The archives were so different from the rest of the pack house. The outer corridors were filled with sounds and activity, with warriors training and servants scurrying about, but here it was not so. It was as if it didn't belong to the time. There was dust in the air, and the stone walls had an air of stillness that was close, heavy, and ancient. Evelyn had a little light with her as she walked through the rows, its light casting a warm glow over many shelves.
She stopped at a place where the covers of leather were falling apart with age. Every book had the names of Lunas who lived, ruled, and passed centuries ago. Their histories had been written for centuries, kept safe like sacred books. She drew one book out and set it on a wooden bench, setting the light to her side. The old-paper smell rose as she opened the covers, and with each word, she grew sorrowful.
