Page 53

M orning light poured through the high windows of the Archives, turning dust motes into floating gold.

I balanced on the sliding ladder, carefully returning a stack of bound scrolls to their proper place on the uppermost shelf.

The weight in my hands was satisfying—solid, real, purposeful.

Three weeks had passed since that night at the inn, and my hands had healed completely, leaving only the faintest pink marks that would fade with time.

Below me, Ellie sat on a patchwork blanket spread across the stone floor, babbling happily as she stacked the wooden blocks that Uldrek had carved for her. She knocked them down with a delighted squeal, then immediately began rebuilding them, her little face screwed up in concentration.

"Careful with the ninth-century treatises, Miss Fairbairn," Fira called from her worktable across the room.

The dwarf was hunched over a stack of water-damaged manuscripts, her nimble fingers working a preservation charm that glowed faintly blue.

"They're older than some of the rocks in my grandmother's garden. "

"Older than the rocks in your head, more like," came a grumbling voice from the corner, where Hobbie was aggressively mopping a floor that didn't need mopping.

The brownie had officially moved in with us at the cottage, but she still appeared at the Archives most days, fussing with cleaning tools and muttering about "the state of things. "

I smiled to myself, sliding the last scroll into place before descending the ladder. These morning hours in the Archives had become a refuge—not to hide, as they once were, but to belong. To contribute. To be seen doing something I was good at.

"All the ninth-century treatises are accounted for," I reported, brushing dust from my hands. "And in significantly better condition than when I found them."

Fira gave a grudging nod of approval. "You've got a proper eye for order," she admitted. "Unlike some." She cast a pointed look toward one of the junior scribes.

Ellie suddenly abandoned her blocks and crawled rapidly toward the open area between bookshelves, her destination clear: a puddle of sunlight that pooled on the stone floor.

She reached it and sat back on her haunches, chubby hands extended into the light, fascinated by the way it transformed her skin to gold.

My heart swelled. She had never looked more like herself—curious, determined, filled with wonder.

The shadows of our flight from Gavriel had faded from her, replaced by the sturdy confidence of a child who felt safe in her world.

She was growing so quickly: new words every day, new attempts at standing, holding herself up on furniture before plopping back down with a triumphant laugh.

"She's going to walk soon," Hobbie announced, appearing suddenly at my side. "Mark my words. Stubborn thing's just waiting for the most inconvenient moment."

The main doors opened with a familiar creak, and Edwin Fairweather entered, his cane tapping a steady rhythm against the stone floor.

He wore his usual gray robes, ink-stained at the cuffs, and carried a sealed scroll tucked beneath one arm.

His expression was oddly formal, though a certain brightness in his eyes betrayed an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"Good morning, Master Edwin," I greeted him.

"Miss Fairbairn," he replied with a nod that included everyone. "I trust the cataloging is progressing well?"

"Nearly complete," I confirmed. "The water-damaged section has been fully assessed, and Fira's preservation work is advancing quickly."

"Excellent." He hesitated, then cleared his throat. "If I might have a word? In private?"

A flicker of worry crossed my mind—old habits dying hard—but I pushed it aside. "Of course." I glanced at Hobbie, who was already moving toward Ellie.

"I'll watch the little terror," she confirmed, shooing me away. "Go on."

Edwin led me to his small office at the rear of the main chamber.

The space was cluttered but methodical—stacks of documents arranged in precise patterns, jars of ink and quills lined up by size, reference texts stacked according to some system only he fully understood.

He gestured for me to sit in the chair facing his desk while he settled behind it, placing the scroll carefully on the polished surface between us.

"Miss Fairbairn—" he began, then shook his head slightly.

"Isolde," he amended, using my given name with careful deliberation.

"Your work here at the Archives these past months has been exemplary.

Your organization, your attention to detail, your knowledge of both historical context and practical cataloging—all have exceeded my highest expectations. "

"Thank you," I said, unsure where this was going. "I've enjoyed the work tremendously."

He nodded as if confirming something to himself. "It has not escaped my notice—nor the notice of the Council—that your contributions have transformed much of what we do here. The new cross-referencing system alone has improved efficiency by nearly thirty percent."

I felt a flush of pride. The system had been my own design, based on techniques I'd learned in Elarion but adapted to Everwood's unique collection.

Edwin picked up the scroll and extended it toward me.

"Which is why I—we—would like to offer you a permanent position.

Not as an assistant or aide, but as an Archive Steward.

Full title, Council seal, benefits, and.

.." He reached into his robe and withdrew a slender silver key.

"Your own key to the restricted collections. "

I stared at the scroll, then at the key, my mind struggling to process what he was saying. Archive Steward was not just a job but a position of trust and authority. It meant belonging, permanence, respect.

It meant Everwood wasn't just where I'd fled to. It was where I could stay.

With slightly trembling fingers, I took the scroll and broke the seal. The formal language of appointment filled the parchment, complete with the signatures of Edwin, Councilor Thenholt, and three other members of the Civic Council. At the bottom was a blank space, waiting for my name.

"I..." I swallowed against the sudden tightness in my throat. "Thank you, Master Edwin. This is..."

"Well deserved," he finished firmly. "Now." He produced a quill and inkwell from his desk. "Shall we make it official?"

I dipped the quill and signed my name—Isolde Fairbairn—with a steady hand. As the ink dried, I felt something settle inside me—a sense of rightness, of coming home to myself.

"Congratulations, Steward Fairbairn," Edwin said, taking the scroll back with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I believe there might be some excitement waiting for you outside."

Sure enough, when we emerged from the office, Fira was practically bouncing on her toes, her earlier gruffness replaced by poorly contained enthusiasm.

"Well?" she demanded. "Did he offer? Did you accept? Are we colleagues now, properly?"

"Yes," I confirmed, unable to suppress my smile.

Fira let out a whoop that echoed off the vaulted ceiling, startling Ellie into wide-eyed attention.

"It's about time!" she crowed. "Do you know how many hints I've been dropping to the old man for weeks?

'Edwin,' I said, 'if you don't secure that woman with a proper title, someone else will snatch her up—probably those stuffy astronomers who've been eyeing her organizational skills. '"

"Is that why Master Stellios has been leaving star charts on my desk?" I asked, laughing.

"Probably," Fira admitted without a trace of shame. "I might have mentioned your interest in celestial navigation. Which isn't entirely a lie—I've seen you reading those books."

I shook my head, but there was no real exasperation in it. Behind Fira, I caught Hobbie's eye. The brownie gave a curt nod that somehow contained more approval than Fira's entire celebration.

Ellie, sensing the excitement, had pulled herself up using a nearby shelf and was bouncing on her unsteady legs, babbling loudly to join the conversation.

"I know," I said to her, crossing the room to scoop her up. "Exciting news, isn't it? Wait till your papa hears."

The word still felt new on my tongue but increasingly right.

Uldrek had easily slipped into the role—reading to Ellie in the evenings, carrying her on his shoulders during walks to the market, patiently stacking blocks for her to knock down.

The fierce protectiveness he'd once channeled into battle now manifested in quieter ways: checking windows before bed, teaching her which berries were safe to eat, keeping his body between her and strangers on the street.

"He'll be here soon for lunch," I told Ellie, settling her on my hip. "Probably with something from the market."

It had become our routine. Uldrek would arrive at midday, often straight from the training yards where he now worked with the City Guard, teaching recruits combat techniques.

He'd bring food wrapped in cloth—sweet buns, cheese, fruit—and we'd sit on the wide stone steps at the Archive's entrance, watching the world go by as we ate.

As if summoned by my thoughts, the main doors swung open, and I looked up just as Uldrek stepped inside—silhouetted against the bright courtyard like something out of an old ballad.

He cut an impressive figure in the light gray uniform of Everwood’s City Guard instructors—sleeves rolled up to the elbows, tunic slightly damp with sweat from the training yard.

The crossed blades insignia on his shoulder gleamed faintly in the morning sun, just above the deep green sash that marked him as a senior sparring master.

His hair was damp at the temples, pushed back from his face, and his tusks caught the light when he smiled—just a little, just for us.