Page 81 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

“Neither do I,” Viridian agrees, rising to his feet. “Now, we need to look for a paper trail.”

“But how?” I ask. “If your father truly wanted to bury any trace of what happened, he would’ve had the evidence destroyed.”

“That’s true,” Viridian admits. “But it’s nearly impossible to destroy everything. Something must have survived.”

I consider his words. “Perhaps.”

“I know it, Cryssa.” He says it with such strength that it’s hard not to be swayed. “And we will find whatever scrap of evidence is left. In fact,” he says, moving toward the bookshelves. “I’ve been meaning to look through the council records.”

“The council records?” I arch a brow.

“Yes,” he says, looking back at me over his shoulders. “Balls are costly, are they not? The council holds all the records from the royal treasury here, in this chamber.”

My eyes widen. I fall into place beside him. “If we can find those, maybe we can find something else. Another lead.”

Viridian nods, looking at me. He gestures to the shelves in front of us. “Shall we?”

“Of course,” I say, not wanting to waste another minute.

A smile tugs at his lips, and he turns to the far-right side of the shelves. I do the same, to the far left. I pull out a few leatherbound volumes—detailing supply inventories, servants’ wages, even monetary aid dispersed through the five Courts—at a time and bring them to the table, where I leaf through them, scanning the pages. Across from me, Viridian does the same. Every so often, I feel the heat of his stare on my cheeks. Seeming to have a mind of their own, my eyes dart up from the pages to look at him, and then back down, just missing his gaze. Our eyes are like ships passing in the night. It rustles the butterflies in my stomach, and for the first time in years, I feel like a much younger girl again.

“Anything?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Not yet,” I say, while turning another page. “So far, from what I can tell, all I’ve found are supply inventories.”

He huffs. “As have I.”

“We’ll keep looking,” I tell him. “If there is something here, we’ll find it.”

“Of course.” Then he furrows his brow, focused on the stack of parchment in his hands.

I stand, clutching a small stack of heavy volumes, and return them to the shelf. When I slide the last one back into its place, a piece of parchment slides out from behind it.

Pulling it out just enough to fit my hand through, I reach behind the volume and grab the loose parchment. With my attention fixed on it, I sit back down.

The parchment is small—much smaller than the size of the pages in the volumes or stacks of loose papers.

Upon further inspection, I see elegant calligraphy in the center, with neat, hand-written notes in the margins. The ink has bled through the parchment, making the margin notes illegible. But even though it takes me a while to decipher it, the calligraphy is readable.

It’s then that I realize what I’m holding.

“Viridian…” My eyes widen. “I found something.”

He looks up from the volume he’s reading and stands. He makes his way around the table and stands by me, looking over my shoulder at the piece of parchment in my hands.

I read the calligraphy aloud. “The High King and Queen cordially invite you to High Keep to celebrate the birth…”

Viridian’s mouth opens slightly. His face hardens to stone.

“…of the Crown Prince,” I finish.

He backs away, with a hand pressed to his mouth.

The last ball hosted by the crown.

“You were there,” I murmur, connecting the dots. “You were there when it happened. Whatever it was.”

Viridian says nothing, his expression unreadable.

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