The Blood Forest (Tree of Ages #3)(25)

He shook his head and glanced at Niklas, who stood immobile, staring at the distant Archive. While Anders was terrified of the Ceàrdaman, they weren’t going around slaughtering entire villages or attacking refugees . . . at least, not to his knowledge.

“There,” Niklas pointed.

Anders squinted past his outstretched finger. A woman dressed in fine black silks conversed with a guard at the main entrance to the Archive. Her long, fiery red hair stood out in contrast, even from a distance. “She is not one of the Archive scholars, unless someone new was appointed after I left.”

“Not a scholar,” Niklas replied, “but our cue to approach the Archive.”

“I told you before, even if the guards know me, they will not let one of the Ceàrdaman past the gates.” He turned to raise a skeptical eyebrow at Niklas, then jumped back in surprise.

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.”