Conquest of Avalon

“Why is it that your plans always seem to involve carousing with the enemy?” Florette stared down her snooty co-conspirator.

Camille Leclaire responded with a sigh. “Have you actually forgotten why we’re doing this, or are you just criticizing for the sake of it?”

Florette smiled, taking a page out of Eloise’s book by folding her arms. “That second one. It never stops being fun.”

The lady’s eyes narrowed, but at least she refrained from biting her lip for once. “At least tell me you did your part of the preparations. The last thing I need right now is some impulsive village girl mucking up—”

“Start over, and this time, use that noble courtesy I’ve heard so much about.”

Leclaire forced the widest, most insincere smile imaginable. “The last thing I need is for some dashing, brilliant confidence artist, pirate, and thief extraordinaire to fuck up the simplest of tasks imagineable due to her impulsive idiocy.” She swung her arm with the same exaggerated excitement. “You didn’t, did you?”

“Relax! It’s fine. Yse didn’t love that I was having a party without him, but once I gave him the guest list, he was happy to take my money instead of an invitation.” She slapped the covered wagon behind her twice. “Enough to get an entire army drunk.”

“And the branding? I was very explicit that you mustn’t rustle up some swill. Our targets are nobly born, given to expect a certain quality of beverage. It might damage my standing with them if what you’ve produced is… less than satisfactory.”

Florette laughed. “Yeah, I saw the supply sheet you wrote out. Would have cost like twenty-thousand dala to get all that shit.”

“What?” Leclaire paled. “So you failed to get it on account of expense? Khali’s curse, Florette, why did you not tell me sooner? I would have helped us arrive at a solution.”

“No need.” Florette pulled the cover free in one fluid motion. “See? All the labels match what you asked for. Yse knew someone else working for Jacques who sells these bootlegs on the side, got a friend discount for me.”

Eyes no less wide, the gentle Lady Leclaire held up one of the bottles, a clear spirit made from distilled potatoes. “That’s clever, I’ll grant, but I’m doubtful it will fool anyone once they get a proper taste of it.”

“Are you?” Florette snatched the bottle from her hands, popping the cork off and passing it back. “Try it. Show me how discerning the noble palette is.”

Leclaire rolled her startling blue eyes, but still tipped the bottle the slightest bit back to take a sip, taking care not to spill a drop down her chin. “How vile. It may have been the best our disgustingly diminished resources could procure, but I still wish you had come to me first. The very scent of it in the air betrays its cheap origins, let alone the flavor.”

“Is that so?” Florette laughed in her face, one of the few perks of working with the woman.“You should know that I got one set of the real thing and put it on top. By the time those bottles are drained, everyone should be drunk enough not to notice the bootlegs beneath it.”

The lady’s face flushed as she bit her lip once more.

“Seems like it wasn’t necessary, given your reaction just now. People taste whatever their expectations tell them to taste.” And once they taste enough, they’ll tell you anything. “But I could afford it, and I thought it couldn’t hurt.”

Leclaire took another rapid sip of the grain alcohol, then shoved it into Florette’s hands with a scowl. “Fine, I see your point. In a more mannered setting, with proper vintages involved, I still think it wouldn’t work, but these events tend to be raucous enough that your ruse should pass muster.” With seemingly great reluctance, she patted Florette awkwardly on the shoulder. “Well done.”

“Wow, such effusive praise. I’ll be the talk of my village, getting a compliment from High Priestess Camille Leclaire.”

That just caused the lady to sigh again, but it was still pretty amusing. “Not here, with that name. Carrine Bourbeau, remember it.”

“Fine.” Florette rolled her eyes. “And I’m Celine… what, exactly? I’m supposed to be a noble too, right? Otherwise I’d never be invited into your twisted little club.”

Leclaire raised an eyebrow. “Is that a request for help with your disguise?”

Florette’s smile twisted. “Is that an offer to help?”

“I suppose it must be.” Leclaire’s lip curled. “You already have a pre-name, and an established relationship with ‘Carrine Bourbeau’, the lesser sage of Levian. I have a reason to be here, visiting my fellow Acolytes, but for you, all of the details remain fungible.”

“Need I be noble? The best lies always stay close to truth. You would know better than anyone that it’s a part I can only play so well.”

Leclaire nodded heartily. “I’d never even seen animals tear their way through oysters the way you mauled them.” She chuckled. “But I struggle to imagine another reason for visiting here from Guerron. For obvious reasons, things have been strained between the two cities. You have no magic, so playing at being a sage would be foolhardy, but perhaps your ‘Celine’ could be my companion. A bodyguard, to ensure my safety.”

Florette raised an eyebrow. “Why would a sage need a bodyguard?”

“Really?” Leclaire tilted her head. “There’s only so much energy to be had from the spirits. For lesser sages such as ‘Carrine’, all the more so. Run out, and any magic worked must be fueled by one’s very life.”

For some reason, she scowled after that, as if the very idea was painful. “Someone in between the sage and danger, whether or not they bargained for magic, can be most useful. My fiancé once told me that most sages’ attacks are crude and untrained, perfectly possible for a well-trained combatant to dodge.”

Fiancé? Right, the Fox-King. She’d almost forgotten. “Is that right?”

Leclaire raised an eyebrow. “I would think you of all people would delight at hearing it. Lucien is as skilled with a sword as you and I are at breathing. If only he had more sense in his skull, we might not…“ She trailed off, the look of pain plain to see on her face.

“He was very keen to defend your honor,” Florette offered. “Almost stabbed someone who called you ‘aqua-bitch’, the day of your duel.”

“Who called me that?” Upon seeing the most convincing shrug that Florette could force, Leclaire continued. “Regardless, the sentiment is true. A guard is a perfectly acceptable guise for your ‘Celine’, and even your low birth would not overly stretch credulity. A skilled fighter of a poor pedigree would be exactly the guard chosen to venture into hostile territory.”

I see what you’re trying to pull. “You want me working for you. That way tonight if you want to shout me down, I have to go along with it if I don’t want to break the disguise.”

“Is that right?” Leclaire grinned. “I suppose that would be an incidental side effect of it.”

“Well, forget it. Whoever ‘Celine’ is here, she’s your equal. Got it?”

“Of course! It’s your identity, after all. And when Simon Perimont asks you one of a thousand questions that only a noble would know the answer to, and you farcically reveal yourself once more, I shall simply gasp in shock, having had no idea of your deception.”

“Like anyone would believe that.”

“Precisely.”

Fuck, she’s right. “No bossing me around in public, alright? This is a party, I’m off-duty, whatever it takes.”

“A true knight never neglects their duty.”

“Then consider me a false one. I don’t want you fucking me over in a way I have to go along with to maintain the ruse. This whole thing is stupid enough as it is.”

“Then don’t come. I’m gathering intelligence; in truth, it would be far easier without you.”

Florette narrowed her eyes. “Because you have a perfect memory of every detail? Or perhaps you know how to plan a robbery, and the necessary details will catch your attention as they would mine?” Arrogant ass.

The entire purpose of this party was to extract whatever information they could from the leader of Malin’s Territorial Guardians: where the highest concentration of patrols lay, what was most previous that they defended, any potential weakpoints…

There was only so much you could ask without looking suspicious, but that could still get you pretty far. And it was an important starting point, for a heist that would have to outshine even the railyard.

Leclaire’s eyes only narrowed. “It wouldn’t do for you to get carried away. The most important thing is figuring out his outlook, whether he might be amenable to change or need to be removed down the line.”

“As if there’s any doubt he’s a heinous fuck. Maybe it’s you who shouldn’t bother. I’m sure I can get the information I need from the Captain.”

“Without being hanged first? Consider me doubtful.”

“I’m perfectly capable of maintaining a disguise. The one you saw through was literally my first, but I’ve grown since then.” It wasn’t as if she was any stranger to using friendship and alcohol to get the information she needed for a job, even going back to Magnifico in Guerron. And that had worked without some haughty noble butting in as if she knew everything.

“I don’t doubt it.” Leclaire smiled. “I also don’t doubt that you could provoke the Captain to murder even without revealing yourself, charming as you are.”

“A little provocation can be necessary sometimes. Shake things up to get the information you need.” She’d certainly done a bit of that in preparation for the railyard heist, poking and prodding to squeeze information from the workers there. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to end up being hung.”

“I should hope not. You aren’t a painting.”

“What?”

“I’ve done my best to help,” Leclaire continued. “If you insist on another guise, I shall grit my teeth and do my best to aid you there as well. But I honestly believe that this way has the least risk. Levian knows we could stand to minimize risk right now.”

“Fine,” Florette spat out, more to end the conversation than out of true acquiescence. “Let’s just get on with the party.”

≋

Château Malin was little more than a ruin, now, but if anything that made it fit in well with the venues for these parties: the overgrown gardens, the windswept sands of the beach, atop the cliffs…

Either high society had unexpectedly good taste, or the sort that Leclaire was building a relationship with were inclined to step outside their comfort zone. Either way, it beat the fuck out of learning to dance in a ballroom or something.

“Is that Naca?” Leclaire hissed, pointing to the random guests sharing a pipe under the light of the moon. “Avalon bans mind-altering substances like that! We can’t have people indulging in the presence of their nobility.”

Wow. “It’s a party, ‘Carrine’. No one gives a fuck. It would have been weird not to have it, honestly.” This was your idea, anyway; I’m just executing it better than you could have.

“Avalonians are a weird sort! It’s a risk that we can’t afford to take. I know it’s ridiculous, but we—”

“I smell a party!” Simon Perimont clapped Leclaire on the back. “Did you keep any aside for us?”

“Got you covered,” Florette assured in the best accent she could manage of their language, which admittedly probably wasn’t great. “Here.” She handed him a pipe packed with Naca laced with pixie powder, a way to get the effects of the former without falling prey to the lethargy that generally followed.

Simon waved the pipe with a puzzled expression on his face until Florette handed him the taper candle lit from the bonfire as well. “Thank you. Celine, right?”

“Indeed.” She leaned forward, suppressing her revulsion. “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” she lied easily.

“Likewise,” Perimont said as he inhaled through the pipe. “I can see that the ladies of Guerron are just as resourceful as they are beautiful.”

Ugh.

“How kind!” Leclaire smiled, then elbowed Florette sharply to do the same. “I hope the change of venue wasn’t an issue.”

Change of venue? What was she talking about? Asking might muck things up though, so Florette refrained from commenting.

Simon simply shook his head in response. “As unsightly as the old castle-town might be these days, the stones of the Chateau itself still have a certain charm to them. And the wind isn’t half bad either. I’ve lived in Malin for years and the summer’s never been this horrifically hot.”

“The city has changed,” Camille agreed. “I wonder if the spirits might not have something to do with it as well. Soleil stands triumphant, for the moment.”

“Oh. Right.” Simon’s lip curled. “I suppose you would have to be party to those superstitions, belonging to the temple as you do.”

“Spirits are very obviously real,” Florette responded, brows wrinkled. “Just over a hundred years ago Avalon’s Great Binder saved all of us from the worst of them.”

“Of course, of course.” Simon held up his hands as if to surrender. “But does their well-being truly influence the world in such a way? It’s possible, but I think it better to be skeptical. It serves their ends to have us believe them indispensable.”

That’s true.

Camille Leclaire didn’t seem convinced, though. “It’s just about passed from living memory, but the aftereffects of a spirit’s demise are well reported. Sealing Khali away in her prison of a world resulted in weeks without nightfall, the age of gleaming from which our calendar draws its name. There’s dozens of books that can attest to it.”

That matches what that book I stole said. It hadn’t occurred to Florette until now, but Leclaire might not be a bad person to run it by. She might have an idea about whether it was really the Great Binder who had written it.

“I have read much the same, my lady. But a death is not the same as a minor triumph, and you may consider me skeptical that the spirit Soleil will truly benefit from his sage’s partnership with Avalon. Not everything is a reflection of the spirits; sometimes a hot summer is just a hot summer. They’ve been warmer every year as it is.”

Leclaire dipped her head magnanimously. “You may be right. The tides continue, for all that Levian was diminished with the death of his High Priestess.”

Simon bent down and kissed her hand. “Perhaps he’s simply found a worthy successor already, a peerless beauty from Guerron.” Kill me.

“Is Captain Whitbey coming?” Florette asked, to put an end to this revolting absurdity. “I was looking forward to meeting him.”

“In time. He’s not much one for parties, usually, but I had Charlotte convince him, as a favor to me.”

“Who’s Charlotte?” With all the time she’d spent gathering information on the Perimonts, this person’s name ought to have come up.

“A guardian friend of mine, investigating the harbor bombing along with that Fortan knight that Prince Harold sent. Whitbey loaned her out for the duration of the investigation.”

“A good sort of friend to have,” Leclaire noted, brushing strands of her hair back. “But I suppose that’s to be expected from a man of your stature.”

Simon smiled. “I’m not a bad friend to have, myself. In fact, Sir Gerald and Charlotte mentioned something I might be able to help you with, fair Carrine. This very evening, no less. It’s quite the fortuitous coincidence, isn’t it?”

“If you believe in coincidences.” Florette shot Leclaire a look, but all the lady returned was a miniscule shake of her head. “There’s often more at play.”

“Too true.” Simon laughed. “Especially given the latest news from Avalon. Perhaps there is more to it, but I doubt it’s any business of mine in any case. No matter. Carrine, if I could discuss this with you in private?”

“One moment.” Florette held up a single finger. “What news from Avalon?”

Leclaire seemed intrigued as well, though she was better at hiding it.

Well, whatever. It doesn’t break our cover for me to be interested.

“I’m not sure it would mean anything much to foreigners, especially with Guerron so close to entering the fold, but a pirate ship was just caught outside of Oxton.”

“Caught?” It’s just a coincidence. There must be hundreds of pirate ships raiding Avalon. “What’s the significance of that?”

“Well, it was a royal-class vessel. The personal ship of Prince Luce, in fact, though he was nowhere to be found when the ship was searched. He may be dead already, at the hands of those pirates.”

Eloise’s ship. “And the pirates?” She managed to keep any quiver out of her voice, though only just.

Simon shrugged. “Executed already, no doubt. Baron Williams is not the soft sort. He’d have had them tried and hanged within a week. Especially that traitor woman in charge of them. The more concerning aspect is the potential geopolitical implications. If Prince Harold is truly to respond with commensurate force, global trade may be drastically impacted. In fact…”

The words stopped meaning anything as he droned on and on about trade and money.

Executed.

Eloise had seemed so careful. It wasn’t like her at all to get caught outside a major Avalonian city. And what of the Prince? She’d been planning to use him, not cast him aside.

Unlike you.

Had Florette ever truly known her? Was this truly as out of character as it first appeared?

Does any of it matter? She’s dead now.

She dumped me here to go have her own adventures, and it led her straight to the noose.

“Drinks!” Florette announced, interrupting whatever Leclaire’s response to Simon’s ponderous diatribe had been. “Something strong, yes?”

“Umm, sure. Gin, I think, given the temperature.”

Leclaire narrowed her eyes. “Do you need to go get them right now, Celine? Wouldn’t you like a moment to talk first? You’re shaking.”

“No, I’m not.” Florette shook her head. “And this comes first.”

She ducked away as fast as she could, steeling herself against the crisp breeze that cut straight through the humid air.

One of the good ones, this time.

A gin of Cambrian make, far far too expensive, but what was money? If this next heist paid off, it would all be trivial to recoup.

But some things can never be recouped.

She took a long sip from the bottle, then wiped her mouth clean before returning to the gathering. “Let’s drink!”

Leclaire side-eyed her at that, but honestly, fuck her and her arrogant, noble, too-perfectly-round ass.

“Let’s!” that Perimont fuck agreed, passing the Naca pipe to a wholly disconcerted Camille Leclaire before taking the bottle himself. “I told Gary and Charlotte I’d start without them anyway; they know the drill.”

“Are they coming as well?” Leclaire asked inanely, still staring at Florette. “They won’t care about the… merriment, will they?”

Simon waved his hand flippantly. “That’s not what those laws are about, anyway. Father couldn’t make it illegal to be loyal to the Renarts or against the occupation, not with the human rights protections in Avalon’s constitution. But he knew those same people liked their nightshade, their marigold wine, all that spiritual stuff. So it let him jail the rowdiest of them, sic the Forresters on any of their leaders who might get rebellion in their heads. The point of it isn’t to ruin our fun. Whitbey gets that, and Gary’s too much of an idiot to notice.”

“And the Acolytes of Levian?”

“Clochaîne tamed them; they don’t break the law to have those visions anymore anyway. Don’t worry, you’re fine. I had them take care of it anyway. Watch, Charlotte and Gary will show up with Whitbey any moment to tell you those charges were dismissed.”

Charges? As amusing as the thought of Leclaire being arrested was, it did nothing for the needs of the moment. “I can’t wait until they do.” She took the bottle of gin from Simon’s offering hands and drank deep once more. “I’ve been waiting to hear from Captain Whitbey, especially.”

Leclaire shot her another glare for that, but Simon didn’t see anything amiss. That’s the important thing, aqua-bitch.

“Is that right?” Simon asked through a cloud of Naca smoke. “I didn’t get the impression he had much of a reputation outside Malin.”

“Well, he’s a force for order,” Leclaire offered. “It’s not uncommon for him to be mentioned in the same breath as your father in enforcing justice. The ”

“Still…” Simon looked a slight bit skeptical now, so Florette jumped in to reassure him.

“Enforcing justice is a passion of mine, that’s all. And Captain Whitbey is exactly the person I want to meet for that, though your Father isn’t far behind.”

“Hmm. Perhaps something can be arranged. I wouldn’t have expected a foreigner to be so interested in our local governance.”

“Yes,” Leclaire spoke through grit teeth. “It’s certainly unusual. But that’s my Celine, an unconventional woman in unconventional times.”

“That they are,” Simon agreed. “Excuse me a moment, I think I see Sir Gerald arriving. I’ll collect him to introduce to you and return presently.”

“Bye!” Florette waved her hand until he was far enough down the hill to be out of earshot.

“Celine?” Leclaire’s voice was soft as she turned to her. “Would you like to get some air? You seem a bit troubled.”

“I’m fine,” Florette assured her.

“If you’re really fine, then stop acting strange. This is a delicate operation, and I’d sooner have you leave than spoil it.” She bit her lip. “But I don’t think you are. Are you worried that the Prince is missing? I know you—” She cut herself off, probably to avoid saying anything incriminating, but the meaning was fairly clear.

“It’s nothing,” she said, putting conviction into her words that she didn’t feel. “A loose end was tied up, that’s all.”

Leclaire sucked in air through her teeth. “Just keep your head, alright? You’re not here to have fun; you’re here to collect intelligence to help with the next heist.”

Florette was saved from having to respond when Simon returned with two men and a stunning muscular girl in tow, along with his sister.

“Let’s have some fun!” Mary Perimont yelled, seemingly happier to be there than anyone. She grabbed the bottle of gin and took a pull nearly as long as Florette’s.

“Let’s,” Florette agreed, staring at Leclaire as she did. “For one night, we can forget tomorrow.”