The air in the archives was thick.

There was nothing in here that was going to help, Simon was certain of it. Whatever answers could be found, they were inside the light. This was too new. Searching the past for solutions wasn’t going to help. Perhaps he had been foolish not to go with Dorian.

No. Refusing Dorian was the right choice.

Following him was always going to end with him on his knees and devastated. Even if he could justify the idea, even if he could tell himself that what had happened before was something he could put behind him, Dorian was not going to do the same.

Maybe he never would. Maybe he would go into that light and behave with such arrogance that Aria would devour him whole. If she had any power over that place, if she wasn’t just some strange source of power for it, he could envision it. If she knew what had happened, she might not even allow him the time to make further mistakes.

And Isador… if he knew, Dorian would have become pulp years ago.

Isador would not know. It was one thing for him to mess everything up with Aria, and another to allow any semblance of friendship with Dorian to dissolve. But he could not allow Isador to be pulled away from him. Not like the others.

He had to have one friend that he did not ruin.

The thought hit him quite suddenly, but he did not bother to dwell on it. It would only serve to upset him, and he had done such a remarkable job at keeping his heart beating even and steady since last night. He would not tarnish that.

Dorian should be arriving shortly.

The carriage ride was not too tedious, and he would likely go to the light the moment he was in town. The townsfolk had not bothered Simon and Isador, but they had been much less easily recognizable. If Dorian appeared, they would clamor for his attention, beg him to fix things.

Perhaps he could. He was skilled, certainly the most magically powerful of the siblings. Even with Catherine set to take the throne, it was clear that he outranked her in that regard. It did not matter if a certain field was not his specialty— he could handle basics within such a short time. Maybe he would be able to salvage this mess within hours of arriving.

No matter what resentment Simon held, he had to hope that the man would be successful with this. The idea of him failing was infinitely worse than that of admitting that he had done well. If that column spread, Simon could not even begin to speculate on what that meant for those it encroached upon. Perhaps it would place them all in that odd gray void. Perhaps they would not survive— after all, Simon and Isador had entered through a door. This was different.

Simon ran his hand through his hair, sighing at the papers before him. They would not help. He had stared at them for hours, finding nothing of importance.

He ought not to take a break when time was so of the essence, but what good was time now? Dorian would fix this or he would not. Simon rose, his body going rigid at the sound of the archive door slamming.

”Simon?”

He had expected Mari. “Prince Salvador?” He stepped away from the table, moving through the shelves.

The man stood before him, his face scrunched into something complex. “Yeah. Sorry to come to you like this and all, but… the Archivist is busy with my parents. I wanted you to know what’s going on.” He reached his hand to rub at the back of his neck, eyes falling to the ground.

”Not good news, I assume?”

The man’s laugh was shaky. “The light has begun moving much faster. It will be here in a few hours, if that. I think Miss Al-Din might try to figure it out with everyone, but… I don’t think you should be alone and not know it’s coming. You should go. I know you don’t really have family, but I don’t think a basement is a good place to… Do you think we’re going to die?”

Simon had never heard his voice crack like that. A few years older than him and Isador, Salvador had always seemed more put together than them. Silly and exaggerated in everything he did, sure, but sadness and fear had seemed somehow beneath him. There was no good answer to that question. “I do not know. Do you have someone you can—“

”Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m going to go see him. Do you want to go up together?”

Where would he even go? If Chalice and Gris were out at all, or if this thing accelerated, he wouldn’t make it to them in time to say anything that mattered. He could go to the gardens. He had always loved them when he was younger. No, he shouldn’t be alone.

”I’d like that.”

Salvador nodded, allowing Simon to move ahead of him. “You’ve been well? Aside from this?”

Had he? “Well enough. And you? Your courtship sounded promising from what I heard.”

Salvador laughed, this time a bit more warmly. “May I tell you a secret? Since we may not have chances?”

Simon raised a brow, stepping through the threshold to the main archives. The room was empty and silent, the light filtering through the windows brighter than before. Or perhaps that was simply his imagination. “Why not?”

”It is his servant I have been seeing. He has no interest in marriage and I have no interest in him, but it works well enough.” It was good to see Salvador smile.

”So long as you are happy, I see no reason that is not amenable.” He kept walking, the sound of their footsteps the only one to cut through the room. It was unpleasant how silent the halls were. Had everyone already settled in their places awaiting the light?

”I am. Though I must apologize, while we are talking. My parents always did want one of us to marry you, and I did outright decline. I hope that it was not taken with offense. You just never seemed all that invested in royal life.” He grinned. “You’ve grown quite handsome, though, I must say.”

Simon might have been irritated if he had not already suspected that Salvador had also been pressured toward him. “If I am honest, one less of you pursuing me has been a blessing. Not that I do not enjoy your company.”

Finally, someone else stood in their path. A tall, dark-haired servant with bags beneath his eyes and a soft smile upon his lips. Salvador did not need to tell him who it was. “Yours, too. Though, I must part ways now. Good luck with what you’re doing. And if we do survive this, please figure out this puzzle for us. Whatever Dorian did certainly didn’t solve it.”

Simon supposed that was true enough. As the man stepped ahead of him, the servant did not approach. He just stood perfectly still, filling his role even now. Salvador didn’t make any move that would be unbecoming.

Just in case they did make it.

”I will do my best.”

Salvador just smiled, disappearing around the corner, the young man a few paces behind. Wherever they were off to, at least Salvador seemed happy.

Simon did not know where he ought to go, but he walked regardless, his shoes echoing against marble floors and stairways. It was easier to navigate the palace without worrying that a tall, pale figure might appear around any corner.

As he stood outside Isador’s door, he hesitated, staring at the bronze knob before him. Perhaps Isador wasn’t even in here. That didn’t matter, Simon supposed. He could go somewhere else. Or, maybe he could borrow Isador’s balcony. It faced that direction. It might be pleasant.

When he rapped at the door, there was no response.

Isador had never remembered to lock his door. Simon took the knob in hand and was unsurprised when it turned easily. The room was exactly as Simon imagined it would be. The furniture was ornate and well made. The silks upon the bed were of the finest quality. Everything was befitting a prince, but Simon also knew that Isador had no sitting room or private library. The things here were collected by his hand, not gifted from palace stores of treasures and heirlooms. The youngest. The least important.

Simon buried his hands in his pockets. He shouldn’t touch anything. This room should be left however Isador had left it. He had no right to it. As he approached the delicate glass doors to the balcony, he paused. He had never seen the tall wooden easel in here before. Granted, he hadn’t been in this room in years. A canvas clearly lay beneath a worn white shroud.

Would Isador be mad if he knew Simon looked? Would he ever even know? Simon reached forward, fingertips brushing over the rough cloth. Isador wouldn’t be angry. He was never angry with Simon.

”I didn’t expect you to be here.” The voice behind him was soft. Simon whipped his head around, dropping his hand. Isador stood with a small silver tray in his hands, a porcelain pot and cup atop it. “Do you want to see the painting?”

Simon swallowed, eyes dropping to the floor like a child who had been caught. “I was hoping to borrow your balcony. And your company, if you’ll give it.” An odd guilt settled into his stomach at the idea of looking at whatever lay beneath the covering without permission.

”I only brought one cup. Is that okay?”

Simon blinked, then nodded. Of course it was. He was here without having asked.

”You can look. It was going to be for you. I just didn’t get to finish it.”

Simon shook his head. “I’ll look when it’s finished. If you’d like to show me some of your work, may I see your sketchbook?” He stepped forward, pulling open the door of the balcony. The column stood tall in the distance, wider than before, certainly closer. He took a seat at the small round table, watching as the bright white glistened on the silver of the tray Isador sat before him. He didn’t sit, instead dipping back into the room and returning with a small brown book.

Simon took it in his hands, glancing back toward Isador. When the man nodded, he opened it.

It was not that he expected Isador to be bad. He was a prince with all the instructors he could ever ask for. Of course he could be talented. But the immediate beauty of the pencil work on the page would have been shocking regardless of its artist.

Delicate lines formed flowers so light that it seemed they could float directly off the page if a slight breeze dared to pass through. He turned the page. Perhaps he should not have been surprised to see his own face.

”Sorry. You were working, and the light looked so pretty on you,” Isador said. He paused. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Simon shook his head. “These are incredible, Isa.”

The light in his eyes was brighter than that which approached in the distance. “Thank you.”

As Simon turned page after page, eyes wandering, everything was quiet. The palace was usually so full of life, even in quiet areas. There was a certain hum to the sound of so many people working and living in one place, even if they could not be heard directly. But it seemed empty. All that was left in the world was Isador and Simon and the light, piercing through the cool orange hues of the lowering sun.

”Have a sip. I made your favorite. If your favorite is still the orange spice we had during the holidays.”

Simon looked up at the offered cup, its contents steaming. He took it carefully. Palace tea was never quite the same as that which his father made for him. That had always been his favorite. But this had always been nice. As far as Isador needed to know, it was the best he had ever had.

”Do you think we’re going to die?” Isador asked, rising. The light cast a strange glow on the man’s face as he gripped the railing.

Simon sat the cup back on the tray before moving to join him. “I hope not.” The light was closer already. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, casting his gaze towards the empty garden below.

A warm hand covered Simon’s. He did not pull away. “I love you, Simon.”

Simon took a shaky breath, his pinky finger moving over the cool silver ring on Isador’s hand. It filled him with a soft buzzing. Simon knew by now that touching any artifact would make him feel that electricity in his chest. But it was better to feel that than to worry that any of the feelings there were caused by something more. “I know,” he whispered.

The light took up nearly the entire sky before them now. The buzzing moved through him in waves, hot and almost painful. He moved his free hand, placing it over Isador’s eyes as he shut his own.

”I could not have asked for a better friend than you,” Simon said. It was hardly audible and with his eyes closed tightly, he could not see Isador’s reaction, but the man squeezed his hand.

Isador understood.