Conquest of Avalon

Not just a rude aristocrat but a traitor as well. I was right to follow her.

“Look, whatever you want, I’m sure we can work this out.” Leclaire held up her hands in submissive surrender, the fear plain to see on her face. She looked diminished, thinner to the point of being almost meager, rumpled and slightly disheveled in a way that seemed totally at odds with her demeanor.

Her clothes still looked immaculate, but there was sweat on her brow, her hair slightly puffed up in the humid night air. Light brown and yellow hair stretched out across the top of her scalp, as if trying to claim her head back from the blue.

The scowl on her face was exactly the same as that first meal, though. At once haughty and self-assured. Not for long, though.

“What I want, Camille Leclaire, is for you to explain what the fuck that was, and I’d better like the answer.” Florette extended her blade slightly to make her point clear. “Because it looks to me like you faked your death to defect to Avalon.”

Leclaire snorted imperiously. “What?”

“You spent the entire evening drinking and carousing with Perimont’s children! Living it up under Avalon’s boot while Guerron bleeds. Why else?”

“Wow.” She rolled her eyes. “For a moment there, I was worried I was being accosted by someone of even moderate intelligence.”

Florette’s grip tightened. “I’d be careful about what you say right now. One more step and you’ll have a hole in your chest to match the one in your shoulder. You’re already supposed to be dead. No one would notice.”

“Clochaîne would.” Leclaire bit her lip. “Just think for a moment. Why would I betray all that I stand for? Avalon took everything from me.”

Florette scoffed. “Yeah, I’m sure you were miserable up in that castle with your servants and silks and jewels. People lost their lives in the Foxtrap, but you had to move into a different house. My heart weeps at the tragedy you’ve undergone.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, it was better before. All the reason not to let myself get shot with that hand-cannon and bleed out into the water. I have a plan, that’s all. Winning the Perimont children to my side is but one small part. You shall not interfere.”

“I’m the one dictating terms here.” Florette pressed the tip of the blade against her shoulder, the same side that had been left torn and red after the duel. “And why here? Perimont rules with an iron fist. There were rows of gallows all across the beach when I sailed in, a would-be liberator swinging from each. Guerron is where you need to be.”

Leclaire shook her head. “I do not think my return there would be well received. Duke Fouchand is dead.”

“He was a coward anyway. Too weak to push back, and look what it cost him.”

Rage flared in her eyes, an ice-cold blue. “You know nothing, girl.”

“I know you’re supposed to be dead. I was there to watch you fall, or at least saw you pretend to.”

“You were in Guerron?” She bit her lip again. “Wait, I know you! You were Fernan’s awful friend, doing all the talking when I asked him for help, squeezing money out of me like some kind of brigand.”

Florette’s eyes narrowed. “You only just now realized that? Bad enough you didn’t notice me the first time.”

“I suppose you’re just not all that memorable.” She folded her arms. “Your name was Celine then, as I recall. But I wonder if that, too, was a ruse. Have you ever once let a truth escape your lips, even by accident?”

“Oh, because you’re such a stranger to deception, letting the world believe you bled out into the sea while Avalon spreads its oppression further and further.” Florette shook her head disapprovingly. “I’ll say this much for you: however you did it, your trick worked. Every journal from here to Avalon names you dead.”

“How would you know?”

Florette blinked.

“I mean, from a journal. Can you even—”

“Yes, I can read, you glimmering prick.”

“It’s not a ridiculous question!” She flipped her hands up higher, more to make a point than surrender. “Most villagers lack the capacity. Your friend Fernan, for example.”

“He could read before his eyes were burned out, you stupid fuck.”

Leclaire winced. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

“You don’t seem to be aware of much, lady. Probably why you nearly died and everyone hates you.”

“That’s quite an ego you’ve got, thinking that your feelings apply to everyone.” Leclaire stepped back slightly, moving away from the tip of the sword. Her eyes flickered to the side of Florette’s face and widened a touch. “And it’s in very poor taste to accost a person you’ve already stolen from.”

Florette blinked. “What, do you work at the railyard or something?”

“My earring, you nitwit. I knew I recognized it. That pair is a family heirloom, you know. One of the few we managed to rescue during the fall of the city.”

“Are you seriously complaining about a trinket right now?” She put her hand up to her ear, feeling the cool gem hanging from it. “I didn’t steal it from you, anyway.”

“Well you certainly didn’t buy it.”

Florette gripped her blade tighter, trying not to let the strain of holding up for so long show. “I took it from a Prince of Avalon, whose ship I fucking raided. He’s our prisoner even now, a bargaining chip and a message.”

“What?”

“For all that you look down on me, my actions have actually accomplished something important. A bard robbed, a prince taken, plans for combustion engines appropriated from right under the Director’s nose! What have you done to break Avalon’s tyranny, Leclaire? For all your bluster, all you’ve done is fail.”

The exiled Lady bit her lip, her icy blue eyes staring coldly back.

“Wake the fuck up. Stop chewing on your lip and make something of yourself. You need to get back to Guerron and sort this shit out. If Magnifico is popular enough to appear in engravings next to your Sun Sage friend, I shudder to imagine what damage he’s causing. Get your shit together!”

She clenched her fists, back slumped forward. It was a strange look for someone who always held their head so high. “In Guerron, I’m a dead woman the moment I show my face. Too many people will recognize me. Lucien has no power, locked away in the tower, and Annette is in an even worse position. No one stands for them; no one will for me. I need to do this here.”

“Do what? Drink and feel sorry for yourself? You can do that anywhere.”

Her eyes narrowed, but the fury was muted compared to before. “The railyard…” she muttered. “You’re Florette, aren’t you?”

“Who’s to say?”

Leclaire smiled slightly. “Someone talked. There’s always someone who does.”

Florette blinked. “Did Jacques tell you? Or Ysengrin?” If word was getting out, it wouldn’t be safe to stay in Malin.

“Someone outside of these gardens who knows. Does it really matter?”

“It matters to me.”

“Exactly. Even you see the opportunity to be had in this city. Clochaîne, the Perimonts, the Guardians… Put all the pieces together right, and I can return this city to its rightful hands.”

“You think you’re going to liberate Malin, just like that?”

She took a deep breath. “All of it is part of my plan, as it always has been. I wrapped the Perimonts around my finger at the behest of your patron Jacques Clochaîne, to further solidify his support while making inroads of my own. Perimont’s grip is not as secure as it seems.”

Does she really know a way to do that? It did seem more believable than her defecting, but still… “Let’s say that that’s true. I don’t answer to Jacques. Robin Verrou is still someone I would call my captain, and Eloise…” Eloise is probably laughing at the naive peasant girl from the deck of her ship. “Clochaîne doesn’t get my loyalty, not knowing how he runs things. You must have noticed it yourself: he benefits from things too much as they stand. More of a businessman than a criminal.”

Leclaire nodded. “I suspect he would not take offense to the description. Rest assured, I will ensure that Malin’s liberation overlaps with his self-interest.”

“How? You say you have a plan, but it sounds like you’re just collecting little bits and pieces, throwing things at the wall.”

“Bits and pieces are crucial to the whole.” She started to bite her lip again, then abruptly opened her mouth to stop, probably self-conscious about the habit now that it had been pointed out to her. “By Eloise, you wouldn’t happen to mean that horrid quartermaster from Verrou’s ship?”

“Oh, you know her?” How did that happen? They didn’t exactly seem likely to run in the same circles.

“Unfortunately. She was obstinate and difficult, insulting me all the while even as I helped hide her ship from the bard. Then she tried to buy me a drink! It was the strangest thing.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Eloise.” Florette couldn’t help but crack the slightest smile.

Leclaire raised an eyebrow at the response, but shrugged.

Florette started to clarify, but stopped herself. “Wait, do you hear that?”

The party had largely wound down, and Florette had waited until Leclaire was far enough away that she wouldn’t be noticed or heard. And yet, the sounds of talking were growing louder and louder.

“...You are just about the furthest from perfect I’ve ever seen, Mary.”

“Of course I’m not perfect perfect! Then I wouldn’t be relatable to the people we rule over. You have to show them that you have problems just like they do, like that time I had to wait half an hour for the servants to gather firewood for my bath. Or when I had to take that boring Thorley kid to dinner and listen to him talk about trains forever and a day just because his father knows ours!”

“Those aren’t really character defects though. They’re just things that happened that you found hard.”

“So you’re saying I am perfect?”

“Hah! You couldn’t even remember the right shortcut. If we’d simply taken the main path, we’d be halfway home by now. I’m saying that lack of humility is another deficiency for you. You know how Father emphasizes the value of realizing one’s place in life.”

“I do have flaws though! Like, I’m too nice! Too sensitive! People feel insecure around me because I’m beautiful and smart and I’m from a good family and they just know they can’t measure up! You would know what that’s like if you weren’t always annoying everyone by chasing skirts and burying your nose in those ledgers. I swear, Simon, she said she had to leave because you couldn’t leave well enough alone…”

Florette’s eyes met Leclaire’s. “Hide,” she hissed.

Leclaire shook her head. “Put that thing away.”

“No!”

The Lady grabbed the blade just above the tip and moved it away from her, stepping past its reach. “They’re almost here.”

Simon Perimont held a hand above his brow, looking down the hill towards them.

“Hey, is that—?”

The sister, Mary, tore down the hill in their direction, nearly tripping on every third step.

Fuck.

Florette slipped the sword back into its sheath and turned to face the drunken noble brats.

Leclaire stepped out to meet them, her back instantly straightening back up, the weariness gone from her form. “Well if it isn’t my two favorite Perimonts! I didn’t expect to see you again so soon!”

“I’m full of pleasant surprises!” Mary Perimont called out. With her light brown hair, small frame, and inability to stand straight, she called to mind a sapling blowing in the wind. “It’s just one of the many things people love about me.”

Simon shot her a glare before turning back to Leclaire. “I must say I’m somewhat surprised to still find you here.” He turned to Florette, flicking his eyes up and down and sending a shiver of revulsion through her. “Or are you her ‘urgent business’, perhaps?”

“No, it’s just a coincidence.” Leclaire patted him on the shoulder, mercifully pulling his attention back. “Celine here just got in from Guerron as well.”

She’s using my fake name? “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you. I was just mentioning to… Um...” Shit, what name did she give them? Florette could hardly call her ‘Camille’ in front of these two.

“She was telling me that she was in the stands when Camille Leclaire met her end.”

“Hmm.” Simon rubbed his chin, looking slightly silly doing it for want of a beard. “That must have been quite the spectacle! Though given the Fox-King’s maddened outburst in the wake of it, you’re lucky to be alive.”

“I am,” Florette responded curtly.

“I think it’s saaaad!” Mary threw her arms out from her body as if she wished to rid herself of them. “She was horrible, sure, but what an awful way to go! Father doesn’t even let them use pistols for executions because it’s too inhumane. And in front of her true love, too. Even if he is a half-crazed tyrant.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Father doesn’t use them for executions because there are less than a dozen outside of the tower and they’re hideously expensive to produce. Once the prototypes are approved for the factories, I wouldn’t be surprised if he considered it. Not as clean as a noose, perhaps, but far quicker, and he is always emphasizing the psychological impact of these things.”

“Is that why he put the gallows on the beach?” Florette asked, horrified and curious all at once.

“That’s what he’d tell you,” Mary supplied. “I think he just likes feeling the sea breeze while he goes about his business. It’s too bloody hot in the Governor’s mansion, all up in the hills instead of by the beach.”

“I wouldn’t mourn Leclaire,” Leclaire spoke, a dark inflection to her voice. “It’s simply the price of doing things the wrong way. She made stupid mistakes and she paid for them.” She turned to look directly at Florette for a moment, then faced the Perimonts again. “Now that Lord Lumière is running things, the whole city ought to do better.”

She can just turn it on and off, just like that. Florette couldn’t help but marvel, even if these weren’t particularly canny marks. “Another sage, though. Still beholden to those barbaric traditions.”

“One step at a time.” Simon shrugged. “My father’s in talks with him, trying to negotiate a contingent of guardians to help keep order while maintaining the city’s autonomy. Relying less on the sun sages for security was a specific reason he gave, so we’re hoping there’s some room for improvement there.”

Leclaire blinked. “Really?”

“It’s delicate, and may prove redundant soon anyway, but conquest isn’t the only way to approach things. In all honesty, opening up Guerron as a market may be more important than claiming the territory. Either way, the fruits of commerce flow back to where they belong, but this way there’s no need to contend with the same… challenges that my Father is dealing with here in Malin.”

“It is strange though.” Leclaire bit her lip. “Aurelian Lumière fought harder than anyone at the Foxtrap. He’s deeply proud of his traditions. I’d always assumed that that business with Leclaire was to advance the position of the Sun Temple, not clear the way for Avalon, especially when Duke Fouchand received a similar offer. What is he getting out of it?”

Why indeed? All Fernan had really mentioned about Lumière was that he was a colossal prick, and even then, he’d done it in that Fernan way where he supplied anecdotes and let Florette draw the obvious conclusions as to his character.

Certainly, he seemed less craven than Fouchand, based on his war record, and with Camille Leclaire ‘dead’ there didn’t seem to be much need for further numbers under his control.

“He probably realized that with our superiority, this sort of thing is inevitable. He’s making the smart call to be part of it now rather than consumed by it at a later date.”

“Perhaps… I wonder, though.”

“Magnifico’s got something to do with it, I don’t doubt,” Florette mused.

“Who?” Simon turned to look at her. “What kind of name is Magnifico?”

Leclaire furrowed her eyebrows. “He’s the royal bard. His entrance to Guerron was very public, a gesture of goodwill from King Harold to the Duke.”

And yet the Perimonts have no idea who he is. He definitely wasn’t who he said he was, then, but a bard’s guise still seemed a strange choice for a spy or a diplomat. What was he really doing there?

“He’s been in a couple of journal articles,” Florette supplied. “Remember that engraving of Lumière? He’s the guy standing next to him. Long hair, purple cloak, strange mechanical music box?”

Mary tilted her head up. “I thought you said he was another Sun Sage, Simon.”

“I thought he was! It’s been a minute since I was last in Cambria, but I doubt I wouldn’t have been invited to see this bard perform while I was there. The articles I read certainly didn’t mention anything about him in specific. I wonder if he—” He abruptly cut himself off. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I don’t think it’s important.”

“You think so?” Mary asked. “Sounds to me like he might be one of our spies. Would explain how this Luminary guy got the pistol.”

Simon blinked, his face lighting up. “Thank you, Mary, for saying that without even thinking about whether you should.”

“You’re always telling me to shut up, Simon! It’s extremely rude. Most people think I’m very interesting, and they love to hear what I have to say.”

“That’s not—” Simon sighed, putting his hand to his face that didn’t quite manage to hide the hint of a smile. “I don’t suppose that the two of you could just forget that little theory? At the end of the day it’s only wild speculation, anyway.”

“Don’t worry,” Florette assured him, sharing a look with Camille Leclaire that, for once, wasn’t laced with suspicion or judgement. “You can trust us.”

“Absolutely,” Camille added. “We all want the same thing.”