“Perhaps it’s a coincidence,” Percival hedged.
“Does it feel like one, though? The detailsandthe fact that these texts and sources are leading us here?”And maybe,Roy thought,something else is leading us here as well...He shook that thought free. “I’d have to get a better look at the painting. There might be an inscription underneath the scene that I missed when I first came here.” A small grin was forming on his face. “This is earth-shattering, Percival.Everythingcould be connected to the Old Ones, even this library. I mean, why else would that artwork be shown here?”
Again, Percival nodded with satisfaction, silently considering their breakthrough and, almost certainly, the fact that althoughhehad set the game board and put down the pieces... it had been Roy who made the first move.
“It appears the Old Ones are associated with forgotten lands,” Percival said. “The specific date of that shipwreck isn’t certain, though as it’s ostensibly related to the grant, perhaps you were right, in that the current Old Ones’ ancestors existedbeforethe Age of Scribes.”
“If they provided Randyll with a set of their armor, as he requested, they must have been in league with Urswaelia,” Roy assumed.
“Councillor Randyll was a traitor, though. King Archibald ordered his execution. The alliance between Urswaelia and Wynair persevered, and yet there’s nothing in this grant, nor inThe Ordnance of Old Wynair, about the Old Ones other than this reference to armor. I doubt what we know of them might be useful.”
It was true... to a point. They knew enough for speculations to germinate, but they had nothing with which to ascertain a firm correlation. But Roy had faith in what he’d claimed: everything was connected.
He hoped, then, Percival would forgo this whole game right now, right as they’d made this discovery together. He could stand Percival’s self-absorption in mild doses, but Roy was loath to bear Percival’s inexcusable caginess. It was clear he’d only discussed what he had unearthed inThe Lost Records of Old Wynairbecause Roy had brought it up, but now that he had...
Roy straightened in his chair, then snatched the grant out of Percival’s hands and stared at it. He looked up at Percival, excitement stirring through him. “Percival, thearmor. I think it’s what separates the Old Ones from any regular soldier. Why else would Randyll request a chest plate? Why else would this warrant his execution? Maybe the Old Ones were a rival to UrswaeliaandWynair. Randyll’s treachery might have been the breaking point for the alliance, but there must be something about the chest plate that created such a debacle.”
“As in, the properties? The metal used to forge it?”
“Or its specific placement on the body. Either way, it’s unusual for this grant to include a single piece of armor without requesting the rest. Perhaps Randyll had intended to study it, to learn of its construction? I’m not sure.”
“I haven’t seen anything else on it in the Basilica, either,” Percival said. His tone became grim and cold as a frostbitten corpse. “But back home, there were rumors of the Old Ones’ strength. I got a letter from one of my cousins one night, long before the Governor sent his missive. A division of the Old Ones had passed through her village. She watched from her kitchen window as a soldier shattered two of her neighbor’s children with their fists, then burned their manor to a crisp. The smoke hung heavy for another week.” He shook his head, a grimace twisting his lips. “The Droves could do nothing against them.”
“I know.”
“But think: Whatelsecould the Droves do nothing against?”
Roy shook his head, not seeing where Percival was trying to lead him.
“What about the Basilica? This library has stood foryears, untouched by time.” His eyes widened. “Darling, don’t you see?”
Roy cocked his head, a lock of black-silver hair draping down his face. He watched as Percival’s eyes followed it, then darted back to Roy’s face. Roy kneaded the left column of his neck, gulping at the splotches of heat he could feel marking his throat.
As Percival studied him, Roy froze, his breath caught as if on a hook. He’d once thought Percival wielded his beauty like a blade, but whatever the warmth in the pit of Roy’s gut was, he was not pained by it. He almost thought he might be in more pain without it.
“Tell me, Percival,” Roy said, and this time, he found it impossible to hide the hoarse edge to his voice. Then, as he reviewed the direction their conversation was taking, he chose a new course of action, a way to—hopefully—convey that the game, as evidenced by their exchange of research material, was over. He hesitated, then took the leap. “But if you tell me what I’m missing, then it’s as much as acknowledging that this competition between us, this race for answers, has no place in our investigation.”
After a moment, Percival surrendered. “All right, darling. The game is done. Maybe together, we can finally make some progress.”
Roy let out a relieved sigh, grateful that Percival had at last given up his decidedly useless choice to drive a wedge between them, and moreover, that he had actually admitted to the effectiveness of their collaboration.
Percival held his hand up at Roy’s sigh, a strange expression on his face. “I’ll warn you, though, I’m not sure this will work.”
“But it’s already working,” Roy said, confused.
“For now,” Percival said. “I’ve just seen it fail too many times.” And somehow, Roy knew what Percival was saying—he himself had failed at this too many times. But what could have possibly caused Percival to distrust others and himself so deeply?
“So,” Percival said brusquely, “now that we’re in on this together, here’s my thinking: There are several similarities between the Orphic Basilica and the Old Ones. Both of their histories are now mostly lost to time. Thousands of years have slipped by since the foundation of the Basilica and the first of the Old Ones. Thismustbe a sign. A portent.”
Roy had to say, it did strike him as odd. An ancient enemy and an ancient library, their alleged significance resurrected by a new, deadly war. And yet...
“I am not accustomed to working with folklore, Percival, or conjecture.”
“Please, darling, try to hear me out,” Percival implored. “I am willing to hear any points of disagreement that you might have, but at least allow me to explain myself. Just... Just trust me on this.”
Roy flinched at this last plea, but who else did they have to turn to? Who else could they present their theories, fears, and worries to, if not each other? Royhadwanted this, hadn’t he? At last, he nodded, gesturing for Percival to continue.
“Right,” Percival said, looking significantly more at ease now that he had Roy’s assent. “So, as you said, everything is connected. The Elder Scribes praised the Basilica, though after they ordered its construction, they worried that it wouldn’t meet Northgard’s approval. They were scared, but they did it anyway. However, those against their cause, the supporters of Governorship,didtry to accomplish what the Radiant Droves attempted—to destroy the Basilica and burn these legendary books. None prevailed. Whatweneed to do is compile all we have on the Old Ones into our notebooks and string together as much intelligence as we can—battlecraft, war negotiations, peace treaties, anything that might pertain to the lore of the Old Onesandthe Basilica. Maybe then we can find something concrete that connects the two, and therefore find a way past all”—he waved at the shelves—“this.”
