Conquest of Avalon

Luce III: The Territorial Governor

Luce did his best to remain composed while staring at this menagerie of monstrosity. They had agreed to meet, and if monsters could be civil, so could he. Ultimately, he needed their help more than they did his.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said, trying to keep his eyes off the horrifying flayed imp thing without being conspicuous enough about it to be impolite. “I appreciate you being willing to speak with me, despite everything my nation has done.”

“Your nation, you say.” A disgusting tendril of purple slime circled around him, leaving dead patches in its wake.This would be Corro. “You serve them still, rather than rebel.”

“My father is King! Of course I—Corro, meaning no disrespect, but I’m here as a representative of Avalon. I’m governing Malin in her name.” He noticed Camille sneering slightly at that, but whatever. “That doesn’t mean I want to continue doing things as we have done. Hundreds of thousands of people are facing a dire crisis right now within that city, many of whom honored you and yours for decades in the past.” Camille had told him to emphasize that point, since spirits often had trouble properly parsing human timescales. The centuries before counted, even if no one had been performing blood sacrifices in Malin for nearly two decades.

“I want to help them live, even if it means bucking tradition,” he continued. “The entire way Avalon has been running these Territories is frankly disgraceful, and I want to set a precedent of respect and compassion, whatever blowback I might get from back home.”

“Bold talk, but I’ve seen this before. Stray too far out of line, and they are wont to pull you back, or cast you away.” He assembled back into the more humanoid form, which was only barely less horrifying given his enormous mouth. “Deviation is seldom tolerated within a system, for a system exists to perpetuate itself above all else.”

“I… Ok.” What am I supposed to say to that?

“You speak of eventualities, do you not, Corro?” Leclaire, mercifully, seemed to be stepping in here. It would have been nice if her interrogation had made it possible to rely on and trust her, but he could at least be confident now that she was limited in firm, specific ways. The fact that she’d been honest when she didn’t have to be, that she’d come and accepted the interrogation even knowing she’d have to reveal she was planning to take back the city, it counted for a fair bit.

“I do.” Its voice was deep, cracked and ragged the way an old smoker might talk, only slippery, echoes emanating from within its sinister maw. “I speak of futility, foremost, and the many would-be upstarts who could never see their plans through.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Camille assured him, though Luce hadn’t the faintest idea what emboldened her to. It wasn’t like anything the creepy spirit was saying was wrong, it was just frustrating, and it didn’t mean he would fail. It’d be a challenge, but a fitting one, and the only one truly worthy of Luce’s position with all it entailed.

“Eventualities may come, and Prince Grimoire may fail,” she continued, “but we are here tonight to speak of relief, temporary agreements, most of them likely slated to expire when the new sun is chosen.”

“That may not be so eventual!” The tortured imp thing hopped from one foot to other, looking restless in the brief moment Luce could manage to look at her. “Not inevitable either. I hear that human-lover Glaciel is trying to pull something to stop it, and this climate probably gives her a good chance. Plus, accidents happen! No one can be sure any plan will ever work.”

“Especially not one you found out about, Peauvre.” Camille chuckled, completely glossing over the horrifying crimes against humanity that this creature had admitted to. “But if that’s so, we can simply set a term of time as an expiration. Two years, perhaps. If the sun hasn’t returned by then, we’ll likely be dead in any case.”

There’s a good chance we’ll all die even if it comes back next week. Food stores were already growing perilously low, not yet stocked for winter, crops on fields hastily scrounged without being anywhere near ready for harvest. “Exactly,” he said instead. “This isn’t about whether I can succeed, anyway. This is about this deal, right now.”

“It depends on what you mean by ‘this’.” Corro croaked. “But you may continue.”

“What I mean is that many of your fellow spirits are dead. Some, at my nation’s hand.” Most of them, the world is better off without. “Our binders secured a number of spiritual artifacts from the Foxtrap, and some are surely from spirits you knew.”

“We seek your help.” Camille nodded. “Food and warmth are our greatest priorities. If you can spare energy for that, Prince Grimoire is prepared to offer you relics in return.”

He nodded. “I descend from a great line of binders, all the way back to the Great Binder herself, who rid this world of Khali for humans and spirits alike. Most of what has been taken remains in my family vaults. Others belong to friends, people upon whom I could call for favors.” He turned to the muddy frog monster. “Fenouille, my uncle, Lord Miles Arion, slew your colleague Pierrot during the Foxtrap. He has in his possession the Star of Pierrot that resulted from it, and would bring it here on my command. In return, I’d request the use of your riverbanks, everything on this side of the Sartaire down to the border of the Condorcet Collective. Our farmers would plant their crops there and harvest them, over the course of one season. Do you agree?”

The frog turned to Camille without responding.

She flicked her eyes to Luce, then nodded. “I vow that his word is true regarding the Star of Pierrot and his intentions to return it for you. I vouch for this deal.”

Luce blinked in confusion, but still managed the presence of mind to pull off his glove and stick out his hand to the spirit. If I’d been lying about that, Camille would have just ended her own life. Either she actually trusted him, or she was taking an enormous risk here. “You shake it, if you want to.”

The frog thing held out a muddy flipper, enveloping Luce’s hand.

“Then it is agreed.”

“Camille will suffer the consequences if you dissemble, Prince of Crescents, but do not think I will forget you, either.” He withdrew the appendage, leaving Luce’s hand covered in a half-inch of cold, brown grime.

Great.

Still, the implications were huge. Fenouille had basically agreed to this beforehand, but that was the word of a trickster filtered through Camille, hardly reliable. This, though. This was certain.

A way to help avoid famine for the entire city, if handled right. It would be an enormous help, at the very least. Come to think of it, I’ll have a chance to study how he powers the ground in lieu of the sun, too. Does it supply energy to the ground itself? Does it supply the needed nutrients, or just the light equivalent? Actually, the energy would probably have to convert to light, since the plants couldn’t photosynthesize otherwise. Luce was beginning to regret neglecting biology, which was not a feeling that came to him often. Still—

“Luce?” Camille glared at him.

“Right, of course. Thank you.” He shook his head to free his thoughts. Fenouille’s deal had been precedent; it would hopefully help get buy-in from the other spirits. “Cya, I believe I know what you want.”

“Rejuvenation, Scientist, of Refuge and my domains. I showed you the truth, and you beheld the devastation your kingdom’s mighty works wrought upon the world. I will have my restitution, and it must not be bought, but freely given.”

“I do see that that’s fair, and I will say—I’m not going to do the whole life-threatening swear before the spirits thing—but I can just tell you that I want to do that. I intend to.” You were supposed to be one of the easier ones.

“Eventually.” The wind whistled past in a manner reminiscent of a scoff. “Her Verdance said much the same thing. Always tomorrow, or the next day after.”

“Then help us now, and we can do the same for you,” Camille asked. “We can get to work right away if Refuge is part of our reseeding efforts like what we’re doing with Fenouille’s domain. We would all get what we want.”

“And you would turn my forest into mere farmland? Endless flat wastes or unvaried fields?”

“As a starting point we would then move on from in a few years. This way we’d clear the blight, work on the ground, get things livable again. Then once they are, we can start planting your forests.”

“If you’re going to talk about restitution, I do think it’s worth mentioning that you drugged me without my consent,” Luce added, though Camille’s point was the stronger one as far as actually enticing her.

“Very well,” Cya said. “My forests in five years or fewer, or you shall die trying. I will do what I can to help you rejuvenate the land, and allow you to place your… crops on it.” Her face was human enough to tell that her nose had wrinkled with that word. “The agreement is made.”

“I vouch for it,” Camille added, to seal it properly.

“Let’s move on to you, Peauvre.” And get you out of the way so I’m not distracted while talking to Corro. He’d have done her first if the precedent of successful agreements wasn’t so important. “I have several artifacts I could get ahold of that might interest you. The Crescent Rod, perhaps? Or the Everlasting Torch?”

“No, those are all boring!” A flap of not-skin curled on its face in the vague suggestion of a wink. “Those spirits are all dead already. I have no interest in that. What I want is your people.”

“No sacrifices. I made that extremely clear with the information I gave Camille. Not criminals, not anyone. Under no circumstances.”

Peauvre responded with a fleshy smile. “No sacrifices, indeed. I simply wish to do as I did, before your binders made it impossible to move about safely. I wish to witness and reward the diligent with fortune, and imbue the shiftless with commensurate accidents. Everything in balance.”

“And none of them die from that?”

“If they died and it were my fault, it would not be an accident, and I would have no claim on their soul.” Notably, she wasn’t saying ‘no’ to the question.

“I’m afraid that won’t work.” He sighed. Having her inside the walls would be a nightmare, even before all the risks it poses to the entire scheme. This spirit wasn’t as essential as Fenouille, based on how Camille described them, but her earthmoving and small-scale manipulations would not only be useful in a variety of circumstances, but scientifically fascinating.

Although the prospect of studying her had lost a lot of its appeal, now that Luce knew what he’d be looking at. “Isn’t there anything else you want?”

Peauvre laughed in a high-pitched whine. “Things might be different for you humans, but I’m actually capable of doing things on my own without needing to steal from spirits to do it.” She jerked her head towards Camille. “Or supplicating before a spirit for a sliver of their power. I conduct my affairs as needed, my own way.”

Luce crushed his loose glove in his other hand, holding himself back. “Why did you even come if there’s nothing you want aside from what you know I won’t give?”

“I thought it might amuse me. Camille certainly did.”

“Ok, good, so—” Luce cut himself off as he saw the spirit tunnel back into the earth as it reformed behind them, leaving a perfect bare patch of ground behind. “Damn it.”

Camille bit her lip apologetically, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “There’s a good chance she’s just bargaining. The Peauvre I knew would never balk at new toys, and nothing she said directly contradicted that. We’ll try her again and you can mention more powerful artifacts, or maybe more of them.”

We can only hope so. Even then, the damage seemed to be done with Corro, who was already wilting into a puddle in front of them.

“Hold on!” Luce called out. “You haven’t even heard our offer.”

“I heard your offer to Peauvre, and I heard your agreements with Fenouille and Cya.” He sounded different without his mouth, more watery squelching accenting the deep pitch. “What you’re proposing is little different from what sages have been doing for centuries. Your solutions for this crisis are as mundane as they are ephemeral, incapable of touching the source of the problem.”

“Artifacts would empower you though, Corro,” Camille said. “They’d help grant you the strength to change what you see fit to change, to attack the problem at its source.”

“In exchange for what? Clearing land of snow and pollution for you to plant your crops? Calling down rain through the clouds above?”

“That would be so useful, yes. Any or all of that. Name your price.”

Corro reformed in one slick motion, arching forward until its mouth stared up at Luce. “End the line of Harold Grimoire. That is my price.”

“End the—You’re saying I’d need to kill all my family. Are you fucking serious?”

“It would show commitment to your course, rather than these feeble half-measures, and do your nation an enormous favor as well. And you might not have to kill to do it. I might otherwise have asked you to end the life of a spirit older than humanity, but such a task would be far harder. Either way, I imagine I know your answer.”

“No, obviously.”

Its mouth closed and opened briefly, a motion more like the blink of an eye than anything related to mouths. “As expected. You will excuse me, then, for I have business in Guerron.”

“Guerron, huh. That’s where the con… convalescence of the spirits is going to be, right? You want to play a role in picking the new sun?”

“I will have a role to play, I am sure. The two of you, I am beginning to suspect, will not.”

Camille raised a finger. “Hold on. Can you pass a message on to someone in Guerron? What would be your price for that?”

“For you? Your confidence that I would be a good partner, sworn to honesty as you are. It would have to be true, of course, but under the right circumstances, it would be. From the Prince, the contraption on his wrist.”

“My watch?” That was definitely worth it to pass a message on to Father, if he could. There were less than ten clocks small enough to fit on a wristband in the world, but four of them were in the Tower, and by the time things calmed down it would probably be pretty easy to get another. “Is there anyone you wouldn’t pass a message to? Any limits?”

Camille shot him a look at that, probably wondering who he possibly had to talk to in Guerron.

“I can speak with any human in the city. If we strike a deal, I will.”

“Deal.” He unlatched the band around the watch, careful not to get it any muddier than it already was, and passed it to the poison spirit. “I’d rather tell you who and what in private, if that’s alright.”

“That’s sensible. I’d like the same.” Good, at least Camille doesn’t seem suspicious.

Camille took the spirit aside, walking far enough to be out of earshot, then whispered something to his giant mouth. How can he even hear, anyway? It’s not like it has bones in its ears to vibrate, or bones or ears at all! Can its brain just process the vibrations in the air naturally with no other medium? Actually, does it even have a brain as we understand it? Spirits are supposed to be embedded into their domain, so maybe it’s more a distributed system, everything interspersed through the whole body. That would fit with the liquid form thing, but then it raises the question of—

“Your turn, Luce.”

“Right.” He nodded, stepping aside as the spirit followed. Once they were out of earshot of the others, he asked, “Can you get a message to Magnifico?”

“Is that his true name?”

“Well… He always told me that in the moment, it is true. When he’s being Magnifico, he really is Magnifico. Becoming the mask he wears, you know. It’s key to spycraft.” And then he can pull it off later and be his same old self, but it wouldn’t help me any to tell you that.

“It is possible that that will be an issue.”

“Well, I’m not giving you another name for him. The message isn’t worth that risk.”

“Then simply tell me the message.”

Luce clenched his fists, looking down into the gaping maw, far darker on the inside than the exterior. “Tell him…”

Do not trust Magnifico. He tried to have his son killed. The words were inescapable.

Tell him that I survived, and his plan didn’t work? Then I’m a monster if I’m wrong, accusing him based on hallucinations and coincidences. Even if the pieces seem to fit disgustingly well…

Tell him that I’m trying, and I’m sorry? Then I’m a fool if he really did send me to die.

“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.”

“I will,” Corro burbled, the watch floating in and on him rising up to the top of his head. “Good luck, Prince Grimoire.”

≋

He looked serene, lowered into the ground in his pristine white robe. The silk caught the lantern-light just right to make it almost look like the man was shimmering. The body, too, was amazingly well-preserved, all things considered, without even a sign of injury.

Laid out on a flat palette of solid gold, soon he would be returned to Terramonde, his body rotted to nothing.

A fate that awaits us all, one day or another.

“It’s so wrong for him to be buried in this dump of a city,” Mary muttered next to him, hunched over in her seat. Her white coat either wasn’t thick enough to insulate much, or was just tailored so well it didn’t stand out, but if she was cold, she wasn’t letting it show. “He was the Lord of Carringdon first and foremost. He should be back home.”

Maybe, but we can hardly send him there now with the water so impassible. There were a few metal-hulled navy ships of Fortan make, designed to pierce through ice and go along their way, but not nearly enough to supply all of Avalon, let alone her territories. And there certainly wasn’t space aboard them for a corpse.

It reminded Luce of his first funeral, when Grandfather had passed. He’d perished not far from here, outside the crumbled ruins of Malin’s northern walls, triumphant in his victory if not enough to live through it. They’d brought him back, eventually, but only his skeleton.

The great King Harold III, Bringer of Civilization, reduced to a pile of bones on an iron slab, a crown of gold resting atop his skull.

He’d only been six or seven then, but the memories still stuck in his mind. How Father had acted like nothing was wrong, as he could shrug everything off, while Mother only stared, quietly. She’d left not too long after that, returning to her home in Fortescue.

Two seats over, Simon shook his head. “I don’t know about that. This place was his mission. He’d want to stay and see it through, a vanguard for future progress.” He sighed, breath fogging up the air in front of him. “If he couldn’t just be satisfied in life, he certainly wouldn’t be now.”

Probably right, but this ceremony isn’t lacking for things that Perimont would despise.

Luce’s own presence here, for one thing. Covering up the robbery had been necessary, in the moment, when the truth would inflame things further. Time had only further proved its importance, since the deal with Fenouille and Cya would have been impossible otherwise; dealings with sworn enemies during war rather than unsavory parties in a crisis. Even if he’d been able to pull it off, it would have cost him every scrap of legitimacy as his governor, to the point that even Harold might have struggled to protect him from the consequences.

No, that had been the right decision. It still was.

And yet…

“And now, everyone, please rise and grant Lord Gordon Perimont his gifts of departure.”

Luce stood from his seat, just as the others around him did, spinning a gold ring in his hands. He’d given Grandfather a bracelet at that rite of departure, something his mother had slipped to him just before the ceremony so he could pass it onward.

That had been so confusing at the time. What use could a pile of bones have for jewelry? But he’d done what was expected of him, as he’d had to, just like every other attendee.

Like Grandfather had been, Perimont’s body was soon showered with gifts, mostly the customary jewelry, but Luce caught a glimpse of a few swords being dropped in too, sheathed for very obvious reasons. Fitting for Perimont, he supposed.

He held the ring up to his eye, giving it one last look-through. One of many ingratiating gentlemen had given it to him when he’d first driven Perimont out, and assured him that it was a priceless heirloom. Perhaps it was even true.

A small inscription read Never a victory without loss, glinting under the light of the lanterns as Luce held it up to his eye, then tossed it down with the rest, one tiny cog in the gilded machine burying Perimont in riches.

By the time Luce returned to his seat, the body was impossible to see beneath the glittering heap.

Camille was still standing towards the back, not having granted Perimont a gift of departure nor otherwise participated in the ceremony. Simon had allowed her to come after all, though Luce had no way of knowing what had prompted the change in his attitude. She looked uncomfortable with a white shawl awkwardly covering her winter wear, but in a way that was comforting, the dearth of her smug smile implying she wasn’t trying to pull anything here.

It was all for the better, really. Camille had been the one to soften the earth, pouring a massive volume of boiling water down into the dirt so the shovels could actually get at it properly. Massively more efficient than building great bonfires to heat massive drums of water to do the same, at least based on the rough calculations from prior experiments.

More importantly, it kept her where he could see her, rather than free to conspire as she desired while all of Avalon’s leadership was concentrated in one place.

Once everyone was seated again, several teenagers in white suits sprang forward and began shoveling dirt back overtop of him. Luce had thankfully been too young for that honor at his grandfather’s rite of departure, and was old enough to get out of it now. These were the children of various officials at the Governor’s mansion, for the most part, though Luce didn’t really recognize any enough to be sure.

Unnatural as it felt, Luce had an obligation here, so he pulled Simon into a hug once the ceremony had ended. “Thank you,” he whispered before pulling back.

Simon’s face remained downcast, but he nodded nonetheless. “It wouldn’t help anything. Camille said—Well, anyway. This is the right place for him, up on a hill looking out over the whole city. Whatever happens, he’ll be here watching, seeing the progress we make. He’ll understand eventually. I have to believe that somehow he’ll know.”

He’s a corpse in the ground. He’s not going to have any more realizations than my office chair will. Luce just patted him on the back instead. “You know he died loving you.”

That seemed to comfort Simon in the moment, since he released his grasp and turned back to talk to his sister. She doesn’t even know how he really died, or how complicit we all are in covering it up.

“He’s remarkably intact for having been crushed under half a mountain. The undertakers did an impeccable job.” An austere woman appeared behind him, her hair a sandy brown with streaks of grey. She was wearing white, like everyone else, her jacket filled with rows of metal ornaments, boons granted in recognition of various accomplishments in Avalon’s navy. It didn’t look particularly warm enough for the weather, but she didn’t look particularly bothered by it either.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.” Luce held out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Luce Grimoire, Prince of Crescents.”

“As if there could be any doubt as to that. You’re the spitting image of your father at your age.” The woman chuckled. “Captain Anya Stewart. I believe you’ve already been acquainted with my son.”

“You’re Gary’s mother?” Oh no. “The pirate hunter, of course. It’s-uh. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.” Just keep calm, don’t let anything show.

“Likewise. I always told Gordon that he should have renewed his officer’s commission instead of… this. He was a peerless commander, in his own way, but I do not think peacetime much suited him. A governorship allowed him to fight for the cause on another front, but I suspected that it wouldn’t fit him as naturally. I always wondered if he regretted it, but I suppose now there’s no particular reason to doubt it.”

“I didn’t realize you had arrived in the city, Captain Anya.” Why now? Aren’t there a hundred fires back in Avalon you have to put out? What are you doing here?

“Lady Perimont needed transport, and there aren’t many ships capable of crossing the Lyrion sea at the moment. I put most of Forta’s icebreakers at your brother’s disposal for the duration of this crisis, but I still have my personal vessels, Ferrous Ram amongst them. What better use of such a ship than reuniting a poor widow with her departed husband?” Something about her words gave off an air of insincerity, but Luce couldn’t identify anything specific. “It was a terrible tragedy, his accident, and so soon before darkness fell, which rather eclipsed it in importance for most.”

“Y-Yes, of course. A terrible thing, to be forgotten.”

“Some call it the final death, the last time your name is spoken,” Lady Perimont said, walking up to join them. Fantastic. She had Mary’s same short stature, same light brown hair, same bearing. If it weren’t for the slight wrinkles on her face, they could have been sisters. Her mourning dress was unadorned white, though, absent any flourishes or patterns. “I can only hope my husband escapes such a fate for a good while yet. I certainly don’t think anyone here will soon forget him.”

“No, of course not.” Luce covered the bottom of his face with his hands, hiding his expression under the guise of a gesture to breathe into them and warm himself up. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Lady Perimont, though I wish it were under better circumstances. My deepest condolences for your loss.”

“Good of you to join us, Lillian. I was just getting to know Prince Lucifer as we discussed the purpose of my visit here.”

Lady Perimont narrowed her eyes, nodding curtly at Stewart before turning to Luce. “I heard you forced my husband out of his house, not long before his death. You ransacked the Governor’s mansion with some demonic wastrel and removed him from power, cast him away from all he’d built in Malin. Is that true?”

Fuck me. “Well, um… The circumstances were very…” How could I walk away from a meeting with monsters in a decent position, only to get ambushed by my own people at a simple ceremony? “Complicated. It was all terribly complicated, and… I don’t wish to speak ill of the departed, so I think it best that I leave it at that.”

“Do you, now? Because I think it best that you tell the truth. You’re not even denying it! How could you show your face here, after what you did? Sitting next to my children like you had no hand in it!”

How could I, indeed? “This was a mistake,” he muttered, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean to… If I could have predicted that this would happen…” I probably would still have done it. With Perimont in charge when darkness fell, the entire city would probably be dead within a month. “There was no malice in anything, I just…”

Camille slid in next to him, apparently materializing out of thin air. “Luce, there’s no need to be so coy. Lady Perimont is owed the truth, is she not?”

Where did you come from? “I—Of course, the truth…” There’s no way she wants me to say what really happened; that would screw her over even more than it would me. “You see, Lady Perimont… Um…”

“Luce wanted to spare your feelings in this trying time,” Camille cut in, wrapping a cold arm around him. “It’s valiant, but if she wants the truth, I’m sure she can handle it. Just say it, Luce.”

Say what? What do you want from me? Was this some sort of scheme to catch him in a lie? She’d vowed to support him against anyone from Avalon, surely she wouldn’t be so reckless as to hope that this wouldn’t count? If Luce’s part in the coverup were uncovered, there was a very real risk he’d be removed from his post, and Leclaire in turn would have her soul taken by Fenouille. What the fuck are you playing at?

“Fine.” Camille sighed. “If you won’t tell her, I will.” She removed her arm, creeping closer towards Lady Perimont with a sympathetic, open-armed posture. “Luce was just acting on his father’s orders. Kind Harold summoned him to Malin as fast as possible, with orders to relieve your husband of duty and assume command himself.” Not as such, but remarkably close. How did she guess that? Why didn’t I think to say it?

“No.” Perimont shook her head firmly. “The Harold I know would never do that to us, not without at least a discussion first. He’d be the one to issue the order himself, at the very minimum.”

“He did, Lady Perimont,” Camille cut in before Luce could say anything. “He was in Malin months ago, and told your husband that he would have to step aside for Luce. A direct order from His Majesty himself. When the time came to follow it, he refused. That’s the only reason all the unpleasantness with his removal had to happen.” Wait, actually, why didn’t Father do that while he was here? He clearly wanted me to take over from Perimont, based on the letter he sent, but…

Do not trust Magnifico. The words came to him unbidden yet again, a memory of Cya’s visions. He tried to kill his son, and would think nothing of doing the same to you.

With narrowed eyes, Lady Perimont turned accusingly towards Luce. “Is this true? Your father tossed his loyal servant aside just to put his son in power, and you used that mandate to drive my husband into the wilderness, to his death?”

Luce took a deep breath, then looked to Camille. She gave him the slightest of nods, leaving him to speak for himself. “Your husband was running this place into the ground. He was conscripting people to fight against their own countrymen, executing dozens every week for crimes real and imagined, putting the entire city in a constant state of terror.” It felt good to say, finally letting the truth out, even in service of a lie. “My father recognized that he was driving them to open rebellion, and he asked Lord Perimont to either stop or step aside.”

“He did neither,” Camille said, maintaining the rhythm of his words. “Instead he exploited poor Luce’s captivity at the hands of those pirates to remain in power longer. When the Prince arrived, he pretended not to even recognize him.”

Oh, of course! “There’s old journals with pictures that look nothing like me,” Luce added. “They shouldn’t be hard to find. So no one would recognize me for who I am. He was trying to ensure I could never fulfill my father’s orders.”

Or he never heard them, because Father never gave them to him.

Lillian Perimont’s eyes remained narrowed, accusing, though now they glistened with water.

Captain Anya sighed. “Lillian, I understand this is a difficult time for you, but if you would just leave me to my job, please. I don’t think that this is terribly productive. I’ll look into the journals for you.”

“Your job?” he choked out.

“Investigating Lord Perimont’s death, of course. The circumstances of his accident were highly suspicious, and Lady Lillian desired a more thorough examination. Your brother was most accommodating of my taking the time needed, and granted me an investigative mandate.” She smiled. “I think he was happy to be able to send someone to check on you, after your misadventure with those pirates.”

“How sweet of him.” Damn it, Harold. He’d been the one to choose Gary, too. Did he just have a massive blindspot for getting the right investigators? Except, no, Anya was the right choice to uncover what had happened. It would just be a disaster if she did.

Just bad luck, I guess.

“Don’t worry, Prince Lucifer,” Captain Anya said with a self-assured smile. “The truth will come out. It always does.”