Conquest of Avalon

Luce VIII: The Mastermind

The strange part wasn’t that everything had seemed to come together just as planned. At this point, that was coming to be expected. The strange part was, at least so far, it hadn’t erupted into chaotic violence at the exact moment everything seemed to be going fine.

Time enough left for that though. If it came to that, Luce could still come out ahead in the blink of an eye—literally, given the code he’d taught Charlotte to watch his face for, a successor to the old semaphore flags. Usually it was used for transmitting information across the telegraph towers dotted all over Avalon, covering and revealing a beacon at each step in the chain to carry news far faster than a horse could hope to bring it, or even a ship.

Luce had mostly used it for fun and games, talking about Harold with Cassia right in front of his face, or transcribing the latest messages arriving in Cambria to know things hours before the journals printed them. This summit in Charenton would be anything but, and it required a deft and careful hand. Thus, the code.

And the carefully shaped explosive charges under each of the delegates’ seats.

Luce hoped dearly that he would have no cause to use them—in all but the worst possible outcomes, he seriously doubted there would be any need to trigger the charges under Madeline Nella or Fernan Montaigne—but it seemed foolish not to plan for the worst after the year he’d had. If Camille had been behind Levian’s attack, it would at least put a stop to her trying anything similar again.

And I’ll be tarred as a treacherous monster again, breaking the hallowed laws of diplomacy and hospitality for my own callous gain, murdering guests under my roof invited under a banner of peace. But Luce was already the Prince of Darkness, the twisted tyrant of Charenton. Killing Camille here wouldn’t set him back any more than all her lies about him already had.

But it wouldn’t build a lasting peace either. Just the opposite. Hence, a last resort, merely a measure of control in case events conspired once more to thwart his aims.

Even if Camille seemed determined to tempt him. “I have no idea why Levian attacked,” she insisted beyond all plausibility, her voice dripping with smug glee. “It’s a terrible shame that it happened, a dark stain on all of us who have ever called ourselves his Acolytes.”

“It’s horrible,” Fernan Montaigne added somewhat perfunctorily, a strangely mundane statement to emerge from a man with green fire burning out of his face where his eyes should have been. He had a pin on his lapel with an emblem of the same green fire, apparently worn by all his Montaignard followers, but on the man himself, it served more as a silent statement of confidence. “A tragedy.”

“No, Fernan, a tragedy would mean that a flawed hero invited it upon themselves—and by extension, Charenton—as a direct result of their pride, or perhaps another inherent flaw that they were destined never to overcome. The word descends from ancient Giton dramas, and flattening it to an expression of misfortune serves no one but fools.”

“Is that right?” Jethro asked her, probably some game they’d planned in advance.

“Yes,” Luce hissed, eying their seats. “But his words were meant kindly, and discussing it any further would be a waste of all of our time. I would have thought such criticism would be an unwise use of your own, Lady Leclaire, but apparently you have more time to spare than the rest of us. Nonetheless, I request that you remain on topic.”

Camille Leclaire bit her lip, eyes barely holding back a flood of rage, but she didn’t press the point any further. In the space of a moment, she smoothed out every sign of irritation. It was so strange seeing her here like this, wearing the same blue dress and confident smile she’d sported in Malin, as if the daggers and arrows of the world’s misfortune had no effect on her at all.

She wasn’t any different under the cover of darkness, but I thought I could use her safely towards our common ends. Perhaps Luce might have managed it, if he’d kept a closer eye on her affairs, if he’d taken any steps to securing his own power outside the systems she and Perimont had turned towards their own ends. But then, perhaps not.

This was Camille Leclaire, after all. “I believe the topic at hand was our current venue.”

“Charenton,” agreed Madeline Nella, more reasonable by far than the bisected Simone Leigh, but still committed enough to opposing Avalon that she’d joined the rebels of the Lyrion League, and—until recently—loaded up with enough gunpowder to blast Levian away. “The people demand home rule. Charenton has been independent for half a century under its Magister, whom you drove into exile when you seized power. We were never one of your Territories.”

Ticent was such a puppet ruler that you practically were, Luce couldn’t help but think. What else would you call handing over Charenton’s rightful heir and then following the Crown’s policy directives faithfully for fifty years? Luce could see that Leclaire was thinking it too, though she was smart enough not to voice it aloud. She’d definitely steered the conversation this way to try to play Madeline against him, but if Luce had been afraid of that, he wouldn’t have invited her.

The rebels had escaped from prison, fled after Ticent to Malin, then returned as heavily armed as the Avaline Army, with state-of-the-art weapons. The initially-obvious suspect was Leclaire, covertly aiding an enemy of Avalon without showing her hand enough to risk an invasion—not dissimilar to what Luce gained by reaching out to Fernan Montaigne. But Luce knew exactly how many guns had been stolen from Gordon Perimont’s train, knew through Fernan that half of them were in the hands of the Guerron Commune, and knew Camille Leclaire was the last person who would sell scarce power for mere money. There was not a chance that she’d have given them all those pistols and powder at any price—nor did the rebels seem equipped to pay a high one to begin with.

Which left the question of whom, exactly, the Lyrion League could call upon to aid them, and how best those allies might be appropriately bribed or defanged or crushed, depending on the respective demands of the problem they posed. If Nella could be placated here today, the rebellion could be stopped before it had the chance to properly start. If not, the more information he could obtain about their assets, the better.

“You basically were before,” Jethro said casually, ruining the entire facade in a single careless comment. “I don’t see why you expect stirring shit up to win you anything better. Should have played it smarter; I might have helped out. Honestly, Horace Williams went about this about as stupidly as I’ve ever seen anyone try, and it’s only because my brother is such a gentle spirit that you aren’t hanging on the beach right this second.”

For a moment, everyone went silent.

“Mr. Boothe, you are not a delegate at this event.” Charlotte told him coldly. “Your input is not required.”

Jethro turned to Camille for defending, but after popping the bubble of her own strategy, she didn’t have much more to offer him than a shrug. “If my delegation is to be pared down, it’s only fair for everyone else to do the same. Charlotte, and Fernan’s companion should be made to leave as well.”

“Your guest’s foul conduct is no excuse for—”

“Charlotte, it’s fine,” Luce cut in, blinking another message to her using their code. “Take the others outside.” And see what you can learn. Jethro alone seemed to be an uninhibited fountain at the moment, for whatever reason, and Luce felt reasonably sure he could call her back if things escalated.

“Fine,” Jethro said, raising his hands above his head as he rose from his seat. Within a moment, only Luce, Leclaire, Fernan, and Madeline were left in the room.

“You aren’t a Territory now either,” Luce said, getting back on topic. If you want to play around with technicalities, you’ve sorely misjudged where my expertise lies. “As Charenton’s Magister has fled for parts unknown, I’ve simply extended the city and its environs my protection as a private citizen.”

“You’re a prince, second in line to the throne of Avalon,” Madeline said incredulously. “You were formally the Territorial Governor of Malin not even a year ago.”

“And now I’m serving as Lord Protector of Charenton, in much the same way as Thierry Verrou before Jules Ticent stabbed him in the back and abducted his infant son. Lucifer Charles Grimoire, the private citizen, not the Prince of Crescents.”

“A distinction of massive significance, no doubt.” Camille leaned back in her chair. “I suppose if Robin Verrou returned to claim his birthright, then, you would gladly step aside for the rightful heir?”

“Sure,” Luce lied. Robin Verrou had been a staunch opponent of Avalon for almost two decades without making any kind of claim on Charenton, and according to Father had never wanted to rule it even before turning his coat. Verrou was about as likely to contest Charenton as he was to give a guest lecture at the Cambrian College. “But in the meantime, there is demonstrably no greater threat to Charenton than the spirit Levian.” And—perhaps—his High Priestess. “The Lyrion League and I have banded together before to fend off his attacks, and I’ve assured Madeline that I’m willing to do it again, and again, for as long as this city is imperiled by such cruel assaults.”

Madeline nodded in fierce agreement. “Freedom is not possible without survival. It was only through the combination of our resources that Levian was fended off at all.”

How do you like that, Camille?

“Trading freedom for security is a sure path to losing both,” Camille countered, obviously lying through her teeth. Still, she gave Luce an impressed look when she finished, as if to recognize the difference between the inept scholar who’d fled Malin and the prince sitting at this table. “I’m prepared to vow here and now to do everything in my power to stop another attack from Levian against any city. I’ll dedicate the rest of my life to it, if needed. But Levian is but one spirit, occupying a seat that Avalon so bloodily rendered vacant not even a century ago. Bowing before your oppressor for protection against a spirit they would oppose in any case is wildly shortsighted.”

Does she really believe we can defeat Levian on our own, or is it just posturing?

“We’re not conceding our liberty.” Madeline nodded in apparent agreement. “Sharing resources against a common foe is one thing, but if you’re asking us to accept your rule—of Charenton, of Dimanche, even Lyrion—I’m afraid that’s not a condition the League can abide by.”

“Fortunately, I’m not asking you to.” Luce clasped his hands together, feeling the faintest smile cross his lips as everything fell perfectly into place. He waved his hand, and Graves brought in several sets of documents, enough for everyone at the table to read them. “As you can see, I’m ready to grant you your freedom, the same offer I once gave to Leclaire before she tried to have me killed.”

“I never—” Camille’s nostrils flared as she cut herself off, apparently realizing how pointless that point was to argue. And even if not, keeping me in a cage in Malin wouldn’t have been much better. She glanced down at the documents, then frowned. “A ‘Special Administrative Zone’? Really?”

“Self-government, just as you asked for.” Luce tried to smile at Madeline, though he wasn’t sure it looked as sincere as he hoped. “I’m willing to grant it, provided certain terms are met: the Lyrion League of states remains formally under the protectorate of Avalon; its member states are forbidden from arming themselves or forming any kind of state militias; and the League’s territory ends at the Rhan.”

The Condorcet man called Maximilien was whispering the contents into Fernan’s ear to verify that no changes had been made, but Fernan was already privy to the gist of it. After meeting with Rhan and Cya, even bringing down the sun himself to speak, they’d practically done all of the negotiations already... But Camille Leclaire could throw a wrench in things, if she reacted wrong. “Did I hear that right?” Fernan muttered quietly to his interpreter. “You’re stating that Avalon’s law enforcement can swoop in and take people off the street and haul them back to Avaline prison?”

“That doesn’t sound much like self-rule. You’re just extending your tendrils over the rest of Lyrion to try to control us. Like Charenton wasn’t enough for you.”

Luce pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re welcome to craft and enforce your own law, appoint or elect or convene your own rule. Avaline agents will be permitted to apprehend and extradite violators of these terms, not general Avaline law. Fernan, you should know that the primary purpose of that is to avoid League woodsmen from disrupting Cya’s domain and then fleeing back across the Rhan. To keep Refuge safe, there has to be accountability for violators, but we’re not interested in holding Lyrion to Avalon’s every stature, and the terms reflect that.”

“Hmm...” Madeline scratched her chin. “So if we started importing substances classified in Avalon as contraband...”

“It wouldn’t be criminal unless you tried to export them to the Avalon homeland.” Luce pointed to the terms of the paper. “The specific offenses are listed, but almost anything done within your own borders is up to you to legislate. Since you turned down my offer of Great Council representatives, this seemed the best remaining solution.”

And—not that Luce was particularly concerned with what they would think beyond a desire to pick his battles wisely—the Owls in the Great Council could be assuaged as long as they could hold onto their investments in the Territories, assured that Avalon’s economic standing wouldn’t be disrupted. It wasn’t much different from what Simon Perimont had been pushing before, back when he’d answered to Luce: leveraging Avalon’s position for mutual benefit, rather than tyranny. The Harpies would balk, but they were slated for absolute destruction when the Great Council next convened, given their failure of a war and the end of the circumstances they’d used to justify it in the first place.

Aunt Lizzie could pull it off. Her hold was only so tight, but framed this way, Luce believed they could win a majority over. The public would be another story, but that was tomorrow’s problem.

“I would need to take this to the Governors of the League,” Madeline said softly as she paged through the document. “But I think I can get them to sign on. This is most of what we asked for, without needing a bloody war to secure it.”

Especially now that you’re so much worse equipped to fight that war.

“Good.” Luce smiled and turned back to Leclaire. “Now that you’ve seen how that works, is there anything you’d like to say to Fernan?”

She considered it thoughtfully, then said, “I’m afraid the Empire of the Fox is not as weak-willed as this Prince of Avalon, nor is the might of our army being frittered away on an unjust war. You betrayed my best friend, Fernan, whom you swore on your soul to serve. Am I supposed to just give her city away to you with some legal fiction about special districts?”

Fernan shook his head. “You don’t have to do anything except leave us be. If Levian hadn’t withdrawn from Guerron, the White Night would have made this attack on Charenton look like a minor scuffle. Avalon has already agreed to respect the sovereignty of the Guerron Commune.”

“Have you?” Leclaire hissed at Luce. “Because last I checked, this rebellious commune is holding your king and father hostage. That’s quite a thing to ignore, but given what I just witnessed, perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised.” Are you trying to say I was weak for ceding those rights to Lyrion? How is that going to do anything to get Madeline on your side? “Guerron is sovereign territory of the Empire of the Fox, ruled by the rightful scion of the family Debray, as it has been for centuries, since the city’s very inception. Duke Fouchand took us in when we had nowhere else to turn, and you’d have me spit on his grave by selling off his granddaughter’s birthright.”

Fernan’s eyes blazed brighter and bolder out from his face, startling Madeline—and, honestly, Luce, though he tried to keep his reaction muted. “The well-being of the people is more important than someone’s birthright.”

“Hear hear!” Madeline agreed, which Luce found slightly strange. Most of the Lyrion League traced their ancestry to Avaline nobility, if admittedly on the lower and pettier end. Famine had wiped out most native Lyrionaise, and the commoners and gentry didn’t seem to be well-represented in the League’s leadership, even if they made up most of the rebel soldiers. Nella itself was an ancient family from the Vellum region, though never a particularly significant one, and Madeline herself was something like thirty-seventh in line to inherit anything of note. Still, she had her peerage, and that wasn’t something lightly discarded.

“So you’re just going to let him keep your father, Luce? That’s the plan?”

“No, I’ve formally requested that King Harold IV Grimoire be released from the Commune’s custody so that he may return home.”

Fernan’s eyebrows dipped into a triangle. “The way you said it before, it sounded like you wanted to keep him in prison in Avalon.”

“I never said that.”

“But—”

“But it doesn’t matter!” Camille waved her arms dramatically. “Even if Luce, in the depths of his soul, desires that Magnifico remain captive, he’ll be freed the moment he sets foot in Avalon, and saunter his way back onto the throne. That’s inevitable. There’s no freeing him without also returning him to power.”

Probably correct, honestly. That was part of why Luce felt so ambivalent about it, but it strengthened his negotiating position to pretend otherwise. That would make any concessions later seem more hard-won. Worked with Lyrion, at least.

Seeing Fernan’s deepening frown, Camille pounced. “That should concern you too, Luce. Magnifico tried to kill you, his own son. Eloise told me how conflicted you were about it, but surely you see that he can’t be allowed to go free.” What side are you even trying to argue, here? Was she just undermining Luce at every turn, even if it meant speaking out of both sides of her mouth?

Luce shook his head. “You haven’t so much as glimpsed him since the spring, while Fernan assures me that his concern has only ever been for my own well-being. I won’t deny his crimes, but he has no more interest in continuing this war than I do. My brother is only acting with such a free hand because my father isn’t there to tell him otherwise, most egregiously in the case of his eastern conquests.”

“You’d trust the word of a traitor like him? He swore to serve the Duchess of Guerron, then deposed her from her own city! He betrayed his own village, then Lumière, then us. Why do you expect that you’re any different?”

Luce couldn’t help but let out an incredulous laugh. “This, coming from you? There are back-alley cutthroats whose word I’d be sooner inclined to take than yours.” Though if experience has proven anything, it’s that no one is ever above suspicion, save for Charlotte and myself. “However, I remain open to negotiation, else I never would have convened this summit at all. My father cannot remain a hostage for vague threats of violence—on either side. If Avalon is to recognize the validity of his imprisonment in Guerron, it will be through a formal agreement, with terms far beyond a simple ransom.”

“Such as?” Fernan’s eyes died down slightly, though not enough to fool Luce into believing the issue was resolved.

“Guarantee of his life, for one thing. Reasonable care and comfort for his accommodations. Details released about every aspect of his alleged crimes.”

“Alleged?” Camille laughed. “Do you really not see what he’s doing, Fernan?”

“I don’t see anything,” he answered. “But I can’t see any reason to object to those terms. So long as the Guerron Commune’s sovereignty is acknowledged and protected, King Harold’s life has no reason to be threatened. Luce already promised to send scientists to Guerron to help us get back on our feet after the White Night and Guy Valvert.”

Camille’s indignation at comparing the two was plain on her face, but instead of objecting, she took a deep breath, then asked Luce. “And us? You mentioned the same thing in your letter.”

“If you agree to our terms, certainly. I have a few machine schematics on my ship that you could walk out of here with today, and promising young minds from the Tower eager to face new challenges abroad.” Though if you’re actually entertaining this, I don’t know why you’re coming off so hostile. It was strange seeing her like this at all, really, so stark a contrast to the cool manipulator who’d ably served then deftly betrayed him in Malin. Something was off about her, despite her great victory, and the Guerron revolution didn’t seem sufficient to explain it.

“Be specific,” Leclaire said. “What exactly are you offering us?”

Luce responded with the list he’d prepared, staff and schematics to help the Empire grow into a modern state, with weaponry notably absent from the list, along with anything Luce considered too great a risk of being applicable to making it.

That seemed to open the floodgates, because instead of further debating the larger issues of diplomacy, Leclaire immediately took the opportunity to haggle over minutiae like frequency and quantity of spiritual offerings, and Fernan countered back with diplomatic recognition, and it wasn’t long before Madeline—somehow—thought she needed to weigh in as well.

As it turned out, finding peace through diplomacy was utterly exhausting, more maddening than wandering the wastes half-starved. Luce allowed himself to focus on the negotiations, trusting Charlotte to consider the military implications of anything the other delegates revealed and analyze it later.

Until, at last, hours later, a final Treaty of Charenton sat on the table, written with Luce’s elegant penmanship. Maximilien of Condorcet, Jethro, and Charlotte were invited back in—primarily to keep things even once Fernan needed the finalized treaty read to him, but they all kept silent aside from Maximilien’s whispered reading aloud to Fernan.

“It won’t be easy to sell Lyrion home-rule or my father’s captivity back home,” Luce said. “But for what we’re getting in return—peace, above all—I believe I can do it. I’m ready to sign.”

Everyone would walk away dissatisfied with the compromise, if they would walk away at all. But it was the most Luce could justify agreeing to, the furthest he could stretch his principles in the name of peace. Not to mention his borrowed authority—Aunt Lizzie was on board with the broad strokes, and she held massive sway over the Great Council, but not unlimited power. This was the best it was realistically going to get. With a flourish of his pen, Luce added his name to the bottom of the treaty—Lucifer Charles Grimoire, Prince of Darkness.

“I appreciate that you extended the invitation at all,” said Madeline, pulling out her pen. “This isn’t what we wanted, but it’s a good start, given in good faith. On behalf of the Lyrion League, I’ll sign it.” She added her name in a compressed script below Luce’s, revealing that her middle name was Eileen.

Fernan’s eyes had dimmed over the hours, his energy clearly sapped in more ways than one, but they roused to life anew as he took his opportunity to speak. “I’m happy that you proved to be so open-minded, Prince Luce. Regarding Cya and Gézarde alike. If only your father felt the same way, maybe we wouldn’t need to be doing any of this.” He didn’t pick up the pen, instead singing a fair approximation of his name into the paper with his finger. Unsurprisingly, he left out his ‘Sire’ title.

Leaving only Camille Leclaire. Debating the points of the treaty had been akin to pulling fingernails the entire time, and despite enough agreement from the other three parties regarding at least the basics, she’d been obstinate enough about Guerron to throw the whole thing into question.

And right now, she wasn’t talking, wasn’t signing, just tapping her fingers on the table as she considered the proposal. “You’re offering a lot, Luce. I won’t deny that. But all the scientists and schematics in the world won’t do us any good without coal.” Camille glared at Fernan. “At the moment, rebels are occupying the Empire’s première mines. Are you prepared to offer us that as well, Luce?”

I doubt we could spare it even if we wanted to. A century of industrialization had left Avalon stripped of much of its natural resources, not that Luce would ever be eager to admit it. Hence the attempt to pivot—with the power of wind and water, sun and nocturne, there would be no need to play politics with Guerron to keep the engines running. “Cruel of you to leave your most important demand for last. You’re trying to pressure me to agree now so we can finish this. But it’s not so simple. Avalon has its limits, despite the face we’ve presented to the world. You can’t expect me to get the Great Council to agree to supply your potential war machine.”

“We can,” said Fernan, his eyes condensed into fire so bright it was nearly white. “You told me, before, that you were willing to promote offerings to Gézarde in exchange for some of his children’s food, ensuring that all geckos had the energy needed to survive.”

“And you rebuffed me,” said Leclaire. “It wasn’t radical enough for you to have a great spirit to provide for his children; no, they had to take everything on their own.”

“Don’t say that like it isn’t sound philosophy,” said Madeline, but the conversation continued past her remark without acknowledging it.

“Well, I still told Gézarde about it, and he agreed.” Fernan seemed even more reluctant about that deal today than he had across the river with the spirits, but fortunately the prospect of peace on the continent had been enough to persuade him then, and it seemed to be carrying him through now. “We can go over the specifics, but if you’re prepared to swear on your soul to promote offerings to him with your full effort and devotion...” He sighed. “I think we can work it out.”

“You’d have me devote my peoples’ resources to that mountain hermit? My family has served Levian for untold centuries, since before the Empire was even a dream in the Fox Queen’s mind.”

“He didn’t say you had to stop supporting Levian,” Luce added, trying to pacify her and prevent this agreement from falling apart right at the finish line.

“But I’m saying it now,” Fernan said, immediately ruining the gesture. “We can’t trust that you’ll give Gézarde enough support to keep the geckos healthy if your devotion is divided. Considering everything you’ll get in return, this shouldn’t be a difficult decision.”

Camille seemed to disagree, biting her lip with rage. “Your arrogance has grown immeasurably since last we met, Fernan. You’d have me forsake—”

“A monster,” Madeline interrupted. “He’s responsible for untold death and destruction in Charenton. The fact that this is even a decision for you is absurd! Are you truly the scheming sorceress the journals make you out to be, committed to evil for its own sake? Anything less, and supporting Levian is incomprehensible.”

“He fought your own fiancé in the White Night,” Fernan added. “And unless you leave Levian behind, there’s no way to be sure you’re fully supporting Gézarde, which means that the geckos’ very existence is uncertain. No, for this to work, you must sever all ties with Levian and devote your resources fully to Gézarde.”

“You realize he’ll kill me for that, right?” Camille bit her lip, narrowed eyes scanning across the room.

“I’m sure I could get Gézarde to grant you his protection,” Fernan said, though Camille didn’t appear to be convinced.

Luce held himself back from blinking as he gauged Leclaire’s response, waiting for her reply. If they were truly at an impasse, he had another way to ensure that Levian’s High Priestess would never trouble anyone again.

“This is a travesty,” she said at last. “An unjust assault on natural rights and hallowed claims alike. Truly a proposal worthy of the Prince of Darkness, especially now that you seem to have so eagerly embraced your reputation.”

Luce blinked four times in a pattern: long then short, then again. C for Camille, when I should have made it L for Leclaire... L for Levian... If Luce had called out for breaking their deal, back in Malin, things never would have gotten to this point. Even after everything, I suppose I have trouble recognizing her for what she is. At least this was cleaner, more humane than an eternity of suffering. Luce knew Charlotte had seen the signal when she started backing away from the table, heading for the detonator in the other room.

“But,” Leclaire continued, causing Charlotte to pause in her step. “It’s one that I can live with. Peace never comes without a cost, after all. I’ll sign your accursed treaty.”