Chapter 30: The Grand Duke Reads an Ancient Name (2)

I stopped.

Sleeps beneath gold.

Hmm. This is not merely interesting.

It was highly suspicious.

The Lorillis Desert was often called the Golden Death in ancient poems. A name that modern poets continued to misuse with far too much enthusiasm. But the phrase here was older than poetic convention.

Before the witness that sleeps beneath gold.

A witness.

Lorillis as keeper.

Something beneath the desert as witness.

My fingers twitched.

I wanted to touch the document. Not because I expected some mystical reaction, but because the old scholar in me wanted to examine the texture, ink composition, pressure of the strokes, and whether the smaller script had been added later.

The wards would likely object, though.

Should I break them?

But breaking preservation wards in the imperial archives would create an incident. A beautiful incident, perhaps, but not currently useful.

Patience. I have to be patient again.

How bothersome.

"Your Excellency?" the Crown Prince said.

I turned my head slightly.

He was watching me with clear interest.

"You have seen the Sonomi copy of this oath, I assume."

"I have."

"Does it match?"

"No. It doesn’t."

The words fell softly and the Crown Prince stilled.

Abi looked at me sharply.

I smiled faintly. "At least not entirely. There are differences."

The Crown Prince lowered his voice. "How different?"

"Different enough that I am curious. But not different enough that I am offended."

"That is... reassuring."

"It should not be."

His expression turned wry. "I am beginning to understand that reassurance from you is rarely straightforward."

"Good. It saves us time and trouble."

The Crown Prince looked back at the oath.

"Could the imperial copy have been altered?"

"Any document can be altered."

"Even one protected by imperial wards?"

"Especially one protected by imperial wards. People trust protection too much. The moment something is declared secure, half the world stops looking at it properly."

His gaze darkened thoughtfully.

I could almost see the gears in his little princely brain turning.

Yes. Think, Your Highness.

A prince who did not think was merely a decorative furniture wearing a crown.

"Do you think it was altered?" he asked.

"I think I need to see it more closely."

"That... may be difficult."

"Many worthwhile things are."

"I can request private access."

"Can you?"

The question was gentle but the meaning was not.

His jaw tightened subtly. I guess he understood what I meant.

Could he request private access? As Crown Prince, yes. In theory. But theory and power were estranged cousins in the imperial palace.

If his mother, father, advisors, or some hidden faction wished to control what he saw, even a formal right could become a ribbon tied around his throat.

"Perhaps," he said.

An honest answer. I suppose that’s a point in his favor.

"Then do so carefully," I said.

"And if I succeed?"

"Then we shall see whether the empire’s memory has been edited."

Abi’s eyes gleamed in delight at that. He has a nasty sense of humor, this Jinn.

The Crown Prince held my gaze for a long moment.

"You speak of the empire as if it were a person."

"Well, it behaves like one. It is proud, forgetful, and resistant to medical intervention."

He laughed softly despite himself.

A few nobles glanced over at the sound. I smiled at them pleasantly. They looked away.

Cowards.

Before the Crown Prince could say more, a scholar approached with an anxious smile. He was thin, bearded, and wearing the robe of an imperial archivist. His hands were clasped tightly before him, and his eyes shone with that particular mixture of reverence and terror possessed by men who loved old things but feared powerful people.

A kindred spirit?

No. Nope. Definitely not.

"Your Highness. Your Excellency," he greeted, bowing repeatedly. "Forgive the interruption. I am Archivist Pellan, assigned to oversee the founding collection."

"Archivist," the Crown Prince acknowledged.

The man turned to me. "It is an honor beyond words to have the Grand Duke of Sonomi view these humble pieces."

If it was beyond words, why was he still speaking?

"Your collection is fascinating," I said politely.

The man looked as if I had blessed his bloodline.

"Thank you, Your Excellency. Truly. It is said that House Konstantin possesses one of the most complete private archives in the continent. I have long dreamed of one day viewing even a catalogue."

"No."

His face fell.

The Crown Prince looked down, suspiciously entertained.

Abi made a soft sound that could have been sympathy if he were capable of it.

I sighed. "Perhaps a limited exchange of copied records could be arranged in the future."

The archivist revived with alarming speed.

"Truly?"

"If the imperial archives proves capable of caring for what it already has."

His expression stiffened.

I gestured faintly toward the false dagger across the hall. "For instance, you may wish to revisit the authentication of the ceremonial blade attributed to Emperor Valerian I."

The archivist blinked and then paled like a bleached paper.

Ah. So he had suspected it but had not dared say.

Typical.

"Your Excellency noticed."

"Yes. Unfortunately, your plaque did not."

The man looked as if he had been stabbed.

That’s fine. Pain was a fine teacher.

"I will have it reviewed immediately," he said.

"Yes. You should do that."

He bowed, then hesitated. His gaze flickered to the founding oath.

"If I may... Your Excellency seemed particularly interested in the lower invocation."

I stilled and Abi stopped smiling.

The Crown Prince’s eyes sharpened.

Alas, the archivist did not notice. Poor man.

Scholars truly walked into danger when distracted by their passions. It was an occupational habit at this point.

"It is a curious line," he continued. "Before the witness that sleeps beneath gold. Most modern interpretations dismiss it as poetic language, but I have always wondered whether it referred to an old eastern deity. There are fragments in the lower vault that mention watchers, keepers, and old vows beneath the sands. Some even use terms that appear almost theological, though not consistent with any recognized pantheon."

I looked at him carefully.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, Your Excellency. There are also references to creatures called the dusk-born in some damaged missionary accounts from the pre-founding period. Though it is unclear whether they were monsters, tribes, or merely symbolic enemies."

Dusk-born? Not demons?

But close enough to make something deep in the atmosphere feel subtly colder.

However, I noticed Abi’s face had gone unreadable.

"Archivist Pellan," I said pleasantly, "how many people have access to those fragments?"

The man blinked. "Ah, not many. The lower vault is restricted, after all. His Highness was granted temporary viewing privileges by Her Majesty’s approval, but most scholars require direct authorization."

"From who?"

"That’s obvious. The imperial seal or the archive keeper."

"And where is the archive keeper?"

"Oh? Lord Keeper Marcellus? He is overseeing the deeper vault preparations, Your Excellency."

Preparations? But the exhibition is already underway. What else is he preparing for?

"What preparations?"

The archivist seemed to realize, belatedly, that he might have said too much.

"Ah, merely preservation work."

A lie. A blatant, poorly thought of lie.

I smiled which made the man paled further.

"How diligent of you," I said.

"Y-Yes."

The Crown Prince’s expression remained composed, but his eyes had turned cold.

So he had not known.

The archive exhibition had just developed another layer.

Someone was preparing something in the deeper vaults while the Crown Prince was being shown carefully selected fragments.

Whether that someone was loyal to him, against him, or using him, I had yet to determine.

But the board was gaining pieces.

Archivist Pellan excused himself soon after, likely to flee before his tongue betrayed more secrets for him. I let him go. Cornering him here would be crude. Such a shame though. It would have been easy coaxing secrets from him.

Oh well, frightened scholars were easy to catch later. It doesn’t matter.

The Crown Prince turned toward me once he left. "I was not informed of deeper vault preparations."

"I noticed."

"You believe it is connected?"

"I believe that coincidence is often a lazy form of disguise."

Abi looked toward the sealed doors at the far end of the hall. "There is something below."

The Crown Prince glanced at him. "Below?"

Abi smiled faintly. "Something sealed and pretending to sleep."

My skin prickled.

Not from fear but more of a recognition without memory.

It was a strange sensation.

It came and went so quickly that I almost dismissed it.

For a second, the hall seemed too bright. The glass cases too fragile and the imperial crest too young. The words on the ancient oath echoed in my mind.

Witness that sleeps beneath gold.

Keeper beneath the sun-scoured silence.

I frowned.

It feels annoyingly unpleasant.

I disliked it when my instincts knew something before I did. It was usually right and that just means more work for me.

It felt unfair. But such is the life of a villain lord.

"Brother?" Abi’s voice had lowered.

I glanced at him.

He was watching me but his whole person was devoid of the usual teasing and laughing.

That irritated me more than his jokes.

"I am fine," I said.

"I did not ask anything."

"You were about to."

He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

The Crown Prince looked between us, clearly aware that something had shifted but lacking the context to understand it.

I did too, apparently, and I found that extremely rude of the universe.

"Your Highness," I said, turning back to him, "I believe this exhibition has become more interesting than expected."

His mouth curved faintly. "Is that good a thing?"

"For me? Yes."

"And for the empire?"

"That remains to be seen."

The doors at the far end of the hall opened before he could respond.

A tall man in dark archive robes stepped inside.

The atmosphere changed immediately. Not by much. It was just a subtle tightening in the air, like a string being pulled somewhere unseen.

The scholars straightened and the nobles glanced over.

The Crown Prince’s expression became unreadable.

The man was elderly, though not frail. His hair was white, his face lined, and his eyes a pale gray that seemed to take in everything without moving. Around his neck hung a heavy key shaped like a coiled serpent biting its tail.

Lord Keeper Marcellus, I presumed.

He bowed to the Crown Prince first, then to me.

"Your Highness. Your Excellency. I am pleased the exhibition has drawn such distinguished appreciation."

His voice was smooth and polished.

Like oil poured over a locked blade.

"Lord Keeper," the Crown Prince said. "I was told there are preparations being made in the deeper vaults."