Conquest of Avalon

Florette VII: The Intruder

“Please tell me we’re going to slay this fiend,” the Fallen demanded in Cassia Arion’s voice. “He plunged the world into darkness and they’re just keeping him here. It’s unfair.”

“It is. And yet, when it suited them, they let him be.” Florette didn’t turn to face the spirit, keeping her eye pressed against the lens of the spyglass. “Hence the need to do this quietly.”

Magnifico was being held in a tower cell within the castle, apparently one ‘befitting his station’. Fucker gets to relax in the castle while the world starves. He’d plunged the world into darkness, and he had been days from execution for it until news of who he was had stayed the Fox-King’s hand.

That was the explanation that made the most sense, anyway. Letting him live just because it’s politically convenient, getting away with everything.

But if anything, that just made it worse. King Harold of Avalon had personally infiltrated Ombresse and torn the city down, rendering the entire island nothing more than one of Avalon’s puppet states. He ultimately carried responsibility for every one of Perimont’s atrocities, all the abuse and exploitation of the wider Territorial government. The death of thousands, even before his latest atrocity.

And he probably set Luce up to die.

“Perhaps it is unjust to acknowledge political reality, but it would also be foolish to ignore it,” Governor Perimont whispered, taking in the castle. “If what you say of his identity is true, keeping him captive is the ultimate leverage. We could not press the attack without risking the life of our king. A hard but necessary decision, when our Crown prince is a soft man incapable of rising to the occasion.”

“Who’s side are you on, Fallen?” Florette asked, pushing back even as she knew the argument was weak.

If a knife at a monster’s throat held back another Foxtrap until there was time to get ready, to steal more plans and match Avalon cannon for cannon, it was hard to argue that it wouldn't be for the greater good, even if the injustice of it rankled. Still, they could throw him in a dank, moldy dungeon and prevent him from ever seeing the sun again.

If any of us ever do, anyway.

“I’m on humanity’s side, Florette. The spirits’. The world’s.” Their form took on a different cast, small and withdrawn in a way that made it difficult to tell if they were fifteen or thirty, with brown bangs falling over startling green eyes. “Yours, so long as I have read you true.”

“Whose form is that?” she asked with dread. Glaciel’s minions should have all lived; it wasn’t as if Florette had gone out of her way to finish them off, nor had any of them looked remotely like this. Please, don’t tell me I’ve killed someone by accident.

“I believe our collaborator here is simply responding to my presence.” Corro’s purple puddle coalesced into the image of a man halfway out of the ground, though his lower half spilled out over the ground rather than forming legs. “Rather cruel of you to prod at so recent a wound, Fallen.”

“Such is my nature.”

“Of course. Nature is often cruel.” Corro turned the massive mouth on his ‘head’ towards Florette. “My only obligation is to deliver my message to Magnifico. That much, I have promised. As to keeping him alive, however, I have sworn no oaths.”

“Good, that gives us options.” Florette turned back to the Fallen, still the small green-eyed girl. Honestly, it was comfortable seeing them like this, no longer a knife of guilt in her neck, so she saw little reason to question further. “But the Fallen had a good point. Unfortunately. Keeping him as a hostage against Avalon’s good behavior might do more good, in the end. There’s a lot to be said for preventing war.”

“Forestalling war. As soon as Magnifico’s natural life should end, the threat arises once more, renewed. The King would be free to act once more.”

“Yeah…” Florette sighed. “But kill him now, and the king’s free to act now.”

“Not if there is no king.”

Florette smiled. “Good point.”

“If we cannot end things permanently, then, better to avoid it at this time. Wait until you have confirmation from me.”

“Hmm. Something about his binder abilities?”

“Along those lines, if my suspicions are true, though far more complicated than could easily be explained. I’ll know one way or another, once I see him.”

“Alright, good then. We want to play this safe and cautious. Nothing reckless.” As non-reckless as breaking into the castle to have a chat with the probably-King of Avalon could be, anyway. “The guard should be changing now. Fallen, do you have what you need?”

“Indeed. Family and friends have moved along, but the soul remains alight in the heart of its killer.” The Fallen turned her head towards the castle atop the winding path up the hill. “Shall we, then?”

“They’d never let me see him otherwise.” Florette had obliquely alluded to it with Fernan after her meeting with Jethro, but that had gotten shut down hard. If she’d played dumb about Magnifico probably being the king, maybe she could have swung it, since no one would have thought she’d be there to kill him. But lying to Fernan felt like kicking a baby goat off a cliff. Easier to ask forgiveness, or better yet, never get discovered at all. “Yeah, let’s go pay this bard a visit.”

≋

“Well, it isn’t as if the very concept is unheard of.” Michel gestured with his hands, as if waving to the world beyond. “Plagette has endured as a republic for over eight hundred years.”

“Oh, please.” Florette rolled her eyes. “The Fox-Queen was appointed as their First Speaker instead of abolishing their government outright, as a courtesy for their surrender to annexation. The Empire ruled them from afar for the rest of her life. and through that of several descendants. When Cyrin Renart tried to get them to pay their tribute for the war, they appointed a Merlan instead as a show of defiance, and he lacked the strength to call them on it.” Florette didn’t know which Merlan, exactly, since Camille had used ‘fucker’ in lieu of a prename when telling the story. “There’s only been forty five cumulative years that an Aureaux or a Merlan wasn’t their first speaker.”

Michel smiled. “Read your Corelle, have you? Still, I think it’s meaningful that none since King Cyrin have deigned to call themselves king over Plagette.”

I had to read Corelle, or Camille would have kept taunting me over my historical ignorance for another hundred years. Somehow, it seemed impossible to plot rebellion with someone who wasn’t a pain in the ass.

“Marguerite Merlan is Queen in all but name.” Camille had even been counting on that, apparently, since her interest in curbing Avalon would supposedly endure into the longer term than that of a mere office-holder. “Certainly, she’ll be First Speaker until she dies.”

“Most likely.” Michel shrugged. “There’s also Condorcet. Although perhaps the less said, the better.”

‘Those fucking freaks’ had been the Lady Leclaire’s eloquent epithet, and it was frankly hard to dispute. “I’m surprised you’d even bring them up. It kind of destroys your argument.”

“It didn’t work in Condorcet; that doesn’t make it impossible.” He tipped his teacup back, only to frown at its emptiness. “Don’t allow cynicism to push you to inaction. You of all people ought to believe that a better world can be realized.”

“Really, ‘for a better world’? That’s Avalon’s motto. Or the translation of it, anyway. It’s printed on all their military shit.” Florette took the last sip of her own tea. “I’m not being cynical. I just… How many times have I charged off without thinking something through? Without actually considering the risks? “Even the thought of what you’re talking about is… delicate. We have to be realistic.” Just killing the worst offenders isn’t enough.

“I’m not asking you to be stupid. Just consider the idea for a moment. This salon is a safe space to talk, I can assure you.” He stood from his velvet seat, giving her a nod. “I’m afraid I have to go. A client of mine isn’t being allowed to collect on his claim after the icy sea swallowed his ship.” He dropped around forty florins on the table, unfortunately the necessary price for this small meal for two. “Malin is at the cusp of incredible transformation, transformation you helped make possible. Why not Guerron?”

And why not? It certainly merited thinking about, but still… The whole thing had the air of something too good to be true. And I’m done blindly following my first idea instead of the best. That time was over.

Florette took a minute to look out the window, a glimmer from Flammare barely visible in the sky above. The hearth spirit gave the city a weak facsimile of daylight for about eight hours, insubstantial as it was on this side of town. Small piles of snow clustered at the corners and crevices entirely out of his light, and none remained out of doors for longer than they could help. Even venturing as far as a salon demanded a fortitude that many lacked, if the sparse patronage was anything to go by.

“Is this seat taken?” A lanky blond boy sat down in Michel’s seat without waiting to hear her response. “Good.”

“I suppose I was just leaving.” Florette frowned, annoyed. “You can have the table to enjoy your own company.”

The boy let out an exaggerated gasp, his face twisting unnaturally to a caricature of surprise. “But I’m here to speak to you, Florette.”

“Really? You went about it rather poorly, then.”

He shrugged. “I don’t particularly care about your opinion on my presentation. I need you to pass on a message to Fernan for me, since I’m leaving town.”

“No thanks.” Florette stood up, trying to emulate the way Camille stared down her nose at people like they were insignificant minnows.

“To think you were so eager to speak with me before.” He smiled, pressing a finger under his chin. When he spoke again, a different voice came out. A familiar one. “Though I suppose I never formally introduced myself.”

“Jethro…” Florette blinked. “Did you wear fake black bangs to skulk around the rooftops, just to make yourself even less recognizable? Because I definitely saw your hair then, and it didn’t look like this.”

The spy blinked, clearly annoyed. Good. “That was rather the issue, really. Fernan made his royal patrons all-too aware of the role I played in Magnifico’s well-justified downfall, and while I cannot in good faith begrudge him his honesty, it is rather less than ideal for one in my position to have a recognizable identity, attributed recognizable deeds.”

“Hence your leaving.”

“Indeed. It became all the more necessary with the news of the Condorcet contingent’s imminent arrival. My absolute last desire is being recognized by the likes of them. I dared not even seek out Fernan so disguised as this, given his status as a public figure. I was hoping you could pass along my good tidings, and my thanks.”

“Your thanks…” Florette raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t need to stick around for that, or show yourself to me again.”

“I did not. And yet here I am.” As he finished, a server arrived with a glass of red wine, placing it on the table in front of him. “Ah, good. It’s Jaubertie. Would you care for a glass?”

“No.” Florette let her hands fall to the table. “Why are you really here? I can’t see why you’d show your new identity to me like this just to pass your thanks along.”

“A limitation of your vision, then.” He smiled, tapping his temple. “In truth, this face is as disposable as any other, thanks to Lamante’s power.”

The face-stealer. “Is that…?”

“The very best of disguises, empowered by Lamante. I thought you might want to know that the mantis spirit is not above selling her trophies, for the right price.” He drained his wine in a single sip, then set it down gracefully on the table in front of him. “You helped me more than you know, killing Perimont when you did. Especially on a military convoy like that. There’s not a chance he wasn’t surrounded by caches of weapons, all thought lost in that cave-in. Would it not be a shame if the Arboreum happened upon them?”

Jethro alighted from his seat gracefully, rolled his arm into a bow, then swiftly left the room.

What?

Florette drummed her fingers against her leg, feeling the vibration resonate through her as the energy built up.

Was that the most transparent attempt at manipulation ever, or a double-bluff? Jethro had no great loyalty to Avalon, if his gleeful framing of its probably-king was any indication, but if he was an outright turncoat, could he not have simply asked her help honestly as an ally? Had he, and he was just incapable of refraining from his infuriatingly cryptic facade?

Unless he wants to be certain that the Arboreum remains without advanced arms.

Ugh, better to simply pass his message along and investigate on her own. It had seemed wise before, but now it was a necessity.

And there’s one person who’d know more than anyone else.

≋

Magnifico was at the top of a tower cell. The exact layout of a prison, even a gilded cage for high born offenders, was something it was generally safer to keep a secret, for obvious reasons.

Fortunately, its sightlines had been an important subject at the Duchess’s murder trial, which made avoiding them a relatively easy undertaking.

Well, easy since I’m cheating, anyway.

A few paces in front of her, Corro wore away at the stone and dirt, withering and cracking and decaying until it was mere dust, subsumed within his purple form. Florette followed behind, propping up support posts in place to err on the side of caution, for all that Corro had claimed to have done this hundreds of thousands of times. Most likely, he never had to keep anyone else alive doing it.

She reached another ten paces, then scuffed a mark in the dirt to show it. “Seven paces more,” she said, and Corro proceeded to slow, stopping after a few moments.

Florette walked up to count out the final distance, and nodded. “Now up. This cellar is only for opium wine, and no one’s set to be sacrificed for another three days. Anyone who is in there shouldn’t be, which means they’ll run if they hear anything and deny being there if asked later.”

Ideally, it would just be empty, but it was good to have backup plans for other possibilities.

Corro finished clearing the way up, and the Fallen was the first into the room, carrying the least risk with their inability to be seen by those who had yet to take a life.

“It’s vacant.” Perimont’s voice called down softly. “You would be wise to move swiftly, that you might avoid wasting any further time.” They must like taking the form of that prick; there’s no way this is being spread around evenly.

Florette leapt up into the corroded hole, pressing her arms and legs against the sides to climb up the rest of the way. Once she emerged into the empty cellar, she unrolled a winter coat from under her shirt and threw it on, hiding any lingering dirt or muck.

Not that she would be spotted at all, if everything went to plan, but it was better to be safe.

“We’re past the pair at the tower’s entrance,” Florette told her co-conspirators. “There will be one more in front of the door to his room, but there shouldn’t be anyone else milling around the halls. He’s their only notable prisoner; the rest would be in the common jail.”

“It matters not to me. The bars on the window are no obstacle, nor is climbing the walls to reach it.” That was encouraging, actually. Corro could make it in on his own easily, and he was still helping anyway.

“Stay out of sight, obviously. I’ll meet you in there.” She dismissed him with a nod as he began seeping between the stones in the wall.

“Fallen, your turn.”

Cassia flashed a smile and proceeded out the door, its lock already corroded away by the spirit of decay before he’d left.

Guarding one of the most powerful men in the world was none other than Eugène, a guard in the Fox-King’s service who’d earned belated distinction for his bravery in the beachside inferno, where he’d managed to slay one of Lumière’s sun sages in single combat.

Most people would be scared to see anyone come back from the dead, let alone a spirit sage. The right threats and a well-timed exit all but guaranteed that poor Eugène would abandon his post. Someone had to be alerted, after all. A coup by the Sun Temple was of far more dire importance than some bard, especially one whose prison was already guarded by two others.

It wouldn’t buy much time; provided Eugène had the slightest amount of intelligence, he’d return to his post the moment he saw the Fallen shift form into a less corporeal apparition and credibly present themself as a hallucination. But that was good enough for what she needed.

Florette waited a minute, then crept silently into the empty hall, making her way towards the staircase at the back and slowly ascending out of sight.

Sure enough, a few minutes was all it took to hear footsteps running down the hall.

She ducked quickly into an empty cell, sparse but luxurious with its feather bed and bookcase, and waited to hear the guard pass by. I wonder if any of them are valuable. There wasn’t time to look, and she wasn’t here to steal, but still…

Once the steps began to echo from the stairwell, it was time to leave, so she slid out and ran towards the end of the hall where Magnifico’s door would be.

She rounded the corner on the final stretch, and—

Yes!

Corro was ready for her, the door already swung open. Perfect.

When the guard returned, they would already be inside.

Florette slipped within, closing the door behind her.

Magnifico’s hair was even longer, the slightest hints of grey visible near his temples, but he otherwise looked much the same. His purple cloak remained unruffled, his expression still calm.

Corro was assembled in solid form before him, gaping maw staring up at the bard. But upon Florette’s arrival, he pressed his liquid against the door, decaying any sound that might otherwise leak through. “It seems you call yourself Magnifico, now.” The sound emerged even from the liquid flattened against the door. “I come bearing a message from the Prince of Crescents.”

“Again, Corro? You must be feeling awfully nostalgic.” Magnifico tilted his head back far enough that the crown would have fallen, had it not been fixed to his head. “I can’t imagine old Cressie is sending many messages; he’s been dead a bit too long for that.”

“He’s alive,” Florette spat. “Despite your best efforts.” That confirmed it then, the King was the mastermind and the spy the pawn. Certainly the more intuitive result, but… “To think that even you would be capable of doing that to your own son.”

The bard scoffed. “My son? What—” He blinked, noticing Florette’s presence. “Haven’t we met before?”

“We’ve shared a few drinks at the Singer’s Lounge,” Florette told him honestly, omitting that the purpose of it had been to better steal from him. “Of course, you were in your bard guise.”

“Guise? What ever do you mean?” He smirked, a fucking smirk when he was trapped here, stripped of his powers and at their mercy. “I am a bard, as it happens.”

“And a diplomat. And a binder.” Florette folded her arms. “And a king.”

Magnifico raised his eyebrows, as if daring her to elaborate. “I have often been called exceptional at my craft, but seldom has that praise extended so far as to name me royalty. Fans like you are why I keep doing it, you know?”

“I’m not talking about your music, asshole. You’re the King of Avalon. Harold the Fourth. He hasn’t been seen since his ship was blown up in Malin, after which you had to walk to Guerron. You killed one of the world’s most powerful spirits and plunged the world into darkness, then got yourself caught, and yet you remain alive.”

“That suggests I’m important. It doesn’t mean I’m secretly another person entirely.”

“Mmm. Sure.” Florette turned head over to Corro. “Give him the message from the Prince of Crescents.”

“...hundred years dead…” Magnifico muttered, but he did turn his head towards Corro.

“The prince bid me tell you the following: ‘Tell him I almost died because he called me here. And tell him he’d better have an explanation the next time I see him.’”

“Well there you have it.” Florette smiled. “Unless you want to argue that a mere bard has the power to command a prince.”

He was ignoring her, though, stroking his chin. “The current Prince of Crescents. You’re talking about Luce…” He let out a deep breath, hand over his face to poorly hide a smile. “He made it through after all.”

“What are you so happy about, royal fool? Your plan failed. Even as we speak he’s governing Malin, fighting against the house of tyranny that you and your forefathers build brick by brick. He— Stop laughing! You don’t just get to smug about everything.”

Magnifico pounded his fist against the floor, the hint of a tear in the corner of his eyes. “How could I, when you’ve brought me the best news I’ve heard since darkness fell? My son is alive.”

“So you admit it, then?”

“Why not?” He sat down on his bed with a thump. “The message was damning enough on that front, and the Fox-King already knows. Why hide it any longer?” He leaned back against the wall, hands behind his head. “Well? This is hardly the strangest place I’ve ever held court. What do you want?”

Somehow, this is even worse. “Why did you do it? A world in darkness hurts Avalon just as badly as it hurts us. Even if you don’t care in the slightest about innocent lives—”

“What on earth gave you that idea? I take no pleasure in this, but it must be done to end the tyranny of spirits, and bring this world into a more enlightened age. And given that it must be done, it’s only rational to do it sooner, when the population is lower and the impact isn’t as great. Would you rather I waited three hundred years for Soleil to decide to wipe us out? Destroy all we’ve built? Allow another Khali situation to emerge? There’s no good ending, once a god turns against humanity. Someone always suffers. That doesn’t mean it’s not the right choice to rid ourselves of them.”

How nice of you to make that choice on everyone else’s behalf, without consulting anyone.

“Despite this setback, the world will survive. My works will persevere.” He thrust his head forward proudly, looking for the first time truly like a king. “Avalon is on the cusp of limitless free energy to weather the cold, better agriculture has almost doubled our population in just one hundred years, and our strength protects us from evildoers. Even now, Ortus Tower and its scientists are working tirelessly to combat this crisis.” He was speaking a touch too quickly, as if assuring himself more than her, though maybe that was wishful thinking, looking for humanity where there was none left. “And even in this hour of darkness, my son lives. I thank you, truly, for delivering this news. Last I heard, he was held by pirates, his fate uncertain.”

Florette rolled her eyes. “Sure… As if you didn’t send those pirates after him in the first place. I’ve talked to Jethro; I know the whole story. You summoned him away to go to Malin, then leaked the path of his ship, omitting that there would be a valuable hostage aboard in the hopes that he’d die in the fighting. All because he had a soul, unlike the rest of your miserable family.” She clicked her tongue. “He was leading your precious Tower, too, away from your warmongering influence. You were a fool to build your plan for survival around his talents and then kill him. How could you be such a stupid hypocrite?”

“How indeed? Luce is my son. He’s smart, loyal, humble, and he has a good heart. Better than mine, you’ve seen that much. Everything I’ve pushed him into, he’s succeeded at, and one day he’ll make an able right hand for the next King of Avalon. I’d sooner jump from a cliff than see him dead.” He stroked his chin again, breathing slightly more heavily. “Now tell me who this Jethro is. Luce demanded an explanation, and I intend to give him one.”

Florete shook her head. “You’ll never breathe free air again. Even if they never execute you, you’re stuck here with that crown on your head until the day you die.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Still, if you’re so invested in my son’s well-being, surely you’d rather I catch his would-be killer?”

How could he expect me to believe him?

Jethro at least claimed to never lie, whatever the truth of it, but this king had been welcomed as a guest and thrown the Duke from a balcony for the favor, then proceeded to scheme with Lord Lumière just long enough to betray him too. And condemn the world to darkness.

Asshole that he was, he still managed to sound convincing, a genuine note in his tone that would be hard to fake… but not impossible. It would have been easier to believe him if he weren’t so smug about everything, as if she’d been a fool to even suspect him.

There was only one thing, really, that this treacherous bastard could be trusted to do. “Are you truly so eager to help, King Harold? For a start, when our conversation is finished, you’ll call out to the guard outside, tell him you wish to confess to the Fox-King.”

He snorted. “You want me to confess?”

“I don’t care. I want you to get the guard away for a minute so we can slip out with no one the wiser. It’s in your interest, too.”

“Really?”

“We broke in here. It’s hardly beyond our ability to break you out. Certainly, I’d consider it if you proved helpful to me.” Consider and then immediately reject it, anyway. “Do I have your word before Corro on that, may he take your soul should you lie?”

Corro let out a slight bubbling sound at that, though he spoke no words. He’s been strangely silent the whole time, really. Didn’t he want to confirm something about Magnifico’s power? But then, perhaps this passivity was his way of doing it. No way to be sure until afterwards.

“I don’t make deals with spirits, and I would never risk my soul on something so petty. No.” King Harold twisted his head, glancing quickly out the window. “But I will do it. As you say, it’s in my interest. You’ll just have to trust me on that.”

Well, there goes the possibility of verifying anything he says. But he couldn’t call for the guard until Corro moved, and he gained literally nothing from trying to get them caught.

Regardless, the situation was the same before and after she asked. Nothing else for it now.

“Soleil was older than humanity, the Arbiter of Light, the very sun in the sky. And you killed him.” Florette stepped forward, hand on her sword for comfort as she readied herself. “I’m looking to deal with other spirits, chiefly Glaciel, though I don’t think it matters much to you which ones. I’ve read through the Great Binder’s book, but it’s more of a memoir and a warning for the future than instructional in any detail.”

His expression darkened at the mention of the book, though it quickly faded. Interesting.

It was a risk, absolutely. Nothing he imparted could truly be trusted unless it was verified somewhere else first, but still.

Soon, Florette and the geckos would be leading a raid against the Queen of Winter, the threat of eternal chill and darkness in the balance. So far, Florette had dealt with some of her lesser followers, always on at a time in a duel, often easily dispatched with a single firing of the pistol weapon.

All of them at once, with their Queen leading them on the battlefield? Even the threat of it, even as a last resort... she needed every edge she could get.

“You want me to teach you binding?” King Harold asked in disbelief.

“Who better to learn from than the best?”