The message lay on her desk for hours before she dared touch it again .
The ink had dried dark , almost brown , as if written not with pigment but with blood .
The truth has a price .
Elira read it once more before she folded it into her satchel .
Whoever sent it wanted her afraid .
Instead , it made her curious .
She had lived her life by memory — truth catalogued , recorded , preserved .
But this felt different .
This truth was alive , moving beneath the surface of the realm like a buried current .
She needed answers .
The archives were near — deserted that morning , the air heavy with dust and candle smoke .
She descended the spiral stair into the sub — archives , where old war records and family oaths were kept .
No one came here anymore .
No one but the Archscribe .
“Child ,” Thalin said without looking up as she entered .
“You are early , even for suspicion .”
Elira managed a faint smile .
“You always did say curiosity was the sharper sin .”
He glanced at her then , eyes sharp beneath the hood of his scholar is cowl .
“And yet it keeps the world from rotting .
What brings you to the depths ?”
She placed the folded message before him .
“This.”
Thalin studied it briefly , expression unreadable .
“You have made enemies faster than I predicted .”
“Who wrote it ?”
He exhaled , slow .
“That , I cannot tell .
But the ink …
see the granules ?
That is no merchant is pigment .
It is distilled from fire root — ritual grade .
Forbidden since the purge of the old temples .”
Elira frowned .
“You mean — ?”
He nodded once .
“Someone wants you to remember what this kingdom has chosen to forget .”
The words chilled her .
“The old gods .”
“Or the people who still serve them ,” Thalin said softly .
“The ones who understand that truth is not just knowledge — it is power .
Power your blood seems eager to awaken .”
She stared at him .
“My blood ?”
“Do you think I never noticed your memory gift ?
Perfect recall is rare , child .
But the ability to sense falsehood — that belongs only to those descended from the keepers of the First Memory .
The royal bloodline was once bound to them , before the schism .”
Elira is throat tightened .
“You meant — I”
“I mean you carry something the court would kill for ,” Thalin said .
“Keep that knowledge close , Elira .
Especially from the Prince .”
She met his gaze .
” I trust him .”
“Then you are already lost.
”
A dusk feast was held in the Hall of lanterns , celebrating the renewal of trade with the Northern provinces .
The court gathered in glitter and silk , laughter as brittle as glass .
Elira stood at the far edge , fulfilling her duty as royal scribe — documenting , observing , unseen .
Or so she tried .
Caelum is eyes found her almost immediately .
He was dressed in black and silver , the sigil of Darethia worked across his shoulder .
To anyone else he seemed perfectly composed , but she saw the subtle strain — the fatigue behind his control .
He crossed to her under the pretext of retrieving a report .
“You look uneasy ,” he said softly .
“I have been warned ,” she replied .
“By whom ?”
“By someone who claims to know my blood better than I do .”
He frowned .
“The Archscribe ?”
She did not answer .
His expression darkened .
“Elira , there are things Thalin hides from even me .”
She lifted her gaze .
“Then perhaps you and I are both bound by half – truths .”
He studied her for a long moment .
Then quieter : “You are trembling.
”
“I am not .”
“You are .”
She tried to pull her hand away when he reached for it — but his touch lingered , steady , grounding .
“Whatever you have learned ,” he said , “do not face it alone .”
The warmth of his voice was more dangerous than any threat .
“Is that a command ?” She asked .
“A request .”
Lady Solenne had entered , late , glittering in crimson silk .
She moved like a blade wrapped in velvet .
Her gaze slid to Caelum — and then to Elira .
She smiled .
“Your Highness ,” she purred , approaching .
“A moment ?”
Caelum is hand dropped from Elira’s as though burned .
“Of course.
”
Solenne leaned close , whispering something Elira could not hear .
Whatever it was , Caelum is jaw tightened .
Then Solenne looked back at Elira and smiled again — slow , drliberate .
It was a promise of ruin .
Later , when the hall had emptied and only embers flickered in the great hearth ,
Elira lingered alone to gather scrolls .
A faint sound behind her — fabric shifting .
She turned .
Solenne stood in the shadows , half — lit by firelight .
“You play a dangerous game , little scribe ,” she said softly .
The Prince has a history of burning those who get too close .”
Elira faced her squarely .
“And yet you survived .”
Solenne is laugh was soft and sharp .
“Survival and victory are not the same .
Remember that .”
She stepped closer .
“You think your honesty will save him .
But this court feeds on truth , girl .
The more you give , the hungrier it gets .”
Elira is voice was steady .
“If I burn , I will make sure the light reaches you first .”
For a heartbeat , Solenne is mask slipped — something flickered in her gaze .
Rage , or fear .
Then she smiled again , cold and perfect .
“We shall see .”
She vanished into the dark corridor , leaving the faint scent of smoke and Jasmine .
Elira stood alone in the dying light , her pulse still racing .
She looked down at her hands – ink – stained , trembling – and thought of Y
Thalin is words .
Truth is power .
And power , she now knew , came with a cost she had yet begun to pay .
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