Chapter 26 Possibilities #2
The older woman pulled out a chair and sat down with complete ease.
"You told me where you hope the answer will be."
Eira opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again when no response came.
"The marks are not a question," Ilva said, raising one finger. "The old laws are not a question," she continued, lifting a second. "And the North is definitely not a question," she added with a third. "What is the question?"
The room suddenly felt much quieter. Beyond the windows, gulls wheeled above the harbor while the sea glimmered beneath the sunlight, and for the first time since arriving Eira found herself considering the difference between what she wanted to know and why she wanted to know it.
The answer emerged slowly, as though she were uncovering something long buried beneath layers of earth.
"I want to know why everyone keeps deciding things for me."
The words surprised her, not because they were untrue, but because they were so completely and undeniably true.
Ilva's expression changed, though only slightly, and yet it was enough.
"There you are."
Eira frowned.
"What?"
"The real question."
The older woman leaned back in her chair, looking satisfied, as though Eira had only now arrived despite having been present the entire time.
For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Ilva nodded toward the shelves surrounding them.
"In that case, you're in the right building."
She paused briefly before continuing.
"But probably not the right section."
For the first time that day, genuine curiosity replaced Eira's frustration, and somewhere between the shelves, the books, and the endless scent of paper and ink, she felt something unexpected stir beneath her lingering anxiety.
It was neither certainty nor answers, but rather the possibility that she might eventually find them.
Ilva rose from her chair and gestured for Eira to follow.
"Come."
Eira followed her through another doorway and into a quieter section of the archives, where the change was immediate. The books looked older, the shelves darker, and the air carried a stronger scent of dust and leather. Few people seemed to visit this part of the building.
The older woman stopped before a row of cabinets and ran her fingers lightly across several labels before selecting one.
"The North."
She pulled open a drawer, revealing dozens of carefully rolled documents inside.
Eira stepped closer.
"The records of Frostvein?"
"Some."
Ilva's answer was noticeably less certain than usual.
"Not many."
Eira frowned.
"What happened to the rest?"
For the first time since they met, the older woman's expression lost some of its amusement.
"That depends on who is telling the story."
The answer immediately captured Eira's attention. Slowly, Ilva removed one of the scrolls and carried it toward a nearby table.
"You grew up in Frostvein."
It was not a question.
"Yes."
"Then you already know the official version."
Eira hesitated. The phrase itself felt strange, as though there could be more than one version of the truth.
Ilva carefully unrolled the document.
"The North suffered several archive fires."
Eira nodded. Everyone knew that explanation because it had been repeated for years. The losses were always attributed to accidents, time, weather, and misfortune, and they had long been presented as unfortunate necessities.
Ilva looked up.
"And do you believe that?"
The question arrived so calmly that it took Eira a moment to answer.
"I never questioned it."
"Most people don't."
The older woman smoothed the parchment.
"That is generally the point."
Silence settled between them while distant gulls cried above the harbor beyond the windows, their voices seeming very far away.
"When I was younger," Ilva continued, "I spent several years helping catalog records from across the northern territories."
The statement surprised Eira.
"You traveled to Frostvein?"
"Twice."
A faint smile appeared on Ilva's face.
"I wasn't especially welcome."
For some reason, that was not difficult to imagine.
The smile faded.
"There were references to records that no longer existed."
Eira leaned forward slightly.
"What kind of records?"
"Genealogies."
Ilva set aside one scroll and reached for another.
"Treaties."
Then another.
"Legal codes."
After a brief pause, she added,
"Religious texts."
That last category immediately caught Eira's attention because she knew exactly how carefully Frostvein guarded anything connected to tradition.
"Why destroy them?"
Ilva met her gaze.
"That is usually the correct question."
Neither woman spoke for several moments before the archivist continued.
"People imagine history disappears because someone hates the past."
She shook her head.
"In my experience, that is rarely true."
"What is true?"
The older woman rested one hand on the parchment.
"History disappears when it becomes inconvenient."
The words settled heavily between them.
Eira thought of her father immediately, not because she wanted to, but because she couldn't help it. The feeling must have shown on her face, because Ilva watched her quietly without pushing, without rescuing her from the thought, and without interrupting the conclusion forming in her mind.
Finally, Eira spoke.