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“WE WILL NOT WASTE PRECIOUS TIME EXPLAINING WHAT YOU CANNOT ACCEPT. YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THE MEDUWYN BLOOD FLOWING IN YOUR VEINS. HOW THE CREATURE HAS USED HIS DESCENDANTS AS PAWNS IN A TERRIBLE BID FOR POWER. WE WILL TELL YOU WHAT WE KNOW.”
“Please. Pros,” Ana said, battling the urge to turn and bolt. “I will receive your knowledge with gratitude.”
“IMRYLL OF GLAISGAIN BROUGHT THE MEDUWYN BLOOD TO YOUR LINE,” said another voice, male. “MORTAIN WAS HER FATHER. HE WAS THE ONE WHO WHISPERED THE NEWS OF SEDITION INTO THE KING’S SUSCEPTIBLE EAR THAT BADE HIM RAZE THIS VILLAGE, THE NOK MORA. TEN YEARS LATER, HE ORCHESTRATED IMRYLL’S MEETING WITH DRAZHAN WYNTER, IN A BID TO PLACE HIS BLOOD CLOSE TO THE RAVENWOODS, WITH WHOM HE SHARES A DEEP HISTORY. IMRYLL REFUSED HIS PLEAS. SHE TURNED HER BACK ON HIS EVIL. THROUGH THE POWER OF FEAR, SHE LEARNED TO WARD HERSELF AND HER CHILD, ALEKSY, FROM HIS SIGHT, BUT SHE DID NOT APPRECIATE THE DEPTH OF HIS PERSISTENCE. NOT UNTIL HER GRANDDAUGHTER, ZOFIA, WAS CAUGHT IN THE WAKE OF HIS EVIL.”
“The letters,” Tyreste whispered.
“YOU KNOW THIS STORY,” boomed a kyschuna. “YOU HAVE READ THE LETTERS BETWEEN THE ILL-FATED PAERIS AND HIS COUSIN. BUT THE LETTERS ARE NOT THE END. ZOFIA WENT TO HER GRANDMOTHER AND CONFESSED EVERYTHING. IMRYLL SHARED WITH HER GRANDDAUGHTER THE WHOLE SORDID HISTORY. TOGETHER, THEY CREATED A NEW WARD, ONE THAT PROTECTED ALL OF WITCHWOOD CROSS. AND SO MORTAIN WAS CLOSED OFF.”
“You’re saying he cannot come here?” Ana asked. “And that is why he sent Magda?”
“FOR TWO HUNDRED YEARS, THERE WAS CALM. TO AN IMMORTAL CREATURE, TIME IS NOTHING. HE WAITED FOR THE LEGEND OF MORTAIN TO BECOME HISTORY, BELIEVING THE STORIES WOULD DIE OVER THE YEARS, LIKE HIS DESCENDANTS DID, ONE BY ONE, AS THEY AGED OUT OF THIS LIFE. MAGDA WAS CHOSEN FOR DEVILRY AS MUCH AS HER POWERFUL MAGIC—WAS SENT TO DO WHAT HE COULD NO LONGER DO HIMSELF.”
“So he’ll just send another Magda,” Tyreste said bitterly. “And this will never, ever end.”
Ana’s mind was spinning too fast to speak. Both Elyria and the archivists had now confirmed Mortain was not just anyone, but her ancestor. Imryll’s father.Hergrandfather, however many generations apart.
“HE WILL NOT STOP UNTIL HE IS STOPPED. HISTORY SHOWS US THE PERSISTENCE OF THIS CREATURE CANNOT BE QUELLED. YOU MAY CHOOSE TO END THE WYNTER LINE TO SUPPRESS HIS BID FOR POWER, BUT HE WILL ONLY CHOOSE ANOTHER FAMILY AND BEGIN ANEW. HE HAS AN INFINITE SUPPLY OF TIME, THE ONE THING YOU DO NOT POSSESS.”
“Then how do we defeat him? What good is knowing any of this if he cannot be stopped?” Ana cried.
“DEFEAT IS NOT A STRAIGHT PATH. WE ARE KEEPERS OF THE PAST, NOT THE FUTURE. WE WATCH, WE RECORD, WE LISTEN, AND WE CONVEY. WE HAVE WATCHED YOU TRY AND FAIL TO STOP HIM. WE HAVE RECORDED YOUR FAILURES, AS WE HAVE RECORDED THE ONES OF THOSE WHO CAME BEFORE YOU. WE HAVE LISTENED TO YOUR QUESTIONS AND READ YOUR FEARS. AND WE HAVE CONVEYED WHAT WE KNOW. OUR POWER HAS NO REACH BEYOND THESE CAVERN WALLS. YOU ALONE, AS THE WYNTER HEIR, CAN DEFEAT HIM. WHETHER YOU WILL OR NOT IS A MATTER FOR TIME AND FATE.”
Ana turned toward Tyreste, her head shaking. “I don’t know what to make of this. All they’ve done is confirm that we’re dealing with an overpowered creature who has all the time in the world. When I’m gone, he’ll find another. You heard them. The ward wasn’t enough.”
“That’s not all they’ve done,” Tyreste said quietly. His brows furrowed in a deep frown. “I have an idea for when we leave here. It may lead us nowhere, but we have to try anything, don’t we?”
“WE HAVE EXHAUSTED OUR KNOWLEDGE UPON YOU. YOU ARE DISMISSED.”
“That’s it?” Ana yelled. “There’s truly nothing else you can tell us that will help?”
“WE ARE ARCHIVISTS, ANASTAZJA WYNTER. THE ANSWER TO YOUR QUESTION LIES BEYOND OUR WALLS. YOUR INVITE HAS BEEN RESCINDED.”
“We used to be friends, Raisa,” Ana muttered. Tyreste yanked on her hand and pulled her away from the platform. She stumbled into motion, looking back over her shoulder in desperation, but the glows of each arch receded one by one. There would be nothing more from the archivists.
He held fast to her as they rushed down the narrow passage. He didn’t stop until they exited into the light of day, and before either of them spoke, he had her in a crushing hug.
“Ana, what do we know about your people? Beginning with Imryll?”
She shook her head against him. “I’m too tired for guessing.”
“They were archivists themselves, weren’t they? Imryll created Books of All Things. She and the duke, Rahn. They documented everything they could. Where do you think Zofia picked up her love of letter writing and ciphers? Itmusthave been her grandmother.”
Ana laughed and pulled back, looking up at him. “And?”
“And why would we ever think the letters areallthat exist on the matter of Mor—”
Ana pressed a hand to his mouth. “Don’t say his name. Not out here. I fear he can hear us when we do... like a summons.”
Tyreste nodded. “There must be other documents. Imryll wouldn’t have left it all to chance, not after everything she did to keep him away.”
“If there are,” Ana said, sighing, “I’ve never seen them.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have, would you? Not unless you knew where to look.” Tyreste released her, running his hands down her arms. “Where would Imryll or Zofia have kept their secret writings?”
“I don’t... I don’t know, Tyreste...”
“Think!”
