The Blood Forest (Tree of Ages #3)(26)

His eyes continued to dart around the courtyard, searching for his parents, though he was not sure he was ready to face them. He’d hoped to avoid the Archives all together until he had Branwen back by his side.

“The left,” Niklas said simply, then eyed Anders not-so-patiently to lead the way.

He took a steadying breath, then cut across the courtyard toward the first entrance into the left wing. He’d had access to the wing previously, but would have to speak with one of the watchers before he could enter. Niklas would likely not be allowed inside, but he decided against voicing his concerns. Niklas would not listen anyway.

Reaching the door, he held it open for Niklas to walk inside. He followed him, glancing each way down the hall, half-expecting to spot the red haired woman they’d seen at the gates.

Instead, they saw a brown-haired woman, peeking her head out one of the many book-filled rooms. “Anders!”

He sighed in relief. “Lissandra,” he greeted, approaching her. “Could you perhaps give me access to the High Wing?”

Her smile faltered as she moved fully into the hall. “Anders, where have you been? We expected at least the occasional messenger. Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

He chuckled, attempting to give off an air of calm, though he’d never been a skilled liar. “It was a long journey, and I was given few opportunities to send word. I’ll explain everything once I’ve seen my parents. I simply wanted to look over a certain tome to compare it to the information I have to share.”

“Information worth recording?” she asked slyly, her attitude quickly transitioning. “I will be your chosen scribe, won’t I?”

“Of course,” Anders replied.

“Well if that’s the case,” Lissandra replied, “I suppose I can wait to hear of your adventures until later.” Grinning, she scurried back into the room and began riffling through the drawers of a parchment scattered desk. Candles littered the desk’s surface, dripping wax onto papers yellowed with age. Anders bit his tongue before he could insult her. Lissandra had always been careless.

“Aha!” she chuckled, turning around with a golden key in her hand.

She walked past Anders into the hall, then finally took the time to observe Niklas. Her eyes narrowed. “Greetings, do I know you?”

“An emissary from the Gray City,” Anders explained.

“Ah,” she replied, nodding. She continued past them further down the hall, her shapeless burgundy scholar’s robe trailing behind her

They followed her as she chattered about what had been happening in the Archive since Anders’ departure, though he could scarcely gather his thoughts enough to listen to her. The corridor curved at the end, leading to a set of ornate wooden doors with heavy gold locks. A guard was stationed at either side of the doorway.

“Greetings,” Lissandra muttered, barely even looking at the guards as she unlocked the doors. As one of the Archive’s head scholars, her access to the secured room was a normal affair.

She led Anders and Niklas inside, then froze. The fiery-haired woman stood by one of the massive shelves, running her fingers along leather-bound book spines.

Lissandra gasped, then stepped inside the room. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

The woman turned around casually, piercing Lissandra with her sparkling blue eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here,” the woman purred, then muttered some words under her breath.

Lissandra dropped to the ornately pattered rug.

Anders rushed to her and knelt, then exhaled in relief to find her still breathing. She just seemed to be in a heavy sleep. He looked over his shoulder toward the guards, but they both faced forward outside the door, still as statues. What in the Horned One’s name was going on?

Niklas stepped fully into the room as the woman muttered a few more words. The doors slammed shut behind him, seemingly of their own volition.

“One of the Ceàrdaman,” the woman observed, curling the corner of her rouged lips. “How . . . interesting.”

Anders stood, glancing at Niklas in confusion. He still had his tanned skin and normal eyes. How had she distinguished his true identity? He would have asked her, if he didn’t feel frozen as that piercing blue gaze turned to him.

“And you,” she added. Using only her eyes, she looked him up and down, seeming to recognize him.

“D-do I know you?” he stammered, straightening his cloak to make sure his uniform was covered.

She rolled her eyes. “No, but I know you. Not that you’re special. I know most everyone.” She moved her gaze back to Niklas. “Perhaps you can offer me aid. I’m looking for a particular volume.”

“Ar Marbhdhraíocht?” he questioned.

The woman widened her eyes in surprise. “Why yes.”

Humming to himself, Niklas glided across the room to a shelf far from where the woman had been looking. He pulled out a massive, black volume, then walked back to the woman, thunking it into her waiting palms.

She looked down at the book like a noblewoman examining a fine jewel. Her eyes flicked to Niklas, then to Anders, then she clutched the book against her chest protectively. “I suppose I’ll be off.”

Niklas stepped forward and placed a hand on her arm, still hugging the black book. “Not quite, my dear. You have bargained for information from one of the Ceàrdaman. Now you must grant me a boon.”