Before daybreak, the bells in the upper archives sounded six times. Luthen was already in the Glass hall when I got there, crouched over a desk covered with eldgers and polished cloths. His eyes were dark from sleep deprivation, and his hair protruded in every direction.
"Good morning," he said, taking a bite of bread. By midweek, Mistress Kallith requests progress reports. She is certain that pre-Calyran writing can be found in the western mirrors."
"That implies that they are older than the Calyra itself."
He smiled. "Exactly. If we uncover evidence, do you think they'll allow us to publish?"
I chuckled quietly. "They'll probably take it away, destroy our notes, and claim the mirrors never existed."
In a faux salute, he lifted his cup. "To scholarship."
Working side by side in the morning mist, we cataloged little bits, such as shards contained in crystal boxes and tiny pieces of mirror frames. Nothing noteworthy. With the exception of the faint hiss of lamps and the scratch of quills, the quiet was the kind that eventually became a companion.
Mistress Kallith came down the hall by noon. With her gloved hands neatly folded in front of her, she stopped close to my table. "Have you both observed condensation on the coverings?"
Luthen shook his head. "No, Mistress."
"Odd," she said. "The temperature ought to remain steady. This morning, there were some wet veils near the east corridor."
"Maybe a leak?" I offered.
She shot me a glare that completely rejected the notion. "The Calyra has no leaks."
Then, more gently: "Keep working. This week, the theologians will examine the bigger mirrors."
Her footsteps faded into the reverberating darkness.
"Condensation," Luthen whispered when she had left. "Yes. Perhaps they are collecting their breath in the mirrors."
"Don't start."
"I mean it. Have you ever noticed that standing between two of them makes the air feel heavier? Like a buildup of pressure beneath your skin?"
Holding a rag, I hesitated. "You ought to get more sleep."
"Perhaps I ought to. However, yesterday night-"
He came to a halt. I pivoted. "What?"
Suddenly bashful, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Not at all. Just strange dreams. From inside the hallways, I thought I heard someone calling my name."
"Someone?"
"It might have been the wind." Too hastily, he grinned. "Or the new ventilation system installed by Mistress Kallith."
We both feigned to chuckle.
The majority of the employees had left by nightfall. I stayed behind to complete my reports. The lamps were low, and the hall was silent once more. There was no draft, no flicker of light, no distant sound from the top floors, and the air had become oddly calm.
Leaning closer to one of the smaller mirrors, I noticed intricate designs etched along the rim: vein-like runes that intersected and curled, like they were alive.
The actual surface was drab, more gray than silver. Even so, I thought I saw the tiniest shadow pass behind my reflection as I cleaned it.
Surely a trick of exhaustion. However, I was positive that it blinked.
Behind me, I heard slow, methodical footsteps.
"Vaerin, working late again?" The quiet, serene voice of Mistress Kallith.
"Yes, Mistress." I turned, attempting to ignore the chill that ran down my back. "Just completing the inventory."
"Excellent." She examined me for a long while, then her gaze moved to the exposed mirror. "Take caution not to apply too much polish. Certain surfaces retain touch."
She turned and walked out of the hall before I could inquire what she meant.
Soon after, I packed up. I saw a thin smear of pale, gray fingerprints pushed into the ink when I closed my ledger.
They weren't mine.
