As dusk fell upon Witherstone Isle, Vera downed the fifth tea of her evening shift. It was a mix of green and jasmine, her favorite, though she hadn't waited for it to brew completely or cool at all. It scorched her tongue and throat as she finished the mug in three swallows. She'd regret that later, but presently, all she needed was another hit of caffeine to keep upright.
She'd been on her feet for three days, but the ache in her soles had dulled into background noise, as did the chattering of students, librarians, and maintenance workers who dined nearby in the fourth-floor eatery. Vera spotted her friend Sybil a few tables away, who offered a sympathetic wave. Vera lingered, itching to grab a bowl of stew and join her. Instead, she waved back. Her work was not yet done.
She dumped her mug of tea into a basin before crossing the dining hall towards the back stairs. Some of her peers looked away as she passed. Others made no effort to hide how their gazes followed her.
Vera said nothing. She'd long since grown used to it. It wasn't her appearance that drew their attention. She was of average height and stature, and had matching light brown hair, skin, and eyes. The residents of the Silent Archive had ancestry from across the map, and many had features similar to hers. It was, rather, her reputation that distinguished her. Most within the Archive's walls had been born there. Vera had not. Even after all these years, she could not shake the label of outsider.
The stairs were wide and cut from dark mahogany. When she descended to the second floor, she spotted another familiar face on the landing. It was Corvin, the most senior of the archivists and her direct supervisor. He was in his middle years with a wiry build, fair skin, and dark graying hair swept back from his angular face. He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose when she passed him.
"Where are you off to?"
"The chained section," she said, fighting to keep from rolling her eyes. After all, he'd been the one to assign her there.
"Cataloging the identifications?"
"Yes."
Corvin gave a tight, amused smile. "While you're at it, then, will you clean the chains up a bit? I don't want them rusting after all of this recent weather."
Vera fixed him with a flat stare. That's not my job! She wanted to hiss. Go take it up with maintenance.
But she knew too well that Corvin would rather force it upon her than take the five minutes required to fill out the cleaning request form. Such was the price of her station.
At twenty-two, she was the youngest in generations to earn the rank of archivist. Most catalogers didn't see that promotion until their thirties. It was a testament to her hard work, but as the youngest of her rank, her new peers were far too eager to make her their task mule. Corvin was no exception.
Instead of retorting, however, Vera plastered a grin to her face. "Of course. No problem."
Corvin clicked his tongue, nodded once, then turned away. His robes blew paper dust in her face as he ascended the stairs, off to lavish in a hearty meal with the rest of the Archive. Vera let the smile drop and continued to the back wing.
The chained section was dim, with heavy crimson curtains draped in front of each window to obscure the fading sun. A few candelabras in the corners and a chandelier overhead were the only light to see by. It kept away prying eyes by design. This section held some of the Archive's most valuable possessions. Some were grimoires of forgotten sorcery. Others had dark creatures trapped within the incantations of their pages. All had a metal loop fixed to their spines where long rune-engraved chains bound them to the shelves so no visitor could take them from the Archive.
Vera got to work. Her initial task came first: recording the identification plaque of each title into a notepad, which she would later cross-check with the main ledger at the desk downstairs. It was tedious and time consuming, but necessary all the same. Accuracy was key to the magic that kept the Archive running. Misspell a title during bibliomancy, and one might accidentally rip a thousand-year-old relic in half.
Weariness pressed upon the edges of Vera's mind as she scribbled number after number into her notes. By the first shelf, her hand begin to throb. By the third, the sleeve of her white frock was drenched in dark blue ink.
I should've made more tea, she thought.
She didn't stop, though, even as the light behind the curtains fully winked out, and even as her eyelids began to droop. Only when something thundered overhead did she pause, blinking in confusion.
It took her a moment to identify the noise. Footsteps on the third floor, and many of them. As if the entire library had stood up to run across the room in unison.
Curiosity made her drop her notes and head back towards the stairs. Corvin surely couldn't blame her for investigating such a commotion. Perhaps she could sneak in another cup of tea while she was at it.
When she reached the dining hall, she found a mass of bodies crowded around the windows on the far wall, the ones that overlooked the front entrance of the Silent Archive. She wandered closer, straining to peer over the heads of those taller than her. Towards the corner, she found her friend Sybil. Sybil had tan skin, a tangle of chestnut curls cropped to her chin, and was rather short for her seventeen years. Her small stature, however, did not stop her from thrusting aside two younger students to clear a space for her to peer beyond the glass.
Vera tapped her on the shoulder, and Sybil turned to face her.
"What is everyone looking at?"
Sybil grinned. "See for yourself."
She stepped aside to let Vera into the throng. Vera squinted to make sense of what she was seeing. Beyond the Archive's entrance was the torch-lined stone path between the front doors and the grand iron gate.
And just past that gate was movement. The silhouettes of two beasts loomed over a cloaked figure. Even in the flickering torchlight, pools of darkness oozed around them. They held a blade in one hand, its silver sheen dripping with blood.
One of the beasts, a hulking scaled reptilian creature, lunged forward. The figure moved their blade faster than Vera could blink, the shadows moving with it and spilling out like a dark flame across the steel. It cut straight through the beast's throat. Blood sprayed across the stone. The figure moved back as it fell, one step closer to the Archive's gate.
"I see," Vera mused. "Everyone's watching the show."
And some show it was. The Silent Archive was the world's largest collection of magical texts and relics. Unassociated with any kingdom, it was open to all who could find it. Unfortunately for its many seekers, that was easier in theory than practice. Witherstone Isle appeared on few maps, and even if one found their way to its shores, they would quickly find the island to be riddled with thick swamps, shadowed forests, and monsters of every nightmare. Only the most skilled of adventurers made it through the gate. Some years, the Archive didn't see a single visitor. Now, though, this cloaked figure seemed to be making a valiant attempt to be one of those few.
Beside her, Sybil shook her head. "It's not just that. Don't you know who he is?"
Vera shrugged. "Why would I?"
"Look at those dark flames," Sybil said, pointing. "It's Blackfire magic. There's only one person in the Known World who can wield it."
Vera held up a hand. "Please don't give me some ridiculous moniker like 'The Dark Prince'. Too many adventurers who come here have ridiculous names."
Sybil's face turned sheepish. "Well, he's not a prince."
"What is it, then?"
"The Duke of Ruin."
Vera rolled her eyes. "Of course. Is he at least a real noble?"
Sybil nodded. "He's a disgraced duke from Esmya. He's spent the last few years on a rampage, trying to conquer his homeland."
"Sounds like he earns the name, then," Vera said.
Sybil opened her mouth to answer, but a voice beat her to it.
"Hard at work, are we?"
Vera sighed. She turned to find Thierry scowling at her. He was two years her junior, tall and lean with olive skin, dark coiffed hair, and sharp features like a fox. While most within the Archive ignored Vera or stared a bit too long, Thierry never hesitated to make his ill opinion of her––and by extension, Sybil––known to all. Unfortunately for him, it had been years since Vera had bothered to care.
"Only watching the show," Vera said, shrugging.
Thierry narrowed his eyes. "I just saw Corvin. After you clean the chains, he wants you to take over night duty in the atrium."
And would he like me to launder his robes while I'm at it? Vera thought.
She glanced back to the window. Outside, the cloaked man squared off with the remaining beast, something long-beaked and feathered. Thunder rumbled overhead, and the sky opened up into a downpour.
"You're kidding," Vera mumbled. Just what she needed.
"Afraid not," Thierry said.
Vera shouldered past him and made for the stairs again, taking them two at a time. Since she was assigned to the chained section, that made storm preparation her responsibility as well.
During poor weather, external magical energy could surge beyond the threshold of the Archive's seals. Several of the more volatile cursed books within the chained section were prone to bad reactions to such energy. Protocol demanded that these tomes be sealed in protective caches outside of the walls during the event of a storm.
She stifled a yawn. One more task to the list: send out the unstable books, finish recording the identification plaques, clean the chains, mind the main desk until dawn. If only she'd gotten the chance to make more tea.
It's fine, Vera told herself. Just another night.
One day, when she earned her place here, these long nights would be worth it. For now, she did what she always did. Bit her tongue and got to work.
・・・・・
The hours passed in a blur. Midnight came and went by the time Vera sat down at the desk on the ground floor. The Archive's atrium shimmered ahead of her, faintly glowing with panels upon panels of mirrors, the final test for those seeking entry into the library. Vera could not see the entrance beyond it, so there was no way to discern if the Duke of Ruin had defeated that feathered beast. Overhead, thunder had turned from a rumble to a crash that shook all five floors of the Archive. The weather was likely giving him trouble.
Vera blinked hard. Lack of sleep was drying out her eyes. She needed to compare her notes from earlier to the official ledger. Tedious, but it would keep her awake for another few hours. For a while, there was nothing but her and the flipping of pages and the crack of thunder.
When she finished, the hooded figure had still not arrived, and dawn was still two hours away. Her mind drifted back to Sybil's grin when she described him as a disgraced Esmyan duke on a rampage. Sybil was in training to become a teacher at the Archive, and her particular taste was of politics and the machinations of the outside world. Perhaps Vera could take inspiration and conduct some research on the man, at least to pass the time.
She fished through the desk to find a blank sheet of paper and a new quill and inkwell. There, she wrote the citation in shaky letters.
Pamphlet: Lenidor Times, Political Commentary, 12th Cycle Press.
Beside the desk was a retrieval shelf. It looked somewhat ordinary, but the grain of its dark wood was threaded with the golden light of spellwork. When Vera slotted the paper inside, it disappeared into a puff of mist. Moments later, a thin leather-bound book lay in its place.
Vera made herself as comfortable as she could in the old leather-cushioned chair, and began to flip through it. It was a booklet of recent political writings from the largest news pamphlet in Esmya's capital city of Lenidor. It didn't take long to find his name in the headlines.
Two years ago: Duke Elias Malvayne Poisons River, Brings Ruin to Crops.
One year ago: Grand Temple Engulfed in Malvayne's Blackfire.
Six months ago: Plague Spreads Across Esmya's Western Frontier, Experts Confirm Duke's Curse.
Three months ago: The Duke of Ruin Missing, His Shadow Army Continues to Siege Capital.
Vera's mind swam with the words. The Silent Archive drew many ambitious folks of unsavory backgrounds, but this? This was of extraordinary scale. He may be permitted entry if he made it through the gates, but she was under no obligation to serve him. Her job as archivist was to maintain the organization of the library's collections. Her vows said nothing of customer service. Perhaps she could pawn him off on whichever lower-rank cataloguer took over the desk come morning.
She blinked once more, but the pages blurred. Outside, the storm continued to thrash the Archive. Inside, her thoughts were melting into a puddle of ink and shadow. Her head would no longer remain upright, so she rested it on the leather cover of the booklet.
Two minutes, she thought. If no one comes in two minutes, I'll go up and make some more tea.
It was a promise she couldn't keep. She exhaled one long, slow breath, and her mind slipped into slumber's dark embrace.
・・・・・
The air was still and quiet. Too quiet. The gray light of dawn brushed against her eyelids, then a shadow fell across it. Vera peeled them open, the world still a haze.
Someone loomed over where she slumped across the desk. Tall and cloaked with venom-green irises glinting beneath a black hood.
Vera jerked upright, realization crashing upon her. The Duke of Ruin had made it through the gates. Elias Malvayne.
His eyes were narrowed in fury, and they were pointed directly at her.