Every day, the Archivist brought us cookies while we read.

It was such a silly, ordinary thing. Cookies. From a man whose eyes made my skin crawl.

They were almond shortbread topped with candied sprinkles. They didn't even crumb, which was helpful with a book in my hands. It was hard to keep track of my sleeping and waking hours without sunlight, but between the arcane lights flickering off every "night" and the cookies every "midday," I established some sort of an awareness.

The candied sprinkles were impressive enough, those were expensive, but I had no idea where he managed to get almonds. They grew along the east coast, in the foothills between the sea and the mountain range that ran down the eastern side of Avengard, reaching from beyond Elann to Heldren.

They were expensive in peace times. In the middle of a war, I decided he must have had a stash of them. He could have had a stash of anything in that place. It was a maze, and every now and then, Eskir would guide me down a corridor I hadn't even noticed was right beside me. Between the stacks of books and confusing layout of the shelves, anything was easy to miss. Even in the stairs, the gap beneath them was used to store books, and the walkways on the upper floors were sometimes the tops of bookshelves themselves.

Neither Eskir nor the Archivist would lead me to any books in particular. Eskir couldn't and the Archivist refused. But they showed me where to sleep, where to eat, that sort of thing. The food, save the daily cookies, was sparse. The sacks of provisions we'd rescued were "donated" against my will to the Archivist.

"How do you plan on eating?" I asked, but Eskir shrugged me off. The Archivist was having a harder time getting the rations he needed. Their organisation still valued him enough to bring him the essentials, but whether it was animosity or a fear of what he might do to the people who had taken his friend's voice, they stopped bringing in the luxuries. Just an occasional sack of potatoes or onions with the books. I think he especially appreciated our salt.

And apparently, he couldn't go to the surface to fetch them himself. The eyes, I thought. He didn't tell me why, but I was sure it was his eyes. I was there a week before he asked me to go up to Bell Haven.

"You're eating up all my food," he complained.

It was a relieving request, frankly. It wasn't just him, it was the books. The ceiling. I was never one for claustrophobia, but it felt like the entire place was about to collapse, like it was a tomb for lost stories that would seal at any moment with me inside. Just another story.

He didn't want Eskir going, either. Made sense. I was Kindred, he was a human with a target on his back.

"Just don't..." he'd stammered as I stacked the books I'd set aside in my own personal pile on a thin table that was already overcrowded. "Just don't fuck with anything, okay? Bell Haven's not as safe as you think it is, not for you."

"Eskir." I said with a teasing coyness. "I can handle myself."

He shuffled on the spot before grumbling a reluctant "Fine."

The Archivist led me not to the door where I'd entered, but up a ladder in one of the sections I'd barely explored. Here, more of the books were falling apart at the spines, when the spines existed at all, shedding pages and bindings. Older books apparently didn't have spines, but were bound together with leather strips. Glue, Eskir had taught me, was used in the perfect binds of the more modern books, which meant spines that lasted longer than most unenchanted strings and strips.

I had nothing against books, but in my view, I'd learned far too much about them in the week I'd been there.

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The final ladder we climbed was made from what seemed like flimsy bamboo, but it didn't sag at all when we climbed it. It led to a small alcove hidden only by the angle of the ascent. There were no books up here, and it was dark, but there was an iron door at the far wall. Behind us, I expected the Athenaeum to stretch out endlessly, but I was only able to see cut-out fractions of it, separated into sections by shelves that stretched up to the ceiling. How books were retrieved from up there, I had no idea, but it had to have been magic.

"Out here," said the Archivist. "And take this with you." He handed me a small blue coin shaped like a diamond. "It's enchanted, so hold it in your hand until you're outside so you know what it looks like. And remember where you come out. Make sure to return to that spot."

"Can't you just tell me where I'm going to come up? Bell Haven isn't exactly known for being well-organised and having plenty of signage."

"Then remember," he ordered. "The door is different every time. The location is specific to your coin. It will work once and only once, and it will only work for you."

I sighed, turning towards the iron door. "Alright."

The Archivist grabbed my wrist and pulled me back, dragging my arm down to force my eyes to meet his gaze.

"Only you," he said, his tone suddenly cold. "I think you're trustworthy, girl. And you haven't reacted to those cookies. But if you try to lead someone else here, I will make your eyes will bleed puss."

"I won't," I said, taken aback by his harshness. "I'm here for the truth, no matter what it takes."

He looked at me for a moment before his grip finally softened. His voice changed to an upbeat, cheery tone. "Make sure to get fresh garden carrots," he said. "You've tasted the ones I've been living on. And get some butter! It's been years since I've had a good vegetable roast."

He stepped down the bamboo ladder, leaving me to stare after him in astonishment. What a bold man, to threaten a Kindred like that. But this was his space, and I was the stranger from Senvia. All week, I'd spent pouring over books, trying to figure out what the Athenaeum was. What it was meant for. What sort of massive secret was hidden in those walls that Senvia would consider a threat. Lyana had adored knowledge, she'd loved books. She poured over her own personal library for hours almost every day. And she was the Empress, the pinnacle of political power in the empire.

A week in there, and I hadn't seen anything. No connection, no hidden hints that I could make out. As far as I could tell, they were random books. Law, philosophy, crime, fiction, magic, textbooks, biographies, anything I could have anticipated and more.

The iron door was cold, and it groaned as I pushed it open to what looked like someone's private balcony. As I crossed the threshold and stepped onto a wooden deck, the coin the Archivist had given me shifted between my fingers from the blue gem into a small earth-like ring, just barely too small to slip over my smallest finger. I turned it over to examine it before slipping it in my pocket.

As soon as the door closed behind me, it vanished into a wooden fence that split the balcony into two sections. A tiny hole was left behind where a keyhole might be on a door, shaped like the ring in my pocket. The wood was rough and unpainted. Uncomfortable to the touch, probably prone to splintering, but most definitely wood.

I could barely hear the bustling of the crowds surrounding me. I was in the heart of Bell Haven, that much I knew from what I could see. The city walls were out of sight, and I could make out four bell towers over the rooftops of the buildings.

The balcony ended in a raised fence. It was adjoined to a large glass pane that acted as a sliding door to the balcony from someone's family room. The lights were off, but a soft glow came from a hallway connecting the rest of the home.

This was an apartment, but one of the wealthier ones. The street below was a side street, barely more than an alleyway, that likely served to act as an entrance to the building. Across from it was a tall stone building that rose as a square, but capped off like a pyramid. Probably some government building or war room, or maybe a gambling hall. I wasn't familiar enough with Bell Haven to know.

The ground was six or seven body lengths down. I could jump it. I wasn't very keen on climbing back up, but it would have to do. I wasn't about to waltz through this family's back door unannounced.

My boots hit the stone with a thud, breaking one of the soles and hurling me on my back with a low groan. The boot was useless now, the soles too thick to wear them lopsided for very long. I rested on the street for a moment, pressing my head into my hands. Being unable to afford new boots was a first for me, but I fumbled over the coins in my pouch like they were made of gold. Maybe if I found a really, really good discount on those carrots. Or if someone paid me to take them. But this was Bell Haven, not Dengal.

"You had better appreciate this," I mumbled, and lifted myself to my feet, preparing myself to scour the city for everything I needed.