Wands vs Swords

The Blind Woman's Price

The Forbidden Archive did not exist.

That was the first thing the Academy taught its students. There was no secret library. No hidden records. No collection of banned texts locked away from young, impressionable minds. The Royal Arcanum Academy believed in transparency, in the free exchange of knowledge, in the pursuit of truth without fear or favor.

It was all lies, of course. Every word.

The Archive existed. William had known about it since his first week at the Academy, when a third-year student whispered the rumor during a late-night study session. A place beneath the infirmary. A door that only opened at midnight. A blind woman who traded memories for secrets.

He had dismissed it as legend. A story students told to scare each other. The Academy had plenty of those—tales of ghost Wardens, cursed classrooms, students who had vanished without a trace.

But Thomas had believed.

Thomas had been obsessed with the Archive. In the weeks before his death, he had spoken of little else. He had found references in old texts, clues in forgotten scrolls, hints that something was hidden beneath the Academy's foundations. Something the Council had spent fifty years trying to bury.

William had thought Thomas was wasting his time.

Now, standing in the darkened corridor outside the infirmary, he wondered if Thomas had been closer to the truth than anyone realized.

"Are you sure about this?" Julian whispered.

They stood in a narrow hallway on the Academy's fourth sub-level—a part of the building that officially did not exist. The walls here were different from the rest of the school. Older. Rougher. The stone was stained with age and something darker. The torches on the walls burned with green flame—witchfire, a type of magic that had been banned for centuries.

William touched the wall. The stone was warm. Pulsing. Like the Rust in the Underbelly.

"No," he said. "But we don't have a choice."

The Hound had given them directions. A hidden door behind the infirmary's supply closet. A staircase that descended seven levels. A corridor that only appeared when the moon was directly overhead—which, according to the Academy's artificial sky, was in approximately three minutes.

Julian checked the time on his enchanted pocket watch. "Two minutes."

"Where's Cora?"

"On her way. She had to shake off a tail."

William frowned. Cora Holt was Julian's addition to their group—the short-haired girl with amber eyes and the tattoo she kept hidden. William did not trust her. She appeared too often in places she should not be, knew things she should not know, and smiled in a way that reminded him of a cat playing with a wounded bird.

But Julian vouched for her. And for now, that was enough.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Light. Quick. Confident.

Cora emerged from the shadows, her black hair shaved on one side, her amber eyes gleaming in the witchlight. She wore the Academy's standard uniform, but she had modified it—sleeves cut short to show her toned arms, trousers tucked into boots that looked more practical than fashionable.

"Took you long enough," Julian said.

"Sorry. Inquisitor Vesper decided to have a chat with my roommate." Cora's smile was sharp. "She wanted to know if I'd seen any strange weapons lately."

"What did you say?"

"I told her I'd seen you two talking in the library. That should keep her busy for a while." Cora looked at William. Her eyes lingered on his face—on the bruises The Hound had left, on the cut on his cheek. "Rough night?"

"You have no idea."

The moon reached its zenith. Or the artificial moon did. William felt a shift in the air—a pressure change, like the moment before a storm. The wall before them shimmered. The stone rippled like water. And then, slowly, a door materialized.

It was not made of wood or metal. It was made of light. Pale, silver light that pulsed in time with William's heartbeat.

"The Archive only opens for those who have lost something," Julian said quietly. "Are you ready?"

William thought of Thomas. Of his father. Of his mother, dying in the black tower. He had lost everything. Everyone.

He pushed the door open.

The Forbidden Archive was not a library.

It was a cave.

The ceiling was lost in darkness. The walls were rough stone, untouched by tools or magic. Shelves had been carved directly into the rock—thousands of them, stretching up into the shadows, filled with scrolls and books and objects that defied description.

In the center of the cave, on a throne made of petrified wood, sat a woman.

She was beautiful in the way that corpses were beautiful—pale, still, frozen in a moment that had passed long ago. Her hair was white, not with age but with something else. Loss, perhaps. Or grief. Her hands were folded in her lap, delicate as bird bones.

A silk blindfold covered her eyes.

"Three visitors," the woman said. Her voice was soft. Musical. The voice of a lullaby. "How unexpected. I haven't had three visitors in the same night since the Rebellion."

William stepped forward. Julian and Cora followed, staying close behind him.

"You're the Blind Enchantress," William said.

"I am called many things. Blind. Enchantress. Monster. Witch." She tilted her head. "But you may call me by my name, if you like. It's been so long since anyone has."

"What is your name?"

"A question." The woman smiled. It was a sad smile. "You come to my home, walk through my door, and the first thing you do is ask a question. Do you know the price of answers here, young man?"

William remembered The Hound's warning. Memory for memory. Secret for secret.

"I know," he said.

"And you're willing to pay?"

"I'm willing to negotiate."

The woman laughed. It was a soft sound, like wind through dry leaves. "Negotiate. How charming. Most visitors simply offer the first memory that comes to mind. They don't realize how precious their memories are until they've already traded them away." She leaned forward. "What do you want, boy?"

"Julian Cross's mother's research. A way to use the Rust without being consumed by it."

The woman's smile faded. "That is a dangerous request. The Council burned everyone who touched that research. They killed mothers, fathers, children. They erased names from history." She paused. "Why should I give it to you?"

"Because you're the one who hid it."

The silence stretched. Julian shifted beside William. Cora's hand moved to her belt, where a small dagger was hidden beneath her uniform.

The woman removed her blindfold.

Her eyes were not white, like Vesper's. They were empty. Hollow sockets where eyes should have been. But something moved in those sockets—something dark and liquid, like oil swirling in water.

"You know more than you should, boy."

"The Hound told me."

"Garrett." The woman's voice softened. "How is the old dog?"

"Dying. Slowly. The Rust is eating him from the inside."

"He was always too stubborn to die quickly." The woman replaced her blindfold. "Very well. I will give you the research. But the price is not negotiable."

"What do you want?"

The woman pointed at Julian. "Him. I want his memory of his mother's face."

Julian went pale. His hand flew to the ring on his chain. "No."

"Then leave." The woman leaned back in her throne. "The door will open for you. It always opens. But it will not open again for you. Ever."

William looked at Julian. The blonde boy's face was a mask of conflicting emotions—anger, grief, fear, desperation. His mother was the only thing he had left. The only thing that kept him human.

"If I give you the memory," Julian said slowly, "will I forget her completely?"

"You will forget what she looked like. You will remember that she existed. You will remember that you loved her. But her face will be a blank space. A hole in your heart that nothing can fill."

Julian closed his eyes. His jaw worked. His hands clenched into fists.

"Do it," he whispered.

The woman rose from her throne. She glided across the stone floor, her bare feet making no sound. She stopped in front of Julian and placed her pale fingers on his temples.

"Look at me," she said.

Julian opened his eyes. The woman removed her blindfold again. The oil in her sockets swirled faster, faster, faster—

Julian screamed.

It was not a loud scream. It was a small, broken sound, like a child waking from a nightmare. His body went rigid. His eyes rolled back. His mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, but no more sound came out.

William lunged forward. Cora grabbed his arm, holding him back.

"Don't," she said. "It's already done."

The woman stepped back. She was smiling now—a genuine smile, warm and sad and terrible. On her palm rested a small, glowing orb. The memory. Julian's mother's face.

"Beautiful," the woman murmured. "She was beautiful. No wonder he held onto her for so long."

Julian collapsed. Cora caught him before he hit the ground, lowering him gently to the stone floor. His eyes were open, but they were empty. Hollow. Like the woman's sockets.

"What did you do to him?" William demanded.

"I took what he offered." The woman closed her hand around the memory orb. It dissolved into her skin, absorbed. "He will recover in a few minutes. The pain will fade. But the hole will remain." She looked at William. "You love him?"

"No."

"Good. Because he will not love anyone for a very long time. That memory was the last thing keeping him human." She turned and glided back to her throne. "The research you want is on shelf 47, row 12, third scroll from the left. Take it. Read it. Burn it when you're done."

William did not move. "Why are you helping us?"

"Because I knew your mother."

The words hit William like a physical blow. He staggered. Cora gripped his arm, steadying him.

"You knew her?"

"We were friends. Before the Council took her eyes." The woman touched her blindfold. "They didn't blind me, you know. I did it myself. I couldn't bear to look at what the world had become."

William's throat tightened. "Is she still alive? My mother?"

The woman was silent for a long moment. "She was, the last time I looked. But the tower drains her more each day. She has weeks. Maybe less."

"Then I need that research now."

The woman nodded. "Go. But be careful. The Archive does not like to be rushed. It will test you. It will try to distract you. Do not let it."

William turned and walked toward the shelves. Julian was still on the floor, breathing shallowly, his eyes fixed on nothing. Cora stayed with him, her hand on his shoulder.

The shelves stretched upward into darkness. William found the row marked with faded numbers—47. He counted the shelves. Row 12. The third scroll from the left.

It was not there.

William's heart clenched. He searched the shelf again. The first scroll was a treatise on elemental fire. The second was a study of mana crystals. The fourth was a diary of some forgotten mage.

The third was missing.

He turned back to the woman. "It's gone."

"Then someone has taken it."

"Who?"

The woman smiled. "That is another question. And questions have prices."

William walked back to the throne. He stopped in front of the woman, close enough to touch her. "I don't have time for games. My mother is dying. Julian just lost his last memory of his mother. The Council is hunting us. And you're sitting here, trading secrets like they're coins."

The woman's smile did not waver. "What would you have me do, boy? Fight the Council? I am blind. I am old. I am afraid."

"Then give me something for free. One gift. No price."

The woman considered this. Her fingers tapped on the arm of her throne. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Your mother was pregnant with you when she came to me last," the woman said finally. "She was afraid. The Council had discovered her research. They were going to erase her. But she didn't care about herself. She cared about you."

"What did she want?"

"She wanted to know your future." The woman leaned forward. "I looked into the oil. I saw the paths ahead of you. There were many. In most of them, you died young. In some, you became a monster. In one, you saved everyone."

"Which one is real?"

"All of them. None of them. The future is not written, boy. It is shaped. Every choice you make closes one door and opens another." She touched his cheek. Her fingers were cold. "Your mother made a choice that night. She chose to let you live, even though it meant she would suffer. That is the kind of love the Council does not understand. That is the kind of love that will destroy them."

William's eyes burned. He blinked. The tears did not fall.

"The research," he said. "Who took it?"

The woman sighed. "A student. A girl with short black hair and amber eyes. She comes here often. She trades memories of her time in the Underbelly for knowledge about the Sword-Saint."

William's blood turned to ice.

Cora.

He spun around. Cora was still kneeling beside Julian, her hand on his shoulder, her amber eyes watching William with an expression he could not read.

"Cora," he said. "Where is the research?"

Her smile was slow. Sharp. "What research?"

"Don't play games with me."

Cora stood up. She let go of Julian, who slumped to the floor, still unconscious. She walked toward William, her boots clicking on the stone.

"I took it six months ago," she said. "Before I even knew you existed. I gave it to the Council in exchange for my admission to the Academy."

William's hand moved to his belt. He was not wearing a sword—he had left his blade with The Hound. But he had a dagger hidden in his boot. His fingers found the hilt.

"You're a spy."

"I'm a survivor." Cora stopped a few feet away. "The Council was going to kill me. I had information they wanted. I made a trade. Same as you're doing now. Same as Julian did. Same as everyone in this rotten city."

"You betrayed us."

"I betrayed no one. I didn't know you when I made the deal. And I haven't given them anything since we started working together." She held up her hands. "I'm not your enemy, William. I'm just not your friend either."

William drew the dagger. The blade caught the witchlight, gleaming green.

"Do you know what they do to traitors in the Underbelly?"

"I know exactly what they do." Cora's amber eyes did not waver. "I was raised by traitors. I was sold by traitors. I have been betrayed by everyone I have ever loved." She stepped closer, until the dagger's tip pressed against her chest. "So go ahead. Kill me. Prove that you're just like them."

William's hand shook. The dagger's tip dimpled the fabric of her uniform.

"William." Julian's voice was weak, but steady. "Don't."

William looked at Julian. The blonde boy was sitting up now, his face pale, his eyes still hollow but focusing.

"She's useful," Julian said. "We need her."

"We can't trust her."

"We can't trust anyone." Julian struggled to his feet. He swayed, caught himself on a shelf, and walked toward them. "But we can use her. The same way she's been using us."

Cora smiled. "Finally. Someone who understands."

William lowered the dagger. He did not sheath it. He held it at his side, ready.

"The research," he said. "Can you get it back?"

Cora nodded. "The Council locked it in their main vault. But I know the access codes. I've been planning to steal it back for months. I just needed the right opportunity."

"And now?"

"Now I have three idiots willing to break into the most secure building in Veridias City." Cora's smile widened. "When do we start?"

The woman on the throne laughed. It was a dry, brittle sound.

"You children are going to die," she said. "All of you. Horribly. Painfully. Soon."

William turned to look at her. "Maybe. But not today."

He walked toward the door made of light. Julian followed. Cora followed.

Behind them, the Blind Enchantress began to sing. It was a lullaby. Soft. Sad. A song about mothers and children and the things they lost.

William did not look back.

He had made his choice.

The door closed behind them, and the Forbidden Archive vanished into shadow.