Conquest of Avalon

Luce I: The Failure

Luce spent hours peering through the mist, though he couldn’t be sure what he was even looking for. His notebook sat beside him, untouched since leaving Malin.

Somehow, none of my ideas really seem worth pursuing anymore.

Usually the sun came out around mid-morning to burn off the fog, but today, it seemed that it would weigh heavy over the forest until nightfall.

“Prince Lucifer, I’ve brought food. Moules from the cove, frittered potatoes, and these delicious little green beans that climb your uncle’s rows of corn. Please eat.” The voice could only be Charlotte’s, almost as out of place in Avalon as Luce had felt in Malin. But she, at least, was strong. Adaptable.

She saw Leclaire for what she was from the moment they’d met, and I was fool enough to disregard her warnings. Now she’s as exiled as I am, cast out of the Guardians for her loyalty, and burned by Jethro’s lightning. Really, it was a wonder she did not despise him.

“I haven’t stopped eating, Charlotte.” Though it might be better if I did. It was just too easy to lose track of time out here. Hours could pass in an instant, while moments dragged on for days.

It had been the same when he and Harold were children, visiting Uncle Miles’ Fortescue estate for a change of scenery. Luce would bring his book up this or that tree with a skin of water and not climb down until both were finished, while Harold kept trying to climb higher and higher.

Something about the misty forest centered him. It could keep him focused.

It used to, anyway. I’ve been out here for days with nothing to show for it.

Just like my time in Malin.

Charlotte held a large platter in one hand above her head, her other, as always, at her sword. She set it down at the foot of the tree, then glanced up at Luce’s perch. “You’re like a cat, up there. The ground is just as nice. Your uncle’s castle, too, even more so.”

With a sigh, Luce hoisted himself down, slightly out of breath as he landed. “You have to stop doing this, Charlotte. My uncle’s household has enough trouble realizing you’re not a servant as it is. You don’t want to give them the wrong idea.”

“And you don’t want to starve.”

“Speak for yourself,” he muttered, uncorking the wine.

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t voice her concerns. Because I’ve taught her that I won’t listen to them, to my detriment.

“They made a plate for you as well, I would hope.”

“I’ll grab something from downstairs when I get back.”

“Don’t be stupid.” He lifted the bowl of mussels in her direction. “Eat. I insist.”

She hesitated, then sat down beside him. “I can’t believe your family has a house like that and you’re barely spending any time in it. I thought it was Avalon’s palace when we saw it from the boat.” She grabbed a fistful of beans, flopping out of her fingers, and consumed it so fast that Luce couldn’t be sure she wasn’t swallowing them whole. “There’s a room made entirely of glass where you can look out over the Lyrion sea. And it’s warm. Wouldn’t that be a better place to sit and think?”

“Too many people.” Luce shook his head as he separated the mussel from its shell, throwing the latter into the lid of the pot.

“But you’re the prince, and the Lord’s nephew besides. Surely you could have the space to yourself if you wanted. Just talk to your uncle.”

“I can’t.” I got his daughter killed, at the outset of a journey that led me nowhere, accomplishing naught save losing Malin to the Erstwhile Empire. Cassia died for nothing, all because of me.

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

“I won’t.” He downed his wine, then stood up. “Thank you for the food. Next time, send a servant.”

“But—”

“Thank you, Charlotte, you are dismissed.”

She frowned at that. And why wouldn’t she? But it had the desired effect, and soon Luce was alone with his thoughts once more. The wine was weak enough to feel no qualms bringing it up to the tree, and even when cold, the remaining fritters made for a decent accompaniment.

And then, somehow, the forest was already beginning to grow dark.

The quiet beauty of the fog was a blanket for his sorrows, but still, the ideas would not come. Not for Malin, or Harold, or what Luce could even say to begin to explain his failures. But that was nothing unusual. I’ve proven manifestly incompetent at such matters.

The real tragedy was that Luce was doing no better in his supposed area of expertise. Right now, it was difficult to even remember how animated his mind had been in Malin, filled with promise and ideas from the experiments with spiritual energy.

Even if his political career was over, even if Father or Harold or both wanted him dead, this was supposed to be what Luce was good at. The saving grace salvaged from his miserable venture.

But his thoughts were blocked. Empty. Even the idea of building from his existing sketches brought him no joy.

Jethro said that darkness leaves traces, and it seems I’m never to be free of it.

The next day, it was Mother who came. That, at least, was different. Surprising she’d even care enough to bother. Her hair was grayer, to the point that only about half remained brown, with creases around her mouth suggesting laughter. Signs of time passing, nothing more, but it had been jarring for Luce to see her so much older when he arrived.

“Mother,” Luce greeted her, not moving from his perch.

“Enjoying the forest?” She rested her arm on one of the lower branches, meeting Luce’s eyes. “I love it, too. Outside of Allora Park, there’s nothing green in Cambria.”

“There’s planters,” Luce corrected her, frowning. “I convinced Father to have the Crown plant and water them, to improve the urban environment.”

“Good for you, Luci! You were always so smart.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, and it was immediately undercut by a shrug. “Well, nothing left of nature there, anyway. Even Allora’s just a big garden.”

You can’t just enjoy it, it has to be a comparison with my home. “Was there something you wanted, Mother?”

“Could you please come down to talk to me? I feel like I’m speaking to a bird, and I know you will not ask your mother to climb up there with you.”

“A bird would probably make for better company,” Luce muttered, lowering himself once more from the branch. “Happy? Now what is it that you want?”

“Luci, we want to see you. Want to talk to you. Can’t you at least join us for supper tonight? Nice as this is, I’m sure you’d appreciate a break.”

“No.” He glared down at her. “No, thank you. What I would appreciate is being left alone.”

“Luci…”

“And stop calling me that! You don’t even know me. You knew the empty-headed child you left behind, who’d visit for a few weeks in the summer and then move on with his life. That’s not who I am. That’s not who I have been in a long time. If you’d been there, you’d realize that.”

She winced, evident pain draping itself heavily across her shoulders. “I am sorry that I could not be with you for more of your childhood. Staying in Cambria would have killed me inside, so I made the hardest choice of my life and left. But you always have a place with me, here. You need never return to Cambria if you do not wish to, and I would be delighted to spend the time with you.” She paused. “Of course, it would be nice to actually see you. I’m hoping you won’t spend the rest of your life in that tree.”

“I’m just taking some time. I need…” What could even help, at this point? “I need a way to get out of my thoughts.”

Mother smiled, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Be with us, and you will find no end of distraction from them. Come inside.”

“Not yet.” He sighed. Darkness leaves traces but the light blots out all else. “I need to… to deal with this. With me. I’m not ready.”

“My brother has lost his child. That is not your fault, Luce, nor Cassia’s, nor anyone save that animal who killed her.” And Jethro’s, for setting the whole thing up. “He does not blame you.”

“How could he not? And why shouldn’t he?”

“Do you think that Miles does not know his own daughter? Her heart ever called her to adventure. Even had you turned her down, she would have stowed away.” Probably true, but I didn’t even try to stop her. “He is saddened, as are we all, but grateful that at least you did not also perish.” She inhaled, glancing up at the canopy through the haze. “You insult him by believing he will misdirect his anger.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant, Luce. You always have to take on all the responsibility you can. But the blame is not yours. Not for Cassia, and not for whatever happened in Malin.”

“Of course Malin was my fault! I held power in the city, and I entrusted it to a lying snake who stabbed me in the back the moment it suited her. I didn’t even realize how much my grip had slipped until it was too late to save anything but myself. I was a terrible governor.”

“So was your uncle, as he’d be the first to admit. Talk to him.” Her voice hardened. “I’ve instructed the servants that you are no longer to be brought food out here. Autumn has arrived, and I’ll not have you catch your death of cold. If you need time, take it, but you must emerge into the world again at some point.”

“The world…” Luce scoffed. “It’s better off without me and my ilk. Everything I touch turns to poison, just like every Grimoire since we were burying people for Khali in the desert. I’m just the latest member of a long, unbroken chain of tyranny. Only instead of doing things great and terrible, like the first king of Avalon, my contribution is meager and all for the worse, not through malice but incompetence. I’m closer to the Shining Prince, or my great-grandfather.” Another fuck-up prince who almost destroyed Avalon, as soon as it began. “It’s evil and stupidity all the way down. I’m merely the latest in life’s great chain.”

Mother’s eyes narrowed, but when she spoke, her tone was soft. “You are not responsible for the actions of men you’ve never met, dead long before you lived. Your grandmother died young, and you never had the chance to meet her, but she actually sat me down and talked to me about this, once. I was probably thirteen, and my tutor was telling me the history of this island, the settlement and the clearing and all that, and as he went along, I gradually began to realize that he was talking about Lord Arion’s ancestor. My ancestor. And yours, Luce, just as much as any ancient Grimoire.”

“The Inferno.” Luce sighed, recalling the sobriquet of the first Arion King, whose northern campaign had razed most of what was now Carringdon to the ground, and miles of forest along with it. “You’re right, I forgot to add him to the list.”

She opened her mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, then sighed as well. “I had the same thought, and so I went to my mother, whom I had always thought so wise.” She paused. “It’s strange to think that she’s younger than I am now…”

“I’m sorry.”

Mother sucked in air, straightening her posture. “Anyway, she told me that her family were once the rightful rulers of Mamela. Their lands were taken when Arion arrived, their estate turned over to his daughter. They were forced to live in the city, growing poorer by the day as their erstwhile allies deserted them one by one. Family legends say that there remained only one chest of silver after a few generations of that, sure to be gone before twenty years had passed. Wallowing in their misery was expensive, you see, and maintaining a lifestyle they could no longer afford served to fend off the shame, to the extent that anything could.”

“Wait, Uncle Miles told me this story. They used that chest to lend to a nightshade merchant named Versham, and it was returned fivefold each year. Which gave them more to lend, and more room to grow, until eventually grandmother was a suitable match for the Lord of Fortescue.”

“And now their line rules Fortescue once more.”

Luce sighed. “I get your meaning, Mother. Saying that my every ancestor was a tyrant or a fool is hyperbole. Of course there were good and bad among them, like anyone else.” And you clearly thought Father was among the bad, or you wouldn’t have left us. “It doesn’t change that I’m clearly among the worst.”

She blinked. “Luci, the point is that they swallowed their pride, cut their losses, and got to work. You really will be miserable the rest of your life if you can’t do the same, with nothing to show for it. I love you, and I don’t care if you want to live the rest of your life as a country dandy, I will still be with you, but I know that that is not what you would wish for yourself. You’ve always wanted to change the world, and I love that about you. I admire it.” She hugged him then, and Luce returned it. “You will get there again. I know you will.”

“I hope so…” he said, walking towards the Arion estate.

Luce slept in the castle that night and the one after, but attending meals still seemed like too much, so he elected to take Charlotte’s suggestion and brought his notebook to the solarium, fortunately empty with so little sun to view.

It helped to get an elevated view of the countryside, being able to see over the tops of the trees instead of peering up at them disappearing into the fog.

And he still got nothing from it but obviously-terrible ideas and empty pages.

It was Uncle Miles that forced the issue, eventually. Tired of indulging me, no doubt. I should make plans to leave, if only I had anywhere to go.

Broad and strong, with a wild tangle of red hair looking like it had last been combed some time last century, Miles filled the doorway with his presence. “Luce.”

“I’m sorry,” he began, setting his notebook down. “For not talking to you, and…”

“If you say ‘for Cassia’, young man, I’m going to have very stern words with you. I’ve heard it all, and I won’t have you blaming yourself. No one but that dreadful pirate ought to.” He stepped into the room, then took a seat in the chair next to Luce’s. “It’s not your fault. Nor mine, as much I find myself doing the same thing you are.”

“I know, uncle. I just…” He wiped his face, keeping his eyes pointed out the window. “I messed everything up.”

Miles sat in silence with him a moment, letting Luce’s words hang in the air. “Your mother is too nice to tell you this, but yes, you did. You butted into a situation you weren’t prepared for, trusted someone you should have known couldn’t be trusted, and now the heart of the Erstwhile Empire is lost. Many people will die to their human sacrifices now that wouldn’t have if you’d simply stayed home.”

Luce inhaled, turning to face his uncle. “Thank you.”

“That doesn’t mean that you give up, or resign yourself to being foolish or terrible or any of the other horrible things your mother said you’re saying about yourself. You know what I’ve done, Luce, in the Foxtrap and the years after. You know what it took to make me realize what a monster I was being. How far into darkness my blindness carried me before I saw the truth laid bare.”

“I do.” I may never have found it in me to forsake Avalon’s ethos of conquest and destruction if not for hearing it.

“I would call it just for a man such as me to lose my daughter, were she not wholly innocent of my misdeeds.” His voice shook slightly, but Luce didn’t press him. “And even then, I did not simply lie there waiting to die. I quit my behavior and my post, and I endured. I did my best to do the right from there on after, and encouraged all who would heed me that war was not the answer to our ills.”

“You should have hanged Whitbey, too,” Luce muttered. “Would have saved me a lot of trouble.”

“He deserved as much,” Miles agreed. “But then, so did I. I did not feel comfortable with the hypocrisy, and left that task to my successor.”

And Perimont promoted him further instead. “He’s dead now, regardless. I don’t know if anyone told you that.”

“Your Malinese friend mentioned it. I suppose it’s better for the people of Malin to get to kill him than the likes of us, though I regret all the harm he wrought in the intervening years.” Miles leaned back in his chair, no doubt remembering that which he had sworn to never forget. “Luce, even after all I’ve done, I’m still here. So are you, and you never did anything half as bad. You made a mistake. Perhaps it can still be fixed.”

“I don’t think I’m capable of fixing anything.” He closed his eyes, remembering the site of his ancestors making sacrifices on the bloody beach. “But I suppose I have to try anyway, don’t I?”

A smile flashed across Miles’ face. “I think it would help, yes.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a mopey, useless mess.”

“In my time, I was no better. You’re forgiven, Luce, though I do hope you’ll join us for dinner.”

“Breakfast tomorrow?” Luce offered, trying to compose himself.

“If you like, but tonight we have a guest from Carringdon dining with us, and I thought you might like to hear what she has to say.”

Luce blinked. “Lady Perimont was stripped of her lands because of me. I don’t think any of their household is going to want to see me.”

“It’s their steward, Agnes Delbrook. Functionally the Lady of Carringdon until your brother grants someone else their lands. She comes to us with a problem, one of numbers and logistics, so dire that she fears the north will starve without our aid.”

Luce blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes and straighten out.

“I take it you are interested, then?”

“Yes,” he answered, grabbing his notebook. “It’s time to make a difference.”