Conquest of Avalon

Camille II: The Communicator

A New Day in Malin

by Scott Temple, Editor-in-Chief

“The sun is risen. The Sovereign of Darkness is in captivity. Our city is at peace.”

So spoke the Maiden of Dawn, Lady Camille Leclaire, in the scarlet light of our first morning since the summer solstice. Though the need for security kept it secret until now, the Daily Quotidien is proud to be the first to report that Magnifico, the villainous bard who assassinated Duke Fouchand of Guerron while a guest under his roof, conspired to frame Fouchand’s granddaughter and lawful heir, Duchess Annette Debray, and singlehandedly plunged the world into darkness, is none other than King Harold IV Grimoire of Avalon, father of the reviled Prince of Darkness, Lucifer Grimoire.

King Harold, already being held in Imperial custody due to his crimes committed under the alias ‘Magnifico’, had his identity discovered as a result of prolonged investigation from the Imperial Bureau of Spiritual Affairs, headed by Lady Camille Leclaire. In order to make his darkness last forever and wipe out all of humanity, the King of Avalon conspired with his son Lucifer to slay our new sun, Flammare of the Hearth.

This effort was thwarted thanks to the Fox-King, Lucien Renart, and his fiancée, Lady Camille Leclaire. Leclaire banished the Prince of Darkness at the moment of the sun’s ascension, ushering Malin into a new dawn of peace, prosperity, and light.

Essential to the effort was Chair of the Convocation of Commerce, Eloise Clochaîne, whose interview can be found on Page 4. Clochaîne’s father Jacques, founder of Clochaîne Candles, was found dead earlier this month in a gruesome scene whose chief architect was none other than Lucifer Grimoire, Prince of Darkness. Grimoire’s obsessive pursuit of tyrannical power… [Continued on Page 2]

Camille set the journal down on the floor, far from the basin of water she’d had set up in her office in the Governor’s Mansion. Which needs a different name now. I’m surprised I never thought of that.

‘Maiden’’ feels somewhat infantilizing, and it’s monstrously unfair to Luce, but those unfortunately only make it more effective. Scott had correctly pointed out that her image could use a good bit of softening after all the work he’d done to paint her as a scheming adultering sorceress, and Camille had reluctantly had to agree.

In a year, the appellation will be dead anyway, because they’ll be calling me Empress.

If Levian hasn’t claimed my soul for failing him, anyway.

Her new editor had apparently also taken her advice about the ‘Ecrivan’ name getting him laughed out of the room the moment Lucien and his entourage arrived and changed it to something more palatable, though still recognizable Avaline in pronunciation. He still wants the appearance of a foot in both camps, and I can hardly blame him when it’ll only lend him credibility. Still, one to watch. His loyalty had proven plenty flexible already.

Eloise deserved such consideration too, as a matter of caution as much as practicality, but so far she’d given no cause for distrust save her foul attitude, which was clearly skin-deep. The erstwhile pirate had shown up in force before the dawn, her inherited rabble falling in easily enough under the command of the Acolytes to patrol the city in these first crucial days. Eloise had even sourced the psyben root Camille desperately needed from some dark corner of the city, despite supplies of the hallucinogenic having dwindled to nearly nothing after darkness fell. Even now, she was waiting outside the door, keeping watch as Camille waited for the visions to begin.

Fernan was usually easy to find; Camille was practiced enough to skip past most of the uncontrolled visions. Useful as they had the potential to be, communication was the higher priority.

The familiar thrumming energy began to overcome her as she conjured a roughly human facsimile out of the water, drawing on the power from the loyalists that Boothe had slain in her name.

Speaking of uncertain loyalties…

Lucien could not get here soon enough.

As the water mannequin’s eyes began to expand outward, it gradually took on Fernan’s gangly form, looking rather distressed to see Camille. Though whether that was due to the sometimes metaphorical nature of these visions showing the boy’s emotions, an echo of an earlier sentiment, or genuine reluctance in his face was impossible to say.

“Sire Montaigne,” Camille greeted him with a smile. “While I am eager to hear all the details of the Convocation, I can see that events proceeded roughly as your schedule dictated that they would. First, I have vital news to share with you, and a message you must pass on to my beloved.”

The water flickered, Camille’s hands moving unconsciously to guide it in tandem with her vision of the flame sage. “Lady Leclaire, it’s true that the sun ascended on the night that I said it would happen, but—”

“I did it!” Camille erupted, not able to wait for him to finish. “Malin is ours once more. Avalon’s grip is broken. The Prince of Darkness fled, along with the greater part of the most ardent Avaline loyalists.”

Fernan stayed silent for a moment, his head tilted to the side. “Who is the Prince of Darkness?”

“Lucifer Grimoire,” Camille answered. A man willing to work with me to help people, who lost everything because it was the only way to win our freedom back. Because I set him up to fail then drove the final icicle into his eye. “Magnifico’s son, who’d been controlling Malin in his name.”

“His youngest… Magnifico called him Luce.” The water in the echo’s eyes died down, matching the fire in Fernan’s. “He said he thought we would get along.”

You’ve never met the man, and yet even you feel the need to compound my guilt. “You’re welcome to join him in Avalon to find out. Or try Condorcet if you’re so eager to meet Magnifico’s ilk; those verbose freaks love darkness far more than the prince of it. In the meantime, Lucien needs to marshall his forces and lead them here immediately, so that we can fortify the city and consolidate Imperial control. Time is of the essence.”

“I’ll pass the message on at once,” Fernan said, his head bobbing with uncharacteristic deference. “I’m glad I found you in a good mood.”

“You should be too! This is cause for celebration! Not only does the sun once again rest in the sky, but the Fox Queen’s banner once again flies over her stalwart capital. The heart of the Empire has at last returned.”

“Yes…” His head turned back, looking towards what Camille saw as the door to the room, though it was doubtless something else for him. “Listen, Flammare did ascend as the Arbiter of Light. We do have a sun now. And it all happened when it was supposed to. That’s all for the good, right?”

“Of course.” What on earth is he driving at? “And thank you for ensuring that it all came to pass when it was supposed to. The timing was crucial for me here, and I wouldn’t have even known about it without you.” A reward would not be inappropriate at this juncture, if the boy knew well enough to ask for it. “Did Flammare try to delay things again?”

“No,” he answered modestly, avoiding the slightest chance to embellish in his own favor. One of the good ones indeed. Haltingly, the water echo opened its mouth once more. “But he was killed within minutes of his ascension. Gézarde took on most of his energy and was acclaimed by the spirits. It is he who shines down from above as we speak, not Flammare.”

“You got your wish,” Camille said, a moment before her mind processed what Fernan had said. “Killed? Flammare was a venerable and ancient spirit, more powerful than Glaciel by far. And—”

“Florette surprised him, using the same weapon Magnifico used to end Soleil.”

“Florette? Her?”

“She believed she had good cause, given the war of extermination Flammare was determined to wage. The spirits seemed to agree, since none of them pursued her.”

“Only the weakest and most foolish spirits could ever meet their end at the hands of a human, so their logic tends to go. You might expect that Avalon would have put an end to that foolishness, but even the best of spirits are often slow to adapt. They would no more retaliate against Florette than you or I would conduct a manhunt for a mosquito that bit Guy Valvert.” Her words were automatic, reciting knowledge of the spirits deeply ingrained in her mind.

“That’s a relief.”

Camille tried to take a moment to think, even knowing her time in this conversation was limited. The ancient spirit of the hearth had been usurped by a nearly unknown hermit of little renown or power. Fernan seemed to be implying that Florette had done this of her own accord, in order to prevent Flammare’s imminent war with Glaciel. Knowing Florette, that was believable enough on its face, but the fact that Fernan’s patron had ended up taking the Arbiter seat spoke volumes. However much he demurred, Fernan had been involved. He might even have asked his friend to do the deed for him.

And taking that risk had jeopardized everything. If the spirits hadn’t swiftly chosen a replacement, if the conspiracy against Flammare had become known to him and delayed his ascension, if the slightest thing had gone wrong…

My every plan would have failed, and my soul would be forfeit.

Camille had neared the brink of perdition without even being aware, all because Florette had once again failed to control her impulses and killed someone.

“I’m hoping you can understand. She took a risk, but it paid off, and now our sun is far better than the last. Surely that’s forgivable?”

“In gross, this is certainly for the better. Flammare was odious, and his ascension would have meant empowering Laura Bougitte, someone who understandably does not regard me fondly. That said, your friend’s recklessness is out of control. I was hoping never to hear her name again, and instead you tell me that she nearly ruined everything. I have no idea how she killed Flammare, but it couldn’t have been a foolproof plan. This was a gamble, undertaken without sanction or even notification, and the entire world hung in the balance.”

“She tricked him, using the same methods Magnifico used to kill Soleil. Flammare was lured away by someone he believed was his sage, then stabbed before he could react.”

Camille’s eyes widened. “She deceived Flammare?”

“The Fox-King believes that someone impersonated Laura using one of the Face Stealer’s masks, but not because of any evidence.”

“He always thought too highly of her,” Camille said, her nose wrinkled. “In any case, Florette’s culpability is clear, and it’s not the sort of thing we can just ignore.”

“You won, Lady Leclaire. You got everything you wanted, and you couldn’t have done it without me. Am I wrong?”

“You are not.”

“Then grant me a boon in exchange. Spare Florette, and ask the Fox-King to leave her alone.”

“I’m not going to—” Camille paused, really considering the offer. My owing you a favor is a powerful thing, Fernan. If you want to waste it on this, I suppose I have no objection. “Very well. We can’t be seen to let her shenanigans slide, but we can give her time to leave. Only once she’s outside the Empire’s borders will the truth of her involvement come out.

“That’s what your betrothed already told her. She has to leave by tomorrow, with her attainder to come soon after.”

“Then Lucien and I are of one mind on this. I’m sorry, Fernan, but if word were to spread that we had broken faith with the spirits, every compact we had ever entered and could ever enter in the future would be cast into doubt. Publicly, Florette has to be an enemy, or the spirits could never trust us again, and every free nation on the continent along with them. Even my pact with Levian would be at risk.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, I won’t consider your favor repaid yet, since Lucien already intended to grant it. But I’m afraid that’s the best we can do.”

Fernan nodded glumly, the chin of the water homunculus folding into its neck.

“How is he, by the way? I know the White Night was a hard-fought thing. You told me he wasn’t wounded severely, but…”

“He’s fine, despite Levian’s best efforts. For all the peasants that died in the White Night under his command, Lucien Renart walked free, victorious.”

“Such is the way of war,” Camille said, relieved. “Their deaths brought that victory, without which I am confident that your patron spirit would never have ascended. As for Levian, I’m sorry that he did not show up to aid you, but spirits do not subject themselves to the whims of humans, even their High Priestess. Were I able to meet with him, I would have asked, but even then, the chances were slim.”

“Aid us? He nearly killed us all.”

“That seems a bit over dramatic. I was there with you when you formulated your plans, and they never assumed that Levian would help. He hardly deserted us in an hour of need.”

“He joined the fight on Glaciel’s side! He only left once her cause seemed doomed. Because Florette beat her in a duel, no less.”

Camille froze. “What?” Has he finally figured out how to lie, but he’s really bad at it? But any deceptions would be exposed as soon as she saw Lucien, and… “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Your uncle didn’t seem surprised. Levian thought he would benefit from it without risking anything, and so far it seems like he was right.”

“But… Levian knows that… He wouldn’t… My family served him for generations, since before the Fox-Queen. He’s not… It wouldn’t…” Wouldn’t he, though? It wasn’t as if the politics of Guerron were of any interest to Levian. He genuinely might not even know that he was opposing Camille by doing it. And if he did, would he really care?

This is the spirit I’m sworn to serve. This is who I must deliver one thousand souls to by the year’s end, or die trying.

“I need to talk to Lucien.”

“That’s not how this works, though, right? I mean, you told me—”

“Fine!” Camille slashed her hand down, drawing a gash in the shoulder of the Fernan figure that left the real one unharmed. “Just…” Fuck!

What I wouldn’t give for a sentence of Fouchand’s advice right now… Uncle Emile’s voice would be soothing too, if only she could hear it. He had lost his mastery of the visions due to his injuries, and lost much of that warmth besides. The little that Fernan had spoken of him painted a portrait of a hardened man, almost callous after his failure, driven by pragmatism above all else.

Not so different from me in that regard, I suppose. But that was not the fate she would have wished on her uncle.

The relentless beige of the walls was starting to run together, the wooden door rippling in place as the same energy coursing through Camille flowed through it.

“La… claire…” The image began to collapse in on itself, the water echo of Fernan slowly dissolving back into the basin. “Flo…ette… Please…”

The clarity of the visions was fading fast, like Camille was losing her grip on them.

I have been a sage for seventeen years. I have partaken of psyben and its ilk for more than five. I shall not let it best me with merely startling news.

If Fernan’s words were even real… Had I lost control already, when I heard them? Is my magic reflecting my fears back at me, rather than any universal truth?

That had been the effect for the first year Camille had spent learning to master it, and it had taken another before she was confident in it. How Fernan mastered it so quickly, I cannot know, but now everything is unraveling.

Her mother would shudder to see such a failure at something so practiced.

“Stop this,” Camille muttered to herself. “Regain your poise.”

“If you insist,” Fernan responded, slouching against the back of the wall.

Only, I’m sure the water didn’t move…

It wasn’t Fernan, either. His eyes looked normal, and his hair was dark… “Mordred Boothe?”

“My greetings to you, Camille Leclaire. I’m sorry to drop in unannounced.”

“What are you doing here?” Camille blinked, trying to marshall her focus through the haze. “Eloise was supposed to be guarding the door.”

“I heard you muttering to yourself like a lunatic, then say the name ‘Florette’ thirty times in as many seconds. Of course I’d just sit and wait.”

“Eloise?” Camille pressed her hands to her face, trying to will back her control of herself.

“My opening the door did seem to disturb you, which I apologize for.”

“You weren't supposed to be listening in at all.” Camille snarled. “And I was very clear that I am not to be disturbed.”

Boothe laughed. “On account of the psyben you ingested? I was always partial to tasting it socially. Ernest Monfroy certainly knows how to take you on a journey. But I suppose we all have our preferences.” He laughed, and the room grew dark in concert with his voice.

“Yes, encourage her, Jethro. That’s a brilliant way to talk someone down.” Eloise’s arms were folded, or perhaps that was simply an impression from the visions since she stood that way so often. But then, the fact that she stood that way so often made it more likely that she was doing it right now. The truth had done a loop through different mediums then returned to its place of origin, changed. But who could say where it truly began?

Where did I even begin?

“Camille?”

Where do I end?

“I’m going to die.” She could feel a pain in her lip, though she wasn’t sure where it was coming from. “Half my life is gone already, and I’ve spent it in service to a monster. And I…”

“Hey, come on.” Through a sneer, Eloise awkwardly patted Camille on the shoulder. “I knew nobles were bad at mathematics, but even you should know your life isn’t nearly half over, as long as you don’t piss off the wrong person before your time. So, granted, you might have a point. But that’s not something you need to worry about right now.”

“It could be even sooner, if I don’t grant Levian his due. If I don’t do something horrible for someone horrible. And myself.” Camille tilted her head. “Perhaps the ‘and’ isn’t even necessary. Rather, it ought to be a colon.”

“What is she talking about?” Eloise whispered, too loudly not to be heard.

“Don’t focus on it too hard. Monfroy always told me to take the emotions, rather than the words. You ought to do the same, Camille.”

“Don’t try to give her that advice!” Eloise hissed.

“Unless I die before the year is out. My soul would remain unclaimed, Levian unenriched by a thousand souls…” She stared through the ceiling to the starry sky above. “That would be the right thing to do. I brought this on myself.”

“Likely,” said Eloise. “But you get what you put in.”

“Unless fate conspires against you from your very conception.” Boothe’s voice sounded cleaner, more full of conviction.

More mundane.

Pressing her hands against her face, Camille inhaled and reached for clarity.

Eloise’s arms weren’t folded. “You seem to be doing fine.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.” Boothe stood straight up and down, lacking his aura of darkness. “I’m quite interested to know how Lady Leclaire arrived at that one-half figure.”

“Just a guess,” she said, trying not to say any more than she already had. Your failure to behave yourself appropriately is an embarrassment, Camille could almost hear her mother say. Salvaging her reputation with these two would be an uphill battle from here.

But somehow that didn’t seem as important as the decision she’d made.

“It won’t be that long anyway. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I said that.”

Camille caught Boothe’s eyes light up, and felt monstrously foolish for blurting so many things out. “All I asked for was to be left alone! Eloise, all that you had to do was stand in front of a door, and you failed.”

“She was worried about you,” Boothe said. “Rather understandably, in my estimation.”

“Yeah, worried about what horrible thing you’d do next.”

Camille nodded, feeling the words penetrate her flesh. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to do it anymore. No matter what it costs me.”