Percival grinned and spread his arms wide, careful not to rattle the inkwell once again. “Well, lo and behold, you’ve found it! A study hall, prepared for any scholar’s keen attention. Are you quite pleased?”
A sudden flare of agitation came over Roy. His right hand flexed unconsciously. A muscle in his brow twitched. Why was he simply allowing Percival to aggravate him? He needed to defuse Percival’s arrogance, but Roy liked to think he had a wise soul, and there was nothing wise about confrontation—a point of counsel he had read in many philosophical texts.
Roy nodded to Percival’s book. “Razkamun?”
“I’m fully equipped with the mental capacity to read a book in less than a day. No, thankfully I’mnotfilling my head with that deluded jargon anymore. Although the fact that I’m speaking to you suggests otherwise.”
Roy snorted. “Yes, you’ve made your opinion on my idiocy quite clear. I do appreciate the reminder, though.”
Percival gawked, as though he hadn’t expected Roy to bite back. He shook his head, then cleared the bewilderment from his face. “No, I’m not reading Razkamun. It’s this collection of essays on political manipulation. I’m quite certain it was written by a circle of tittering old nursemaids, as is the case with most of these blasted books, but it holds some fairly decent information.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Nursemaids are fond of gossip.”
“It appears so,” Percival mused. He inclined his head to the recorded binding of essays. “Arngard’s obsession with writing on external affairs, as opposed to the social unrest brewing in the Western Ranges, his homeland, alarms me. Politics is a useful discourse to navigate, so long as you’ve researched and thus comprehended the harm your stance might pose to your own country. Prioritize the virtues of one’s own nation before all others and all that.”
“Who is to say Arngard didn’t do precisely that?” Roy inquired. He hadn’t read Arngard, which, unless he was too in over his head to notice, Percival would infer from Roy’s question.
Percival said, “For one, his prose showcases creative talent, I suppose, but the content of his writing itself exhibits a glaring shortage of research, opting for flowery reports over hard, cold logic and evidence, thereby abusing the notion of the importance of opinions in politics. I feel as though I’m reading a fantastical tale, not the history of governing powers.”
“Why would you continue reading it, then?”
“Why do I need to explain myself?” Percival shot back... only to proceed to do exactly that. “If a scholar leaves a book incomplete, there remains a good chance the answers they seek are within what is left of the text. Hence, if a scholar reads theentirebook...”
“Does that rule not apply to essentially all books in existence? To mirror the structure of your theory: If a scholar leavesallbooks incomplete, there remains a good chance that the answers they seek are within the books theyhaven’tread.”
Percival scowled. “I have no desire to readallbooks in existence. That would be impossible, not to mention a waste of time. I’m only interested in those whose themes and subjects apply to my own research.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, as I’m sure you will, but topics of discussion often overlap. This can lead to some confusion, sure, but reading every book at your disposal, and there are quite a lot here, would increase the likelihood of finding answers.”
“No scholar could possibly read such a vast number of pages in so short a lifetime.”
“Thus, my interpretation of your assumption presents itself,” Roy said. “Completing all the books you read will never limit your options. It will only lead to the anger of a scholar leagues from the true answers they desire.” He smiled, propped one hand on his hip, and put the other behind his ear, his fingers splayed. “Do I hear any points of disagreement?”
Percival narrowed his eyes, then poked Roy hard in the chest. “Don’tinterrupt my reading again,” he said, then delved back into his research with a pointedly aggressive flip of the page that seemed to announce the conclusion of their argument.
Wiseass,Roy thought.
Roy’s odds at convincing Percival to work with him were not looking good. He had put his all into his aspirations, sacrificed his own well-being for the expansion of his mind. He had struggled for this, fought tooth and nail, even when it felt as though the city had sharpened all its blades and pointed them at his throat. Now, as he watched Percival settle himself back into his work, Roy could almost hear the drumming thunder of gunfire, the gurgles of dying men, women, and children. The din that preceded doom.
A memory came to Roy then, unbidden: Briar’s two-faced carving, gripped between her palms. His kind-hearted sister, her face ashen with yearning and devastation.What was once war may bring peace, he had told her, and she had finished, her eyes welling up with tears,Or war again.
Roycouldwork alone and abandon his chances of accomplishment and survival. That was a possibility. He could sequester himself away in the shadows of another study hall. He could while away the next six months and wait for death to come to Northgard, for the Radiant Droves to drag him by the collar of his coat to the barracks of the Iron Citadel. He could resign himself to that fate.
But he wasn’t a soldier; he was a scholar. He understood—by the Scribes, heloved—stringing together theories to articulate an answer, not tearing apart bodies to appease an autocrat. Maybe Percival would never agree to academic collaboration, but if Roy had to take a risk, now was the time to shed his fears and do it.
“Percival,” Roy said, pulling out a chair beside him and sitting down.
Percival stiffened, his right hand grasping his quill. He looked askance at Roy, and Roy had to jerk his eyes away from Percival’s sensuous lips, parted in a soundless sigh, in fear of losing his focus. Though Percival didn’t say a word, he angled his head back, then rotated his hand in ago-ongesture.
Gathering the shards of his courage, Roy said, “This assignment is pointless without both of our input. We’ll hardly be able to find answers in six months on our own. We...” He ran a hand over his face, then forced himself to look Percival in the eyes. “We need each other, Percival. We need to work together.”
8
Roy watched Percival’s face carefully for achange in his expression, something beyond his customary annoyance. Surely he would unveil his agenda tosomeextent.
Eventually, his narrowed eyes relaxed, then shifted back and forth. He seemed to be sifting through a catalogue of responses, assessing which best suited the situation. Or he was contemplating, depending on their surroundings and the items within his immediate range of movement, the most efficient method of murder. Roy wouldn’t have been surprised by either choice.
“And what brings you to that conclusion?” Percival finally asked.
