There were no reservations for tables on the public floor of the archive, but Aria’s table belonged to no one else. In the early mornings, it was almost jarring to see the rich dark wood clear of her scrawling note and piles of books. The early morning sunlight illuminated the dust in the air like snow fluttering slowly downward and settled on her table. As soon as the doors opened, she would be there.

Simon settled in at his own desk, peering over the paper that had been placed upon it. A new assignment from Mari. He would be continuing what she had begun, documenting the artifacts in the basement with illustrations. The grimace that tattled on his face was involuntary. It wasn’t that it was difficult work, but art had never been something Simon excelled at. That was why she had assigned him this, he knew. If he was going to become the Head Archivist someday, he needed to be able to follow in his father’s footsteps and thrive in all areas of his work.

At least, tucked away in the basement, Isador would not be able to find him. He could take his time— Mari wouldn’t question that. If anything, his meticulous nature would be praised. If he played his cards right, this might be the sort of project that could occupy him for several months. A small sketchbook had been placed on his desk with pencils and inks. There was no need to wait. It would be easy to retreat now.

Simon rose, plucking his basement key from his drawer, and left the office. Perhaps it was habit that brought him through the rows of shelves toward the public tables.

She sat there, eyes trained upon the papers she’d sprawled over the surface.

She was always studying, never speaking. If Simon had to guess based on the volumes she pulled, he would come to the same conclusion as anyone who knew her story: if her father could not continue his work, she would do it for him. It was a dangerous path to walk. Her father had been a brilliant man, no one doubted that. But his ideas had been strange. Warped. And one could only wrap their mind around so many twisted ideas before it became tangled.

As Simon stood there, Aria turned her head, meeting his eyes. Her face was flat, thin lips pressed together, eyes blank. She did not wave him forward or ask for him to leave. She did not turn away.

Simon approached as carefully as he might approach a bear.

”I need something from you,” she said. Her voice was low and held all the scratched quality of someone who had not spoken aloud in years.

”Good morning,” Simon responded, brow furrowing.

Aria stood, her gray skirt swinging around her, soft fabric pooling at her hips and her ankles. It fit her strangely. It certainly had not been made for her. She was taller than Simon by several inches and thinner. She had become paler in the last few years— had she been out in the sun at all recently, or was her time spent entirely in this room? “Right. Good morning. Are you willing to assist me or no?”

Simon blinked. “What can I help with?” he asked, letting out a small sigh. This wasn’t how she’d spoken to him before, but if he had interrupted her in the middle of something important, she might be a bit more urgent with him. That made enough sense. And if she had only been around her father in the last few years, maybe she was simply out of practice with polite conversation.

”I need access to the basement. The First Scepter.”

It wasn’t that it was an especially strange request. The First Scepter was widely known and had been one of the most important artifacts in the archives for the last several hundred years. That Aria had taken an interest in it while studying the royal family’s magical lineage was apt. But the frantic way in which she spoke, all while maintaining a perfectly calm face, was enough to make Simon’s skin crawl.

”I… yeah. I can show you that.” He straightened himself. “Do you want to put your things in my office so you don’t need to carry it?” Simon glanced over the papers strewn about the table, but before he had the wherewithal to take in any of her scratched handwriting, Aria snatched them in her hands.

”I will take them with me.”

Simon nodded. “Alright. Alright, yes.” He shouldn’t question anything about this, he was certain. Aria wouldn’t like that. Still, silence was too uncomfortable with her standing over him. It wasn’t like the quiet that he could settle into around Isador or Chalice. It hung in the air, thick and unyielding. “How has your father been?” It was a better question than any other he could conjure as he moved through the shelves.

”He has been better, but he is not unwell.”

That was a vague answer, but Simon didn’t press. If Aria wanted to talk about it at greater length, she would. If she did not, she would not. “I’m glad.” He had been in a rather unpleasant state when Simon last saw him, just before the man stopped leaving his home. Granted, he had never seemed to like Simon much, so maybe he had only seen him when he was not at his best.

Mikhail Knight had never been Simon’s enemy, nor his father’s. But there were times when it seemed that he was unsure about that. He would have been a perfect contender for the role of Head Archivist. A better fit than Simon, certainly.

”He inquires after you often.”

Simon raised a brow. “And what do you tell him?” It wasn’t a polite thing to ask, but his curiosity spoke before his etiquette could even attempt to enter the conversation. Aria never spoke with him.

”I tell him that you are an archivist shadowing Mari Al-Din.”

Simon kept himself in line enough to keep from laughing. She had become quite the master of vague comments.

”You are pursuing your father’s role.”

”It has been decided for me, yes.”

That was the only response he could give. The fewer people who knew his intentions, the better. Chalice had told him to keep his guard up with Aria and even without that suggestion, he had to admit that her current demeanor did not make him trust her with that sort of information. Something about her seemed so wrong. Perhaps she had simply been too deep in her studies.

”The family wants it done and so it shall be.”

She wasn’t wrong.

”I hope I can be deserving of the role,” Simon murmured, approaching the first door in the basement. He inserted the key, holding the door for Aria. He should have brought the sketchbook with him. At least he could have looked busy in front of her.

”It does not matter if you are. If it has been decided, it is done. They would want your families united in some form.” She kept close to him, her fists curled at her sides and her books tucked beneath her arm. “A family of historians would be useful. And certainly your lineage would make you and your kin powerful.”

Simon grimaced, stopping at the second door. Aria stood over him, watching him as if he was her subject of study. From the way she seemed to understand the situation, he very well may have been. Had she been watching him as much as he had watched her?

She didn’t say anything, only staring. It felt as if she could look directly through his eyes and into his mind. It had always felt like that.

”What are you hoping to learn from The First Scepter?” Simon asked, focusing on the way the cold brass of the doorknob chilled his palm. Aria would not like for him to pry, but he could not let the conversation linger where it was. The less he allowed himself to think about those things, the better. It only ever resulted in a headache and heightened nerves.

”It is of little concern.”

That was the answer he expected. The kind thing to do would be to insist that he was interested, to show that he cared about what she was studying regardless. It would not help, though. Simon knew that. Instead, he just sighed, turning the knob and holding open the door for Aria to move inside.

She walked as if she knew exactly where each artifact was. Maybe she did. It was easy for her to rush toward the end of the room, her skirt trailing behind her like a ghost. Simon kept quiet.

Why did she have to know exactly why the royal family wanted him? Why did she have to say it out loud? That sort of thing ought to remain unspoken. Simon had every right not to think about it, and in a second she had stripped him of that.

Simon followed her, pushing a stray strand of hair out of his eyes and taking a deep breath. He did not need to think about this right now. Aria stood before him, eyes locked onto a glass case, staring at a small object.

For the way people spoke of The First Scepter, it felt as if it ought to have been large, but it was just a handheld thing coated in gold and jewels and delicate etching.

The legends made it seem so grand. When the first king of Maval, not yet a leader, over a thousand years ago, took it in his hands, it was as if a blinding light had rushed through his veins and through the land which he was to rule. A gift with which he could channel magic that ran through his veins, given by the world itself.

”Has your team come closer to knowledge of its origin?” Aria asked.

Simon was surprised by the question. With all her studies and with the way she had looked at him with such disdain, why was she asking him for information? She knew as much as he would. “No. The gold has been confirmed to be Mavalian, but the gems still remain confusing. And the maker is unknown, but suspected to—“

”To be your relation.”

Simon nodded.

The Kahn family had been known for their work tangential to magic for hundreds of years. Never direct, but always close, scholars and record keepers for as long as anyone could remember and further. There was no recorded history of the First Scepter’s creation, but there was knowledge that they had been in the area. If there was a perfect conduit for magic, it was likely to have come from them.

”The way a thousand years twists a story, though, it isn’t very commonly thought that the first king just found it in the forest. There’s more to it, but the lack of records then makes it hard to figure out what really happened.” Simon didn’t know why he bothered speaking. Aria was certain to know this already.

”We can know.” Aria stared straight ahead, not even sparing Simon the slightest of glances. The certainty in her voice made him uneasy. “Let me inspect it.”

Simon had little control over himself when his face contorted and his voice raised in confusion. “What? No.”

People didn’t just handle this sort of artifact. He wouldn’t even touch things of this value with Mari’s permission. The idea of dropping something so old, of causing any sort of damage or even somehow imbuing it with the wrong type of energy was beyond anything he would ever be able to handle. That was above his admittedly decently high pay grade.

Aria turned, stepping too close as her clothing and hair billowed around her. “Simon. Let me hold it.” She didn’t raise her voice, but the air seemed to become colder all around them.

Simon took a step back. “My keys don’t even open that type of case.”

”That’s a lie.”

It was. “I mean it. I can’t open that for you. We can’t be handling an artifact like that.”

The heat in her eyes made Simon surprised when she didn’t strike him. Everything about her bristled and the way her lip curled reminded him of a dog giving a final warning. “You’re as bad as the royal family.”

Simon kept quiet and still as she turned, hurrying quickly out of the room. Even from where he stood, the sound of her footsteps against the stairway were almost deafening. It sent a chill through him. Aria had been such a silent enigma in the archives, day after day for the last several years, never asking for his attention or even starting quiet conversation, but now she left him feeling as if he had witnessed an explosion.

His gaze fell to the scepter, the way his reflection was distorted in the jewels.

If it had been created by someone in his family tree, they would be greatly disappointed in what their fruit had become. All the other branches had withered. His father had been the last to bear the family name, and he had never married, passing with only one child born of a messy night with a woman he hardly knew. Not a mistake— he had always assured Simon of that— just something that wouldn’t work out. A poor girl who would never have fared well in the eyes of the royal court. Perhaps Simon took after her too well.

This lineage would dissolve by the end of the century.

Any ability they may have had if bound to the royal family would remain undiscovered. If the power of centuries of scholars and craftsmen was such that it would become explosive when combined with the magic of the royal line, it must be kept from it.

Simon would not be their tool.

And he would not be Aria’s.

His hands trembled as he stood in the wake of what had once been their friendship, but he knew. This was not what it had once been. Aria Knight was committed to her studies and her interests. Simon was not her subject or her hobby. Or, it seemed, her friend.

She was too different now.

The glimmering blue of the gems in the scepter reflected the bags under his sunken eyes and the hollow of his cheeks in a distorted and confusing shape. Perhaps he was different as well.