“Of course.”
Snow slipped out of bed and padded to the window where she opened it. Annilen bid her farewell and fluttered off into the early morning. As she watched the little sprite disappear, Snow wondered about the wizard. Perhaps there was some mention of him in the elven archives. Perhaps she needed to find out what she could about this dark wizard. She didn’t know if the shadow creature was connected to him, but she had to find out.
She pulled on a dress and crept to her bedroom door, listening for movement in the cottage. When she heard none, she opened the door. She expected to see Yirrie hard at work baking for tonight’s festival. Now was her chance to slip out and go to the elven archives.
As she hurried to the door, though, Yirrie’s voice stopped her.
“Where are you going?”
Snow turned to see her standing in her bedroom doorway, her hands fisted on her hips and a look of dismay on her face. There was no sense in lying to her. She’d eventually find out anyway.
“I’m going to the archives.”
Yirrie dropped her arms to her side. The dismay was replaced with confusion. “Why?”
“There’s something I need to look up,” Snow said.
“I need your help with the baking today,” Yirrie said, a warning note in her tone.
“I won’t be long. I promise.” Snow reached for the knob.
“You aren’t going to leave the village, are you?” There was a hint of worry in her voice.
Snow froze, her hand on the knob. She didn’t dare turn to face her because she feared her expression of guilt would give her away. Yirrie had a sense about things and likely already knew Snow had slipped out last night.
“No. I’m just going to the archives.” She kept her voice steady and strong. “I’ll be back soon.”
Before Yirrie replied, she stepped out into the fresh morning. Closing the door behind her, she hurried across the village to the edge where the archives were housed. It looked small on the outside, but that was merely an optical illusion. Inside, there were rows and rows and rows of books and scrolls documenting the history of the elves in the Wyldwood Forest. They had been here for hundreds of years and every detail about every harvest, seasonal festival, births, deaths, and other events were penned for historical reference.
Snow had only been there once with Elator when she was a small girl. She hadn’t been back since. She didn’t know if she would be able to access the archives since she wasn’t an elf, but she had to try.
When she entered, the bell on the door tinkled to announce her arrival. The entryway was a small, tidy room with nothing more than a desk in the center and a closed door on either side leading to the massive collection.
The Master of Archives was one of the Elders named Harwin. No one was quite sure how old he was. He’d been Master for as long as anyone could remember. The left door opened and he shuffled out, his long silver hair unkempt as though he’d just rolled out of bed. His clothes were wrinkled like he’d slept in them. He had a red mark on one side of his face as though he’d fallen asleep in one of his books. Perhaps he had. He was known for never leaving the archives unless he absolutely had to.
“Ah, Snow,” he greeted. “What brings you here?” He stifled a yawn as he hobbled to the desk, leaning his elbows heavily on it and peering at her through pale blue eyes.
“I’m sorry for the early hour, Master,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He stood straight, smoothing a hand over his disheveled hair.
“Did you fall asleep reading?” she asked, and gave him a smile, hoping to win him over.
He looked abashed. “Is it obvious?”
“Not terribly.” She grinned. “I have a request. I was hoping you could help me.”
He ran a hand over his smooth chin as he considered her. “You can’t see the archives.”
It was almost as though he’d guessed her request. She tried not to frown. “Because I’m not one of you.”
“Well…”
It occurred to her that if anyone knew the story of the dark wizard exiled from the Wyldwood, Master Harwin would. An idea struck her.
“Then if you won’t let me in to see the books,” she said, “at least answer a question or two for me?” She moved closer to the desk so only the large piece of furniture separated them.
One silvery brow lifted in intrigue. “I heard what happened last night at the festival. Does it have to do with that?”
