Conquest of Avalon

Luce crouched low behind the wall of brick, careful to avoid letting the top of his head show above it. Father would be apoplectic to learn how easy it is to get this close unseen. The exit from the tunnels had put them at the foot of Fuite Gardens, a literal stone’s throw away from Perimont’s grounds.

Whatever madness had possessed Fox-Kings past to dig out these tunnels under their own city for such minimal gains, he could not say, but it was a wonder that rebels hadn’t been putting them to use against the Governor long before today.

The Governor’s mansion was an administrative building more than a fortress, inherently trading some security to allow dozens of officials to make their way in and out each day, but it was nonetheless a seat of power.

It would be defended accordingly.

A sudden clattering sound drew Luce out of his thoughts, though he willed himself not to look above the wall.

“Fuck me,” a sharp, high pitched voice sighed.

“Shit,” a deeper one responded, a hint of mirth in his voice. “I knew you were clumsy, but I didn’t think you’d drop your weapon for no reason at all.”

“Got slick with sweat.” The guard grunted, a light scraping sound audible as she presumably picked it back up. “This heat is murder.”

The other guard laughed. “A pleasant sunny day would be murder for you. You’re not in Forta anymore, kid.”

“If only. Guarding Malin almost makes me wish for the return of Khali’s darkness.”

“Don’t joke about that. My thatha told me about it when I was little. People starving, getting sick, even freezing to death sometimes, if you stepped too far out of town. Half the kids he grew up with didn’t make it to the other side.”

“Alright, fine, sorry! Wow. It was like a hundred years ago, man.”

“Now!” A voice hissed beside Luce. “While they’re distracted.”

“Hold on,” Luce whispered back. If everything goes according to plan, I’ll be leading these people and thousands just like them. It would only help to know their perspective better.

“...not like I haven’t thought about it, you know,” the woman said. “My term’s not up for another two years, but I was thinking I might be able to transfer. Anya Stuart’s representing the homeland, and her squad just got a few vacancies. Pays better, too.”

The man sighed. “Why do you think those vacancies are there, huh? Robin Verrou cut a bloody swath through this time, the fucking traitor. You’d be a fool to jump on his sword instead of standing still here every day. Seriously kid, this is about as good as it gets.”

“Luce, what are we waiting for? Come on!”

“Just wait a minute!”

“I got into this to fight the bad guys, you know? Ripping people out of their homes to fight for us, putting up those flags on their houses… I don’t know. Killing pirates is more my speed, I think.”

“Combat Isn't how it looks in the plays, you know. You’ll get orders you don’t like anywhere, trust me. Better to have to hold your nose here than on a battlefield, where it could get you killed. Lord Perimont cares about keeping us safe more than most.”

“I guess.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” The guards didn’t even have a chance to cry out as a wave of water as tall as their heads slammed them into the wall. “Come on.”

≋

Eloise had her arms behind her back when she came for him. “Oh, you didn’t run off. Shame. I was hoping for a good manhunt to start my day.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Luce shrugged. “What did Florette say? Did she manage to meet with Perimont?”

“She did…”

“And? Did they work out the ransom?”

“Well, not exactly.” She rubbed her arm. “Perimont doesn’t want you. Claims you're just an imposter. He won’t risk having anyone who knows your face confirm who you are. Won’t hear of it.”

“Not if he recognized me. If I could just see him—”

“Luce, you’re being stupid. Stop.” He folded her arms. “He wants his war, and you’re in the way. You could walk right up to the front gates and he’d spit in your face and arrest you. He all but told Florette.”

“I could force the issue, reveal everything to the public.” Even as he said it, it felt weak. Perimont ruled, here. Even if Luce could confirm his survival, the Governor could simply have his Guardians pack him onto a ship and back to Cambria. I have no official authority here, not that I can prove.

Eloise seemed to notice him realizing, leaning back against the wall of the tunnel.

“That traitor. I knew he was ruthless, but this crosses a line.” A pretext for war, no matter the cost. Inexcusable. “He’ll pay for this.”

“No doubt.” Eloise frowned. “You’re taking this surprisingly well. Do you have a plan?”

“I have no idea.” He clenched his fists tightly. “But it makes things clearer, I suppose. Alleviates the need to be gentle, once the world knows I’m alive.”

She nodded. “If they get the chance to learn it, anyway.”

Right. “I could talk to Simon, somehow? Or Mary? They’d recognize me, at least. I think so, anyway. When I look at my reflection I can barely recognize myself.”

Eloise snorted. “Truly, you are eternally scarred.” She rolled her eyes. “A shave and a haircut will take care of that. But listen, about the ransom…”

Even now, greed wins the day. “Perimont will never give it you. He’d pay you more to kill me, most likely.” Luce put his head to his temples, massaging them lightly. “I suppose I could arrange a payout myself. Eventually. If I’m packed on the ship back to Cambria, it could be difficult to—”

“Not what I meant.” She bit her lip, closing her eyes as her fists clenched. “You… can…” She took a deep breath. “Don’t worry about the ransom. I don’t need it, anyway. Plenty of other ways to get what’s mine.”

She really trusts me that much? “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

“I’m only being practical, that’s all.” Her posture relaxed just the slightest bit. “Just don’t set your thugs on me and we’ll call it even, alright? Once this is done, it’ll be like we’ve never met.”

≋

Does anyone ever actually die? Florette had said that, when he’d first stepped out of the shadows. He’d thought she’d been talking about Eloise, even if it wasn’t much of a jump to guess that one of them might be alive if the other was.

This made more sense, though.

Camille Leclaire stood tall and confident, the green cape flapping in the wind behind her somehow already dry. This was the woman Father had his pawn kill, and yet she barely looks worse for the wear.

He’d heard a hundred different stories from every port: that she had been thrown into the sun, that her flesh had been seared away when Aurelien Lumière burned her armor, even that she’d turned into a serpent when defeated, only to die when Lumière cut off her head.

Whatever the truth of it, she didn’t look any worse for the wear. Her skin was unblemished; no evidence of any wounds was visible. Her hair looked awful, light brown and gold sprouting out of the top before it jarringly transitioned into washed-out pastel blue, but apparently that was her style anyway.

The very smirk on her face seemed to be daring death itself to claim her, to return her to the earth spirit’s cold embrace. “Prince Grimoire,” she greeted. “You seem to have lost your tongue. Allow me to help you find it. You need not fear me right now, for I plan to help you.”

“Is that so?” Florette’s voice was impassive. “I thought you were going to be leaving.”

“Soon,” Leclaire agreed. “But first, I thought I might rid this city of Perimont as a gift of departure.” She turned to face him directly. “Prince Grimoire, I know you not, but I have heard enough to see what an improvement you would be over Perimont. For the moment, our interests align.”

“Do they?” he finally asked. “You’re Avalon’s enemy. A spirit sage who partakes in mass human sacrifice. You wouldn’t even let that Duke negotiate a treaty with our diplomat, staked your very life on it. And that didn’t work, so now you’re here. You expect me to trust you?”

“To the contrary. I certainly can’t trust the prince of a nation that murdered my parents, drove me from my homeland, and sent a spy to assassinate the man who took me in when all was lost, then framed my best friend for the crime…” Her expression grew dark.

Father…

“Trust, rather, in mutual benefit.” She smiled, though it failed to reach her eyes. “On my honor as a Lady, I plan to return to Guerron at the first opportunity. My fiancé has been freed, my friend’s innocence firmly established. I need to help them.”

“So go! I won’t stop you.” Not that I could, with things as they are right now.

She sighed. “Your brother would tear Guerron apart for revenge, with Perimont at the tip of the spear. Am I wrong to think that you might put a stop to that? That Perimont’s deposition and your reveal as alive could halt any bloodshed before it can begin?”

“You’re not,” Luce said carefully, trying to avoid falling into a trap. “I’m trying to do things better than the likes of Perimont or my grandfather.”

“Excellent, so you understand.”

He shook his head. “That doesn’t mean I’m willing to work with a mass murderer.”

Florette snorted. “Have you looked at the country you’re a prince of? Just let her help.”

It felt like a slap in the face, but he had no choice but to continue. “Your very magic is borne of blood and death, Lady Leclaire. To accept your help is to accept that suffering as necessary, simply to gain power here. I won’t crawl to the top of this city over a pile of bodies. As I said, I wish to do things differently.”

“Hmm.” Leclaire stroked her chin, head tilted back slightly. “I could tell you that demanding moral perfection from your means is an excellent way to ensure your intended ends never arrive. That you would perish the death of a thousand cuts before implementing a single one of your reforms. I could tell you that, but I won’t. That’s your business, Prince Grimoire. Instead I shall simply say this: the spiritual energy I currently hold comes not from humans but mere pigs. If you truly cannot stand another death, there are other means of incapacitation. Your… limitations do not prevent us from a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Please. Pigs?” You must think me fool, just as the Harpies do. But even they would not condescend with so blatant a lie.

“No, it’s true.” Florette placed a hand on his arm. “She didn’t have anything left after that duel with Lord Fuckface. We only even gathered the pigs so she could make it home without getting caught. No one died for it.”

They can do that?

Leclaire nodded. “My grievances lie not with you, Prince Grimoire. Not yet, anyway. I’m simply trying to protect my people.”

“We need her,” Florette added. “Eloise and I can do what we can, but there’s no way we’re enough to get you into the governor’s mansion. Not publicly, the way you need.”

“If you—”

“I’m sorry. I just want to make sure I heard you correctly. You sacrificed animals for your magic? That works?”

“Why, yes.” Leclaire blinked. “It’s monstrously inefficient, but—”

“Then why don’t you people do it every time?” Luce sucked in air steadily, trying to maintain his composure. “Why does anyone need to die?”

She frowned. “Most of the time, that is the form our offerings take. A prized sow, a banquet, even a stick of incense. As long as it once lived, the spirits will accept it. The vast majority of our offerings do not end the life of a single person.”

“Every time you execute someone—”

“How often is that, do you think? It’s telling, really, that the boy from Avalon presumes dozens of executions each week. Have you even seen the rotting corpses on the beach, the reminders of what great fortune Avalon brings to its territories? I assure you it’s quite different to witness it in person.”

Surely she’s exaggerating. Even Perimont wouldn’t kill so many…

But he would, wouldn’t he? ‘The price of civilization’, he’d once said.

Camille smirked. “Sages take a more civilized approach. Only the foulest of crimes merit death. I’ve sacrificed perhaps a score in my entire tenure. And when one is to die, why let them go to waste? People dying for nothing is the greater injustice.”

Luce grit his teeth tightly. “Dying for ‘nothing’ is a lesser evil than dying to fuel the power of evil spirits and corrupt sages. Your excuses are so transparent. All you’re after is maintaining your own power.”

“The same could be said of all institutions.”

“That doesn’t justify—”

“Stop!” Florette pounded her fist into the palm of her hand. “This isn’t the time for a philosophical debate. You two can right back to hating each other after we get rid of that loathsome governor.” She turned to face him directly, her eyes looking surprisingly vulnerable. “Luce, you didn’t want to get back into power using the fruits of human sacrifice. If Camille helps us, you won’t. Unless you think killing pigs is some unpardonable crime?”

Luce sighed. “No. But it’s not that simple. The entire philosophy of the Erstwhile Empire is that life is but a resource.” He turned back to Leclaire. “Your precious Fox Queen fed my ancestors to her pet wolf to sacrifice them. As if driving us from the continent wasn’t enough.”

But those ancestors were no better, he remembered suddenly, the horrifying images of beachside sacrifice returning unbidden. Was that why Cya had shown it to him?

“Oh, please,” Leclaire scoffed. “That’s a common misconception, based on the Fox Queen’s propaganda after the Battle of Lyrion drove out the Grimoire invaders. All she really did was chase their retreating forces into her uncle Ysengrimus to mop them up. They called him ‘The Wolf’, so when people took her accounting of it too literally—”

A failure at scholarship, too. “Eugène de Latraverse disproved that theory half a century ago when he found wolf skeletons at the site of the battle, right next to human remains.”

“How outdated are your sources?” Leclaire’s eyes narrowed. “De Latraverse’s conclusions run entirely contrary to scholarly consensus about the nature of that era’s warfare. Wolves were employed during the battle, and many of them died. If they’d been fed by humans afterwards, why would their skeletons be there?”

“Scholarly consensus? De Latraverse’s archaeological evidence from his Lyrion excavations is incontrovertible. What he found was completely untouched over the centuries, about as reliable a source as you can get.”

“In his time!” She scoffed once more. “Even he wanted to conduct more excavations, but he had to flee when Avalon came calling. René Corelle’s treatise on the Fox Queen’s conquest has the definitive modern understanding of it, with a direct citation from de Latraverse recounting the theory before he died in exile. Scholarly conversation doesn’t just stop because it’s not happening in countries you own.“

Shit, she might be right. Luce stopped, taking a deep breath. “I’ll need to review those books before I can provide a fully informed opinion. But ultimately primary archaeological evidence is always going to be more definitive than secondary interpretive sources.”

“Seriously?” Florette’s eyes were wide with incredulity. “What did I just say about arguing with each other?” She sighed. “At least this one was more civil. Where did you guys get those books, anyway? I’ve never even heard of them.”

Leclaire shrugged. “Tutors. Knowing the right people.”

“My family’s library,” Luce added, nodding in agreement. “I would sometimes send for items from the Territories as well, if it were otherwise unavailable.”

“Of course,” Florette muttered, shaking her head slowly. “Look, Luce, I know I’ve done something unforgivable to you. I’m not… this won’t make up for it. It can’t. But I want to help you. I have to. And I honestly believe that Camille joining in is the best way to do it. Can you live with that, just for as long as it takes to get back where you need to be?”

Do I have any other choice?

≋

A blast of water smashed down the door, flooding into the room beyond.

As Luce stepped through, he saw only Perimont’s desk still standing upright. The chair must have been reduced to splinters.

Leclaire followed a step behind, gathering her water back up off the floor as she did.

Gordon Perimont was much the way Luce remembered, tall, robust and healthy, but a coldness to his eyes. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked calmly, as if scolding a child.

“Lord Perimont.” Luce took a deep breath. “I’d think you’d be happier to see me alive.”

The Governor tilted his head up, staring down his nose. “I’m delighted. Your brother will be even happier to hear it. Of that I have no doubt.” He stepped out from behind his desk. “Would you care for a cup of tea? Coffee?”

Luce looked to the woman at his side and gave a quiet nod.

In an instant, a burst of water crashed over Perimont, its blue color washing out as it did. After a moment, a chill filled the room as the tyrant found himself bound in ice.

“You misunderstand my intentions, Lord Perimont. My father sent me here to fix the mess you’ve made.” Luce narrowed his eyes. “I was waylaid, and once I finally reached my destination, you went to every possible effort to avoid seeing me.”

“A simple error, Your Highness. Imposters run rampant in the wake of such tragedies. I feared for my life, and the life of my family.” He blinked, expression impassive. “I’m pleased to see you found a way to force the issue, and offer my apologies that it was necessary.”

“Oh, please. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing here. Red flags over the doors of houses who haven’t sent you conscripts yet… What happens to them next, exactly? What’s your plan, Lord Perimont?”

Still, he kept his face neutral. “Prince Harold commanded that I ready myself for war, and so I did. It’s that simple.”

Beside him, Luce could see Leclaire biting her lip, but she remained silent, as she’d promised.

This was his duty.

“Prince Luce, if I may call a footman, I’m sure I can have you on a ship to reunite with your brother by tomorrow morning. The harbor’s still in a frightful state, I must confess, but with the rail line complete, you can take a train to Lyrion and ship from there. It might even be faster.”

“Is that so?” Luce stepped closer, close enough to see the traces of frost on his face. “But remember, I was given a duty here. To right the ship, so to speak.”

Perimont blinked. “You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like, of course, but I imagine after the ordeal you’ve been through, family is first on your mind. Return as soon as you feel you’re ready, and it will be my great honor to take you into my council.”

“And the attack on Guerron?”

His face moved slightly in one direction, then the other. A suggestion of a head shake, though his neck was bound too tightly to manage it. “Orders are orders, I’m afraid. Everything is ready, as it is. If all goes to plan, the Fox Queen’s line shall end, and with it, the rot at the core of this continent. Sweeping aside their corruption and decadence will take much time and effort, but without the fox boy to rally around, and under proper stewardship, a shift in paradigm is inevitable.”

The ice around his head tightened, prompting Luce to shoot a glare at Leclaire. Fortunately, she relaxed it back.

“Do you plan to introduce me?” Perimont asked, the movement of his jaw sending tiny ice crystals to the floor. “I had thought myself familiar with all binders of this sort of power, and yet I find myself at a loss. Esterton, perhaps? Though that would mean the harvesting of a new spirit.”

“She’s none of your concern.” Luce wrapped his fingers around Perimont’s neck. “Nor is Malin.”

No, this feels wrong. He pulled them away almost immediately. “Let him go.”

Leclaire waved her hand, and the ice binding the governor collapsed back into water.

“By the authority of my father, King Harold IV Grimoire, I hereby strip you of the rank of Governor. You are relieved of command of the Territorial Guardians under your authority. You have one day to make the necessary arrangements for your departure, then you will report to my brother in Cambria for further instructions.”

“Really?” Perimont let out a small laugh. “I’m afraid the trials you’ve endured might have scrambled your understanding of things. But I was appointed by His Majesty, and only His Majesty can recall me from my position.”

“His Majesty delegated authority to his sons while away on an important mission concerning confidential matters of state.” Luce pointed his arm towards the door. “I can make you leave here in chains, if it proves necessary.”

Finally, finally the man scowled.

After a silent moment, he pulled himself to his feet and stepped through the door, his head bowed in defeat.

“That was so easy,” Leclaire muttered. “The security was a joke. I could have done this months ago.”

“And where would you have been then?” Luce fired back. “It may be hard for you to believe, but there are lords far worse than Perimont. Far more powerful ones, as well. One of them would doubtless have been appointed the next governor, and the real consequences would have fallen on the people of this city.”

“I know.” She sighed. “That’s why I didn’t. If Florette had had her way, the whole city would be swimming in blood by now. Still…” She wiped off her forehead with the back of her hand.

“I’m going to find Simon next. Now that his father lacks the power to force me out, he’s the best way to ensure everyone in the city knows I’m back.”

“And then our work is done.”

“Yours, perhaps. You can return to Guerron and do as you will.” Luce clasped his hands together, mind racing as he considered his next steps. He gazed out the window towards the harbor, still half a ruin. And the beach beyond, where all of Perimont’s gallows still lay, their victims still swinging in the wind. “My work, though, is only just beginning.”