Then were chosen the conversant to stand between, and to ensure power would ever remain bound in its proper courses. Never again can a reirn claim supremacy by might, but only by blood and proper appointment.

-Children of Kytras: A History of Sarosa's Reirns

Desten 3 didn’t seem surprised by my findings. “He said stuff like this a lot,” he murmured, then shook his head. “But I don’t see how it helps us. These are incomplete.”

“They’re excerpts he copied down. Do you know his sources? If we could find the originals, read the context around these sections, we might find something that could help.”

Desten perused the pages more slowly, then nodded. “Here, this refers to, I believe, the Vaerport Historical Archive. I know Desten traveled to Vaerport a time or two, he probably copied down whatever particular pieces he thought relevant to his work.” He flipped through several more, nodding. “Yes, all of these have what I assume to be the Vaerport shorthand.”

Vaerport. The northeastern-most city on the continent. We’d visited once during the initial Varon phase of our touring, but I’d never been there outside of that. The name felt familiar, like I’d read it somewhere recently.

I pulled my, by now quite honestly battered, journal from my pouch and unfolded the original Desten list I’d gotten from the kitchen girl in Desten 1’s house. Varonhold, Varonhold, Varonhold, ah, yes. Desten 7 lived in Vaerport. Pelys had reported that his friend Vess had stopped by and found Desten 7 away, but I could at least talk to his family.

“What’s that?” Desten asked.

“My list of Destens. I’ve visited most of them, but there is one living in Vaerport I haven’t gotten around to yet. I’d like to stop by his house on our way back.”

I folded the page and tucked it back between the pages. I hadn’t added anything to the journal since Metako. It felt surreal, catching a glimpse of my awestruck notes about the stoneshaping artists there. I’d been so hopeful then, imagining that I could make a place for myself here, that I wouldn’t have to hide and lie forever.

I knew better now. If my life were to continue, I couldn’t let my deception slip again. I’d barely survived Pel’s wrath, and I still wasn’t sure if he would change his mind about letting me live and come to finish me. Or perhaps he’d set Aneeyha and Vess and Let and Lan on me, let the whole team get their chance to beat me into the ground before reclaiming Fylen’s last legacy.

“Astesh?”

I snapped the book closed and put it away. “Sorry. Caught up in my thoughts. What were you saying?”

“You really need to get new clothing. Have you advanced, or still tay? You may be willing to traipse around Varonhold in those commoner rags, but if we’re going to seek admittance to the Vaerport Archives you need to look respectable.”

“Oh.” I glanced down at myself. I’d completely forgotten what I was wearing. “Right. I haven’t any money.”

“But you were staying in the Reirn’s district, doesn’t that mean you’re close line?”

“Not at all. I was being tutored by the reirn’s nephew, another Desten actually, but there’s a reason I never advanced past tay.”

“Oh.” He was silent a long moment. “I suppose you could borrow one of my robes,” he finally said, sounding uncomfortable. “It won’t fit perfectly, and you’ll technically be lying about your rank, but it’s better than causing a scene in that.”

I wanted to retort something defiant, perhaps insist that there was nothing wrong with commoners’ clothing, or that I’d rather make a scene as myself than pretend to be someone else. But however I was feeling, stubbornness for its own sake was no better than stupidity.

So, I thanked him and accepted his offer. Then spent nearly a half hour trying to figure out the stupid things. It wasn’t enough for each power level to have its own colours and patterns, they had to design the robes to be layered differently too. I’d long since learned how the tay robes overlapped, but these had an extra rectangular piece that had to be buttoned in at some point in the process. Did it go over the green layer, or the yellow layer? Did it matter? Was I making some deep political statement of rebellion if I just put it underneath them both and called it good enough?

Finally I managed some semblance of a proper fit, after which Desten helped me adjust it correctly, and we set out toward Vaerport.

Vaerport sat atop a cliff, extending out over the ocean in a way that looked precarious from a distance, as though the entire city might break off and tumble into the water at the slightest provocation. Unlike the rest of the Varon and Sarosa cities, Vaerport was not built into the natural mountain ranges, but on a shelf-like pillar of stone that had been drawn up out of the ground by a group of nobles working in sync.

I couldn’t imagine how many it would take to actually artificially create a mountain. But they’d done it. Again and again, throughout the world, creating bastions in the sky in an even arrangement throughout the land so no incursion could escape the skies unseen and unopposed.

By now, the mountains they’d created had settled into their surrounding terrain; in Oros with forests creeping halfway up their base, Leetan with rivers winding at their feet, and in Teshron with exotic plants cultivated in tiers up their sides. And in Vaerport, with the ocean ceaselessly wearing it away from beneath.

The downcity towns were not built up the mountain’s sides like most of the other cities, due to its relatively sheer and precarious nature. Instead they spread out along the shoreline, some with docks like fingers grasping at the edges of the ocean, boats dotting the water as they fished within the safety of the reef. Beyond, I could make out dark shapes in the water, unsettlingly large at this distance, many times larger than the fishing boats.

Then we reached the city itself, and all thoughts of sea monsters faded as the day’s purpose came into focus. Archive, and Desten 7.

The Vaerport Historical Archive was situated toward the center of the city, in a silver-covered dome. It looked small and unimpressive next to all the governance buildings and sateirn homes, but once we entered it I was pleasantly surprised by its expansive interior. The archive was built into the heart of the mountain, down into a hollow cube far beneath. The top level, that showed above the ground, was only for displays and tourist information. The actual stacks were situated in a vault beneath a layer of stone thick enough to protect them against any incursion, even if the city itself should be completely destroyed.

But for all the security, they didn’t hesitate when Desten presented our request. He even showed the guide the pages we’d obtained from Desten 4, and the guide directed us to the area where those specific books could be found.

It felt strange, knowing I was deep inside a mountain. I wasn’t sure I liked it. There were no windows, and the doors only led to more stone and metal hallways and storage vaults. I suddenly missed the sky, the knowledge that at any moment I could step up into the air and fly away. Down here, I couldn’t escape.

For a moment the idea flashed that Desten 3 could have lured me here to kill me, but I forced it away. If I still suspected Desten 3, I’d never have come with him this far. There was nothing more unsafe about visiting an archive vault than sleeping in his house.

My imagination didn’t quite cooperate with me on that one. Being stuck underground was playing havoc with my nerves. I kept glancing anxiously at Desten every time he flicked out his power to grab a book, or moved without sufficient warning.

But between imagining that I was about to be murdered, I did manage to search out some of the books Desten 4 had been researching with, and some connected to them besides.

It turned out lost ancient history was a lot less clear than modern history, and did not include convenient ‘how to cure an overpowered hue-fluctuating stone that’s going to kill its owner and quite possibly explode the entire hospital along with him’ instructions.

There were cryptic hints, mentions of people known as ‘prismatic’ who were born with multiple hues of power they could shift between at will, but if they had unique maladies it was not recorded anywhere easily found. They seemed to be treated as heroes, great and powerful, usually with tragic ends.

Then, a little less than five hundred years ago, all mention of them ceased. Very suddenly. Not even fictional representations of them remained. As though they were a myth disproven to such an extent that no one cared to even think about them any longer.

Still, we persevered. Neither of us was a stranger to long days spent in libraries, and even if the historical archive were a bit bigger, a bit more underground, and a bit older than most, the research process didn’t change. We spoke little, mainly recording our own thoughts, occasionally asking the other for confirmation or to cross-reference something.

We built up a picture of the state of the world 500 years ago, and it was very different from what we currently had. I’d known from my own research that the relatively stable peace between the ten houses was only a few generations old, but I hadn’t realized how much of their history was outright brutal. No wonder there were longstanding feuds! Some of the historical treatment of rival houses - enemy houses at the time - was downright disturbing.

But war and brutality aside, every house had a handful of champion prismatics who could effortlessly use multiple hues of power to their fullest extent. Everyone could use every power, in theory. I could use water just as much as Pelys could use enhancement, but the innate draw toward your own particular hue’s specialty made any specialization outside that you were innately born with - or ended up with by other means in my case - require extra effort and stronger focus. Not so for prismatics. They could shift their hue with a thought, transitioning from flawless defence to devastating attacks without any need for extensive training, using each power as strongly as if it was their sole focus.

Was Desten 4 a modern prismatic? Had he discovered some lost key to switching his power from its locked state to a wider one? None of the books mentioned how prismatics were made, or where they came from. They simply appeared. And then, on year zero, they disappeared just as mysteriously.

“What happened in year zero?” I asked aloud. “Why did we change calendars?”

“It was just a new era. Things were changing, so we started over. You know.”

I shook my head. “I don’t. Was there any particular event that prompted this change?”

“Hmm. I’ve studied society more than history, but I think there was a battle?”

“There are a lot of battles up until the Great Alliance.”

“Right. But a particularly nasty one. I think … I think a starcloud incursion got through? I don’t remember, there were a lot of battles.” He waved a hand toward the shafts connecting us to the higher levels. “You could ask, I’m sure they have lots of books dedicated to it.”

I wanted to chase after it, but would learning more about the history of the calendar really help Desten 4? From everything I’d read, prismatics were only around prior to the change, so any information on the final battle and the transition to year zero would take place further on than what we needed to learn.

It was a tangent, an interesting one, but one I couldn’t afford to chase after right now. While preparing for my infiltration in the first place I’d spent too much of my research time chasing digressions, and that had hurt me in the end. I wouldn’t let it hurt someone else. We may have a long time limit, but it was still a limit. Every day Desten 4’s power slipped closer and closer to its volatile end.

We stayed late into the night, then flew home without once thinking of Desten 7. I only realized it as I lay awake in bed, thinking over the day.

Part of me felt guilty for setting aside the search for Fylen’s killer for something easier, but this was something I could actually do. This was what I was good at. Talking to people, weaseling out their secrets, figuring out who they are? That’s more Desten 6’s purview. I’m a scribe, one who’s willing to put in the work to find answers.

Pelys can continue the investigation just fine without me. But no one else is going to save Desten 4. No one else even has a clue where to start.

My desire to understand was ultimately selfish in nature. Yes, it would be nice to bring Fylen’s killer to justice, to see Fyless safe. Yes, I wanted those things. But the truest deepest reason for my whole investigation was just my terrified self screaming why.

Desten 4 was more important. He was one of the few nobles who actually cared enough about others to make an effort at understanding and integrating them. He and Desten 3 were quite possibly the only nobles truly worthy of my time and friendship. I wasn’t going to stand by and watch him die without ever meeting him properly.

Desten 3 may be going about it all wrong, but he had a good heart. His ideas were naive, but good. If Desten 4 were anything like him, then saving him may well have a greater impact on the future of the world than anything else I could do in my life.

That’s what I’d thought, as I worked my way through book after ancient book. But as I lay awake in the darkness, all I could hear was my fear screaming why.

Maybe if I knew the answer I could stop being so afraid.