Page 61 of Her Orc Protector

My pulse quickened. "What kind of artifact?"

"A sigil of some kind. We found it in the hands of a dead mage after one of the northern battles." He set the tweezers down. "The commander had us document it, but the artifact itself was confiscated. Along with all our records of it."

"Confiscated by whom?"

"The High Council. After the war, they gathered all records of certain dark artifacts. For safety, they said." There was a hint of skepticism in his tone.

I straightened, my mind racing. "Are those records here? In the Archives?"

Edwin shook his head. "We don't keep them here. They're stored in the Civic Vault beneath the Council Hall. Accessible only by petition or official sanction." He eyed me carefully. "You'd need a formal request. And time. Such petitions can take weeks to process."

I didn't have weeks. I might not even have days.

"Is there another way?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady.

Edwin considered me for a long moment, his eyes thoughtful behind his spectacles. "You have that recognition token, don't you? The one Councilor Thenholt gave you."

I nodded, my hand moving to the small pouch at my belt where I kept the silver token.

"It might get you through the door," he said carefully. "Though it wasn't meant for that purpose."

"It's worth trying," I said.

Edwin repacked the charm, wrapping it in a clean square of linen before handing it back to me. "Be cautious, Miss Fairbairn. The vault holds knowledge that some would prefer remains buried."

I accepted the package, tucking it safely into my satchel. "Thank you."

He nodded, then added quietly, "Sometimes the most dangerous magic isn't the kind that burns. It's the kind that twists what's already there."

I thought of Gavriel then—of his soft words and persuasive tone, of how often I'd found myself agreeing to things I hadn't meant to agree to. How my own thoughts had seemed to slip away from me like water through cupped hands.

"I know," I said, and left before he could see the memory of that fear in my eyes.

The Council Hall stood at the city’s heart, its curved stone columns draped in ivy, the council’s seal only half-visible above the arched doorway. I remembered the first time I’d passedbeneath it—how the weight of those carved leaves had felt like judgment.

Now, I knew better. The intimidation wasn’t in the stone. It was in the way the place echoed. In the guards who didn’t speak, just watched. In the way my footsteps always sounded a little too loud, no matter how quietly I walked.

I’d been here twice before. The first time, when Uldrek and I stood before the Council to defend our bond. The second, when I came back alone—after the mark had healed, after the magic had settled—to have it formally recorded. That visit was quiet. Clerical. A mark in a book, a stamped seal, and suddenly it was real.

Today, I stepped through the doors not to prove anything but to find something. Not as a petitioner. As a seeker.

I followed the signs in the main hall directing visitors to the Records Office, descending a broad staircase to the lower level.

The air grew cooler as I descended. At the bottom of the stairs, a wide corridor stretched before me, lit by enchanted sconces that cast a steady, blue-white glow. Doors lined the hallway, each bearing a brass plaque identifying its purpose.

I found the one marked "Civic Records and Historical Holdings" and entered a spacious antechamber. A long counter separated the room, behind which several clerks worked at orderly desks. The walls were lined with filing cabinets and shelves of reference volumes.

A middle-aged woman with her hair pulled into a severe bun glanced up as I approached the counter. "May I help you?" she asked, her tone politely disinterested.

"I'd like to access the Civic Vault," I said, keeping my voice level and confident.

Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Do you have an approved petition form?"

"No, but I have this." I withdrew the silver token from my pouch and placed it on the counter.

The clerk picked it up, examining the seal impressed upon its surface. Her expression remained unchanged. "A recognition token doesn't grant access to restricted holdings. You'll need to file a formal petition." She slid a stack of forms toward me. "These must be completed in full, with justification for your request, and submitted for review. The process typically takes two to four weeks."

I felt a flicker of frustration but kept it from showing on my face. "Is there someone else I might speak to? The token was given to me by Councilor Thenholt himself."

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