The archives were quiet in the afternoon light.
Dust motes drifted through the tall windows, catching the pale gold of the fading sun. Shelves lined every wall, crammed with scrolls and ledgers and records older than anyone living. Nyssa had claimed this room as her domain years ago, and she presided over it now from a creaking wooden chair, her feet propped on a stack of old patrol reports.
"Three more hours," she said, pointing at the window. The sky outside was already tinting orange at the edges. "The moon rises at full dark. Gretta's been baking since dawn. The whole fortress smells like baked cookies and honey."
Freya sat on the floor with her back against a bookshelf, picking hay from her sleeves. "The horses are already restless. They always know before we do."
Aria stood near
