When the first light graced the sky, careful knocks sounded at the Queen's Chamber door, followed by Enzo's voice. The sound was small and hesitant, as though he wasn't sure whether the Queen was awake.
"Your Majesty, Archivist Nero has left for the mines," he said. The instant his words ended, the door swung open, making him jolt in surprise.
Hermi was no longer in bed. She stood fully dressed, her attire neat. She looked ready for a military campaign, not a morning stroll.
"Y-your Majesty," Enzo stuttered, "you're... up early."
"Of course I am. I've been waiting for this moment since last night."
After dinner, Hermi had instructed Enzo to inform her the very moment he saw the Archivist pass through the fortress gates. Though Enzo had shared everything he knew about the two dead queens, he had been unable to explain why the first Queen had arrived at Ferramonte in perfect health, only to perish from a severe illness just five months later.
Hermi intended to seek answers herself in the Great Library. However, letting Cassian hear even a whisper of her investigation into his late wives was out of the question. She didn't fancy becoming his next 'training accident'.
Under the Castellan's guidance, Hermi left the Sovereign Wing. The Great Library lay within the Archive Wing, isolated from the other sections of the fortress.
From the outside, it appeared to be nothing more than a single door set into a long, silent corridor. Inside, however, the space opened into a vast chamber, wide and towering as an arena.
Hermi stood alone among countless shelves of aged wood. Her fingers ran over the covers, eyes squinting at the handwritten titles. The Archivist must be a meticulous sort, Hermi thought. There was no trace of dust in the room, and the books looked as pristine as new.
Soon, Hermi had six records of Ferramonte's history in her hands. The strange thing about the records to Hermi was, though each chronicled a different reign, the script was identical, as if they were all written by the same person, spanning hundreds of years.
According to the records, Cassian I had the most wives of all. The number steadily declined with each generation, as if his successors didn't favor the tradition he set.
However, that didn't change how Ferramonte queens died. The options were as bleak as the kingdom itself. There were only three recorded causes: organ failure, suicide, or accidental death at the hands of their own husband.
Snapping the last record closed, Hermi shook the cold chill from her spine. Apparently, a lethal brand of clumsiness ran deep in the Malaspina bloodline. It wasn't just Cassian. His ancestors seemed to share the same gruesome penchant for accidentally killing their wives.
Just as Hermi was about to return the records to the shelf, she heard the main door creak open. Startled, Hermi crouched down low. Through the gaps of the shelves, she saw a man's long legs stride through the doorway.
"Who's hiding in there? Show yourself!" The man sounded clearly irritated.
Hermi assumed he was none other than Nero the Archivist. But Enzo had told her Nero would be out until midday. Why had he returned so early?
Reminding herself she was Queen now, at least on paper, Hermi straightened from her undignified crouching form. She smoothed her gown, donned a mask of calm, then stepped out from the shelves.
"Archivist Nero, lovely to meet you at last. I'm sorry for visiting without informing you. When I arrived, the servants said you had already left to inspect the mines."
To Hermi's surprise, the Archivist was no elderly man with white hair and a thick beard like she imagined. His hair was a neatly trimmed champagne blond, and his eyes were a gleaming blue. With youth still etched across his features, Nero seemed Hermi's age at most, though his voice belonged to that of a middle-aged man.
Nero didn't seem to buy her diplomatic words. His gaze narrowed, suspicion written all over his face. "The new Queen from Aurellanza, aren't you? You're not supposed to be here. Leave now."
Hermi arched a brow at the tone. Was impudence somehow encouraged in the Black Fortress? Between the maid and the archivist, she was beginning to wonder if she'd missed a memo on the royal hierarchy of this desolate land.
"If you're well aware that I'm the new Queen," Hermi replied, her tone sharpening to match his own, "then you must also know that I can be here whenever I wish to."
Nero remained entirely unmoved, his condescending tone unchanged. "Since you're new here, let me make this clear once and for all. The Great Library is off-limits. Go find somewhere else to entertain yourself, new Queen."
"Is this truly how an archivist is meant to speak to his Queen?" She could hardly believe such an insolent wretch had been appointed archivist.
"It is," Nero retorted with a flick of his wrist, "if the Archivist decides so."
"Aren't you supposed to give a proper introduction of yourself, or at least get to know your Queen a bit?"
"What's the point of getting to know each other, if you're going to die in a few months?"
The words hit Hermi with the force of a physical blow. Was that the reason everyone she had met so far in the Black Fortress, except for Marco and Enzo, had treated her with such cold indifference? They didn't just think she was a replaceable queen. They saw no reason to invest time in a woman they were convinced would be a corpse by spring.
Grimacing, Hermi demanded, "What makes you think that I am going to die in a few months?"
"I don't have to think," Nero scoffed. "I know. All you mages do. You're already dying where you stand right now, just like every queen who's ever come to this Mana Sink."
Nero's words sent a ripple of goosebumps across Hermi's skin. He spoke as if he could see into her body.
"What do you even mean?" she pressed.
"Atmospheric Sickness. You think it's just some slight discomfort, don't you? Here's the bad news. It's actually killing you. Within six months, either your organs will fail, or you'll sink into a depression so severe you'll end up taking your own life."
"B-but… how do you even know any of that?" Being a mage, Hermi had never heard of such a thing. Back in Aurellanza, the condition was treated as a temporary travel nuisance, not a terminal diagnosis.
"Previous queens, obviously," Nero shrugged, as if discussing the shelf life of produce. "Complications from long-term exposure to Atmospheric Sickness. None of you mages have ever stayed in a Mana Sink long enough to learn that for yourselves."
Hermi stared at Nero, her eyes wide with a dawning horror. It finally dawned on her why the previous queens of Ferramonte had mostly died either of organ failure, or suicide. The 'tyrant husband' rumors were only half the story. The land itself was an assassin.
When Hermi had stood at the altar beside Cassian in the Grand Cathedral of Aethelgard, she had already prepared herself for the same fate as every Ferramonte queen before her. But hearing Nero speak it aloud now, so coldly and with such certainty, Hermi felt as though her death sentence had just been formally delivered, by a mere court librarian.
"No."
Nero lifted a brow. "No, what?"
Hermi's voice remained steady, her gaze burning into Nero with the resolve of a knight who had already shattered his sword, yet still refused to yield:
"I'm not going to die. Not within months. Not ever."
Nero scoffed again, incredulous at her stubbornness. "That isn't something you get to decide. Unless you intend to divorce the king and flee this land for good."
Hermi shook her head. "You're not hearing me properly. I'm not divorcing my husband, and I'm not going to die."
A fissure crept into Nero's voice. "That's impossible, Queen. Stop spouting nonsense."
"Hear me once and for all," Hermi declared. "I am going to live. And you shall watch me rule Ferramonte as its one and only Queen."