Conquest of Avalon

Camille IV: The Monument

Well, that went remarkably well.

“I’ve been thinking.” Prince Luce’s size had more than tripled in his thick winter coat, giving him an appearance rather reminiscent of a puffy starfish. “We’ve helped each other. Whatever you’re working on behind the scenes, I do want to recognize that.”

“Likewise.” The fog of Camille’s breath filled the frigid air, faintly illuminated by the lantern she carried. “Arranging to save this city would have been much harder had you endeavored to murder me.” As your father did. It might have been nice to throw that in his face, but it was important to keep that tidbit of information to herself until the time was right, lest she spoil Lucien’s leverage over Avalon. It was even possible that the Prince didn’t know, though it seemed unlikely.

“Mhmm.” He didn’t seem particularly amused. “I’m sure you’re an old hand at dealing with these spirits, but swearing truth before them is no small thing. If you lie to preserve your deceptions, it could haunt you for all eternity.”

“And if I trip and fall on a pair of scissors, I could run myself through. And yet I still take the risk of using them, because the trade-off is worthwhile. What’s your point?”

“My point—” His horse stumbled, tripping over a root hidden beneath the snow, then righted itself as Luce scowled. “My point is that I’m offering you a way out. Whatever you’re really planning here, if you leave right now, I don’t care. There aren’t many ships that can make it to Guerron right now, but I’m willing to bet you could clear a path for them. I’m giving you an out.”

How terribly gallant. Camille rolled her eyes. “I’d only need that if I had something to hide.” Something I couldn’t get away with hiding, anyway.

“Seriously?” The Prince scoffed, shaking his head. “Your old ‘partner’ Florette assassinated the governor and stole a larger supply of advanced weaponry than this continent has ever seen, and you claimed ignorance. All the while she’s probably smuggling the lord’s portion of Avalon’s pistols over to your Fox-King, or the highest bidder, while the rest of them spill over onto the streets.”

“Well, I offered to help track them down, and you refused me any official sanction. Besides, the only person attacked so far was that pirate, Eloise. The way I see it, no harm done.”

“Because she survived?”

“...Sure.” Camille shrugged. The thought of dozens of those monstrous devices in the hands of lowly criminals was revolting after seeing how much damage even one did in Lumière’s hands, but what was she to do? Poking her nose in it was bound to get back to Grimoire, which could jeopardize plans of far greater importance. If he insisted on handling it, she would leave him to it. “At any rate, I’m almost positive she didn’t take any to Guerron. They’re probably all still in the city, travel being what it is.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Because I asked Fernan directly, and he said no. His courtroom chicanery had been something of a surprise, but after he’d clarified that Jethro had been the one who’d truly done it, it was clear the flame sage was just as reluctant a liar as ever. If he said Florette had come empty-handed, she surely had. A shame, too. They’d do far more good in Lucien’s hands than whatever ruffians were holding onto them now.

“I suppose I’m not,” she lied. “Call it a suspicion. Losing an entire train’s worth of advanced technology would be a shameful failure for Avalon, but your official story has gone unchallenged. Lucien would have every reason to trumpet it from the mountaintops, had Florette gone to him with them.”

“He might fear Avalon’s wrath.”

Camille sighed. “Before darkness fell, Avalon was preparing to invade Guerron. He wouldn’t have much to lose on that front, and everything to gain from showing your weakness, both for internal morale and to inspire allies.”

“Or you’re just saying that so you can keep it up your sleeve for later.”

If only. “It’s the truth, so far as I know. I’ll have to confirm that before the spirits soon, anyway. There would not be much point in dissembling.”

“I’ll make sure you do.”

Prince Luce mostly fell silent after that, likely realizing there was little point in interrogating her now, when he would so soon have a perfect measure of her honesty.

As their horses trudged through the snow, Camile watched the vapor from her breath dissipate out into the air, errantly wondering whether she’d be capable of controlling it. According to the Prince, what one exhaled was partially water, along with, somehow, the same thing they used to make that fizzing soda water. The whole thing seemed somewhat suspect, though it did fit Levian’s assertion that that was primarily what the human body consisted of. Perhaps she could even warm her blood directly, but experimenting with that now seemed rather ill-advised.

Fenouille was the first to greet them, emerging from the frosted riverbanks with a vacant look in his massive eyes as his antennae uncoiled. “Well now, I did not expect little Camille to bring a guest. I hope you did not request me to arrive early simply to declare your vows of love. Seldom does it end well, and we have more important matters to discuss.”

“What is he talking about?”

Ugh. “Nothing. It’s an old tradition at sage weddings, but no one’s done it in centuries. For obvious reasons.”

“Why would they ever do that?”

Camille scoffed. “To strengthen political ties, obviously. Not to mention it’s incredibly romantic, even if it’s ill-advised. And—that is not why we’re here at all. Fenouille, this is Prince Lucifer Grimoire, of Avalon. A descendant of Harold Grimoire, if that means anything to you.”

“The authority to whom you answer in this city.”

“For now. He needs to be sure he can trust me, so I offered to let him ask me some questions when I’m sworn to the truth. Would you mind being the arbiter?”

“That is not the relationship you implied to me. You said he endowed you with official authority, that you could guarantee safety. Do not think that our history entitles you to endanger me so recklessly, Camille.”

“I did!” the Prince said quickly. “I did and she can. This is just a matter of due diligence, you understand.”

Fenouille’s eyes remained impassive, his round belly slowly expanding and contracting. “Proceed, then.”

Camille nodded, staring past the spirit, out over the still-slowing Sartaire. “I vow that the truth shall bind me in all things, until this conversation’s end. Should I lie, may my soul be granted to you Fenouille, to use in any way you see fit, or barter away.”

The prince’s eyes narrowed. “You know each other, though. Couldn’t you have conspired to—”

“Fenouille, did we discuss this at all before the Prince and I arrived here?”

“No.” His antennae curled in the hint of a smile. “Not will I extend any exceptional kindness to her soul, should it find its way into my possession. I understand the nature of what you intend, Grimoire.”

Luce gulped, fists clenched, but remained steady. “Very well then. Let’s start with an easy one: Are you planning to betray me?”

Easy one indeed. You should have run these by a solicitor first. “Betray? We don’t have any mutual trust to be betrayed. I don’t believe it’s even possible. If I acted against you, would it surprise you? Would it challenge anything you believe about me?”

He sighed, burying his face in his hands. “Lady Leclaire, the idea is that I walk away from this with some level of trust in you. If I can’t, I’m sending you away on that ship regardless.”

“Then note that I’m saying that to you, instead of just believing it honestly and keeping the rationale to myself while saying ‘no’. We want the same things right now, and as long as Avalon is in control of Malin, I want you to be the one running things here.”

“That’s a start.”

“If your rule here is imperiled, I might even act to preserve your hold, as I did against Perimont. Certainly, barring extremely exceptional circumstances, I can vow that I will defend you against others acting in Avalon’s name. You can trust that I will, or I’ll suffer for eternity for it.”

His gaze softened an instant, then hardened once more. “Every waking moment is an extremely exceptional circumstance. The bloody sun’s gone out! You’re essentially promising nothing.”

Damn. Perhaps it had been too much to hope to get away with that one, but it had been worth a try. “Barring circumstances that would result in many deaths, then. Say, one hundred.”

He shook his head. “More. Not to mention the time frame, given how consequences ripple out. There’s all kinds of circumstances I could envision where one hundred people—”

“Nine hundred, then. And ninety-nine. If I earnestly believe that preserving your power against a challenger from Avalon would result in that many deaths within the year, I might refrain from helping, but for nothing less. Satisfied?”

“I suppose, on that point. What follows is more important though: Are you planning to take back Malin for the Empire of the Fox?”

Camille blinked. “Obviously yes! When the moment of crisis has passed and I can return to Guerron, all the reasons to want to liberate this city would be just about as valid as they were before, give or take a kinder governor.”

“But before then?”

“Barring circumstances exceptional within the already-exceptional circumstances in which we find ourselves, no. Currently, I have no plans to liberate Malin before the sun returns. I honestly can’t imagine anything plausibly changing that, as long as you remain in control until then. If you get dethroned by Magnifico or something, and he ends up the new governor, I reserve the right to contest that.”

“Magnifico?” he scoffed, remarkably convincingly. “He’s a bard. What could possibly make him fit for such a political appointment?”

“A reward for nearly orchestrating my death, perhaps.” Twist the knife. “A heartless rogue like that certainly wouldn’t hesitate to turn on you, if he thought it benefitted him. We should both be thankful he’s locked up where he can’t do any more harm.”

His shrunken posture suggested that her words had affected him even more than she’d planned, the starfish collapsing in on itself. “I understand.”

“Surely you’re satisfied now? So long as the sun remains gone, I’ll defend you against enemies from your own nation trying to supplant your rule, and I won’t be liberating Malin as long as you do rule.” She forced a smile, though she had hoped for better from this. “That ought to close me in, right? Set your mind at ease?”

“So long as the sun remains gone, huh? And then all bets are off?” His tone remained hesitant, like he was still mulling over the Magnifico barb. Perhaps the perfect prince isn’t so close with his father. That could certainly be an opportunity.

“What do you want me to say, Luce? This is an alliance of convenience, to protect the people of this city. Without knowing the moment it happens in advance, there’s not much I could do before your thugs marched me onto a boat, anyway.” Resisting the urge to smile smugly was essential here, so fortunately she pulled it off with aplomb.

“You could fight. I don’t think it’s a fight you could win in the long-term, but—”

“I wouldn’t. I promise I won’t, if it gets to that point. Once the sun is up, and you tell me it’s time to go, I’ll leave without a fight.”

The Prince took a deep breath, then let out a stream of foggy breath into the air. “And long-term?”

Camille raised an eyebrow. “Would you tell me your long-term plans for my city?”

“I would,” he said with no hesitation. “I have nothing to hide on that front.”

Shit.

“I want to set a precedent,” he continued, “of rational, scientific results trusted over emotional, punitive outbursts. Efficiency, and yes, kindness, as you mentioned. Since you were so candid with your plans to oppose me I’ll say that I have no great objection to my father’s plans for the spirits and their sages, long term, though Fenouille’s generosity here is certainly making me reconsider that. As long as the barbaric practice of human sacrifice is outlawed, maybe… Certainly, I intend to deal in full good faith with the spirits to gather here today.”

“Would you swear it?” Fenouille asked, breaking his silence as the sounds emanated up through the snow.

“I—I would, really. Without your help, thousands will starve, and I have no desire to cheat you. What I offer is genuine. But I don’t swear vows to spirits. That’s a fantastic way to end up as an eternal slave, suffering an eternal struggle in a fate worse than death.”

Fenouille’s feet began to sink back into the ground as his body slowly lowered. “I trusted you, Camille.”

Camille thought herself a good reader of character, and so far it had served her well. Her greatest failures had more to do with hidden dangers, failing to anticipate the unanticipatable. But could she afford to stick her neck out for this?

Could she afford not to?

“I’ll swear to his intentions.” You’d better be grateful for that, you little inquisitor. “I who am bound to truth and entrusted to serve Malin in matters of the spirits declare the prince shall be honest in his dealings this day, may my soul be yours should he cheat you.”

Fenouille stopped. “Then be it on your head should he dissemble.”

Prince Luce opened his mouth, a finger raised in the air, then closed it with a shake of his head.

Just as well. The other spirits were due to arrive soon anyway, a convenient way to cut the interrogation short. That better be enough to satisfy him, or I’ve greatly limited my options for nothing.

Possibly even condemned myself to a fate worse than death, if this means I can’t fulfill Levian’s deal.

That wasn’t the plan, of course, but was any plan ever so certain it was worth betting so much on it?

Cya was the first spirit to arrive at their little meeting, the half-dead woods spirit of Refuge. She was more alive than the devastation of her domain would have suggested, but that was damning with faint praise. Only her tail had made it through truly intact, as vibrant and green as she was reputed to be, and standing out starkly against the endless plains of white.

But the blight had touched her, or she’d changed to reflect the changes to her domain. Either way, half her hair stringy and thin, and nearly half her body was wilted and dead, one gnarled oaken arm hanging limp at her side. Even her eye on that side was clouded, she who had been so known for her vision and insight.

She had come with numbers, at least, a pack of similarly wilted wood nymphs easily thirty-strong surrounding her, their bleached, desiccated bodies nearly lost in the white snow. Fenouille had made contact with one to set the meeting up, but Camille hadn’t realized the spirit would take so many with her, this far from Refuge.

“We welcome you, Cya, Spirit of Life and Protector of the Forest.” Perhaps it was in bad taste for Camille to use such ironic titles, but it seemed more respectful than omitting them. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence.”

The wind picked up suddenly, whistling through her assortment of nymphs while the spirit’s mouth remained still. “Camille Leclaire. You, I had kept an eye on even before your involvement in this. You fancy yourself an Expert, a Gardener cultivating the seeds to better your position. Schemes within schemes, selfish manipulations. In your own way, just as reckless as your friend Florette.”

“How dare you—” She swallowed the words before she could complete the thought. “My apologies. Your wisdom exceeds my expectations.”

“This is kind of what she does, Camille.” Luce patted her on the shoulder, his arm swinging awkwardly in his huge jacket. “She knew everything about me and Eloise before we even met her. Spirit visions, apparently. And she uses them to fuck with people.”

Cya’s lips curled into a shockingly human smile at that, though the dead side of her face drooped instead of continuing the expression.

“I see.” Camille nodded, bowing her head to give herself a moment to marshall her face into position. It seemed appropriate that the very sun had fallen from the sky, seeing as a Prince of Avalon was educating her about a spirit. “Your sight was famed far and wide, noble spirit. I am pleased to see that it remains strong.”

“Take care, young Camille,” Fenouille said, approaching from the water. “You remain bound to speak the truth until we adjourn. Do not give praise you do not mean.”

“Thank you, Fenouille.” She hadn’t forgotten, but it was nice that he cared enough to warn her. “I am pleased, though. The Fall of Refuge was a travesty, an atrocity beyond all reckoning. That you, Cya, managed to emerge not just alive but… well, not unscathed, but in possession of your life and much of your power, is both impressive and heartening. Do you intend to speak at the convocation of the spirits?”

The wind picked up again, rushing discordantly through the nymphs without forming into any particular words. A sigh? “I would, for I have words I desperately wish the others would heed, but I lack the credibility.”

“I thought spirits couldn’t lie?” the prince asked inanely.

“Credibility of a different sort, Architect. To make your voice heard in a gathering of spirits demands strength, the force to impose your will. The others must know this, must recognize what you are capable of. I am naught but a monument to failure, a half-dead wretch who lost so thoroughly I struggle to even keep the woodcutters out of what remains of my lands.”

Camille blinked watery eyes, dispelling the liquid with a thought as her eyes met the spirit’s. How terribly familiar. “That’s unfortunate, but I can understand.”

“I suppose you would, Revenant.”

And, of course, she knew about all that too. “I take it you knew to come even before we reached out?”

The woods spirit tipped her head forward slightly. “I saw the shape of what you planned, Camille the Strategist, but I waited to see whether or not my involvement would be welcome. I am pleased that our prior encounter was not enough to dissuade you, Luce Grimoire.”

Gingerly, the prince took a small step towards her. “It was a near thing, Cya. You can’t drug people without their consent!”

“Obviously, I can and have. But I understand the shape of what you say.” She paused for a moment, the whistling wind dying down without dying out. “It was my intention to grant you a boon of truth, since you were so averse to the prospect of a transaction. Goodwill, that you might remember when you returned home.”

“You force-fed me some mushroom that sent me into a nightmare, then you left us stranded in the wasteland! We almost died.”

“Do not exaggerate, Unfortunate Orator. You had fish to eat and water to drink. Perhaps these were not the most pleasant of accommodations, but you survived, Survivor that you are.”

He grumbled something about having to fight her monsters for the water jug, but it was past time for Camille to step in anyway, so she interrupted. “The past is the past. But we can work together now for our mutual interest. All of us.”

Luce stopped himself and sighed. “Agreed. Cya, back in Refuge, you told me you asked only for good faith. I’d like to grant that now, and ask only the same in return.”

“Then you have it.”

Fernouille’s antennae bobbed up and down in an agreement of their own. “Just as well. It seems our final guests are arriving.”

One started as little more than a purple speck dotting the moon near the horizon, growing slowly larger as it approached. It flowed more than it walked, the snow dissipating behind it in a trail as wide as a wagon. It condensed once it was closer, the flowing purple… stuff coalescing into a more humanoid form around five feet tall, its face utterly blank save for a massive grinning mouth. “You’re Leclaire?”

This would be Corro of the Wastes, a spirit of poison and decay. Probably no stranger to Cya, given the state of her domain, though he was truly sworn to Lunette.

“I am.”

“Hmm.” His body rippled and flowed as he spoke, but the sound actually seemed to be coming from his mouth, an oddity for a spirit. “I was hoping the other one would be here.”

“Ah.” Luce stuck out his hand hurriedly, then seemed to realize belatedly that a shake might be a bad idea and turned the gesture into an awkward wave. “I’m Prince Lucifer Grimoire, of Avalon. I’m currently acting as the Governor for Malin, and have designated Camille as my spiritual liaison.”

“Not you.” He shook his head with a scoff, continuing to walk over to Cya. “Am I the last to arrive?”

“There was supposed to be—” Camille jumped back as the ground began to shift beneath her feet, narrowly avoiding the small spirit jumping into the air where she’d been standing. “Ah, Peauvre, good.”

“A pleasure as always, Camille.” Three feet in height, Peauvre’s skin was peeled back, exposing the flesh beneath. Mother had always warned that she would come for the lazy, and visited misfortunes upon them, but then she hadn’t been particularly keen once Camille had actually met up with the spirit in person and started to help her with her chores. “I hear you’ve met with an accident of your own. I’d assure you I had no hand in it, but I can never really be sure.” She laughed, scrambling up Camille’s leg to her shoulder without asking. “You’re so big now! Maybe this time you can tip the ladder.”

It was easier to understand Mother’s impulse, now, but this was no time to be picky, either.

Besides, Peauvre had survived the purge visited upon the city by Avalon’s binders. That necessitated some level of restraint.

“Wait, you already know this one too?” It was hard to tell with his face all bundled up, but he looked a bit unnerved by the state of the spirit’s flayed skin. Grow up, Grimoire. It’s not like Avalon hasn’t done plenty of things grislier than this.

Camille rolled her eyes. “It’s my job to understand the spirits, Luce. It has been my whole life.”

“How many do you… Uh…”

“Well, obviously, it used to be a lot more.” Camille turned to the assembled group, humbled or lesser spirits all, save the prince who had insisted on coming. “Alright, now that we’re all here, I think it’s time we begin.”