Page 63 of Vicious Kings
Locke showed me once, thinking I was interested in historical preservation instead of using the knowledge to steal his credentials.
Speaking of which...
I pull the identification crystal from my pocket, Locke's authorization key. He probably hasn't even noticed it's missing yet, too busy playing watchdog for my dear brother. The thought brings a smile to my face as I press it against the lock.
The wards recognize Locke's signature and peel back like flower petals. Too easy. You'd think they'd have better securityfor their most sensitive records, but the Seelie have always been arrogant about their magical superiority.
But maybe that's about to change.
Inside, the archives sprawl in defiance of the building's exterior dimensions. Shelves stretch into darkness in every direction, lined with documents and artifacts that date back millennia. The air smells like dust, thick with magic that makes my hybrid skin burn.
I head straight for the hunter records. They're kept separate from the general population files, marked with wards that whisper warnings about the dangers contained within. As if information about my enemies could hurt me more than the enemies themselves.
The filing system is archaic but logical once you understand its rhythm. Organized by clan, then by individual, then by incident. I find the Moreau section easily enough—they're one of the oldest hunter bloodlines, after all. Pages upon pages of encounters, kills, near-misses. A litany of Fae deaths stretching back centuries.
And there, filed under "Recent Incidents," I find her.
Wilhelmina Moreau
Age: 20
Designation: Omega
Origin: Moreau clan
Parents: Unknown
A name, a brief history, a couple of cold facts… that's all they've got on her. Nothing about her childhood, nothing about her family. Of course, they didn't bother to interrogate her properly. They never see omegas as threats. It’s that damnedSeelie arrogance again, like a disease spreading through every corner of this university, blinding them to what's simmering right under their perfect noses.
I close the thin file on Wilhelmina Moreau reluctantly, my mind drifting to the thought of her wandering these halls, carrying secrets she has no business holding. I turn back to the shelves, eyes scanning for anything else that might shed light on her purpose here.
Hours whittle away with no leads. There are dozens of files on hunters from the Moreau clan, but vast as that bloodline is, it narrows things down so little. Most of the files don't even have names, they're just references to hunters who either succeeded at killing Fae and escaped, or those who were killed on the spot as penance for their failure.
Then I find it. A file labeled "Unresolved Incidents." It stands out because of the thin layer of dust covering its surface, the soft grit tickling my fingertips as I pull it free. Most wouldn't think to look here in a section the archivists clearly haven't bothered with in years. Another oversight of the complacent.
Flipping through the pages, an entry catches my eye.
A female hunter, nameless, somewhere around forty-five, captured after an assassination attempt on Corvinus.
Eight years ago.
My chest constricts slightly. Interesting. There's no record of execution, just an order. Which is odd. Executions are standard Fae protocol for hunters who don't make a quick enough escape.
Yet this file ends abruptly, the grim conclusion missing. I suppose that's how it ended up in this section in the first place.
Typical of them. Either the archivists have made a clerical error—which seems unlikely, given the anal retentive nature of their record-keeping—or someone stayed the execution without leaving any record of it.
My fingers trace the edge of the paper, as if it might divulge more secrets. But as scant as the facts are, they paint an interesting picture.
This nameless female hunter… could she be related to Billie? If so, thenhermotive is at least accounted for.
But why did the records stop? I'd need to squeeze more than dust and ink for answers, though.
I could ask Corvinus outright.
But that's reckless unless I want to tip him off to the fact that I'm digging where I shouldn’t be. Corvinus, for all his princely poise and the arrogance that makes him blind to his own flesh and blood scheming behind his back, is still a bit too clever forthat.
I slide the file back into place, the others around it shifting into disorder before settling.
