Though Niklas still maintained similar facial features, his skin was now a healthy, tan hue, and his odd eyes were now a normal, deep brown. He gestured toward the archive. “Our cue is getting away from us, and your sister’s life is still dangling in the balance.”
Anders darted his gaze back toward the Archive to find the woman had been let inside the gates. Shaking his head in disbelief, he started forward, prepared to finally fulfill his part of their bargain. Niklas hurried along beside him, still unnaturally graceful despite his human appearance.
Anders felt lightheaded. His boots crunching over the rocky dirt road seemed impossibly loud. He would be questioned by the guards. Then he would be questioned by any scholars he met. Finally, he would be questioned by his parents. He could scarcely bear to face them. With a steadying breath, he forced his shoulders to relax. First thing first. He needed to get past the guards.
He exhaled in relief as they reached the massive gates. He knew both guards who stood there. One, an older man named Lochlan, he had known since he was a child, and the other, a youth named Barrett, was Lochlan’s son.
“Anders!” Lochlan gasped after looking him up and down. “I almost didn’t recognize you, lad. You look like you haven’t eaten since you left!”
Anders forced a smile onto his face and ruffled his cloak to hide his thinness, as well as his uniform. He’d had no opportunity to change out of the dark brown jacket with a red wolf embroidered on the breast, but Niklas had at least given him a cloak to cover it. “My journey has been an eventful one,” he explained vaguely. “I’m here to see my parents.”
Lochlan blinked at him several times, as if not truly believing he was there.
Barrett moved to his father’s side and cleared his throat. “Father,” he whispered, “the gates?”
Lochlan startled back into awareness. He met Anders waiting gaze and shook his head. “Sorry lad, I just can’t hardly believe you’re real. After no one heard from you, we all assumed you were dead. Where is Branwen?”
Anders felt his face flush.
“She’s up North,” Niklas cut in smoothly. “We wouldn’t dream of bringing the young lady on such an arduous journey, when our visit shall be short.”
Lochlan nodded, his gray mustache bristling. “And you are?”
“Lord Seastnàn,” Niklas lied, bowing his head in greeting. “From the Gray City.”
“Ah,” Lochlan began, comprehension in his eyes as he turned back to Anders. “One of the emissaries?”
Gritting his teeth, Anders nodded. All in the Archive knew Anders and Branwen had departed with an emissary from the Gray City, along with a guard. Unfortunately, both were fakes. Kai and Anna were lowly thieves, nothing more.
“Now please,” Niklas continued. “We’ve had a very long journey, and I must admit, I’m not used to waiting.”
“Of course, of course,” Lochlan muttered. He still seemed unsure, but nodded to his son, who trotted back to his post and gestured up to the gatekeepers watching from the high wall.
Seconds later, the gates swung inward.
Anders smiled in relief. Feeling slightly more at ease, he turned back to Lochlan. “By the way, who was that woman you let in just before we arrived?”
Lochlan squinted in confusion. “What woman? You’re the first to approach the gates in several days.”
Anders’ jaw dropped. He felt Niklas tug at his sleeve, hurrying him along before he could ask any more questions. He said his goodbyes and hurried through the gates, but he still felt Lochlan and Barrett’s suspicious gazes on his back.
Even once the gates closed behind them, Anders could not relax. Niklas observed the grand entrance of his home, while he stood still for a moment, suddenly close to tears. The main gates led to a wide corridor that opened out into a massive courtyard. The gardens were tended year round, filled with bright colored flowers in the warm half of the year, and waxy leafed holly and hearty snow flowers in the cold half. Right now, they were somewhere in between. The last of the bright flowers were dying, to be replaced by more muted tones.
Niklas cleared his throat, drawing Anders’ attention. “Where is the main library?”
It took him a moment to respond. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he pointed. “The left wing houses the more ancient tomes in need of preservation. The right wing,” he pointed in the other direction, “houses the transcribed volumes, available to all scholars no matter their station. The central dome,” he pointed to the large golden structure at the far end of the courtyard, “houses the volumes belonging to the Gray City, mainly histories and local lore.”
His eyes continued to dart around the courtyard, searching for his parents, though he was not sure he was ready to face them. He’d hoped to avoid the Archives all together until he had Branwen back by his side.
“The left,” Niklas said simply, then eyed Anders not-so-patiently to lead the way.
He took a steadying breath, then cut across the courtyard toward the first entrance into the left wing. He’d had access to the wing previously, but would have to speak with one of the watchers before he could enter. Niklas would likely not be allowed inside, but he decided against voicing his concerns. Niklas would not listen anyway.
Reaching the door, he held it open for Niklas to walk inside. He followed him, glancing each way down the hall, half-expecting to spot the red haired woman they’d seen at the gates.
Instead, they saw a brown-haired woman, peeking her head out one of the many book-filled rooms. “Anders!”
He sighed in relief. “Lissandra,” he greeted, approaching her. “Could you perhaps give me access to the High Wing?”
Her smile faltered as she moved fully into the hall. “Anders, where have you been? We expected at least the occasional messenger. Everyone thinks you’re dead.”
He chuckled, attempting to give off an air of calm, though he’d never been a skilled liar. “It was a long journey, and I was given few opportunities to send word. I’ll explain everything once I’ve seen my parents. I simply wanted to look over a certain tome to compare it to the information I have to share.”
“Information worth recording?” she asked slyly, her attitude quickly transitioning. “I will be your chosen scribe, won’t I?”
“Of course,” Anders replied.
“Well if that’s the case,” Lissandra replied, “I suppose I can wait to hear of your adventures until later.” Grinning, she scurried back into the room and began riffling through the drawers of a parchment scattered desk. Candles littered the desk’s surface, dripping wax onto papers yellowed with age. Anders bit his tongue before he could insult her. Lissandra had always been careless.
“Aha!” she chuckled, turning around with a golden key in her hand.
She walked past Anders into the hall, then finally took the time to observe Niklas. Her eyes narrowed. “Greetings, do I know you?”
“An emissary from the Gray City,” Anders explained.
“Ah,” she replied, nodding. She continued past them further down the hall, her shapeless burgundy scholar’s robe trailing behind her
They followed her as she chattered about what had been happening in the Archive since Anders’ departure, though he could scarcely gather his thoughts enough to listen to her. The corridor curved at the end, leading to a set of ornate wooden doors with heavy gold locks. A guard was stationed at either side of the doorway.
“Greetings,” Lissandra muttered, barely even looking at the guards as she unlocked the doors. As one of the Archive’s head scholars, her access to the secured room was a normal affair.
She led Anders and Niklas inside, then froze. The fiery-haired woman stood by one of the massive shelves, running her fingers along leather-bound book spines.
Lissandra gasped, then stepped inside the room. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”
The woman turned around casually, piercing Lissandra with her sparkling blue eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here,” the woman purred, then muttered some words under her breath.