Chapter Text
The problem, according to Rhys, was not technically a problem.
Azriel had learned over the last five hundred years that whenever Rhys began a conversation by making that distinction, there was almost certainly a problem.
“It is more of a procedural inconvenience,” Rhys continued from behind his desk.
Azriel looked at him.
Across the room, Cassian had folded himself into one of the chairs opposite the desk and was balancing it precariously on its back legs. He looked at Rhys as well.
Rhys lasted perhaps three seconds. “Fine. It’s a problem.”
“Thank you,” Azriel said.
“But not a particularly serious one.”
Azriel waited while Cassian grinned. Rhys sighed. “Helion has information we need.”
That was not especially surprising. The Day Court maintained one of the oldest and largest scholarly collections in Prythian, and scholarship had an irritating tendency to accumulate secrets alongside everything else. Historical treaties became relevant again. Old family correspondence revealed political alliances no one had bothered to record officially. Military maps outlived the wars they had been drawn for, then became useful three hundred years later when someone rediscovered a forgotten road through the mountains.
Information rarely stopped being useful merely because it became old.
Azriel folded his arms. “What information?”
“Records from the western border, primarily. Troop movements approximately three centuries ago, several reports concerning magical disturbances in the same area, and correspondence between two former members of Beron’s council.”
Cassian’s chair settled onto all four legs. Azriel’s attention sharpened. “We have corresponding reports.” Azriel realized.
“We do.”
“Then Helion sends us copies.”
“He can’t.”
“Why?”
“Classification.”
Azriel frowned. Rhys continued before he could ask. “Some of the originals are bound under an old inter-court intelligence agreement. They cannot legally leave Day territory, and copies at that classification level are prohibited unless both courts formally amend the treaty.”
“That would take months.”
“Probably.”
Azriel considered the problem for several seconds. Then shrugged. “Send me there.”
“I know.”
“I review them in Day.”
“Yes.”
“I report back.”
“Yes, Azriel.”
“Then you were correct the first time. This is no problem.”
Cassian made an unfortunate noise that sounded very much like a laugh he had attempted to disguise as a cough. Azriel looked at him. Cassian looked innocent. Rhys leaned back in his chair. “The procedural inconvenience is that Day wants reciprocal access.”
Azriel went still. Cassian’s grin returned. Immediately, Azriel responded. “No.”
“You haven’t heard what they want.”
“No.”
“Az.”
“No.”
Cassian laughed outright. Rhys closed his eyes briefly. “This is why I asked you here instead of sending a message.”
“A message would have received the same response.”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t have been able to watch you give it.”
Azriel ignored that. “What records?”
Rhys listed them, Azriel’s immediate refusal weakened into silence.
Unfortunately, the request was reasonable. Even worse, it was necessary. Several of the documents Day wanted to examine had been produced during joint intelligence operations conducted before Rhys had inherited the Night Court, and one of the agents mentioned in Helion’s correspondence also appeared in Night’s records under a different identity.
Azriel disliked reasonable requests. They were considerably harder to reject. “The originals do not leave the archive.”
“Agreed.”
“No copies.”
“Agreed.”
“No magical reproductions.”
“Helion already agreed.”
“No memory transcription.”
“That too.”
“No independent access.”
“Obviously.”
Azriel looked at him. Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Was that the wrong answer?”
“It was suspiciously fast.”
“I know you.”
Cassian snorted. Azriel ignored him again. “Who is coming?”
“To Night?”
“Yes.”
“We haven’t finalised the delegation.”
“Then reciprocal access has not been finalised.”
Rhys rubbed his temple. “Helion will almost certainly attend personally.”
“Why?”
Cassian made another choking noise. Rhys stared at Azriel. “Because he is the High Lord of Day.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“It usually answers most questions.”
“Not this one.”
Rhys’s mouth twitched. Cassian had stopped even attempting to hide his amusement. Azriel continued. “Helion does not need to personally inspect three-hundred-year-old intelligence records.”
“No, but as the agreement is High Lord authorised, he has decided that his presence would be diplomatically useful.”
“He wants to see the archive,” Azriel responded.
Cassian leaned forward. “I’m coming to Day.”
“No,” Azriel and Rhys said together.
Cassian looked offended. Rhys reconsidered. “Actually, you probably should.”
Azriel turned slowly. “Why?”
“Military context,” Rhys answered.
Azriel scoffed. “I can provide military context.”
“You were not present for all the campaigns referenced in the requested records.”
“Neither was Cassian.”
“I was present for more of them than you were,” Cassian said.
Azriel stared at him. Cassian straightened slightly. “I recognise that I may never again have the opportunity to say that sentence.”
Unfortunately, he was correct. Rhys smiled with the satisfaction of someone who believed he had successfully concluded the discussion.
“Excellent. We leave tomorrow morning.”
Azriel stood, annoyed about this entire situation. “Send me Day’s visitor procedures.”
Rhys blinked. “Their what?”
“The archive visitor procedures.”
“I’m sure they’ll brief us when we arrive.”
Azriel stopped halfway to the door. Cassian’s smile disappeared. Rhys watched him carefully as Azriel turned around and questioned. “You have not requested them?”
Rhys hesitated. “No.”
Azriel stared at him for a long moment with something akin to disappointment in his eyes. He then turned back around and closed the door quietly behind him.
Cassian sighed, “This is gonna be a shit show.”
—
The Day Court intelligence archive had windows. Azriel stopped walking. Cassian nearly walked into his back. “Oh, come on.”
Azriel said nothing.
Ahead of them, the archive rose along the eastern edge of Helion’s palace complex, three floors of pale stone and immense arched windows designed to capture as much sunlight as possible. Golden screens divided the glass into intricate geometric patterns, flowering vines climbed trellises between the arches, and broad terraces overlooked gardens bright with late-summer flowers.
It was beautiful, and that was the first problem. The second problem was that Azriel could see people inside. The third problem was that one of those people was carrying a cup.
Cassian followed his gaze. “Az?” No response, he continued. “It could be water?”
Finally, Azriel side-eyed him. “That would not improve the situation.”
Rhys stepped up beside them and looked through the nearest window. “I think it’s tea.”
Azriel turned his head, this time to Rhys, who, in turn, raised both hands. “I’m merely reporting what I see.”
Inside, several researchers sat at long wooden tables surrounded by books, loose papers, and leather-bound folders. One of them was eating. Azriel narrowed his eyes in judgement.
Cassian leaned slightly closer. “Is that a pastry?”
“Yes.” He said through gritted teeth.
“It looks good.”
Azriel looked at him with so much disdain it made Cassian clear his throat. “Which is obviously disgraceful.”
Helion’s voice came from behind them. “Good morning.”
Azriel turned to face him. The High Lord of Day had apparently decided that an official intelligence exchange warranted clothing only marginally more conservative than his usual attire, which meant white and gold fabric draped elegantly across his shoulders, gold at his wrists and throat, and enough exposed skin remaining for Cassian to mutter something Azriel chose not to acknowledge.
Helion smiled at Rhys first. “Rhysand.” Then Cassian. “General.” Then his gaze moved to Azriel. “Azriel.”
Azriel inclined his head. “Helion.”
Helion’s eyes flicked toward the archive and back to Azriel, then toward the archive again. His smile changed. “Oh.”
Rhys sighed quietly. Helion stepped closer and looked through the window with his own people working inside. “You hate it.”
“I have not entered yet.”
“That wasn’t a denial.”
Azriel started walking. Helion just laughed and followed.
The entrance hall did little to improve matters. Shelves everywhere, desks scattered about, and people milling around. There were two guards positioned near the secured internal doors, which was sensible. There were layered wards in the stone and around the doorframes, which was also sensible.
There were skylights. Azriel looked upward to inspect them carefully. Helion appeared at his shoulder. “They’re reinforced.”
“With what?”
“Spellglass.”
“What happens when the spellglass fails?”
Helion’s expression brightened. “Our senior archivist will be covering emergency procedures.” Azriel looked at him. “Good.” Helion smiled wider.
The senior archivist was an older female with dark hair threaded through with silver, sharp eyes, and the calm expression of someone who had spent several centuries telling powerful people that no, they could not take the book home.
Azriel liked her immediately. That lasted approximately forty seconds.
“Before we enter any restricted areas,” she said, “there are several rules we ask all visitors to follow. Documents must remain within their designated reading rooms, and restricted materials may not be copied without specific authorisation. Certain collections require gloves, which will be provided where necessary, and all warded shelving must be opened by a member of archive staff.”
Reasonable. Basic, but reasonable. Azriel relaxed by perhaps half an inch.
“Food is permitted only within the general research hall,” the archivist continued, “and drinks must remain on the provided coasters.”
Azriel stopped breathing. The archivist continued. “If you require additional material, please request it through one of our attendants rather than removing it yourself. Several of the older collections are particularly fragile, and-” Azriel couldn’t help himself, the outage just became too much. “Drinks?”
She paused. “Yes?”
“In the general research hall.”
“Yes.”
“With documents.”
“Only non-restricted material.”
Azriel stared at her. She stared back. Behind him, Cassian developed a sudden and severe cough. Azriel looked toward the nearest table. There was a ceramic cup perhaps six inches from an open book.
“Does the classification level of a document alter its vulnerability to liquid?” Silence. Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose.
Helion answered. “No.”
Azriel turned toward him. “Then why is that relevant?”
“It keeps beverages away from state secrets.”
“It keeps beverages away from currently classified state secrets.”
Helion’s mouth twitched. Azriel pointed toward the open book. “That appears to be at least four hundred years old.”
“Four hundred and twelve,” the archivist said.
“Then it has survived four hundred and twelve years only to be placed beside liquid that could ruin its integrity.”
Cassian made a strangled noise. The archivist looked toward Helion. Helion was clearly not going to help her. “We have very few incidents,” she said.
“Few is not zero.”
“No.”
“How many?”
“Azriel,” Rhys murmured, trying to rein him in so this doesn’t get out of hand. Azriel ignored him completely. The archivist considered the question. “Three liquid-related incidents in the last century.”
Azriel went completely still, that was just unbelievable. His thoughts showed on his face. Cassian whispered, “Oh, no.” Cassian tried to put an arm on Azriel's shoulder to try to pull him back. Az just batted the hand away.
“Three.”
“Yes.”
“In one century.”
“Yes.”
Helion folded his arms. “I am beginning to suspect you have unusually strong opinions about archives.”
Azriel looked at him. “I have accurate opinions about archives.” Something bright flashed in Helion’s eyes. Rhys saw it and he immediately disliked it.
The tour continued, for approximately seven minutes. Then Azriel asked about fire, the Day had fire-suppression wards. Good. They differentiated between natural and magical flame. Good. They could operate independently if the primary ward system failed. Better. Internal barriers automatically sealed to prevent flame from spreading between collections. Excellent.
“Can those barriers be manually overridden?”
“Yes,” the archivist said.
“From which side?”
“Both.”
Azriel frowned. “Why?”
“For evacuation.”
“You have dedicated evacuation passages.”
“Yes.”
“Then why allow someone inside a compromised compartment to override containment?”
The archivist hesitated. Azriel continued. “If the fire is deliberate, you have created a mechanism by which whoever started it can open the next containment zone.”
Helion leaned against a nearby shelf. Rhys glanced at him. “Do not encourage him.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re enjoying yourself.”
“Immensely.”
Azriel moved on to hostile winnowing. Then daemati intrusion. Then compromised archive staff. Then documents altered by spells designed not to trigger the existing ward structure. Then magical duplication. Then the possibility of someone compromising an authorised user’s identity spell. Then hostile shadowsinger infiltration.
That earned him several looks, but Azriel ignored those. “How frequently do you test the historical collections for undetected alteration?”
“Every five years.”
Azriel’s expression changed. Helion caught it. “How often do you test yours?”
“Depends on classification. The highest levels are monitored continuously.” The senior archivist blinked. “How?”
Azriel looked at her with suspicion. “Several methods.”
“Such as?”
“No.”
There was a pause. Helion laughed so loudly that several researchers looked over. Azriel ignored him. The irritating thing was that Day’s archive was good. The longer they walked, the more Azriel was forced to admit it.
The collections were meticulously catalogued. Historical materials had been preserved beautifully. Restricted information was separated by classification and subject, staff movements were logged, access permissions were reviewed, and every document entering or leaving a reading area was recorded automatically.
There were redundancies in the preservation system. Multiple evacuation routes. Backup ward networks. Day was not careless. They were simply insane. Azriel looked through an open doorway and saw a scholar holding a biscuit over a manuscript. Fucking crazy.
One of his shadows curled around his ear. Cup. Azriel looked up. Across the reading room, Cassian had accepted tea from an attendant. Cassian noticed Azriel looking at him. He froze. Slowly, he lowered the cup. “What?”
Azriel looked at the historical correspondence spread over the table. Then at the tea.
Cassian determined to defend himself, “These are copies.”
“They are contemporary copies of original intelligence summaries.”
“So not originals.”
“That is not the point.”
“What is the point?”
Azriel stared at him. Cassian stared back. Then sighed and handed the tea back to the attendant. The attendant retreated with impressive speed. Helion watched the entire exchange. “You know,” he said, “I had always assumed the shadows and knives were the frightening part.”
Azriel returned to the report. “They usually are.”
“I’m reconsidering.”
Rhys did not look up. “Do not encourage him.” Helion put his hands up in a surrender and just watched Azriel reading, “I find him fascinating.”
Cassian looked up slowly with a feeling he could only describe as indignation. Rhys looked up at Helion suspiciously.
Azriel turned a page. He had spent centuries cultivating the ability to disregard things he had no immediate use for. Helion’s interest therefore ceased to be relevant.
They worked for several hours. The records were worth the visit, Night’s reports had documented unusual troop movements along the western border, but Day possessed correspondence suggesting those movements had coincided with magical disturbances that had never been formally linked to Autumn.
A name appeared in both collections. One of Night’s unknown informants appeared to have corresponded with a Day scholar under a different identity several years later. Azriel made notes only on the warded parchment supplied by Day, which restored a small amount of his goodwill.
Eventually Helion pulled a chair out beside him. “Question.”
Azriel continued reading. “What?”
“What would you change?”
Azriel did not look up and continued reading. “About what?”
Helion gestured around them. “My archive.”
Across the table, Rhys’s head snapped around. Cassian whispered, “Oh, you idiot.”
Helion heard him. “So little faith.”
Azriel, finally interested in the conversation, looked up and studied the High Lord. “You actually want to know?”
Helion gestured with a waving hand. “I asked.”
“You might not like the answer.”
“That has rarely stopped me.”
Azriel glanced toward the nearest window. “Those.”
Helion looked genuinely offended. “My windows?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Reduce their dimensions.”
“No.”
“Then add independent internal shutters capable of sealing each window separately from the main ward network.”
Helion considered it. “That is less offensive.”
“Move the public research collection into a structurally separated wing. Remove food and beverages from all document areas.”
Cassian sighed. “Obviously.”
“Relocate your primary water lines away from archival storage. Add independent drainage beneath every fire-suppression system. Increase alteration checks on historical intelligence from five-year intervals to annual at minimum.”
The senior archivist had stopped pretending not to listen. Azriel continued. “Do not rotate access permissions on a predictable schedule.”
The archivist frowned. “We stagger rotation.”
“You stagger it predictably.” Azriel corrected.
Her expression changed. “How do you know that?” Azriel looked at her. “Your access ward logs have date markers.”
She straightened. Helion’s smile had begun to fade, not because he was offended, but because he was listening now. Azriel pointed toward the eastern side of the archive. “Your staff entrance and eastern restricted corridor also use the same underlying recognition spell.”
The archivist frowned. “They have separate permissions.”
“Separate permissions built on the same identification structure. If someone compromises the foundation, the distinction between those permissions becomes meaningless.”
The archivist went completely still. Then she reached for her notebook and started to scribble notes down on it. Helion looked at Azriel for several seconds. His gaze moved over Azriel’s face with considerably more appreciation than the security discussion seemed to require.
Then he smiled. “So he’s not just pretty to look at.” Rhys’s head snapped toward him. Cassian choked.
Azriel glanced at Helion. “I have other defining characteristics, yes.”
Then he turned back to the archivist. “How frequently do you rotate the underlying recognition matrix for the wards?”
There was a beat of silence. The archivist blinked, apparently needing a moment to catch up with the fact that the conversation had already moved on. “Every twenty years.”
Azriel’s attention sharpened immediately. “Fixed schedule?”
“Yes.”
“Change it.”
Helion stared at the side of his face. While Cassian slowly leaned toward Rhys. “Did Helion just call Az pretty?”
“Yes.”
“To his face?”
“Yes.”
Cassian looked impressed. “Brave.” Rhys continued watching Helion. “Apparently.”
“Did Az even notice?” Rhys watched Azriel begin questioning the archivist about previous compromises of the recognition system. “Probably.”
“And?”
“Az just discovered that their primary security matrix changes on a predictable twenty-year cycle.”
Cassian glanced between Helion and Azriel. “So?”
“So Helion no longer exists.”
Helion, unfortunately, heard him and his smile widened. The senior archivist was still taking notes. So was one of the security officers who had joined them. The longer Azriel spoke, the less anyone laughed.
Not because he became more dramatic. Azriel was never dramatic about security, arguably insane about it, but that neither here nor there. He simply identified vulnerabilities.
A drainage channel that could become an entry route if someone reduced themselves magically. A maintenance spell that did not require secondary identity confirmation. An unnecessary overlap between fire suppression and environmental control wards. A staff entrance whose magical records were retained for one year when Azriel thought twenty-five would be more appropriate.
“You retain access logs for twenty-five years?” the archivist asked.
“Longer at high classifications.”
“Why?”
“Patterns.”
“What kind of patterns?”
Azriel looked at her. “The kind you do not recognise until twenty years after they begin.”
That earned another note written down in her pad. By the time they returned to the reading room, Helion had stopped treating Azriel’s opinions as entertainment.
He still looked entertained. That appeared to be a permanent condition around Azriel now. But there was something else beneath it, maybe a little bit of respect. Rhys noticed.
He also noticed the way Helion kept finding excuses to stand near Azriel. He chose not to comment, for now at least. Restraint is a fiddle thing.
The intelligence exchange occupied the rest of the afternoon.
A connection slowly emerged between Night’s troop records, Day’s magical reports and several pieces of Autumn correspondence that neither court had previously considered important. The events were too old to constitute an immediate threat, but the pattern suggested coordinated activity across three territories that none of them could explain.
It was enough to justify further investigation. It also justified Day examining Night’s corresponding records.
Azriel disliked that conclusion. He reluctantly accepted it anyway. Near sunset, they gathered in the palace courtyard to finalise the reciprocal visit.
Helion had assembled his delegation before Azriel had even asked.“Myself,” he said, counting them off on his fingers, “my senior archivist, two intelligence officers, our scholar specialising in the period, and Lucien.”
Azriel looked at him. “Why Lucien?”
“The Autumn correspondence. He has enough familiarity with Autumn’s older political structures to recognise names and family relationships that may not appear in official records.”
Azriel disliked how often Helion had reasonable answers. “Names by tomorrow.”
Helion blinked. “You already know all of our names.”
“Legal names.”
Helion’s brows rose. “Any known magical conditions, curses, sensitivities to containment magic, uncontrolled manifestations or reactions to external ward structures need to be declared.”
Cassian turned toward him. “Uncontrolled manifestations?”
Azriel ignored him. “All enchanted items need to be declared in advance. No unidentified magical objects will cross the internal threshold.”
Helion smiled, “Anything else?”
“Yes.”
He just nodded his head. “Of course.”
“You’ll receive the forms and visitor procedures.”
Helion glanced toward Rhys. Rhys suddenly became very interested in the palace gardens. “How many procedures?”
“Not many.”
Rhys coughed and raised his eyebrows at Helion, giving a little head tilt as a form of shrug. Azriel turned around to look at Rhys,
“You are making a lot of noise back there. Do you want to add anything?”
“No, I was just breathing. I breathe occasionally.”
Azriel turned his head back towards Helion instead of dignifying that with an answer and continued. “You’ll receive everything tonight.”
Helion again nodded, “I look forward to reading it.”
“You should.”
Azriel stepped backward into shadow and disappeared, he had a lot to set up and a lot of new procedures to redo and matrix allowances to retrigger for this new group of people.
Cassian watched the darkness close behind him. Helion looked at Rhys. “How large is his archive?”
Rhys hesitated a fraction too long, and Cassian laughed as he turned towards Rhys. “Oh, this should be good.”
Helion’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
Rhys sighed. “I don’t know.”
The senior archivist looked at him. “You don’t know?”
“I know the approximate footprint of the building,” Rhys replied, shrugging his shoulders. Helion looks at him with questioning eyes, “That is not what I asked.”
“I’m aware.”
Helion stared. “You are the High Lord.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t know what your primary intelligence archive contains?”
“I know what it contains.”
Cassian made a strangled sound, Rhys corrected himself. “I know generally what it contains.”
Helion’s smile began returning. “When were you last inside?” Rhys thought about it, for a solid 20 seconds, then came up with, “Properly?”
“That qualifier is already concerning.” The head archivist commented. Rhys rubbed the back of his neck. “Approximately two centuries ago.”
The Day archivist looked appalled. Helion looked delighted. Cassian folded his arms. “I’ve never been inside.”
Everyone turned toward him. Helion stared. “The General Commander of the Night Court and never entered your own court’s intelligence archive.”
Cassian pointed toward where Azriel had disappeared. “He has very strict standards.”
“Oh,” Helion said.
Cassian frowned. “What?”
Helion smiled. “I think next week is going to be wonderful.”
—
The first document arrived at the Day Court six hours later. The title alone occupied half a page.
TEMPORARY FOREIGN ACCESS: NIGHT COURT PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE ARCHIVE
VISITOR PROCEDURES, CLASSIFICATION REQUIREMENTS, WARD CONDITIONS, EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS AND LIABILITY ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
Helion read it twice.
Then laughed. There were forty-seven pages. Nine appendices.
Three separate signature sections. A declaration of personal magical abilities. A declaration of secondary magical abilities.
A space beneath that labelled:
ABILITIES YOU DO NOT CONSIDER MAGICAL BUT WHICH MAY INTERACT WITH AN ACTIVE WARD STRUCTURE.
Helion stopped laughing on page six. On page eight, he summoned his senior archivist. On page eleven, she summoned both intelligence officers. On page fourteen, someone went to find Lucien.
By page nineteen, Helion had opened a bottle of wine. On page twenty-three, the senior archivist silently picked up his glass and moved it to another table. Helion stared at her while she continued reading.
By page thirty-one, no one was entirely certain which of the emergency procedures were hypothetical.
By page thirty-eight, Lucien had begun making notes in the margin.
By page forty-four, the senior archivist had gone back to reread the section entitled UNEXPECTED ARCHITECTURAL ALTERATION because she remained convinced she had misunderstood it the first time.
The final page contained one handwritten addition beneath the printed regulations. Helion recognised Azriel’s handwriting immediately.
No food or beverages are permitted beyond the external reception chamber. This includes water.
Yes, Helion. Tea counts.
Helion stared at the line. Lucien, sitting across from him, saw the expression. “No.”
Helion looked up. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The senior archivist turned the page over as though hoping there might be further instructions on the back. There were not. Helion leaned back in his chair, still smiling. “Well,” he said.
Lucien closed his eyes. Helion tapped one finger against Azriel’s handwritten note. “This should be interesting.”