“Did you know you’re one of the few scholars I’ve met?” Percival said. “And if you’re here, then that means either you were ratted out or the Governor found out your treachery by himself. There’s no in-between. But unlike you, Dawnseve, I’m unconcerned with being a principal player. And frankly, the fact that you think you’re as important as that is downright laughable. What I want is tobeatyou, to root out the truth before you do, and if you’re wise, you’ll let me.” He released his hold on Roy, though only to smooth the wrinkles rumpling his coat. “But something tells me you won’t.”
When he stepped back, Roy had half a mind to pull him back in—to do what, though, he did not permit himself to imagine. “You’re mad,” he muttered.
“Maybe,” Percival said with a grin, shrugging. “But as I said, this is a game. And, darling, there is nothing I love more than winning.”
9
Alittle later, while he was consuming a lightlunch of bread and cheese, Roy mulled over Percival’s parting words from their encounter earlier that morning. He had tried reading for his own leisure to occupy himself, vaguely aware that he was procrastinating making headway on what he’d hoped to be his first full day of research, but he couldn’t get Percival’s voice out of his head.But as I said, this is a game. And, darling, there is nothing I love more than winning.
A game? What game?Roy thought, his confusion compounded by the memory of Percival grabbing him by his tailcoat and pulling him close when he’d mentioned this undefined competition, but perhaps that had been part of it—a distraction tactic. If that was Percival’s current strategy, it might work temporarily, as Roy couldn’t deny his voice had shaken when Percival had drawn him close, but Percival would quickly be proven wrong if he believed Roy would remain forever under his spell.
Roy couldn’t puzzle it out. He had assumed, from the get-go, that Percival was competitive. He had essentially bragged about his knowledge of Northgard’s military units and Razkamun’s bibliography, and his overt reluctance to explain why he’d been studying the latter irritated Roy. But why had Percival marked him as an opponent? He’d mentioned only having met a few scholars, so maybe hewasmerely excited by the idea of cracking open the truth of the Old Ones before Roy got there... But why? What about Roy had struck such a nerve for Percival? Even that didn’t really matter, though. Because as much as he welcomed the chance to prove himself to the arrogant young man, he was also fairly certain Percival had come up with nothing pertaining to the Old Ones thus far, either.
Which meant neither one of them was winning as far as he was concerned.
Once he finished his lunch, Roy finally shook off these thoughts and worked up the willpower to resume his studies. He found a reading den on the sixth floor—identical to the room where he’d argued with Percival—and browsed the bookshelves there. A hint of gray light filtered through the windows, and by its weak glow, he made out a diversity of manuscripts, from a romantic epic—Arusvkia—to a poem composed entirely of intricate hieroglyphs and swooping letters. This medley of literature looked like the stuff of alchemy captured on vellum and parchment and leather, and somehow, he was supposed to turn this lead into gold.
A burst of joy spread through him. Perhaps he ought to move to a southern bedchamber; like this chamber, it would provide some light. Only a little, yes, but that was more than what the rest of the Basilica offered. Moreover, even with some of his frustrations, he couldn’t deny the surge of motivation that had greeted him as he’d crossed the threshold of this chamber. The momentary gloom that had descended upon the Orphic Basilica when he’d looked down upon the lower floors from above, escorted by Dimestra and Evan, no longer seemed to hold sway.Hadthat been an illusion, as he’d then suspected? A brief trick of the light?
After what he had intended to be a few minutes—but what ended up being an hour—of perusing the books around him, slightly panicked and overwhelmed by the clutter but unsure how to go about cleaning it, Roy selected Louise Tungess’sTracing Back the Past,a memoir about cycles of history. Then a loud thud sounded from the back of the room. He jumped and whirled around to investigate the noise, half fearing that the shadowy apparition would emerge, poised to attack.
But it was Percival, his notebook, the same Roy had nearly gotten ink spilled over, tucked under his arm. “Ah, it’s you.” He ducked his head and squinted, peering at the cover of Roy’s book. “It’s rather early for Tungess, no? Her choice of subject matter is brave, sure, but the delivery of her research leaves scant room for imagination.”
Roy looked back down at his book and muttered, “What are you doing here, Percival?”
Percival strolled over and dropped his notebook on Roy’s desk. “And a wonderful morning to you also.” He looked around with faint disapproval: the loose papers scattered atop teetering stacks of manuscripts, the pages curled from the meager sunlight and marked with the scribbled annotations of bygone scholars and theorists; the slender path of walking space between the piles, barely enough to shuffle past. At a second glance, Roy couldn’t fathom how he’d maneuvered through the area. “Dawnseve, tell me you didn’t... you didn’tsleepin this clutter. Did you?”
Roy scoffed. “Of course not. I’d like to think I havesomeself-respect.” Hehad, however, been having trouble moving documents around into some semblance of order, which had caused him considerable distress.
Percival bunched his lips to the side. “Yes, I suppose you would, wouldn’t you? Well, if you everdodecide to doze off here, I suggest trying a pillow. These books don’t look awfully comfortable.”
A smile tried to crawl its way onto Roy’s lips, but he willed it away. He had to keep his composure, never mind how loyal Percival seemed in his plans to distract him. “Stop stalling, Percival. What are you doing here? Does this have to do with your so-called game? Do you want to keep an eye on my progress or something? And whatisthis game? Is it just a race? Is there a reward of some sort? Because if all you want out of this is to provoke me, then a competition is hardly necessary.”
“Which of your myriad questions should I start with?” Percival laughed. “Have you completely forgotten everything I told you last night? I know I’m endearing, but I didn’t think you werethatdoe-eyed.”
Roy snorted. At least his theory about Percival’s diversion tactic was correct.
Percival continued, “Yes, darling, since you want it simply put, that’s the point of the game. We’re racing against one another for answers.”
“Game,” Roy echoed, only now realizing how childish it all sounded. “Look, I see why you’re frustrated by our differences, and why they might be a hindrance to the task, but frankly it seems absurd to me to throw away such a rare chance of collaboration simply because you felt discouraged by one brief, unexpectedly hostile interaction—if that’s even what you’re suggesting! Is that how you deal with most things in life? Twist them into some cruel form of entertainment and make a statement of them?”
A muscle twitched in Percival’s jaw, but otherwise, he looked unfazed by Roy’s remark. “Again—so many questions. Our differences are greater than you think, Dawnseve. I see the signs, as I have seen them in the past. Working together will not end well.” His voice hardened. “Don’t overcomplicate the situation. The rules are simple: We’ll leave one another to our own devices, and whoever first discovers the truth to the Old Ones—”
“What, exactly, would be a more satisfying award than credit?” Roy interjected. “Withbothof our names attached?”
Percival blinked, amazed, then gave a small, incredulous laugh. “Credit? Roy, you yourself came to me and lectured me about the gravity of Northgard’s situation. We weren’t assigned this task because of our field of study, nor will we be rewarded for our efforts. The Governor can’t understand what we have taught ourselves. He turned tousto decode the Old Ones’ origins, then report back with our findings.” He scoffed. “And here you are, talking about ‘credit’ as though the Governor could possibly care whose name is on a piece of paper only he will read. Is this just to persuade me? To get me onto your side? Well, if so, let me disabuse you of that notion. And if not, let me remind you: This is aboutsurvival, Dawnseve, pure and simple—as much yours and mine as the city’s as a whole.”
There are more of our kind than the two of us, Roy wanted to spit back.Surely someone will discover our research. We could still be remembered, immortalized.
Roy bit down on his back teeth, disgruntled. “My proposition still stands. We can overlook the variances in our research styles, combine them, and, using them, stop the Old Ones and prevent Northgard from falling into ruin. It’s that simple.” It didn’t elude Roy that this was as simple as it would get—convincing Percival to view this assignment as a joint project—and that the hard part would be actually doing the research and somehow applying their united differences to their work.
He didn’t think sharing this would help his argument, though, so he kept quiet.
“I am not your colleague, Dawnseve,” Percival said, his voice firm. “I see a fire in you, sure; I saw it the moment I first saw you. But that’s why I’m certain we would work better as opponents than as partners, why an alliance would break apart as soon as it’s been forged. Because even if we would not last as allies, I’m still fascinated by you. To deny that would be irrational, and of all principles explored in philosophy, I am most drawn to rationality. It stands to reason that we will interact and cross paths, but just not as you’d hoped. I’m beginning to understand you, but I... I need more time.”
“What’s there to understand, Percival?” Roy asked. He tried not to read too deeply into Percival’s words, but he also couldn’t distinguish whether what he felt from them was anger or a confused sort of admiration. Therewassomething there, to be sure; he just couldn’t make it out, either. “I want to stop this war from spreading beyond Northgard, I want to find out who the Old Ones are, and I want to use the Basilica to do it. This place is an opportunity to learn more than we could’ve possibly imagined. That’s all you need to know, isn’t it? What would your game prove that the Governor’s assignment wouldn’t?”
Percival shook his head, either glum or disappointed. “You’re looking through the wrong pair of eyes, darling. We were given an opportunity, yes, but that shouldn’t mean we can’t set some of the rules. He gave us six months, but maybe the deciding winner shouldn’t be judged within a span of time but byproof. A demonstration of their findings.”
