Two hulking figures dressed in verdant felt caps and white-furred coats stamped through the doors, large black batons hung on their belts. They wore fingerless white gloves and black boots. Roy was no fool, though; now that he knew the truth, he could see past these mundane details, could recognize the peculiarity that had eluded him on his ride to the Orphic Basilica: those effulgent red eyes.
These were the Governor’s guards, these inchoate versions of the Old Ones, compliant and brought back from death for a higher duty.
The Governor strode in behind his guards, garbed in his snow-freckled cream coat. His rheumy green eyes landed on Roy. He slicked his hair back, laying the unkempt white wisps flat against his scalp. He was much shorter and podgier than the men who accompanied him, though despite his harmless appearance, the predaceous glint in his eyes rooted Roy in place. Once the Governor came to a halt before his guards, they paced forward to flank him. Then he grumbled to Roy and Percival, “Follow me.”
* * *
“There’s something beautiful about this building,” said the Governor.
Roy sat before him, Percival on his right. A large desk separated them from the Governor, whose guards surveyed them expressionlessly.
The room where they’d gathered, situated on the seventh floor, was strangely bereft of bookshelves. Diaphanous drapes hung over the great window behind the Governor. Through the narrow gap between them, Roy saw that high above Northgard, which was scattered with freckles of firelight and mostly buried in snow, the crescent moon glimmered like a luminous hook.
“But you know I am not here for splendor,” the Governor finished.
Without being asked, Percival advised the Governor on what they’d found since their most recent progress report.
Roy felt himself shriveling, and his integrity dwindling, more and more with every word that came out of Percival’s mouth. This was a betrayal of the Orphic Basilica’s desire for honor, a desire which, while unspoken, was clear in every interaction he and Percival had had with the library. Both the Orphic Basilica and the Elder Scribes would welcome open discussions and exchanges of knowledge, but that the information currently being shared was designed not to further the advancement of knowledge and instead tosubjugate...
Roy couldn’t quell his guilt, but he reminded himself that this was the plan they’d made.
This was what it had to come down to.
When Percival finished his report of their findings, from which he omitted their awareness of the Governor’s army of Blighted Droves, along with his plans to enlarge and thereby augment this resurrected military unit, he said, “Although we haven’t uncovered who the Old Ones are or where they’re from, we’ve identified that these soldiers are forces of nature. They are more akin to a plague than an army, and so must be treated as such.”
“Splendid,” the Governor said. “But as you’ve said, you haven’t reached the truth of who these soldiers are, what they actually want.”
“No,” Roy said, fighting to maintain his calm. He and Percival were relatively certain they had the solution to pushing back the Old Ones from Northgard. But panic still fastened its hold around Roy’s heart. He feared that, at any moment, they might be asked a question they would have to lie about, and Roy didn’t want to imagine what might happen should the Governor ferret out their understanding of his exploits. “But we still have three months. We’re close.”
“As is our defeat,” the Governor said, ignoring Roy’s mention of their deadline. “I need answers, but since you seem to be if not at a loss for them, then at least struggling to uncover the complete identity of our adversaries, I believe some technicalities must be addressed, and some amendments must be made.”
“What were you hoping to discuss?” Percival asked, cautious.
“Amendments to what?” Roy asked at the same time.
The Governor rested his chin upon his clasped hands. “I would like to make an official modification to the Law of Intervention.”
Roy stiffened. “What?What modification?”
“The Old Ones are gaining on us,” the Governor said. “They’ve enforced their ranks around the Citadel. No attacks have yet been launched, but the long weeks of tension, made worse by the snowstorm, indicate it’s imminent.
“Moreover, small changes in the administration of the city”—Roy assumed this was Northgard’s brutal treatment of Rasileus’s lower-class citizens, deprived of food and forced to cannibalism, which was decidedly a very large change—“have resulted in outbreaks and acts of violent resistance from the working population. I am often hesitant when it comes to alliances, but I love this city. I would live in regret for all my days if I knew there was something I could’ve done and had refused to do it. As such, I have needed to repay the debts of a few Manors and their Masters and Matrons. Your mother, Roy, is among them.”
“Debts?” Percival asked.
“Past liabilities,” the Governor explained. “Broken peace negotiations. Failed attempts at allegiance. Some treaties have an expiration date, you see, but Matron Dimestra and I have struck a new deal befitting our positions.”
Roy did not like the sound of that; the deal the Governor had already struck with the Matron was bad enough—worse, given that it had transferred loyalty of her Droves to the Governor and granted him the resources to build his revenant army. But Roy was unclear what any of this had to do with his and Percival’s mission.
The Governor provided immediate clarity.
“Something similar has crossed my mind regarding your assignment.”
“We, too, wish to discuss our terms,” Roy said, his breath shaking, and then tried to assure the Governor. “And I want to be clear that Percival and I have guaranteed there’s no power imbalance or unjust consequences tied to our proposal.”
The Governor beamed; his flabby cheeks indented by dimples. “Ah, have you? Well, do tell me, then! I would bedelightedto hear what you’ve planned.”
Roy suppressed a grimace at the mockery in his tone. And although this had been his idea, it dawned on him just how grievously this discussion could go wrong. The Governor could sic his guards on the two of them and have their heads removed from their shoulders. He could drag them out of the library by their ears and send them to be tried, tortured, and then publicly executed. The possibilities unfurled in Roy’s mind in a dark, ghastly exhibition, not unlike Valusvar’s visions.
