“No,” she says. “And yes. It’s not a simple answer. But it’s mine to give—and mine alone.”

Malachite studies her face for a long moment and then makes that lopsided smile, the triple claw-scars I gave him crinkling. He hefts off the root he was sitting on and goes to check on Lucien’s sleeping form.

“You haven’t read the book yet.” I nod at the green-backed thing. She makes a small frown.

“Of course I haven’t.”

“I thought you could read Old Vetrisian. Or, not without Luc’s help?”

“I need more than Luc’s help,” she says. “I can’t translate an entire thousand-year-old manuscript in a void. No one speaks Old Vetrisian anymore. It’s a dead language. I need reference materials, codices, Vetrisian-beneather generalized ciphers to scrape the barest sliver of information from it.”

“Then we get you those.”

“How? The only place that has such things is the Black Archive, and they would never—” She sees the glint in my eye. “No. Zera, no.”

“What? It’s just a little sneaking in and stealing.”

“Do you think you’re the first thief to think of breaking in?”

“No.” I laugh.

“Have you ever heard of a thief stealing from the Black Archives?”

I pause. “No.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“Because they’re not me. Because they’re bad.”

“Because they’re dead, Zera,” she says, hard. “They get killed.”

“I can’t be killed.” I scoff again. “And anyway, killed by what, dust inhalation? It’s just a library.”

“It isn’t just a library,” the archduchess insists. “Not like you’re thinking. The polymaths in the Black Archives guard the information there with their lives. They’re highly skilled warriors, every last one of them, equipped with the best polymath machines and strongest knowledge in the world. They can stop a body cold with the tiniest of poison threads—and their mastery of white mercury is on par with Cavanos. They can fight with all the combined knowledge of three thousand years of honed techniques from all around Arathess. You can forget about stealing. The only way we’re getting any information from the Archive is if we have a kingsmedal. And those aren’t given out to just anyone—”

“We’re a prince!” I motion to Lucien. “And an archduchess!”

“Nobles.” Her voice softens. “Of a kingdom that may no longer exist.”

“I know somebody who works there!” I protest. “Yorl. He’ll definitely help us.”

“If he’s been accepted at the Black Archive, he’s theirs now. His loyalty is theirs. Besides, from what you’ve told me of him, I doubt he’d risk everything he worked for just to help us.” She looks up from the fire, blue eyes sparking. “There’s only one way to get a kingsmedal into the Black Archive.”

“And?” I press. “What’s that?”