76. The Black Grimoire

"What is this, precisely?"

Percival's tight voice broke her out of her morning inventory. Felicity glanced up from her logbook, seeing that the nobleman had paused in loading the cart. He had a sack in his hand that Felicity recognized as one of Wynne's bags—lent to her to supplement her own herbal supplies.

However, Percy wasn't looking at the herbs. What he was staring at, muted horror on his face, was a very old, black tome that had apparently also been stored in Wynne's bags.

Felicity gasped, immediately recalling the book. She cast a glance across the camp, but Kazar and Marnan were both still picking at their breakfasts (as they had both done for the past week of travel), while Morrigan had yet to emerge from her own tent.

"This is a grimoire, isn't it?" Percy's blue eyes darted up toward hers, his face hard. "What is a grimoire doing stashed in your bags? Hidden, even?"

"It's not mine." Felicity set her codex down and scurried over to the noble. Only once she was in whispering range did she say, "It's Flemeth's."

Percival's eyes widened, his grip on the book tightening. "Flemeth's?"

"We found it in the Circle Tower. It simply didn't seem right to leave it there. However… I hesitate to return it."

"Is it dangerous? Is there blood magic in here?"

Felicity bit her lip. "I'm not certain. The writing is… impossible to comprehend. Symbols and lettering that have fallen out of use. Perhaps Morrigan could make sense of them."

Percival's knuckles turned white. "And then she might use whatever nefarious secrets are present in this tome for her own ends."

Felicity fidgeted. "Such does seem in alignment with her character, yes."

Percy turned his gaze down on the tome. "Then again, the alternative is to keep it hidden, when it should, by rights, be passed to Morrigan. Are we really in any position to decide what Morrigan does and does not have rights to?"

Felicity studied him. That question had not sounded hypothetical. "Of course we do. It is for the greater good that this remain out of the hands of both Flemeth and Morrigan. That is what Grey Wardens are about, after all: doing what they must for the good of all."

Percival's brows were low over his eyes, but he nonetheless slipped the book back into the bag. "Then why does it feel I'm overstepping my duty?" Even so, he placed the bag on the cart and bent to pick up the tent poles, resuming the matter of packing in silence.