it. Everything near it went still."

My pulse quickened. "What kind of artifact?"

"A sigil of some kind. We found it in the hands of a dead mage after one of the northern battles." He set the tweezers down. "The commander had us document it, but the artifact itself was confiscated. Along with all our records of it."

"Confiscated by whom?"

"The High Council. After the war, they gathered all records of certain dark artifacts. For safety, they said." There was a hint of skepticism in his tone.

I straightened, my mind racing. "Are those records here? In the Archives?"

Edwin shook his head. "We don't keep them here. They're stored in the Civic Vault beneath the Council Hall. Accessible only by petition or official sanction." He eyed me carefully. "You'd need a formal request. And time. Such petitions can take weeks to process."

I didn't have weeks. I might not even have days.

"Is there another way?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady.

Edwin considered me for a long moment, his eyes thoughtful behind his spectacles. "You have that recognition token, don't you? The one Councilor Thenholt gave you."

I nodded, my hand moving to the small pouch at my belt where I kept the silver token.

"It might get you through the door," he said carefully. "Though it wasn't meant for that purpose."

"It's worth trying," I said.

Edwin repacked the charm, wrapping it in a clean square of linen before handing it back to me. "Be cautious, Miss Fairbairn. The vault holds knowledge that some would prefer remains buried."

I accepted the package, tucking it safely into my satchel. "Thank you."

He nodded, then added quietly, "Sometimes the most dangerous magic isn't the kind that burns. It's the kind that twists what's already there."

I thought of Gavriel then—of his soft words and persuasive tone, of how often I'd found myself agreeing to things I hadn't meant to agree to. How my own thoughts had seemed to slip away from me like water through cupped hands.

"I know," I said, and left before he could see the memory of that fear in my eyes.

The Council Hall stood at the city’s heart, its curved stone columns draped in ivy, the council’s seal only half-visible above the arched doorway. I remembered the first time I’d passed beneath it—how the weight of those carved leaves had felt like judgment.

Now, I knew better. The intimidation wasn’t in the stone. It was in the way the place echoed. In the guards who didn’t speak, just watched. In the way my footsteps always sounded a little too loud, no matter how quietly I walked.

I’d been here twice before. The first time, when Uldrek and I stood before the Council to defend our bond.

The second, when I came back alone—after the mark had healed, after the magic had settled—to have it formally recorded.

That visit was quiet. Clerical. A mark in a book, a stamped seal, and suddenly it was real.

Today, I stepped through the doors not to prove anything but to find something. Not as a petitioner. As a seeker.

I followed the signs in the main hall directing visitors to the Records Office, descending a broad staircase to the lower level.

The air grew cooler as I descended. At the bottom of the stairs, a wide corridor stretched before me, lit by enchanted sconces that cast a steady, blue-white glow. Doors lined the hallway, each bearing a brass plaque identifying its purpose.

I found the one marked "Civic Records and Historical Holdings" and entered a spacious antechamber. A long counter separated the room, behind which several clerks worked at orderly desks. The walls were lined with filing cabinets and shelves of reference volumes.

A middle-aged woman with her hair pulled into a severe bun glanced up as I approached the counter. "May I help you?" she asked, her tone politely disinterested.

"I'd like to access the Civic Vault," I said, keeping my voice level and confident.

Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Do you have an approved petition form?"

"No, but I have this." I withdrew the silver token from my pouch and placed it on the counter.

The clerk picked it up, examining the seal impressed upon its surface.

Her expression remained unchanged. "A recognition token doesn't grant access to restricted holdings.

You'll need to file a formal petition." She slid a stack of forms toward me.

"These must be completed in full, with justification for your request, and submitted for review.

The process typically takes two to four weeks. "

I felt a flicker of frustration but kept it from showing on my face. "Is there someone else I might speak to? The token was given to me by Councilor Thenholt himself."

"Councilor Thenholt is aware of our procedures," she replied, unmoved. "If he wished to grant you special access, he would have provided the appropriate documentation."

I was about to respond when a voice spoke from behind me.

"Miss Fairbairn. What a pleasant surprise."

I turned to find Councilor Thenholt standing there, tall and dignified in his formal robes. His silver hair was neatly combed, and his expression was one of mild curiosity.

"Councilor," I said, inclining my head in greeting. "I was just—"

"Attempting to access the vault, I hear." He glanced at the token on the counter. "Ah, I see you've brought my token. Excellent."

The clerk's expression faltered slightly. "Councilor, with all due respect, a recognition token doesn't—"

"Let her in, Madame Virrel," he said calmly.

"Sir, the regulations clearly state—"

"Let her in," he repeated, his tone still pleasant but leaving no room for argument. "Miss Fairbairn is an archivist who has proven herself more capable than most of our own researchers."

The clerk's mouth thinned, but she nodded stiffly. "As you wish, Councilor." She turned to a cabinet behind her and withdrew a small golden key. "I'll need to note this in the access log."

"Of course," Thenholt said smoothly. "Record it under my authorization."

As Madame Virrel busied herself with the logbook, the councilor turned to me, speaking low enough that only I could hear. "I assume you have a good reason to be here."

I met his gaze steadily. "Yes, sir."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded slightly. "The Archives are fortunate to have someone of your caliber. Use your time wisely."

With that, he inclined his head in farewell and departed, leaving me at the counter as Madame Virrel finished her notation.