Page 104 of Embers of Ruin

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By the time we reach the archive doors, a scholar in cream robes is sitting on the floor outside with a stack of books beside him and a half-eaten apple in one hand. He looks up as we approach, blinking owlishly beneath a mop of wheat-colored hair that appears to have lost a battle with his own fingers.

“Lady Tarethyn,” he says, scrambling to his feet and nearly dropping the apple. “I mean—Lyra. I mean, forgive me, I was told you preferred Lyra, but I didn’t know if that preference extended to late-night unauthorized visits, though technically this portion of the archives isn’t unauthorized if escorted, and you are escorted, so perhaps it is only unusual rather than forbidden.”

I stare at him.

Riven closes his eyes briefly, pursing his lips. “Hello, Brother Rivero.”

Brother Rivero nods Riven's way before turning to me. His gaze sweeps over my face, then drifts up to my hair.

“Do you always sit outside the archives eating apples in the middle of the night?” I ask.

His ears turn pink. “Only when I forget supper.”

“That sounds like something that happens often.”

“More than it should.”

“Good. Then we understand each other. I forget many things that would probably improve my life.”

He smiles, bright and earnest, before remembering to look nervous. “Are you here for something specific?”

“Yes.”

Riven shifts beside me.

Brother Rivero’s attention flicks to him, then back to me. “Should I ask?”

“It’s probably better if you don’t.”

“Excellent. I prefer knowing less when it might get me into trouble.”

“That is the exact opposite impression you give.” I give him a knowing look, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face.

“I know.” He shrugs with exaggerated innocence. “It’s one of my biggest shortcomings—but we all have them.”

He opens the archive doors, and the scent of parchment, ink, and leather wraps around me the moment I step inside. The room is dimmer at night, lit by fewer blue glass lamps, but somehow more beautiful for it. Shelves climb into darkness above us, bridges and spiral staircases cutting through the towering stacks. The lamps cast pools of soft light across tables piled with scrolls, their edges held down by smooth black stones. Dust floats through the air like tiny stars.

If the palace is a cage, the archives are at least a cage full of keys.

I walk toward the table where I first saw the old records of the first king and queen, but Brother Rivero hurries ahead, already shaking his head.

“Those are not where you want to begin.”

I pause, narrowing my eyes at him. “How do you know where I want to begin?”

“Because everyone begins with the oldest myths when they’re frightened by their own importance.”

Riven makes a low sound that might be a laugh.

I slowly turn to Brother Rivero and he freezes. His face goes red, like a bright red tomato. “I said that aloud.”

“Yes, yes you did,” I say, giving him a wide grin.

“I did not mean to.”

“You absolutely meant to. You only regret it now.”