The Elven Art of Falling Gracelessly

Chapter 6: The Cipher and the Sneeze

"Just walk," Aelith had said, but 'just walking' for Eryndor was like suggesting a fish 'just fly'—it was theoretically possible but statistically unlikely to end well.

The two of them crouched low behind a marble balustrade overlooking the Royal Library's main rotunda. Eryndor’s boots were still damp, making a tiny, pathetic squelch every time he shifted his weight.

"Do you always sneak into forbidden state archives after nearly being murdered, or is this a special 'I’m your mentor' treat?" Eryndor whispered, his voice echoing slightly in the vast, domed space.

Aelith shot him a look that could have flash-frozen a waterfall. "Keep your voice down. The acoustics in this hall are designed to amplify the slightest whisper into a state offense. If we get caught, I'm telling them you kidnapped me."

"With what? A broken harp and a pocket full of blue foam?" Eryndor muttered, carefully peeling a piece of dried moss from his sleeve. "Look at this place. It’s huge. How are we even supposed to find the decryption section? It’s not like there’s a sign that says ‘Secrets for Stabbing the State’ in aisle four."

"We’re looking for the Southern Anniversaries and Cipher Keys. Second floor, near the back," Aelith said, already moving with that irritating, liquid grace. "And please, for the sake of my sanity, stop touching your robes. You’re shedding dirt like a wet dog."

"I can’t help it! The forest is literally attached to me!" Eryndor hissed, hurrying to catch up. He nearly clipped a golden bust of a grim-looking elder. "Wait, Aelith! Look at that guy on the pedestal. He looks exactly like your face when I use the wrong fork."

"Focus, Eryndor. We need to translate that cipher before dawn."

"I am focusing! I’m focusing on not tripping over my own curiosity. Why is it so dusty in here? Don't the librarians use magic for cleaning?"

"Dust settles where knowledge rests undisturbed," Aelith said, rounding a corner into a narrow aisle packed with leather-bound tomes. "Now, stay close. Caelwyn Moonbranch is on patrol tonight, and he’s known for having ears that can hear a ladybug clear its throat from fifty paces."

"Great. Caelwyn. He’s the guy who once gave me a formal citation for breathing too heavily during the Winter Solstice speech, isn't he?"

"That’s him. So, try to hold your breath for the next twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes? Aelith, I’m a mammal, not a dolphin!"

They reached the specific shelf, a claustrophobic nook tucked away behind a gargantuan pillar. Aelith pulled down a heavy, silver-latched book that looked old enough to have witnessed the creation of the sun.

"Help me look for the 'Wolf’s Tail' substitution key," she said, resting the book on a small reading stand.

Eryndor leaned in, squinting at the dense, swirling text. "Does the substitution key look like tiny squiggles or slightly larger squiggles?"

"Check the index. Or better yet, look for the 'Ancient Seals' volume on the shelf behind you."

Eryndor turned around, his movements jerky in the tight space. As he reached up for a large, tome-thick book, he accidentally brushed a stack of loose scrolls resting on the edge of the shelf. A thick, grey cloud of ancient, fossilized dust billowed out directly into his face.

"Oh no," Eryndor whispered, his eyes widening.

Aelith froze, her hand still on the silver latch. "What? Did you find something?"

"I… I found… the dust," Eryndor wheezed, his nose beginning to twitch rhythmically. "Aelith, my allergies. They’re launching a full-scale assault."

"Don't," she hissed, her eyes darting to the hallway outside their alcove. "Eryndor, do not sneeze."

"It’s not a choice! It’s an involuntary biological imperative!" He clamped his hand over his nose, his entire body beginning to vibrate. "My face feels like it’s being tickled by a thousand spiders."

"Fight it! Think of something boring! Think of… the High Elder’s lecture on agrarian tax reform!"

"That just makes me want to die, it doesn't help the sneeze!" Eryndor’s eyes were watering now. He looked like a man about to explode. "It’s coming. The kraken is waking up!"

Suddenly, a rhythmic clink-clink-clink echoed from the rotunda. The sound of metal greaves hitting stone.

"Caelwyn," Aelith breathed, her face turning pale. "He’s right outside."

"I'm gonna… I’m really gonna…" Eryndor’s breath hitched in a classic three-step build-up.

Aelith didn't hesitate. She grabbed his tunic and yanked him into the deepest shadows of the alcove, pressing him back against the wall. The space was barely wide enough for one elf, let alone two, and they were suddenly pressed chest-to-chest.

"Silence," she commanded, but she didn't just say it. She used her free hand to grab his face, muffling his nose and mouth against the soft silk of her shoulder.

Eryndor’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He was currently pinned by the most terrifyingly elegant woman in the realm, his face buried in the scent of jasmine and wood-fire. The proximity was overwhelming. Her heart was beating fast—almost as fast as his.

"Mmph!" he protested into her collar.

"Stay. Still," she whispered directly into his ear.

Outside, the clink of the guard’s footsteps slowed down. "Hello? Is someone there?" Caelwyn’s voice boomed, sharp and suspicious.

Aelith closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against Eryndor’s shoulder. She looked small for a moment, vulnerable. Eryndor felt a sudden, strange shift in his chest. His sneeze—the unstoppable force of nature—seemed to wilt under the sheer intensity of the moment. He stopped vibrating, though his face remained buried in her tunic.

"Must have been the library sprites again," Caelwyn muttered. His footsteps resumed, gradually fading as he moved toward the astronomy wing.

Aelith didn't let go immediately. She stayed there for five long seconds, her breath warm against Eryndor’s neck. When she finally pulled back, her face was flushed a color Eryndor had never seen on her before—a deep, vibrant rose.

"Is the danger… dispersed?" Eryndor whispered, his voice muffled.

"Yes," she said, her voice shaking slightly. She let go of him as if he were made of hot coals. "And you didn't sneeze. Congratulations. You finally achieved a moment of quiet."

"I think I left my soul back there in your shoulder," Eryndor said, rubbing his nose. "That was… efficient. Terrifyingly efficient."

"It was a practical solution to a potential disaster," Aelith snapped, though she couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Now, the cipher. While you were almost dying of dust, I found the overlap."

"Right. The cipher. The state-ending disaster. Much more important than my personal trauma," he said, moving back to the book.

"Look here," she pointed to a series of glyphs that matched the mercenary's note. "When you cross-reference 'The Silver Dawn' with 'Eclipse,' it unlocks the specific target."

Eryndor squinted at the translation. " 'The Wine of Ages.' That’s what the King drinks during the final toast, right? To bless the next hundred years?"

"Yes," Aelith said, her finger tracing the word beneath it. " 'Add the Night-shade essence at the stroke of twelve.' "

"Night-shade? Isn't that the stuff that makes you look like you died of natural causes but actually just stops your heart?"

"Exactly," Aelith’s voice was grim. "They aren't just sabotaging the ceremony. They’re planning an assassination that won't look like an assassination."

Eryndor stood up straight, his usual humor momentarily replaced by a cold clarity. "If the King dies during the toast, and it looks like age got him, the succession goes to the High Elder’s council. Who just happen to be Lethielle’s primary benefactors."

"We have to tell someone," Aelith said, already reaching for the book to hide it.

"Who? Lethielle is literally playing lunch with the people who would investigate it," Eryndor said. "If we show this to the Guard, the message might go straight back to her."

"You’re right," Aelith bit her lip. "We need physical proof of her involvement. Something more than a mercenary's note that she could claim is a forgery."

Eryndor looked back at the note they’d recovered in the woods. He flipped it over, noticing a small, smudge-like mark in the corner. "Hey, Aelith. This wax seal on the back of the envelope they kept this in… what’s that symbol?"

She peered at it. "It’s a serpent coiled around a moon. It’s a very specific dockyard mark."

"The Shadow Docks," Eryndor whispered. "The place where the illegal exports go."

"Eryndor, look at the footnote on the page," Aelith pointed at the text once more. " 'Deliveries completed at the dark ebb.' That’s tonight."

"Tonight? You mean like… right now?"

"Yes. And the note mentioned a rendezvous point."

"Wait," Eryndor held up a hand. "Are we about to do the thing? The thing in stories where we go to a dangerous place at night to witness a suspicious meeting?"

"We are," Aelith said, closing the tome with a soft thud.

"Fantastic," Eryndor sighed, though he was already checking his pockets. "And here I was worried my evening was going to be boring after the library cuddle."

Aelith’s eyes flared. "We are never calling it that again. Ever."

"Got it. 'Strategic embrace for silencing purposes.' "

"Eryndor!"

"Moving! I'm moving!"

They snuck out through the library’s side entrance, slipping into the cool night air. The city was quiet, but the air felt heavy with the secret they were carrying.

"One thing," Eryndor said as they looked down toward the harbor. "If we find her there, and she’s talking to these dark elf people… what’s the plan? Do we tackle them?"

"We observe," Aelith said. "We get proof. And then we survive."

"Can I at least have a snack first? Espionage really works up an appetite."

"I have a piece of dried fruit in my pouch," she offered, already descending the stairs.

"You really are prepared for everything," he chuckled, following her. "Expectations, assassins, and snacks. You’re a marvel, Aelith."

She didn't answer, but as they rounded the corner toward the docks, she didn't tell him to stop talking, either.

"There," Eryndor whispered, pointing toward a flickering lantern near the end of the pier.

Two figures were standing there. One was unmistakably Lethielle, her golden hair covered by a dark hood. The other was tall, slender, and moved with a jagged, unnatural rhythm.

"She's actually doing it," Aelith murmured, her hand drifting toward her blade. "She’s meeting with the Southern Shroud."

"Looks like my social schedule just got a lot more dangerous," Eryndor said, his eyes fixed on the exchange below. "I really hope these guys are allergic to something, because if they are, I’ve got a backup plan."