Page 220 of Salt Between the Wolves

"No."

The older woman pulled out a chair and sat down with complete ease.

"You told me where you hope the answer will be."

Eira opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again when no response came.

"The marks are not a question," Ilva said, raising one finger. "The old laws are not a question," she continued, lifting a second. "And the North is definitely not a question," she added with a third. "What is the question?"

The room suddenly felt much quieter. Beyond the windows, gulls wheeled above the harbor while the sea glimmered beneath the sunlight, and for the first time since arriving Eira found herself considering the difference between what she wanted to know and why she wanted to know it.

The answer emerged slowly, as though she were uncovering something long buried beneath layers of earth.

"I want to know why everyone keeps deciding things for me."

The words surprised her, not because they were untrue, but because they were so completely and undeniably true.

Ilva's expression changed, though only slightly, and yet it was enough.

"There you are."

Eira frowned.

"What?"

"The real question."

The older woman leaned back in her chair, looking satisfied, as though Eira had only now arrived despite having been present the entire time.

For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Ilva nodded toward the shelves surrounding them.

"In that case, you're in the right building."

She paused briefly before continuing.

"But probably not the right section."

For the first time that day, genuine curiosity replaced Eira's frustration, and somewhere between the shelves, the books, and the endless scent of paper and ink, she felt something unexpected stir beneath her lingering anxiety. It was neither certainty nor answers, but rather the possibility that she might eventually find them.

Ilva rose from her chair and gestured for Eira to follow.

"Come."

Eira followed her through another doorway and into a quieter section of the archives, where the change was immediate. The books looked older, the shelves darker, and the air carried a stronger scent of dust and leather. Few people seemed to visit this part of the building.

The older woman stopped before a row of cabinets and ran her fingers lightly across several labels before selecting one.

"The North."

She pulled open a drawer, revealing dozens of carefully rolled documents inside.

Eira stepped closer.

"The records of Frostvein?"

"Some."

Ilva's answer was noticeably less certain than usual.