Page 77

“Hoping to add to your skill set?” I tease.

“Seems like it could be a useful addition,” he says with a shrug.

I grin, then return to the task at hand. “I’ll teach you sometime.”

The lock clicks, and I stand, slipping my picks into my holster. “There,” I say. “Impressed, my prince?”

I definitely don’t imagine the heat in his gaze this time.

Maxim releases a long-suffering sigh. “If you two are done, we have work to do.”

Kallias scoffs, his hand brushing mine as he reaches for the handle. The brief contact sends another jolt through me, and I step back quickly, avoiding the gaze I can see Maxim directing my way in my periphery.

The room beyond is dark, the air colder and even drier than the corridor. Kallias steps inside first.

Nerves flutter low in my belly as I follow him, breathing in the scent of forgotten parchment and centuries-old dust. Rows upon rows of cypress shelves holding records as old as this kingdom stacked in crates and piles.

“I’ll close the door and keep watch. I’ll knock if anyone comes down the stairs,” Maxim says from behind me.

I nod absently, the sound of the door clicking shut barely registering as it seals us in. The faint echo fades into the stillness, leaving only the soft crackle of the sconces.

But I can’t tear my eyes from the shelves.

It’s like a tidal wave of history threatening to drown me. One night won’t be enough. A week wouldn’t be enough.

“What exactly are we looking for?”

Kallias’s voice breaks through my thoughts.

“The list of names I found in your father’s study and the Eagle’s name in the Book of Names—they were both written by the same person. But the handwriting doesn’t match the king’s or the Eagle’s.”

He doesn’t move, but there’s a twitch in his jaw, a narrowing of those impossible eyes. He’s masking calculation with indolence, and gods help me, that particular trick is far too familiar.

“So you’re scouring the past for a match,” he says.

“I need records, anything with council signatures. If we can find a match for this handwriting, we’ll have a better idea of who is involved. But that could take forever to find.”

His lips curve. “Such little faith in me, Poison.”

Kallias sets off deeper into the stacks, and I trail after him. He stops at a set of tarnished brass plaques, fingers hovering over the words.

“The Oaths of Allegiance. Every councilor is required to sign one when they join,” he announces, low and smug, and gods, if he isn’t irritatingly adept at making discovery sound like seduction.

I roll my eyes but let him boost the first heavy crate down, and we fall into a rhythm: He hands me scroll after scroll, his fingers grazing mine a heartbeat too long every time.

“You know,” Kallias says eventually, breaking the silence as he leans back against the shelf, arms crossed in that infuriatingly casual way of his, “most people would consider this a waste of time. Digging through centuries of dust and bureaucracy.”

“And yet, here you are. What’s your excuse?”

“Maybe I’m trying to prove you wrong.”

“About what?”

“That I’m just a prince who drinks too much and cares too little.” His voice is light, but there’s an edge to it.

Fitting, I suppose, for the prince of the Sorrows to be drowning in them.

I purse my lips, the scroll in my hands forgotten. “I shouldn’t have said that.”