Conquest of Avalon

It was too cold to even meet outside, these days. If it weren’t for the relative insulation and blizzard protection of the tunnels under the city, getting around at all would have been near-impossible. As it was, Camille still had to meet Simon in the Governor’s mansion, full of tapestries depicting the destruction of nature and the watchful eyes of her enemies.

There was apparently potential in that history, some ancient feud between the Perimonts and the Prince’s Arion family through his mother’s side, but the fact that neither had brought it up meant that it probably wasn’t of any particular importance to them. Shame, but it’s not as if everything has to be an opportunity.

The still air clung to her, thick and smoky and putrid in the way only a building full of people unable to bathe in the sea without freezing to death could be, but at least it was warm. The Prince’s ridiculous contraption was due to be raised to the roof tomorrow, which would hopefully mean the end of the smoke in windier days; perhaps it would even provide a desperately needed chance to open the window for more than the minimum possible amount of time.

Simon seemed fine, at least. Well-groomed, dry-eyed, he was even working at his desk when she entered. It felt rather akin to seeing a cat playing a harpsichord, but she supposed he did technically have official duties, and there were doubtless fewer parties to distract him these days.

“You look nice,” he noted, accurately.

Camille gave a slight bow, bobbing her recently-cut hair. The blue was confined to the tips now, the last vestiges of her former presentation. It looked, she had to admit, far better than the messy half-and-half she’d been stuck with before. Even if her natural blonde was starting to turn light-brown, which felt more than a little depressing.

“I’m surprised you didn’t dye it again.”

“No need to attract that much attention,” she said, attracting his attention with a wink as she sat down next to him. More importantly, I haven’t earned it back yet. She was still here, her home was still occupied and imperiled, and Levian’s due looked like such a distant possibility now that she might not even have a year of life left.

No, that only comes when I’m myself once more. Even if she could use her name now, it was still playing a role, still hiding who she was. The change in color, the separation of the selves, it made that easier, and would probably help make her more palatable besides. For example, right now.

“I’m sorry Luce didn’t take your advice,” she said, using the Prince’s nickname to imply greater familiarity. It would better suit her needs here. “I know how important it is to keep things seeming normal. You can’t have the ignorant masses panicking.”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “You argued directly against me. Fervently.”

Because your plan was stupid.

“I did, because I believed it would be the right course. Action had to be taken.” The very idea of leaving distribution of firewood and essential services to business transactions and their motive of florins above all else was completely preposterous, and anyone proposing it was either moronically naïve or cared not one bit for those who would die as a result. “But from a pragmatic perspective, you had a point. Even if it eats into things long term, if there’s riots before that, the long term won’t matter. It’s worth giving up a bit, to prevent something like that.”

“Well, thanks. I guess.”

“You’ll win some, I’ll win some. The important thing is that Luce makes the right choice. I think he benefits from having both of us for that. Don’t you? It’s a balance.”

He shrugged. Not convincing enough, huh?

“Think of it this way: you’re like an architect, right? You have a plan that you follow, economic principles, legal intricacies, and such. You draw up the blueprints and see them through to their end. You can’t build anything without plans.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“I think Luce is the same way. Part of why he slipped into depending on you so easily, I bet. Even when you disagree, even when he isn’t really listening to what you have to say, you have similar rhythms. Me? I’m more of a gardener. I plant seeds for future advantage and watch them grow, always improvising the best solution in the best circumstances. I have plans, but they have to be adaptable by necessity, to the point that the end result might not even resemble exactly what I set out to do.”

Annette had always been an excellent counterpoint, in that regard, grounding herself in papers and tasks that saw that everything functioned properly now, even having lost as much as they had.

“You need both to succeed. Otherwise you end up with something as messy as Fuite Gardens, or a house built on quicksand because that’s where the plan said it should go.” She laid her hand on top of his, perhaps laying it on a bit too thick, but this was important, and Simon Perimont was not much one for subtlety. “Luce has to value what you’re doing for him, devoting all your time to helping him find solutions. Even he doesn’t always appreciate the results. And you’re staying silent about the truth of your father’s death… I can’t even imagine what a burden that must be to shoulder, all to serve Luce’s need for peace.”

“Yeah…”

“I heard the funeral is coming up. I don’t know if it would be appropriate for me to be there—”

“It wouldn’t.” Simon’s voice was hard. “Or Luce, or me, honestly. I don’t even miss him, and then it hits me all at once and I…” He sighed. “You and Luce helped depose him. Your friend pulled the trigger, even if she was really just your captor and abuser. It wouldn’t be right.”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry for even asking.” Thank Levian. Who would want to go that? “By any chance, did you manage to—”

“Yeah.” He cut her off before she could finish the question, handing her a bag of powdered psyben root. There were other ways to get it, of course. Camille had made use of them several times, in order to get what she needed to practice. But people who gave gifts to someone often found that they started liking them more, even though the recipient had done nothing. Mother taught me that, she thought wistfully.

Camille smiled, taking the bag and tucking it into a bag at her side. “Thanks.” It also showed trust, the pretense of which was always valuable to maintain. It wasn’t as if Simon would poison her, or as if she wouldn’t be giving a sample away to some eager volunteer in one tavern or another, to at least test the purity. There was plenty of time.

Truth be told, it might have been better to do this sooner, but with dark skies over dark seas, travel was delayed and shut down the world over. Who could know how long Florette would take? No, any sooner risked Fernan missing the date, and any later could delay her plans to the point of obsolescence.

The fourteenth would arrive soon enough as it was, and then the next phase of things could begin.

≋

Camille drew on her power, freshly fueled by several trees from Perimont’s garden which the Prince had set aside for her, and pushed the water back. Push and pull, amplify the tide rather than defy it. The whole point was to use as little as possible. She would maintain it until she’d used an easy-to-measure amount of power, a concrete unit.

“Fuck me,” Grimoire swore, staring at the newly-cleared area; she’d arranged it to look as if low tide had been extended twice as far back. “Alright, go!” he shouted to the laborers and Guardians assembled before them on the beach. “Grab anything alive, or that once was, but that’s not worth as much. Highest score gets a monogrammed coat with their initials!”

I note that you didn’t offer that to me, without whom this entive venture would be impossible. “I question whether this will really be worth it.”

“Well, that’s why we’re testing at a smaller scale first. Lower risk. But our harbor exploded. Over a dozen ships were damaged, and nine of them sank entirely. Even my father’s ship, that enormous albatross. A lot’s probably drifted away, but if we can hit the right spots of the treasure, it should be more than enough to come out ahead. Even here, it looks like we might just break even.”

“Maybe.” Right, the harbor explosion. “Magnifico couldn’t sail out of here because of that either, right? As I recall, that’s why he took the land route through the pass. I didn’t realize that King Harold was waylaid the same way, though.”

“Magnifico?” the Prince gasped, then rushed to compose himself moments later. “Is that the name of a merchant ship or something? Simon would know better than I do about that kind of stuff.”

That’s actually a pretty good lie. A shame you delivered it so poorly. “Oh, it’s not too important. Just a curiosity from a lifetime ago.” Did you send the man who gave Lumière the weapon to shoot me, Prince Grimoire? Or stand idly by as your father did? It wouldn’t change anything in the immediate term if he had, but nonetheless…

Actually, he was the one caught in the lie this time. “You definitely remember Magnifico though, your royal bard? We’ve talked about him before.”

“Have we?”

“Yes. He was the one who gave Lumière his pistol to murder me with. And of course, he very nearly did.”

“Right, of course. It’s so easy to forget…” His expression hardened. “It’s none of your concern. Or mine. He’s far away now, beyond help or helping.” I’m not telling you, he was really saying, but that was fine for the moment. Magnifico’s secrets could wait. “Actually, how much do you know about pistols? This Lumière fellow shot you with one, so presumably you’d recognize the sound.”

“I still hear it some nights, as I lie awake. It’s like thunder, a sudden crack through the air. You hear it before you feel the pain…”

He frowned. “That sounds like the reports I’ve heard then. Someone fired one in the street. In public. I can count on one hand the number of people even authorized to carry one, and yet there it was out in the street for all to see.”

“Someone wasn’t careful enough,” Camille suggested. “They told the wrong person, maybe they had debts to be collected on, maybe they just lost it and felt too embarrassed to report it. If it’s really that few people, your first step is to pull them all in. Keep them separate, make sure they can’t synchronize their story. Offer the first one to talk—”

“No, it’s not that.” He sighed, putting his hand to forehead. “You know how Florette was robbing that train? Guess what they stole twelve crates of.”

Those weapons, out on the street for anyone to take and use? Camille’s concentration slipped, the edges of the water surging back into place.

“Oy!” one of the gatherers called out, but he was already dry by the time he’d finished complaining.

“I’ll track them down,” Camille announced. “I’ll need four of your guardians; we want to keep the operation small, and I know you have constraints on manpower. Something official would be better, but I know this has to be kept off the books. We can start with that obnoxious girlfriend of hers and work from there. If I—”

“You’re overstepping. This is what the Forresters were made for, and they’ve been champing at the bit for a task like this.”

“Forresters, really?” Camille didn’t bother to keep the disgust out of her voice.

“It keeps them busy doing something actually helpful, and at least harmless. Would you rather I disband them? Leave a bunch of disgruntled sadists to run amok in my city preying on everyone else?”

I’d rather you executed them. “Still, you need someone you can trust to keep an eye on them. It’s only reasonable to—”

“I don’t trust you.” He said it like he was completely baffled she might think otherwise. Fine, not everyone’s a Simon Perimont.

“You can trust me to keep an eye on the Forresters, surely? My interests and theirs aren’t exactly going to align. Even if you can’t trust either of us completely, which I do understand, you…” She trailed off as the prince loudly groaned.

“Ugh, what is your angle? Just cut the bullshit for a second and tell me!”

Camille laughed, careful to keep the water steady as she did. “That’s your solution? Just coming right out and asking?” She scoffed. “You’re so lucky you have nothing to worry about from me. It’s like I said, I’m here to help the people of this city. It’s really that simple.” She bit down another bout of laughter. “But I hope you can do better with the Forresters.”

Prince Grimoire stared her down, unamused. But honestly, what was she supposed to say to something like that? He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “You’ve been talking to the spirits, right? When are you going to see them next?”

Camille blinked. “Uh, two days from now. Fenouille said he managed to find a few wood nymphs wandering far from home, so we might be able to get a message to their patron too.”

“Good.” He nodded. “I’ll be attending.”

“You? I thought you were too scared of their wrath. Something about… ‘fates worse than death’, ‘saying the wrong thing’, all of that. That’s why you’ve got me.”

“If all goes well, it’ll only need to be the one time.” He smiled. “For you see, Camille, I’ve thought of a way to be sure I can trust you. You’re going to swear not to lie before the spirits, and then you’re going to answer all my questions.” This prick is enjoying this far too much. “After that, we’ll see.”

Another fucking problem in my way. And what a generous sense of timing Prince Grimoire had, forcing her to figure out how to lie about this using only the truth. Still, I can hardly blame him. “I must admit, I’m surprised. Every reason you had not to meet the spirits still stands.”

Grimoire nodded slowly, eyes staring past her. “It won’t matter if you’re going to stab me in the back. I survived Cya and her visions, I can get through this. I’m already planning to be honest in my dealings with them anyway.”

“Wait, you’ve talked to Cya? She gave you visions?”

“Yeah… When El… When I was stuck in Refuge, after that shipwreck. She forced this mushroom down my throat, and I saw all these scenes from the past.”

“Scenes… A pure window into events, rather than a metaphorical representation?”

He tilted his head. “Yes, it was very clear. Alarmingly so. Everything else was completely shut out, much as I’d love to dismiss it as errant hallucinations.”

“No, that was definitely important. She wouldn’t have shown you otherwise.” And it suggests that what I have in mind could be even easier. Scenes in her mind… Yes, this could help. “Thank you, Prince Grimoire. I understand your concerns, and will be happy to allay them.”

“In the meantime, I believe this exercise is at an end.” If she let the water rush back, it would correspond exactly to the three trees’ worth, which made it a convenient time to stop. And a convenient way to get me out of this conversation.

“Oh, right.” He signaled to one of his guards, who blew a loud whistle. He checked a bracelet on his wrist, then wrote something down in his notebook. “Not bad for three trees on timing, at least. We’ll have to see how much we brought in, though.”

Everyone stopped collecting detritus and ran back up the beach, stopping when they reached dry sand. “Was there anything else you needed?” he asked Camille. “Because we have a lot of sorting to get through with this, so you can probably come back in a few hours to make your sacrifices.”

“No, that’s all.” You can see the rest when that energy is mine.

≋

The Hanged Man’s rope poked out of the water on the horizon, three stars above his head. Ancient peoples had dubbed it the Shepherd's Crook, but they hadn’t sacrificed a dozen traitors to the spirits of the stars in a single night, so the other name had stuck. Still a bit early, but that’s better anyway. It meant there was time to make a show of it.

Camille inhaled deep, swirling frigid water around her as she stepped past the dry sand of the beach, careful not to let a drop touch her. Higher and higher, the vortex swirled, until Camille could see naught but raging waves.

Her left hand helped maintain her focus, an old trick Uncle had taught her, matching the movement with gestures. With her right, she pulled a flask from her side, filled with psyben tea, then tipped it back.

Still warm. She smiled. Say what you will about Avalon, but they know how to insulate a flask. It wouldn’t hurt to get her hands on more of the material, whatever it was.

Moving the water meant heating it, technically, if half of what the prince had been nattering on about were true, but it wasn’t nearly enough to alleviate the ambient cold. Fortunately, it didn’t need to be.

Lumière had turned the ice beneath them to steam, the day of that fateful duel. Camille herself had been turning water to ice for over a decade, a trick picked up during the Fox Queen’s wars of conquest. How different was it really, to bring it to a boil?

As the waves surged, wisps of steam began to trail from the top, no doubt further confusing anyone still looking on. Good.

Camille shrugged off her winter coat, a dull brown number that had been the best fit of Mary Perimont’s spares. It was clearly meant to go down to the knees, but it looked relatively fine ending at Camille’s hips. Relatively. She folded it in half, then set it gently on the sand. If only every tailor and seamstress in the city didn’t have a backlog two miles high. But it was more important that new garments go to those lacking anyway, ultimately, and there were other ways to impress.

She closed the top above her, creating a whirling dome of water, already rising to a pleasant warmth, better than any hurried bath in stolen moments. And it serves another purpose, too. As the air filled her nostrils, she felt the psyben take root within, the walls of water around her beginning to skip and stutter, vibrating in place even as they swirled.

Shut it all out.

Camille sat on the sand cross-legged, clasping her hands together in front of her as the water began to dance before her.

The Prince would be confused, most likely, but she had made the importance of this clear, and if all went to plan, perhaps he’d even be grateful, once he saw what it brought her. And if it doesn’t hurt me to reveal it. That was all a matter for later, though. In the meantime, anyone who’d missed her anticlimactic invasion of the governor’s mansion would have a fresh chance to be afraid, and ideally, also impressed.

She thought she saw Luce in the waves, for a moment, shaking hands with a skeleton, but when she blinked it was Magnifico who stood before, only decades younger, black hair only shoulder-length.

Interesting. Picking up dirt on Avalon was hardly the primary purpose of this, but she had time, and it couldn’t hurt.

Camille focused harder, expanding the image to a massive colored tableau across the flowing walls. The skeleton rippled and shimmered, flesh crawling across it until it came to resemble none other than Robin Verrou. She popped her ears with a yawn, and the sound came rushing in.

“Father says I shouldn’t worry about it, that my sister will handle it just fine.” Magnifico lacked any of his future self’s easy demeanor, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot. “But how can I not worry? What if we run out of money?”

“Don’t.” Verrou shrugged, arms folded. Camille blinked, caught off-guard to see him in an officer’s uniform for the Avalon navy. The same as those people Mother drowned. “Didn’t Elizabeth say that people are only ever nine meals away from blowing up the whole thing? If you can’t pay your army, you don’t have any army. You have an enemy.”

“I think she just heard that from Father.” Magnifico frowned. “I wish he would include me more. I’m an adult now, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to grow into a job like that. He’s always helping Elizabeth, but whenever I ask for advice…”

“You could hardly do worse than him.” Verrou patted him on the shoulder. “Look, it’s almost over already. Maybe he’s right, and you’re better off not worrying about it. It’s not like there’s anything you can do about it, Harry.”

“I guess so.” He hunched over, looking almost a different person entirely. “When my boys ask me a question, I always help them find the answer. Always. And I love doing it! What kind of father would brush me off like that?”

“There’s always other things on his mind. He’s not someone you want to take advice from anyway, trust me. You’ll do better, I guarantee it.”

Mildly interesting, but not all that illuminating. And there was only so much time to go. Need to get back on-task. Camille held Magnifico in place, swiping the rest of the world around him away in a puff of steam, trying to reconcile the image with bursts of green flame. When it settled once more, he sat atop a high mountain peak, a black metal crown sitting upon his head. A crown?

“Ending their tyranny justifies any means, no matter the cost. Soleil’s replacement will be weaker, even easier to kill. Just as Levian is nothing compared to Pantera, Lunette pitiful next to Khali.” Bright yellow clouded the edge of the frame, a corona of sunset around the entire world.

Was Magnifico the one that killed Soleil? Aside from the basic impossibility of anyone pulling that off, it fit remarkably well, and that impossibility was an issue with literally any candidate. Short of Terramonde swallowing the sun spirit whole, nothing and no one should have been able to end him.

And yet, apparently, Magnifico had. Why was he wasting time playing games in Guerron if he has that kind of power?

Fernan stood facing him, which was good, but even better was the sight of Aurelian Lumière’s smoldering body on the ground between them, writhing in agony as flames consumed him from the inside. That might be metaphorical, but I really hope not.

A pettier woman might be mad that revenge had been denied to her, at least personally administered revenge, but Camille was more pragmatic than that. She could get plenty of satisfaction from simply seeing his demise, all the more so with it so drawn out and painful.

“Aubaine…” he croaked out, voice raspy.

Camille blinked, biting her lip. That poor boy…

Magnifico smiled, continuing his rant. “One by one they’ll die, each weaker than the last. It’s inevitable, entropy. With the right nudge from me here and there, their power and numbers will keep decreasing over time. Until eventually… Extermination.”

Extermination…

Camille’s concentration broke, the image dissolving into a chaotic swirl of water.

Is this mad man really planning to wipe out every spirit? Life was barely hanging on with one gone, built off the desperate hope of his successor arriving soon. How could he even—” Later. You’re on a time limit, here.

Pushing her hands apart, Camille opened a hole in her steamy bunker, a gust of chilling air instantly flowing through the gap and into her bones.

Three stars for the noose. Two for the head. Four for the corpse.

It was time.

Camille closed the gap again, feeling the steam loosen her as the walls began to swirl once more.

Fernan, she thought intently, trying to conjure the cliffside image from before.

A green gecko scuttled up onto the walls, breathing a jet of fire around the circle until it ignited a hearth, itself filling with green flame.

Fernan, she thought again, pulling her mind into the mountains of Guerron.

In the gloom, two blades advanced and retreated, each fighting for space, for control. Their wielders each had their hair tied back, one red and one black. The push and pull slowed as red disarmed black, sending the other sword tumbling to the ground.

Fernan. She saw the water on the walls, and she felt the water within herself, the psyben trickling through her. She breathed in steam and warmth and comfort, and let it all out.

Usually, trying to get any meaning out of these, steering them yourself, felt akin to fumbling in the dark: not entirely hopeless, but dangerous to bet success upon. This time, though, it felt like someone was reaching back.

Fernan was meditating on top of the Sun Temple, swishing his hand as apparitions and images danced in flames before him, each refracting through the glass roof beneath him, and diffusing colorful patterns into the temple below.

Camille pulled water from the walls into the sanctum, compacting it into a ball. She pulled Fernan’s image from the wall into the sculpture, filled it out to match, until a watery echo of Fernan sat on the ground in front of her.

She willed herself into the green fire still remaining on the walls, holding it steady as she expanded and solidified.

Until Fernan sat before her, and she sat before Fernan.

Visions could let you see many things, in the far past or impossible distances.Only the future was truly beyond their grasp, and anything blotted out by light. When two sages find each other at the same time…

“Hello, Fernan.” Camille smiled, clasping her hands together as the ethereal Camille on the wall did the same, its movements a half-second behind her own.

The light in his eyes flared up as he stumbled back, flame-Camille flickering but managing to hold herself steady. “Is that really you? Florette said you were alive, but—”

“I see your powers of observation are as keen as ever.” Camille breathed deep of the steam, letting warmth flow through her anew. “I thought it best we had a chat, you and I.”