Third stack from the east wall. My fingers traced along leather spines that had forgotten the names of the animals they'd once been. Dust thick as winter snow coated everything, undisturbed for decades, maybe longer. These weren't the textswe studied, the approved histories with their neat narratives and comfortable lies. These were the books they'd tried to forget existed.
"You came."
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Master Theron stood between the stacks like a ghost made of parchment and regret, those watery blue eyes catching what little moonlight filtered through the high windows.
"Master Theron, you frightened me."
"Good. Fear keeps the mind sharp." He shuffled closer, and I noticed he carried an armload of books that looked older than the Citadel itself. "Though I suspect you've had quite enough fear lately. The Gate's behavior has been... instructive."
"You knew." Not a question. "You knew something was wrong with the accepted history."
"Suspected. For forty-three years, I've suspected." He set the books down on a reading stand that groaned under their weight. "Little inconsistencies at first. Dates that didn't align. Descriptions that contradicted each other. Events that seemed to have happened twice, or not at all."
His fingers, gnarled with age but still steady, opened the first tome. The pages were vellum, and the text upon them seemed to shift in the moonlight.
"Truth has a way of leaving marks," he said, tracing a particular passage. "Even when someone tries to erase it. See here? This chronicle describes the Great Binding, the imprisonment of the Olympian princes. But look at the date."
I leaned closer, squinting in the dim light. "That's... that's three years before the date in the Chronicle of the First Betrayal."
"Precisely. And here," he pulled another book forward, "a merchant's ledger from the same period. It mentions celebratingthe 'joining festival' with rare wines from Olympus. Five months after they were supposedly imprisoned."
My mind raced, trying to reconcile the contradictions. "Recording errors?"
"Perhaps. If it were one or two instances. But I've found hundreds." He pulled out a leather journal, its binding cracked with age. "This was hidden inside a treatise on agricultural practices. The journal of someone who called themselves 'Witness.' Listen to this."
He adjusted his spectacles and read: "'Today they made us watch as the Lady wept. Her tears fell like crystal rain, each drop singing with sorrow. She begged them to reconsider, to find another way. But the Council held firm. The princes must be bound, they said. For power. For control. For the future they envision where gods serve men rather than men serving gods.'"
The words hit me like one of the High Keeper's slaps, open palmed and with no hesitation. Crystal tears. Just like the princes had said.
"There's more," Master Theron continued, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "You're not the first to question."
He showed me the margins of another book, where different hands across different centuries had left notes. Questions written in fading ink:
'Why does the Gate only accept Pandora's blood?'
'The binding words feel wrong in my mouth.'
'I dream of them. They speak truth.'
'Mother was right. We are the chains.'
"Previous Keepers," I breathed. "They doubted too."
"And they died for it. Or disappeared. Or suddenly became very, very obedient." Master Theron's eyes met mine. "Your mother left notes too."
My heart stopped. "What?"
He pulled out a small piece of parchment, hidden between two pages that was covered with my mother's careful and precise handwriting.
'They are awake. They have always been awake. The Gate doesn't contain them. It feeds them. We are not protectors. We are accomplices to a crime I'm only beginning to understand. If something happens to me, know that I tried to find another way. Tell Aria I'm sorry. Tell her to be stronger than I was. Tell her to choose truth, no matter the cost.'
The parchment slipped from numb fingers.
"She knew."
"She was beginning to know. Then she died. Suddenly. Unexpectedly." Master Theron's voice held an edge I'd never heard before. "The Gate consumed her, they said. But I examined her body, Aria. There were no marks consistent with magical consumption. There were, however, traces of moonbell extract in her blood."
"Poison."
