"I should write to Master Aldric before we leave," she said.
Targesh's hand stilled where it had been tracing idle patterns on her hip. "Your mentor at the Archive?"
"He'll expect a progress report."
"And what will you tell him?"
She considered the question. The truth was impossible. How did one explain in formal correspondence that the assignment had cracked open into something else entirely? That the archives had become secondary to grief and desire and the weight of a warchief's hands on her body?
"The cataloguing proceeds," she said finally. "The records are more complex than anticipated."
His chest moved beneath her cheek. A breath that might have been amusement. "That is not untrue."
"It's not the whole truth either."
"No." His hand resumed its movement, palm warm against her skin. "But some truths are not meant for letters."
She rose early the next morning, leaving him sleeping, and returned to her quarters to write.
The letter took three drafts.
The first was too personal. She found herself describing the web, Varresh's system, the way meaning lived in the spaces between documents. Aldric would find it interesting, but it revealed too much of how deeply she had fallen into this place.
The second was too sparse. Four sentences that read like a clerk's report, stripped of anything that made her sound like herself.
The third found the balance.
Master Aldric,
The cataloguing proceeds well, though the scope of the collection exceeds initial estimates. The previous archivist employed an associative organizational system that requires careful study before meaningful assessment can begin. I am making progress in understanding her methodology.
The records here are more complex than anticipated. Border conflict documentation is extensive and includes perspectives absent from Valdaran sources. I am pursuing a secondary research thread that may yield significant primary source material regarding the early treaty period.
I expect to have preliminary findings ready for review upon my return. The Mountain Clan has been cooperative, and access to the collection has been granted without significant restriction.
Your student,
Verity Dunmore
She read it twice. It said nothing about Targesh. Nothing aboutkrennaor the smell of her on his skin or the way the entire fortress knew where she slept. Nothing about Corvin, or the pass, or the fact that she would be gone from the outpost for six days riding toward her brother's grave.
She folded the letter precisely, creasing the edges with her thumbnail. Sealed it with wax she had brought from Caelvorn, the Archive's stamp pressed into the soft surface.
Torgun was in the courtyard when she emerged, hauling water from the well with the resigned expression of someone who had drawn the least interesting rotation duty.
"Archivist." He straightened when he saw her, water sloshing over the bucket's rim. "You're up early."
"I have a letter." She held it out. "For the border crossing. Can you see that Grukash gets it on his next trip?"
Torgun took the letter, examining the seal with undisguised curiosity. "Valdaran correspondence?"
"To my mentor at the Royal Archive. A progress report."
"Ah." He tucked the letter into his belt. "I'll make sure it reaches him. Grukash goes south in two days."
Two days. She would already be gone by then, riding toward Thornfield Pass.
"Thank you," she said.
