The Archive, as it turned out, was large enough to rival a temple in one of the sprite territories. April craned her neck at the tall and pointed spires flanking the building's facade. An intricate geometric pattern of diamonds and circles decorated what's supposed to be a blank wall, indicating some form of wealth poured into it. For all its grandeur, though, it remained to be one-story high.
April's footsteps crunched against the tiles featuring more geometric patterns as she ducked past the wide doors thrown open. Inside, she had to shield her eyes against the glare of the bright light shining from the golden chandeliers just to get to see how high the ceiling was. And of course, the planks making up the ceiling feature some kind of geometric pattern too. It was both dizzying and enticing.
A sharp clearing of one's throat caught April's attention. Her gaze landed on the nearest counter from the door. Behind it sat a woman with spectacles propped atop her beige hair flattened against her scalp. "What's your business in the archives?" she asked, apparently talking to April despite her gaze on the set of bound tomes spread open on her desk. "Please leave your name and your city of origin in the log before you enter."
April looked behind her to see if the woman was talking to someone else but apart from the people lounging on cushioned chairs scattered around the spacious lobby and the soldiers frolicking in groups in and out of the building, there was no one with her. Having no choice, she approached the counter and took hold of the graphite stick lying on the crevice of the thick, lined tome.
"Hey, where can I find the Scholar?" April asked as she scrawled her name as ugly as she could. Lying about her name on a silly record such as this still felt so wrong. "Is he here?"
The woman would have rolled her eyes at April but she pointed into the line where the shelves stopped their array and the spacious lobby had narrowed into a corridor. "Third door to the right," she said. "Simple enough. Knock before you enter."
April turned back to the woman after studying the direction she pointed out. The woman was already writing on her tome, not caring what April did after their brief interaction.
So, onward, April marched.
She reached the designated door in no time, her eyes drinking in the sheer amount of tomes and records the archive had in its numerous shelves. In the middle of those shelves would always be a chair-and-table combination or two so people wouldn't have to carry stacks upon stacks of tomes in their research. They could just reach out, plop down, read, and stand up to bring the materials back into the shelves. That's an ingenious design, really.
Facing the Scholar's door, she took a deep breath and rapped her knuckles against the wooden surface. A garbled "Yeah?" rang in muffled waves from the other side of the door.
April gripped the knob holding the door closed and twisted. It popped with ease. Then, with care, she swung it inside to come face to face with yet another office. This time, the windows showed the busy street outside—they were, after all, in the middle of the merchant's avenue—and the shelves and floor contained a lot more clutter. Detached sheets of parchment, empty bottles of ink, quills with frayed vanes, and opened tomes. The list of random items April saw went on.
The smell of freshly-printed pages filled the room, coupled with a faint trace of tea, hair products, and detergent. Was the Scholar doing their laundry in this office?
A door April hadn't even noticed, the one adjacent to a tall shelf with the randomest of trinkets and other knick-knacks, swung open. A wiry man stepped out, clad only in a loose robe tied at the waist by a braided twine. When he saw April standing by the door, his face lit up. "Ah, a guest!" He waved his hands at the chaise chair beside the door. "Sit, my dear."
April, out of the sheer lag in her processing of the Scholar's office, followed without a word. The moment her rear sank into the cushions, the Scholar turned to her with a smile, leaning his weight against the desk pushed near the windows. "To what do I owe this visit, Princess?" he asked.
She raised an eyebrow. He knew who she was? Cool.
"I was hoping you could tell me about the soldiers that came here around the thirteenth day of Varkala last year," April said. "Were they meeting with someone?"
The Scholar pursed his lips, tapping his chin as he thought. Now that he wasn't worming around, April noticed the lines of wrinkles at the side of his eyes and lining his forehead. This old man didn't look like he'd last longer. His wings, dappled gray and white, stayed relaxed on his back, draping over his desk like a feathery blanket. "Do I know?" he said. "Depends on your price."
As an answer, April unhooked a bag of versallis from her belt and tossed it to the man. For his age, the Scholar was quick in snatching the bag mid-flight. He laughed to himself as he peeked into it. He hummed. "Of course, I know who it is," he said. "They paid me to keep my mouth shut, though. And they paid more than a few grena."
An information broker. That's what the Scholar was all along. That's how he got his archive building looking so grand. Dirty old hag. "Have you met them?" April said instead.
The Scholar hummed. "Yes," he said. "A couple of times."
"What did you talk about?"
He raised his gaze to the ceiling as if the answer could be found there. "A couple of things," he said. "Some truths about Falkirta. How it's floating—"
"Is my pay enough for you to tell me what you told them?" April interjected.
The Scholar's gray eyes twinkled. "Do you know how Falkirta is able to float, my dear?" he asked.
April knitted her eyebrows. Wasn't it always floating? "No," she admitted.
The Scholar hummed, seemingly satisfied with gaining the higher ground of having more knowledge. His wings relaxed more against the desk, the feathers rustling with the movement. "Made after the Hundred Years' War and just before the Human-Fairy War erupted," he said. "The ancient air sprites, long before the specialization of the sprite synnavaim, thought it would be a good idea to have a floating island so they got to work. Taking the mass of the island, condensing it into a spherical ball, and putting a spell around it to contain it. That's how they succeeded in making a huge mass of land float."
"You mean, they made the territory lighter than air," April summarized. "What is the spell they used?"
The Scholar raised an eyebrow, increasing the lines on his forehead. "Your charge is running low," he said.
WIth a sigh, April dug around the pockets of her trousers and found a spare kalta selme. She flicked it in the Scholar's direction. He caught it with one hand even though April purposefully aimed it between the eyes.
Then, he jumped off the table and strode to the shelf of trinkets and plucked one of the rare tomes slotted in it. He turned to a specific page, then, shocking April, tore one out straight from the spine. He handed it to April. There, a set of verses written in absolute gibberish greeted her.
She frowned. "Are you crapping on me now?"
"You don't want it? Fine," the Scholar moved to swipe it away from her face.
A sense of desperation for any kind of information swirled in April's gut. She lunged forward, caught the Scholar in the wrist, and plucked the parchment from his grip. "I'll take that," she hissed. She folded it up and tucked it inside her breastplate among the other maps handed to her. "What else can you tell me about that person?"
The Scholar blinked, no doubt searching his mind about the best way to get the target off his back before April or whoever she was chasing shot an arrow at it. "I know their favorite place to go," he said. "I'll draw you a map."
Before April could protest, he strutted towards his desk. His fingers moved in dizzying speed as he jotted his directions down a sheet of fresh parchment. Then, he strode over to April and handed it to her. "Free of charge for the pretty lady," he said.
April mentally cringed but she let him be. It didn't look like he'd be in this world for long. "Thank you," she said, the swirling in her gut intensifying. She ducked out of the Scholar's room before he could say more inappropriate comments and strode out of the archive to get rid of the sound of pages crinkling and the woman's pointed glare out of her senses.
She dug the gibberish spell out of her breastplate. So, whoever it was, they're planning on wrecking Falkirta by bringing it down. The search for this spell, the acquisition of dwarven metal. Dear gods. It's bigger than she thought.
How come she hadn't noticed this happening under her nose sooner? How distracted had she been by her brother's predicament in Lanteglos?
She gritted her teeth. Whatever. She's here now and she's here to finish this. On to the place this current map pointed her to.
At the end of it, she hoped the answer would be clear. That's all she could do for now.
The place reeked of day-old ale the moment April ducked her head inside. The map had dropped her straight into a den of decors where only the most pompous of pompous go to. Carpets literally greeted her soles after they cleared the door. Even the bell which the door hit upon her entry looked like it was carved by the gods. Was anything in this place not fancy?
"Good day!" a voice greeted April past the array of stuffed animal heads—animals which April only read about in her studies of the other territories. What were they doing here? She cleared the figure of a creature with short black fur, red eyes, and sharp fangs. It looked like a tuscan, except it had gone rabid. The twisted features it contained were too far from the tuscan's gentle demeanor.
Behind the glass-lined counter stood a young woman with bobbed caramel hair, pale complexion, and full lips. She wore what looked like a rigid, dark coat similar to the military dress soldiers wear during formal events. Minus the pins and the shoulder guards, of course. Her hands were clasped in front of her. She bowed when April reached the counter.
"What do you wish to procure?" the woman said. "I will help you try them on."
April chewed on her lip, her eyes glazing over the rows upon rows of glinting jewelry under the glass guarding the counter. Her own reflection blinked back at her against the glass, showing her how many strands of her hair had escaped the quick bun she made before leaving the Palace. It's embarrassing but she'd manage.
She let her eyes glaze over the boxes upon boxes of displayed necklaces, rings, earrings, even little coronets for the well-delusioned. All of them shone with fervor against the bright light flashed upon them by sneaky rods attached to the corners of the cases. Then, her eyes landed on the next case, towards the set of crimson-rimmed spectacles.
"Is there another person who bought these?" April pointed to the glasses resting on one of the softest cushions April has ever seen. Her gut and intuition screamed at her from the sides.
The woman nodded, her hair bouncing along at the back of her pointed ears. "An Adviser in the Court," she said. "Do you want another pair?"
April shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to have to match apparels with anyone. "Did that Adviser have mousse brown hair that's always in braids?" she asked.
The woman nodded again. "Do you know her?"
That's it. April ducked her head at the woman without bothering to answer her question. "Thank you for your cooperation," April said. Before the woman could say anything or process her confusion, April ducked out of the shop. Then, she spread her wings.
Because the culprit was no other than Adviser Pernice.
April has to warm the Council about that traitor. She couldn't believe she thought of the Adviser as harmless. The wind drove her hair away from her face as she launched off the ground. She flapped her wings, forcing the wind around her to propel her faster. The carpet of red roofs and pockets of green canopies zipped underneath her.
Soon, the Palace sped into view. She squinted. Something seemed...wrong. Instead of the bustle of servants and other workers inside the official manor, there was not a whisper of flying sprites. The wind carried no signals. It was quiet.
April tucked her wings the moment the ledge of the Palace's wide foyer brushed her soles. She hurried past the tall pillars, the portraits of creepy Potentates before Elami staring down at her from the walls of the corridors, and the thick silence slowly widening the hallway and pressing a heavy weight down on her shoulders.
When she reached the court hall, she threw the doors open. Inside, all of the Advisers were present, along with Elami. She knitted her eyebrows. They didn't appear to be talking about anything or anyone. Just...sitting.
Rather, waiting.
For what? For who?
"Just the right timing, April," Elami's smile was twisted like the features of the creature April saw in the pompous shop. "You'd get to see the beginning of Falkirta's journey back home."
It dawned on April then. It wasn't just Pernice. Not just Melron.
It was the entire, fripping Court.
April stepped forward. A blur of black flashed behind her. She turned too late. Her neck flared in pain as her veins felt the blunt force. Her knees crumpled. Just before her senses faltered, she saw the familiar tell of feathers as black as ink.
Even Ilvi Aledryl was in on this? Did she really have no allies left?
April clenched her fingers as her consciousness rocked in and out. She'd get them. She'd make them pay for everything they've done. It looked like it was the last thing she'd do, anyway.
Then, her world drowned in the dark, leaving a husk of who once had been April Sylkrana.