Page 74 of The War of Four Winters

My jaw tightened. "Exile is unacceptable. Calibarra needs him. Those boys need him."

Niro's expression hardened, his tactical assessment taking precedence over sentiment. "Adjust your expectations, Lord Consort. The odds are stacked against us. Even if we secure his life, a complete victory is unlikely at this stage."

My fingers traced the Assembly's formal seal, feeling the raised wax beneath my fingertips. "I need him alive," I said finally, my voice rougher than intended. "Everything else we can fight for later."

Niro accepted this with a soldier's pragmatism. He reached into his robe and withdrew a folded map of the Assembly Hall. "Then we continue as planned. The Redrock representative must be approached tonight. She's quartered in the eastern wing of the diplomatic residence."

"And Northfire?"

"Northfire will support us," Niro replied with certainty. "But we must be careful. Tarathiel has eyes everywhere. If he suspects our movement..."

A sound from the main corridor silenced us both. Footsteps. Too heavy for the night archivist. The distinctive rhythm of military boots against stone.

Guards.

Niro extinguished our lamp with a swift movement, plunging our alcove into darkness. We pressed ourselves into the shadows between towering shelves as torchlight spilled into the Archives' main hall.

"Check every section," came a harsh command. "The Primarch wants them found before tomorrow's session."

My heart thundered in my chest. They were looking for us. The presence of an unknown clerk and his assistant must have triggered suspicion, or perhaps someone had recognized Niro despite his disguise.

Niro's hand found my arm in the darkness, his grip conveying what words could not: absolute stillness, no matter what happened.

Guards moved methodically through the Archives, boots heavy against stone, torchlight penetrating deeper into the labyrinth of records. They would find us eventually. There were too many of them, and the Archives offered limited hiding places.

Beside me, Niro's breathing remained steady, controlled. The soldier preparing for battle rather than running from it. We had discussed this contingency, had prepared for the possibility of discovery. But facing it now, with Ruith's life hanging in tomorrow's balance, made my blood run cold.

Just as the torchlight neared our alcove, a commanding voice cut through the tense silence.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" The night archivist's indignation echoed off the stone walls. "The Archives are sacred ground. Guards are not permitted without explicit authorization from the Assembly itself."

"Primarch's orders," came the curt reply. "We search for spies who may have infiltrated the records division."

"The Primarch is not the Assembly," the archivist countered, his voice sharp with disapproval. "This institution has maintained independence from individual rulers for over three thousand years. The Archives answer only to the full Assembly, not to any single authority—even the Primarch's."

"You risk much, old one," the guard captain warned. "The Primarch doesn't take kindly to interference."

"And the Assembly doesn't take kindly to violations of its ancient protocols," the archivist replied firmly. "Now, unless you have written authorization bearing the seal of at least three clan representatives, I suggest you leave before I file a formal complaint that will be read before the full Assembly tomorrow."

The threat of bureaucratic embarrassment apparently carried weight. After a tense moment, the captain relented. "We'll return with proper authorization."

"I look forward to reviewing it," the archivist replied, his tone making it clear that no such authorization would be deemed acceptable.

The guards withdrew, their footsteps fading down the corridor. When silence had finally returned, the archivist's voice came again, softer now but clearly directed toward our hiding place.

"You may come out now. They've gone."

Niro tensed beside me, hand moving to his concealed dagger. We exchanged a quick glance, weighing the risk of revealing ourselves against the possibility of a trap.

"I assure you," the archivist continued when we didn't immediately respond, "if I wished to betray you to the Primarch's men, I would not have sent them away first."

Slowly, Niro moved from our hiding spot, positioning himself between me and the potential danger as I followed. The night archivist stood alone among the shelves, his ancient face impassive as he studied us. His hair was silver with age, his formal robes bearing the midnight blue of the Archives guild.

"An unusual hour for research," he observed dryly.

"We appreciate your discretion," Niro said carefully.

The old archivist's expression remained unchanged, but something flickered in his eyes. "The Archives have witnessed every succession dispute, every power struggle, every rebellion in our history. We record them all without judgment." He paused, then added pointedly, "Though some of us do form opinions about which causes merit preservation."

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