Another silence passed between them, one weighted with meaning that Roy could not decipher. The Governor didn’t appear to possess any vindictive qualities, nothing that stood out to Roy. But then again, deceit was not always immediately visible to the naked eye, and he would be naive to think the Governor had gotten where he was through pure honesty.
Roy swallowed, frustrated. He cursed his struggle with interpreting the emotions of people he wasn’t familiar with, because while he plainly understood Briar’s and the Matron’s feelings through their facial expressions, the Governor was a virtual stranger to Roy. He felt lost, uncertain how to proceed.
“‘Silence is the maker of small reminders: your breath, your heart, your reason to be,’ ” Roy said after a moment. “That was Polisworth, a famed philosopher. In his thesis,Ambrosia for Curses, he explored remedies for times of mental duress, silence being an utmost priority. I entered philosophy through Polisworth’s findings and subscribed to his Silent Song Theory, which encouraged me to work in solitude. The practice is blissful, for the most part.” He shrugged. “I’m not able to conduct discussions, though, which Iwouldprefer, but there are downsides to every principle.”
“Which, I presume, comes back to the question of educational suitability. An approach to philosophy might not apply toallphilosophers, but thereisan approach available for all philosophers.”
Roy begrudgingly agreed with the Governor. “Not every style of research, nor every subject of discussion, should cater toward one individual.”
“But if philosophy is considered among the academic community to be a place of universal acceptance, why stop there? Why not evolve into a place of universal understanding while you’re at it? Why help one person when you can help them all?”
“Philosophy heals the consciousness through mental expansion, which is anything but selective, this is true. Itisa collective process. Excepting his thesis, even Polisworth worked with other philosophers.”
“And you?”
Roy hesitated, a thought hitting him hard just then. If the Governor did know of the others, then it came back to the idea ofWhy me? Surely there are others more accomplished?
He wasn’t sure, though. He was proud of his thought work, and because he’d had correspondence with others, as well as seen their responses to his scholarship, he was now confident that they did not hold a candle to him, even more so than when he’d asked Dimestra in the sled,What could I possibly offer to the cause? Why does he need me when any other scholar—or, Hell, even one of his soldiers—could do?
So Roy said now, finally, “I am very much interested in collaboration, if the other scholar is able to both understand and push me. I believe philosophy can bind us together until we are inextricably unified, and only then can we showcase our genius. Only then do we become history itself.” He hadn’t realized until he finished speaking that he was furiously scratching the back of his hand. It was now covered in a red patch of crisscrossing marks.
His eyes flicking briefly to Roy’s hand, the Governor said, “This world tends to disregard those undeserving of success. I trust you understand this.”
It was the only thing Roy knew. “I do.”
“There was a time when scholars were rational,” the Governor said, “when they held the same views as the aristocrats of the Iron Citadel and were thus trusted by my predecessors. My grandfather, long may he lie undisturbed, once told me and my siblings tales of ancient battles fought not just with blades and bows, but with battlecraft strategies handpicked from dusty tomes. ‘Those war books of old,’ he would call them.” The Governor shook his head, clicked his tongue. “In my experience, though, I’ve discovered that such tomes do little but create false hope and ultimately fail us.” He said the last with just enough of a touch of bitterness—andheat—that Roy found himself shrinking slightly in his chair. The Governor regarded Roy with unsettling scrutiny, a wily half smile now on his mouth. “And yet, I am in desperate need of some hope and therefore of someone of your intellect, Roy, as I trust I made clear in my letter.”
Itwasclear, though Roy couldn’t tell whether the Governor had any inkling about the enormity—the damn near impossibility—of the task he was asking. The fact that nobody knew the motivations of the Old Ones, nor why they’d besieged Northgard, was potentially the study of a lifetime, not six months.
Upon receiving the letter, Roy had already started to go through his limited knowledge of the enemy soldiers, and he realized now it was more hearsay and conjecture than solid scholarship. Some claimed they’d come to rescue the scholars, thoughthattheory had been discarded when the Old Ones began indiscriminately assailing academics and Droves alike. Some believed they’d invaded to steal the Governor’s plans for Northgard’s future. But after three years the Old Ones hadn’t yet stormed his manor, which was based close to the Iron Citadel, the Radiant Droves’ stronghold.
They had still made horrifically efficient progress in their decimation of the city, though. Roy had overheard from several military reports discussed between Matron Dimestra and her soldiers, who held infrequent meetings in Dawnseve Manor to save her traveling to the Iron Citadel, that the Old Ones were gaining close to the family estate. It hadn’t been until two months ago, when the Old Ones had raided a village he’d once visited with Briar, that Roy had begun to fear every book he read would be his last.
All this, and so much was still unknown, including something that niggled at his mind now... something Dimestra had said to Roy on the ride to the library.
“The Matron told me that you would elaborate on the details of my assignment,” Roy said, absentmindedly itching his hand again. “Did you intentionally omit these details from your letter?”
“Not without good reason,” the Governor explained. “Truthfully, I anticipated that you wouldn’t be as amenable to my conditions if I addressed them in my letter in their entirety. I simply couldn’t risk your absence here today, and while this cityisin dire straits, I’m a man of my word. Had you declined my offer, had you known what I am now about to tell you, I would have had you brought to the Citadel, no questions asked. But seeing as you’ve accepted my proposal, as I planned, now seems the right time to enlighten you.
“This task, as my earlier inquiry about partners may have implied, will not be laid on your shoulders alone. Although you may prefer your studies to be independent, I’m glad to hear you’re not completely averse to collaboration. Besides, I think we can both agree this library is large, excessively so. It would takeyearsto explore the Basilica on your own—conceivably decades if you felt emboldened to range over all its nooks and crannies—so my associates and I have recruited another scholar to work alongside you. This will hopefully lighten your workload and expediate the process. If all goes to plan, your allotted six months may be three. It may even be two.”
Roy didn’t realize how much of a relief this news brought him, and he found he could have cried at this development, for as beautiful as the Orphic Basilica had appeared upon arrival, he was continually intimidated by the breadth of the Elder Scribes’ collection. Yet that relief was soon tempered by his earlier thought of the scope of what the Governor was asking them. If he was lucky, if he put his head down and sacrificed as much sleep as he could possibly go without, Roy fancied he could get through two hundred or so books in six months. So even with a partner by his side, doubling their productivity, the number of books they consumed would hardly come close to a fraction of the number he’d seen on the first floor alone. But he had to admit success was much more feasible with two than by himself. He would just have to hope his partner, and Roy himself, could bring their available materials down to a manageable selection.
They chose me out of all the scholars in the city, Roy thought, and from this he deduced:Surely their selection for the other was just as thorough.
A small tremor of excitement coursed through him.Finally, a peer to talk to, to share ideas with and to work together to grow those ideas into more than just trivial fancies and suppositions.
Maybe he’d only be a true scholar for six months, but it would be six months more than he’d ever had before.
“Who will I be working with?” Roy asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.
“You haven’t heard of Percival Atherton, have you?”
“No,” Roy said, “I can’t say that I have.” Not that he would acknowledge it either way—he owed the other scholars that much anonymity if they still had it.
“Well, there you are,” the Governor said. “I should expect that the investigation moves a little quicker with Percival accompanying you. He arrived a few hours ago, actually. It took a rather lengthy conversation to convince him, but he came around to the idea once I presented him with the alternative.”
Oh, I’m sure, Roy thought.I’m sure that the threat of being thrown as fodder against the Old Ones versus six months of barely interrupted reading was a hard choice.
