Conquest of Avalon

Camille III: The Resolute

Camille took a sip of her Ocean Wave as she carried the drinks back to the table, spilling a bit of the other one as she did.

Apparently, in such rough accommodations, one had to walk to the counter themself to order, even when already seated, and Camille’s turn with the task had come.

This is what servants are for, she thought with no small amount of irritation as she spilled more of the other drink.

“Oh good, you made it back, and it only cost you half my Wood Nymph.”

Frowning, Camille set the glasses down on the table.

“Kinda rude to do that when I’m buying, you know. Seeing as how I have an actual job.”

Clenching her fists tightly, Camille did her best not to rise to the bait. “Stealing is not an actual job.”

“Neither is skimming off of other people because of who your parents were.”

Camille bit her lip. “You held me at swordpoint and named me a traitor. I spilled your drink. Is that not enough to declare things even, Florette?”

The thief didn’t answer directly, tipping her drink back and finishing what was left of it in a single sip. “Tell you what: if you apologize, I’ll let it drop.”

“We have actual business to plan. I’m not going to waste time with—”

“Just say: ‘I’m sorry, Florette. I didn’t mean to spill your drink, I’m just bad at holding my spirits and I lost control.’ Then we can move on.”

“I’m not going to recite the play you just wrote. No.”

“How about: ‘I’m sorry. I made a mistake.’? That should be simple enough.”

“Including you at all was a mistake. Do you want to talk about handling your spirits? Already, I had to talk you out of throwing Whitbey off a cliff. You nearly blew your cover and mine by hanging around that inspector woman all night. And to top it off, you almost lost a finger playing that moronic pirate game.”

The pirate’s posture changed, a subtle slump that would have been easy to attribute to the late hour and downed drinks if Camille hadn’t seen it occur so suddenly.

“Something wrong?”

Florette sighed. “I am sorry about that. Honestly. But they were saying that Eloise had been killed, and I just… She is alive, not that I knew it then, but still. If I’d been there, she wouldn’t have had to wander starving through a wasteland with only a prince of Avalon for company. And even now that she’s back, it’s just… not like it was, I guess.”

And now it all slots into place.

Camille extended a hand across the table, careful not to disturb the drinks. “Forget about Eloise. She’s not worth the time you spend thinking about her.”

“She’s part of the train heist now, so it’s a little late for that. Not that I would, anyway. She’s capable. And smart. Funny. Tough enough that you know she can handle herself, but underneath there’s a heart of gold that she only shows to the people she cares about most. And—” I have to stop her, or this could go on forever.

“She has a heart for gold, and she’ll show it to anyone who’ll listen. Mercenaries are unreliable enough, but pirates don’t even have contracts. She left you in Malin because she didn’t see any use for you. It’s as simple as that.”

Florette rubbed the back of her neck, still ignoring Camille’s hand. “Well, we sort of agreed on it together.”

“It was your idea?”

“Well, no, it was hers. But…” She saw Camille’s amused expression and slumped, her face hitting the table. “Ugh, I was such an idiot. She even had me deliver money to this other girl of hers, staying in some fancy house by the Sartaire. ‘Margot’... What was I thinking?”

Camille withdrew her hand. “That you wanted to help someone you cared about. That doesn’t make you stupid.” Myriad other issues do, but not that. “But throwing good energy after bad, that would be a mistake.”

“I’m surprised you even care.”

“I don’t, really, though I don’t want her or you jeopardizing my cover here. But aside from that, it’s none of my concern. Do what you want.”

“You’re right.” Florette nodded, then, as if to reassure herself, did it again. “It is none of your concern. The train job is mine to handle as I see fit, and including Eloise makes sense.”

“You really—”

“And that’s all I’m going to say about it. I’m not taking romantic advice from a half-dead sage that probably gets off on drowning people.”

“How dare you? Sacrifices are an ancient and hallowed tradition, descended from the very first humans making pacts with the very first spirits. It’s not some bedroom folly. It’s sacred. That’s been self-evident for centuries. Millennia.”

“Not everyone always thought so.” Florette folded her arms, leaning back in her chair with a smug grin on her face. “That Corelle book you were harping on me not knowing about? He mentions a peasant uprising on the Rhan before the Fox-Queen took over. They believed their king was being deceived by evil councilors, manipulating him into sacrificing them by the dozen, and they fought to stop it. In fact, that was key to letting the Fox-Queen take power at all.”

“According to Corelle. At minimum, she certainly leveraged the instability in the region.” Camille shrugged. “But she had no trouble crushing it, and those revolting peasants didn’t accomplish a single one of their goals. They were scarcely a pebble in the road.”

Florette frowned, but she apparently didn’t have a good rebuttal, because she got up to order another drink instead of responding.

Remember this, then, and maybe watch your mouth next time, instead of ranting about history you don’t understand.

≋

How did I fail to see it for so long?

Camille had tied her hair back, keeping it in place despite the winds blowing off the Sartaire. The strength of this new sun was not equal to his predecessor, for the first traces of autumn were already in the air.

Still, as the Avaline were so fond of saying, the day was fair, especially with the perfectly dappled blend of sun and shade shining through the verdant trellis above. Despite the cold and darkness, a few grapes had begun to sprout on the vines, though Camille didn’t feel bold enough to test their flavor.

The Sartaire stretched out beneath the patio, with the New Bridge the Fox-Queen had built fully in view, the rest of Malin visible beyond. No fires in sight, though Camille couldn’t help but fear it every time she looked.

“Call me surprised, Leclaire.” Eloise walked out into the courtyard, Ysengrin and another of her guards walking behind her. “When you said we’d be meeting at your family’s old manor, I assumed it would be something fancy. All you’ve got here is a massive tower on the coast with a view to die for and a patio big enough to fit four normal houses. By your standards, it’s positively restrained.”

It was hard to tell if she was being sincere or not, so Camille answered her honestly. “My family mostly split their time between the temple and the castle when I was young. This place predates our royal favor, and frankly much of our wealth.”

Eloise’s eyes narrowed, taken aback that Camille would agree to the building’s modesty. Sarcasm, then.

Well, it’s her fault for not being clear. “Ysengrin, it’s good to see you. And I’d like to meet up later. But—”

“Say no more.” He bowed with a smile, then retreated indoors, the other guard belatedly following behind him.

“Why did you do that?” Eloise asked once they were alone. “Both of us have been shot already. I need my guards on hand.”

“Aude is in command of the building, with six armed Acolytes guarding the way in. You’re not in any danger.”

“Unless it’s from you.”

“And I wanted to speak privately.”

She frowned, folding her arms.

“I like Ysengrin. But if I’d wanted him here, I would have invited him.” Camille gestured to the arrayed table in front of her. “Come on, sit. Eat.”

Reluctantly, Eloise took the chair at the opposite end of the table, the furthest away that she could possibly sit. “I should have realized that he wasn’t good enough for the Maiden of Dawn.”

“It’s not that. You know I wanted him in the Acolytes.”

“He’s still thinking it over.” She scoffed. “Torn between common sense and a pretty face.”

“Why can’t I just be both?” Camille pushed a dish towards Eloise, a sweet egg tart infused with lemon flavor. “I’m trying, Eloise. This is the way to keep Malin free. You knew that when you sided with me instead of Luce, or you never would have done it.”

Frowning, Eloise ripped off a piece of the tart with her bare hands and stuffed it into her mouth, ignoring the thoroughly polished, five hundred year old silver cutlery right in front of her face.

Keep it to yourself, Camille. This isn’t the time. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

Eloise answered by grabbing another piece.

“Why don’t you just take the whole thing? I’ve had my fill.”

“Isn’t Jethro coming?” Crumbs flew from her mouth. “Should leave him a bit.”

“Don’t hold back on my account,” Mordred Boothe said as he entered, riding to the rescue to save Camille from enduring more of this stilted conversation. He was wearing the Prince Harold mask, for some reason, all the stranger for the fact that he would have had to put it on after entering the building, else the Acolytes wouldn’t have let him in. “I’m sure there’s plenty of food to go around here, if not elsewhere.”

“Indeed.”

Boothe seated himself across from Camille. “I assume this is related to your recent psychedelic experience?”

“It’s not unrelated.” Camille took a sip of wine, bolstering herself for the admissions to come. “We’ve all been so busy the past few weeks, overseeing the exodus of the Avaline hold-outs, vetting and inducting the Guardians who chose to stay, trying to get this last harvest out before winter sets in… I do have work to discuss, but I thought it would be nice to take a breath and share a meal.”

“In truth, I’m surprised at how many of them elected to stay,” Boothe said, pulling a basket of sausages towards himself and carefully arranging them on his plate. “I assume these are chicken?”

Camille nodded. “My apologies. The governor’s pigs were slaughtered right before darkness fell, and people understandably held on to whatever remained. Lucien will be bringing breeding stock with him when he arrives.”

“It’s not an issue. Still more flavorful than the ones in Avalon.” He cut himself a bite, strangely switching the fork over to his right hand before putting the food in his mouth. “I think it’s the spices.”

“I’m surprised you can even eat with that mask on. Lamante’s magic is more thorough than I’d thought. Why are you wearing it, anyway?”

“It doesn’t do to be too predictable,” he said, a non-answer if ever there was one. “When one has as much to do as me and as little time to do it, it’s necessary to always keep moving, flowing through identities as needed. Like Jethro, the verbose spy always looking for his next bribe, or the wayward Prince Harold, manifestly unsuited to rulership because he was never trained for it.”

“Or Mordred Boothe, traitor to Avalon,” Camille finished for him.

Boothe smiled back, not bothering to deny it, then took another bite of sausage.

“Malin is their home,” Eloise said, unexpectedly returning to the topic of the Guardian converts. “Even for the Avaline, anyone under thirty has probably spent most of their life here. And having their king in irons isn’t a bad reason to believe we won’t be smashed into ruin either. They were hired hands before, and they are now. What’s so hard to believe about that?”

“Hmm…” Boothe scratched his chin. “Well, in any case, it’s to our benefit.”

“Yeah, it could never backfire if they saw the wind blowing the other way. It’s foolproof.” Eloise leaned forward, elbows straddling her plate. “Alright Leclaire, you wanted us to talk privately. What is it?”

There’s still time to back out. Camille downed the rest of her wine. “I’ve already trusted both of you with the safety of Malin and her people, many times over. Betraying me when Luce was around would have been completely trivial, but you both stood by me. I don’t take that lightly. And that’s why I’m trusting you with this…” She trailed off, not wanting to finish her thought despite knowing that she had to.

Eloise raised an eyebrow expectantly, while Boothe set down his fork.

“I’ve been… I suppose you could say ‘rushed’ ever since the sun rose, and I don’t expect that to change even once Lucien gets here. Even if the peace holds.” She bit her lip. “I need to work quickly, because when the new year arrives, I will not be there to see it.”

“You’re leaving?”

“In the same way we all must leave Terramonde eventually. In truth, I’ve been on borrowed time ever since Aurelian Lumière shot me. At the end of the year, it will finally run out.”

“Spiritual curse?” Jethro asked, irritatingly casual in tone even as Eloise stared silently. “I have some experience with that, and there may be ways around it. Especially if you are willing to die.”

What could that possibly mean? If I die, that’s not a way around anything.

At least, not so far as Boothe would know.

“I will be fine, save for the fact that I’ll be dead.” At that, Eloise badly failed to stifle a laugh. Camille frowned, but continued. “My soul is not in danger. What is important is that I leave the Empire as well situated as possible with the time I have left. I’m telling the two of you because you’ve proven you can be trusted, and I need you to understand the time frame I’m working with. The real tragedy will not be my death”—which, in truth, is deserved—“but if Malin and the Empire are not secure, if Lucien and our people are not safe.”

Unexpectedly, Boothe reached his hand across the table, and Camille found herself grabbing it. “I know what it is to be doomed by fate. Death comes for all of us. Even spirits have their time. But we can leave our mark on the world for those who come after, and ensure that our names are remembered. A man is not truly dead until the last time his name is uttered.” He squeezed her hand, a strangely intimate gesture. “I want to help in any way that I can.”

“That explains a lot…” Eloise inhaled slowly, then let out her breath. “I don’t want Avalon wiping us out the second their king croaks, and that’s a few decades off at most. I helped you to help people here. That’s not going to change.” Her fingers curled. “And I’m going to tell Margot she can stage with you. She’d kill me if she ever realized I took that away from her forever.”

“Thank you. She’s good company. And I want to set her up for success.” Camille wiped her eyes. “I hope I don’t need to tell you both to keep this to yourself. Even once Lucien arrives, I need to find the right way to tell him myself.”

“He doesn’t know?” Eloise’s head tilted. “Aren’t you two basically married?”

“Well, we’ve been apart. And I couldn’t even admit it to myself until… that outburst you both witnessed.” She bit her lip. “We didn’t want to get married until we could do it here, with his banner flying over the city. Now, that’s finally possible, but…” This will be hard enough for him. He doesn’t need to be a widower as well. “I’m not sure we’ll be doing that anymore. So much of what we’d planned is like that: rebuilding the castle, when those stone fortifications have been rendered completely obsolete; executing the turncoats, when so many of them have turned their allegiances back, and sacrifices themselves are so contentious; even reaching out to the other nations for alliances might be seen as an act of aggression that we would rather avoid. King Harold gives us leverage, but only so much, and if we push it too far, we risk Avalon deciding that his life is not priceless after all.”

“You might be surprised at how far you can push,” Jethro said, withdrawing his hand. “Prince Harold will not allow his father to die, no matter the cost.”

“That may be, but Avalon does not bend to his will alone. If his lords decide that our price is too high, they may well overrule him.”

“Both factions of the Great Council regard him well, and carry deep respect for his father. But that does not mean they would follow him to the ends of Terramonde,” Boothe conceded.

“And he might think you’re bluffing, if you play things wrong,” Eloise added. “You’ve got the right idea. Don’t push your luck too far.”

“Agreed.” Camille patted her face with her clean napkin, trying to return to a more presentable state. “Simon should be joining us in a few minutes. As far as he can know, nothing is wrong. Understood?”

“Of course,” Boothe agreed. Eloise nodded as well.

“Good.”

They both assured her that she was back in form by the time Simon arrived, though it was impossible to fully trust their taste in that matter. Still, that was good enough to be reasonably sure that Simon wouldn’t see anything amiss either.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he took the final seat at the table, though he’d arrived precisely when Camille had meant him to. “I know you’ve all been waiting for my economic recovery plan, but I wanted to verify how much we can expect Plagette to lend us before I put the final touches on it. Should we start there, or with the war?”

“The what?” Eloise dropped the tart she was holding.

“The White Night?” Camille wouldn’t have expected news of that to reach Malin yet, but she supposed that the seas were largely calm enough now that trade could start up again, and that meant news spreading along with them. “What’s there to discuss? Lucien and Fernan won. Glaciel slinked off with her tail between her legs, hopefully never to bother us again.”

Simon blinked. “I don’t know who most of those people are. But I’m talking about the Arboreum. You haven’t heard?”

Oh no. “What happened?”

“Damn it!” Boothe pounded his fist against the table. “I told him— Ugh.”

“What are you talking about?” Eloise nearly shouted.

“Avalon killed all their spirits. They had nothing to get them through the darkness,” Camille realized, dread running down her spine. “Now that the sun is back and waters are calm, they’ll want to take whatever they can to claw their way back to where they were.”

“For all the benefits I was taught of austerity, it completely crumpled in the face of a crisis. The Great Council felt they had no choice but to claim resources abroad. The Arboreum was a rich target, and easily accessible from Lyrion and by sea. Lorraine is already under siege from the sea, and it’s only a matter of time before the army makes it through the wasteland to their forests. Her Verdance chose to stay with her people, but a few managed to escape before the navy arrived.”

“They’re sending soldiers through Refuge?” Eloise blinked. “What a brilliant idea. Not like armies need to eat or anything.”

“Cya wouldn’t let them pass uncontested.” Camille clasped her fingers. “We owe her much, and yet if we join the war, we open ourselves up to Avalon’s attack.”

“Not that we’re in any position to help until your beau arrives.” Eloise scowled. “Fucking vultures. The sun hasn’t even been back a month.”

“Simon, how did you hear this news?” If we’re the only ones who know, that gives me a bit of time, though for what, I cannot say.

“The Cinnamon Tides docked this morning with refugees aboard. And dire news from Lorraine. The whole city’s probably heard it by now.”

“And I’m the last. Brilliant.”

“They won’t be sated with the Arboreum,” Jethro said, his voice cold. “It was King Harold’s will that our wars of conquest cease. Now that he’s out of power, and his edict broken, nothing’s to stop them from pursuing the first Harold’s dream.”

Simon frowned. “He accomplished his dream before he died: a united Avalon.”

Boothe shook his head. “History books say that, because it looks better for our illustrious founder to have realized all his goals, but his ambitions were greater than merely unifying the Avaline isles under one crown.” He paused, as if considering how much he ought to say. “He wanted a united world, free from the tyranny of spirits.”