Roy turned away from Percival, wrapped his arms around his waist, and shook his head. “No, I haven’t felt it since.”
Percival did not see through Roy’s lie. He strode toward a display showcasing a book twice the size of his head. Its pages were stained black. “Neither have I,” he said. “I’ve been trying to find it, though, to see if those strange whispers say something about the Old Ones. It’s a flimsy idea, but...”
“But it’s the only idea you have,” Roy finished. He looked up at the orrery, at the slow but inevitable rotation of worlds and moons orbiting around one another, and wondered if, on one of those distant civilizations, any of them, they were fighting battles as great as—or even greater than—this. “Any idea is a good idea now.”
“With the exception of the idea that doesn’t work,” Percival said. “You say you think they had to have had a system, but what? How did the Elder Scribes study in this cesspit? For the sake of progression, let’s say that your theory has a grain of truth to it, that the Basilica is steering us toward our destination like a compass or... or a pathfinder. How did the Scribes know what they were researching would lead them to the same path? How many years would it have taken them to deduce this, let alone design it? And once theydid, why didn’t they take the time to save us the effort of plumbing for answers? Why keep up this aggravating treasure hunt?” He sniffed. “They’re selfish, that’s why. They wanted it all to themselves.”
Roy started forward. “I see where this line of thinking might originate, but... the way I see it, the Elder Scribes wanted future scholars to seek the truth on theirown, to discover the world through their own experiences, their own lives, to enlighten but not entirely give away all the secrets of academia to students of philosophy like you and me.”
Percival laid a hand against the display in front of him. “Glorification is the nemesis of authenticity. They left us, Dawnseve. If the Scribes were meant to be our leaders, then what does it mean that they left us to fend for ourselves?”
“Did they leave us, or were they eliminated?”
“In my eyes, it’s the same thing.” Percival went silent for a moment. “So far as we know, we are the last scholars standing. The last who give a damn, at least, who believe an overthrow of the Governor and the Iron Citadel is still a viable option.”
Roy stared; he was certain he’d heard Percival wrong. “An overthrow?”
“You might be a little ditzy, darling, but you’re not blind. Northgard is sitting on the edge, the very fuckingprecipice, of a revolution. The city has been quiet for too long, and not without reason. The Old Ones intervened when the Governor signaled the call to war—not that Northgard had any hope then of insurrection.”
Roy remembered the sled drive along the winding streets—the families pleading for food, their frostbitten fingers hooked in desperation like gnarled icicles. He had not seen a single spark of mutiny, however, as any budding ember of insurrection had likely been extinguished by the Radiant Droves watching over all like sharp-eyed shadows, but despite its light, fire could hide. Embers could lie warm yet dormant, smoldering until the right kindling, the proper breeze, sparked a greater flame. It could be hidden, indeed, underneath generations of systemic oppression. But if that pale hope ignited into a full-blown revolution, therewerestill the Old Ones to contend against. But now, Roy figured that revolution would only mean changing who was in charge of Northgard’s downfall.
Not that any of it mattered—there was no chance of rebellion.
“The Governor wields far too much power,” Roy said, his voice shaking with hatred and denial. “He has the resources to destroy his own people.”
“But not enough to destroy the Old Ones,” Percival countered, reading Roy’s own thoughts. “And, as history has shown, not enough to destroy the Orphic Basilica. If things had not turned out as they had, we wouldn’t be here, the Edict would serve no purpose. That damn iron wall would be gone.” His voice was quivering like Roy’s, but there was an undercurrent of personal conviction in it, as though he had some long-held grudge against the Edict. “If he was unstoppable,unconquerable, the Governor would have completely mastered his control over the Hasdan Isles.”
“He doesn’t have to master the Isles, though. He has masteredus.He’s powerful enough that he can force us here and call it an assignment when we both know it’s a death sentence—need I remind you that if we don’t find anything, we’ll be dragged onto the front lines?”
“That might have been the ultimatumyouwere given, but I...” Percival pursed his lips, which stopped trembling, but then a quiver started in his hands. “Iwaspunished, Roy. My family knew of my treachery, that I’d harbored contraband and dedicated myself to old-world lore to escape the rules of this society, but I went too far. I sacrificed too much. That’s why I’m here.”
Roy stilled at the allusion to Percival’s past. It made him yearn to know more, yet, at the same time, haunted him with memories of his own suffering, of Gabriel, of H-I-S-T-O-R-Y, of the inexorable dreams that, night after night, thinned the barrier between nightmare and reality. He felt entombed, immobilized by both the weight of his burden and the knowledge of Percival’s. He wanted to approach the matter with caution, but he couldn’t wrest control of his own emotions, nor put a damper on them. He wanted to lash out, to scream his fury, to let his fists swing and have them land right where it would satisfy.
On sheer impulse, Roy retorted, “And you think that I haven’t sacrificed enough? Is that it? Do you think that your sacrifices and suffering exceed my own?” He rubbed at his chest and let his hand linger there, afraid that if he lowered it, Percival might see his scar, the part of himself that had never healed—and never would.
Percival stared at him, vulnerably soft and piercing all at once. “I don’tknowyour suffering, Roy, and you certainly don’t know mine. Even if I opened up to you, bared my soul to you, right here, right now, it wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Nothing needs to change,” Roy assured him. “We can forget this ever occurred, if you prefer, but for this brief moment, this one time, I... I wish you would just let me in.” His voice softened, turning tender and glum. “What did you sacrifice, Percival? What did you lose? And how did it land you in the Basilica?”
A shadow of devastation crossed Percival’s face. He hung his head, as though he could hide it, evade the truth by cowering, and for a while, Roy thought that was exactly what he’d do: close off and continue this shared existence of forced separation.
But then Percival said, so quietly at first that Roy wasn’t sure when he started, “I lost someone not too long before I was sent here. I made a mistake that I initially thought was a good, moral decision, but when the plan went to ruin, it wasn’t I who stood in the line of fire.” He brought his gaze to Roy’s, his eyes glittering with tears. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, his jaw hardening. “The aftermath... I’ll spare you the details, but the Governor wasn’t happy.”
A thousand questions cascaded through Roy’s mind, but he only asked, “Why would your...”Friend? Lover?He cast that aside and pressed on. “How could their death affect the Governor that personally—”
“Never mind that,” Percival said, assuming a contemplative expression, erasing whatever emotion had caught his breath and made his voice crack moments ago. “Just know that I know, from experience, the next steps to take. We need to even out the power balance and make sure we’re on an equal level of standing as the Governor. Yes, he forced this mission on us, but he didn’t say we couldn’t also pursue our own mission.”
“But I have no other mission!” Roy shouted. “I just want—”
“You don’t know what you want,” Percival said smoothly, and that stopped Roy in his tracks. “But, as I insisted during the game, what youneedis to stoke that fire inside you. To not be led, but to lead.”
Except you’re conveniently leaving out thatyou’releading me right now, Roy thought. Yet, even with that truth, he wasn’t sure he minded all that much.
Percival continued. “We’ve been accepting it for years. Now we’re doing what Northgard hasn’t had the drive to do. We have no choice but to embrace it.”
At that, Roy snapped, “It’s a shame you had to stoop so low and make it a competition.” He was truly angry, too, because instead of the last month of farce, they could have, possibly, been working toward the same goal. Roy was aware enough to know he probably would have resisted initially—even as he resisted now—but the allure of this idea...
The allure ofPercival. . .
