Chapter 2 — White Pages, Crimson Margins

There were seven days left.

Of course, I didn't know that.

At the time, my biggest problem was Seris threatening to cut my shirt off.

“Touch it and die.”

She held the healer's scissors beside my ribs and smiled. “That's dramatic.”

“This shirt survived a gravewyrm.”

“Barely.”

“So did I.”

Cassian, sitting on the next bed with a bandage around his forearm, looked over. “The shirt's in worse shape.”

“Thank you for your support.”

“Anytime.”

Seris rolled her eyes and went back to cleaning the cut along my side. The healers had already handled the worst of it, but apparently that wasn't enough for her.

Nothing was ever enough for Seris when she thought I'd gotten hurt.

I used to complain about that.

Funny, the things you miss.

Her fingers paused near an old scar beneath my ribs.

“You still have this?”

“Scars tend to stay.”

“I meant this one.”

Cassian groaned.

“Oh no.”

I looked between them. “What?”

Seris's mouth started curling upward.

“No.”

“You don't even know what I'm going to say.”

“I know that face.”

Cassian leaned back on his hands. “I know that face too.”

Seris tapped the scar.

“The archive.”

I shut my eyes.

“Absolutely not.”

She laughed.

And suddenly I could smell dust again.

Not gravewyrm blood.

Not medicine.

Dust, old paper, candle wax...

and stolen pastries.

Years earlier, Cassian and I had been running for our lives.

Not from monsters.

Not soldiers.

Worse.

Priests.

“Faster,” Cassian hissed.

“I am going faster.”

“You're wearing ceremonial boots!”

“So are you!”

“Yes, but I planned ahead!”

“That sentence makes no sense!”

Behind us, bells rang through Caeloria's upper halls.

Not alarm bells.

Procession bells.

Technically, nobody was chasing us yet.

We'd simply decided we'd rather commit a small crime than spend another three hours smiling at nobles.

The annual Radiant Procession was supposed to celebrate the founding of Caeloria.

In practice, it meant I had to wear white, stand straight, wave politely, and listen while strangers explained my destiny to me.

Cassian had lasted twenty minutes.

I lasted twenty-two.

Then he'd whispered, “Want to disappear?”

I'd answered, “Desperately.”

That was how two supposedly respectable young Aetherians ended up slipping through a service corridor while an entire city waited for us outside.

We took the first unlocked door.

Bad choice.

Cassian stopped.

I stopped.

Rows of shelves stretched into darkness.

Old books.

Sealed cases.

Silver chains across several aisles.

A sign beside us read:

RESTRICTED CELESTIAL ARCHIVE.
AUTHORIZED SCHOLARS ONLY.

Cassian slowly looked at me.

“Well.”

I looked back.

“We should leave.”

“Definitely.”

Neither of us moved.

“You curious?” he asked.

“No.”

“Same.”

We went in.

To this day, I blame him.

We'd made it three shelves before someone spoke.

“You two are terrible criminals.”

I froze.

Cassian reached for the knife hidden beneath his ceremonial coat.

A girl sat on top of a rolling ladder ahead of us with a book open across her knees.

Human.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Humans weren't banned from Caeloria, but finding one inside a restricted celestial archive was a little like finding a fish in your bedroom.

Possible, probably.

Still concerning.

She had pale-gold hair tied with a blue ribbon and the most amused expression I'd ever seen.

Cassian lowered his hand.

“You didn't see us.”

“I did.”

“No, you didn't.”

She looked at me.

Then at the halo above my head.

Then at my ceremonial clothes.

Her eyebrows rose.

“Oh.”

I sighed.

Here it comes.

She climbed down.

Cassian whispered, “Should we run?”

“Probably.”

The girl reached the floor.

She didn't bow.

I waited.

Nothing.

She just stared at me.

Finally, I asked, “Aren't you supposed to do something?”

“Probably.”

“Like?”

“Bow, I assume.”

Cassian covered his mouth.

I glared at him.

She shut her book.

“I'd rather be arrested standing than introduced while kneeling.”

Silence.

Then Cassian laughed.

Not politely.

He doubled over against a shelf.

I stared at her.

She stared back.

And, against every lesson I'd ever been taught about dignity, I started laughing too.

That was the first time Seris made me forget I was the Star-Chosen.

It wouldn't be the last.

“What are you doing in here?” I asked.

She pointed at the book.

“Reading.”

“I gathered that.”

“Then why ask?”

Cassian wiped his eyes.

“I like her.”

“You've known her thirty seconds.”

“Twenty-five more than I needed.”

Seris smiled.

“And you're trespassing.”

“So are you.”

“I have permission.”

She held up a bronze archive token.

Cassian looked offended.

“That's disappointing.”

“Sorry.”

“What are you reading?” I asked.

Her expression changed.

Just slightly.

“A record the Council doesn't like people reading.”

That should've mattered more.

At the time, it didn't.

That got my attention.

“What kind of record?”

“The boring kind.”

“You just said the Council doesn't like it.”

“Forbidden things can still be boring.”

Cassian leaned beside me to look at the page.

Most of it was written in old celestial script, the kind scholars loved and normal people avoided whenever possible. Notes crowded the margins in several different hands.

Seris pointed to one faded line.

“It's about the first coronation oaths. Before the Council standardized them.”

I frowned. “You read old Aetherian?”

“Better than you, apparently.”

“I can read it.”

“Then what's that word?”

She pointed.

I stared.

Cassian leaned closer.

“Go on, Star-Chosen.”

“I dislike both of you already.”

Seris smiled. “Consent.”

The word had been scratched through so heavily it was almost gone.

For some reason, that bothered me.

“Why erase it?”

“That,” Seris said, closing the book, “is what I'm trying to find out.”

A bell rang somewhere outside.

She glanced toward the door, then back at my clothes.

“Shouldn't you be waving at people right now?”

“Yes.”

“Shouldn't everyone be looking for you?”

“Eventually.”

Cassian checked the corridor through a crack in the doorway.

“Probably sooner than eventually.”

Seris looked between us.

“You ran away from your own procession?”

“I prefer strategically withdrew.”

“From smiling?”

“You haven't met the nobles.”

“I've met scholars. Same thing, less perfume.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

There it was again.

That strange feeling.

She knew exactly who I was, and somehow she wasn't impressed.

I liked that more than I should've.

Maybe that's why I ignored the scratched-out word.

Maybe that's why, years later, I still remembered it.

Some warnings only make sense once it's already too late.

Before I could ask, footsteps sounded outside.

Seris's eyes widened.

“Archivists.”

Cassian pointed at her token. “You're allowed here.”

“Not in this section.”

I looked at the silver chains behind her.

“Of course.”

A key turned in the door.

Seris grabbed her book.

“Move.”

We ran.

I followed a human girl I'd met less than a minute earlier through an archive I wasn't supposed to be inside while Cassian laughed behind us like this was the best day of his life.

Seris ducked under a chain.

I didn't.

My halo caught it.

The entire barrier came down.

Three shelves shook.

“Zyrion!”

“I know!”

A stack of scrolls fell onto Cassian.

“I hate you!”

“That feels unfair!”

“Left!” Seris yelled.

We turned right.

“Other left!”

“You weren't clear!”

“How many lefts do you have?!”

We burst into another room.

Tables.

Display cases.

Ceremonial banners.

And, for reasons I still don't understand, twelve silver trays of pastries.

Cassian stopped.

“Oh.”

“No.”

“Zyrion.”

“No.”

“We skipped breakfast.”

“We're being chased.”

“So we'll need energy.”

Seris stared at us.

“You're both idiots.”

Cassian grabbed three pastries.

She grabbed two.

I looked betrayed.

Seris shoved one into my hand.

“Run, hero.”

So I did.

We escaped through a restoration window, landed in a hedge two floors below, and spent the next ten minutes hiding behind a statue while archivists shouted above us.

Cassian ate his second pastry.

Seris had leaves in her hair.

I was bleeding from the scar she'd reminded me of years later.

And somehow, none of us could stop laughing.

“What was your name?” I finally asked.

She looked at me like I'd asked something ridiculous.

“Seris.”

“Zyrion.”

“I know.”

“Right.”

Cassian held out his hand.

“Cassian.”

“I know that too.”

His smile faltered.

“Really?”

“You're the strategist who won at Veyr Pass.”

For once, someone had recognized him before mentioning me.

Cassian's whole face lit up.

I remembered that.

I remembered all of it.

Which is probably why returning to the healer's room hurt more than the wound.

Seris was still smiling.

Cassian was too.

Seven days remained.

Seven days before the archives would help condemn me.

Seven days before Cassian's name would mean something very different.

Seven days before Seris would become a memory I couldn't escape.

But that night, she only tightened my bandage and said, “Still glad we stole those pastries.”

Cassian grinned.

“Best crime we ever committed.”

I laughed.

Back then, I still believed the worst thing hidden in an archive was a forbidden book.

I hadn't learned yet that sometimes the most dangerous thing written down...

is your name.