She considered my offer. I could see her thinking about it, weighing the risk of telling me about whatever secrets lied between her and my grandmother against the monumental task set before her and how useful a bit of help from someone knowledgeable about the research could be. Finally, she relented. With a sigh, she sat forward again, dropped her arms to her sides, and abandoned the classic Olympia offensive position.
"There's a symbol," she told me then, sliding a piece of paper out from under the book's open cover across the table to me. "Three rings overlapping and covered in a thin spiderweb design. I've seen it recently and remembered it from somewhere. I just can't remember where. I know it's old. I'm pretty sure we learned about it as kids but I can't find any mention of it in these books."
She frowned down at the book in front of her, clearly disturbed by her failure. Olympia and I had that in common. We both hated failing. We pursued vastly different paths but hated failing in them just the same. I could help her now. She couldn't help me, no one could, but I could help her.
Determined, I reached for the paper and slid it closer. I pulled out the chair across from my cousin and sat down, staring down at the strange design she'd clearly drawn from memory from wherever she'd seen it recently. It was just as she'd described. Three circles overlapping in the center with a thin design of webs on top of them. It was familiar. Just as she'd said, I had the strangest sensation I'd seen this symbol before but couldn't quite remember where. Abruptly, I stood from my seat and made my way toward my most favorite aisle in the library; the histories.
The sound of chair legs scraping against the tile a moment later informed me Olympia was following. I didn't slow in my stride as I ran my fingers over the spines of the books on the shelf, searching.
"What is it?" she asked, the first trace of eagerness entering her voice. Maybe Olympia could be turned into a scholar after all, if she could be convinced to chase the adrenaline of a hunt for knowledge rather than glory.
"If we've both seen the symbol before, it will have been during either lessons of history or religion as those are the only subjects riddled with symbology like that. If it were religion, I imagine it would be far more recognizable. There are only fifteen of them, after all, and we're required to memorize them young. You'd recognize the symbol for Deimos if you saw him, would you not? And Callidora? Lemnus?"
She nodded slowly.
"But you didn't recognize this one," I said. "Not on sight, at least, but you know you've seen it. Tell me, Olympia, how much attention did you pay during the history lectures?"
She frowned and I had my answer.
"I thought so," I replied with a nod of understanding. "You aren't the only one. Uncle Elias does tend to drone on and doesn't know what he's talking about half the time anyway."
"So the symbol is old," she said, verifying her original suspicions. "From some time in the past? But how are we going to find out when?"
"Through logical conjecture and process of elimination," I answered, pulling a few volumes from the shelves. I carried them back to our table and set them down. Olympia dropped into the chair opposite me and reached for the nearest one. "We know there are certain periods of history more prone to symbolism than others. Transitions in the Priesthood, successes in the Trials, uprisings, succession disputes, etc. If we can determine the intended meaning behind the symbol itself, that would help us narrow it down. Even if we can't, though, this will help us cut out quite a bit of uneventful in-between time. I suggest we start with the creation of the Priesthood itself. I know there was quite a bit of upheaval when it was first announced to be led by a member of House Lynx. If we can cross-reference—"
"I found it."
I froze, lowering the book I'd lifted from the stack to peer across the table at my cousin. She was staring down at a page in the book in her hands, the one she'd grabbed from the stack the moment I set them down. Her eyes were wide, lips parted slightly in surprise.
"Or we might get lucky," I finished, blowing out a breath and leaning over the table in an effort to get a glimpse. "What is it? What does it say?"
"I—it's nothing," she said. Quickly, she tried to slam the book shut, but my hand was there in an instant.
I winced as the thick pages slammed against my fingers but snatched it out of her hand before she could react. Flipping it around, I gazed down at the familiar symbol on the page, only slightly off from what Olympia had drawn herself. Then my eyes drifted to the label beneath it and the words below. I froze.
I lifted my eyes slowly to meet Olympia's gaze. She looked fearful. I couldn't blame her.
"Olympia," I said slowly, carefully. "Where did you see this?"
She shook her head once, unwilling to say.
"Olympia, you have to tell me where you saw this."
"No, I don't," she snapped, standing and snatching her drawing of the symbol from the table between us. She crumpled it up and stuffed it in her pocket before I could say another word. Then her piercing dark eyes found mine. "Don't breathe a word of this to anyone, cousin."
"If someone is using that symbol again—"
"Not a word, Milo. I mean it."
I stopped speaking and watched her for a moment, leering over me in fear and anger. This was the moment that had always been coming for Olympia and I. A moment in which we'd decide whether or not to trust one another. She'd been my only real competition when it came to succession, the only other member of my family I thought would have a fighting chance of luring Nascha away from proclaiming me her Heir, but she'd never really been in the running and she'd always known it. It was a thorn in her side and a gaping hole in our relationship, but it was done now. I was declared and she was still finding herself useful to the House. She was too intelligent, too skilled, to ever not have a place here. I would need her just as much as she needed me. If our grandmother taught us anything, it was that. And yet I always knew there'd be a moment in which we'd both have tochoose each other. We'd both have to trust each other. This was it. So I reached halfway across the bridge and prayed she'd meet me there.
"I trust you, Olympia," I told her, my voice quiet, my tone measured so she saw how much I meant it.
She blinked, stunned by the words and the intensity with which I'd spoken them. Her eyes searched mine with suspicion. She didn't believe me, but I hadn't expected her to. Olympia was the sort of person who wouldn't support anyone who didn't prove themselves to her. I would.
"You know what's at stake," I whispered, even more quietly. "You'll do the right thing."
She blinked again. Then, without another word, she stormed from the library and was gone. I watched the doorway she'd disappeared through for a moment and realized that was probably the first time anyone had ever told my cousin they trusted her. Most people didn’t bestow trust lightly when it came to Olympia.
