Camille II: The Deftly Dishonorable
“I’ll think about it.” Crete Marbury hardly blinked at the offer in front of her, despite a salary fit for a Emperor and autonomy to match, despite the manse on the waterfront and invitation to remake the Debray institute in her image.
“Will you? Or will you show this to Luce to get more scraps out of him than you could have without it?” Camille flicked her fingers towards the paper, soaking it with water. “This offer expires the moment you leave Malin. I need a decision today, Crete.”
Marbury looked down at the sodden offer, already illegible, then glanced back at Camille. “Then my answer is no. It’s not worth giving up on all of Avalon’s resources and two towers’ worth of highly educated underlings for a few extra mandala and a better title.”
“This would jump you, instantly, from one of Luce’s many minions to one of the leading minds in the world, uninhibited by his limitations. I am bound to speak the truth. You’d be a queen among scientists. Exalted leader of—”
“Of a backwater, a washed-up city state with delusions of grandeur. Sorry.” Marbrury shrugged, obviously not sorry. “Print me up another one of those I can show to Luce, and maybe I can come back in a few months to give another lecture. Your scientists could certainly use it.”
You could use a lecture yourself, Crete: The Dangers of Overplaying Your Position. “No need. If you want more from the Prince of Darkness, you’ll have to ask him yourself.”
“Fair enough.” Marbury held out her hand. “Thank you for the invitation, and the offer. No hard feelings?”
No need. Camille shook her hand. “When you realize how much you regret saying no, you’ll still have a place here. Feel free to reach out any time.”
Marbury raised her eyebrows, obviously unconvinced, then stood. “You should know, desperation isn’t a flattering look. If Malin were half what you claim it to be, I’d have taken the offer much more seriously.”
You should know better than to prod at me like this, but you’ll learn. “I’m sure you’re right about that. Farewell, Crete.”
Camille waited until she was gone to pick up the soggy mass of paper and throw it to the floor. She barely even got the satisfaction of seeing it come apart before a server from the restaurant scurried out to clean it up, even having the good grace to ask if Camille wanted anything once he was done.
“Cognac, please. And send in my next appointment.”
In the interests of taking one last crack at Marbury honestly, she’d taken over the upper floor of Café Oliverai, the rare sort of restaurant that had carried on through the Foxtrap, the Occupation, and even the Summer of Darkness without any lapse in quality. A fire had shut it down for a year, but donations from Camille’s personal funds had ensured that they could reopen. Now that eating wasn’t strictly necessary, she found it all the more important that every bite she tasted was one worth savoring. The establishment, in turn, had only been too happy to oblige their Empress.
Annette arrived in a crisp white dress, taking off her blue jacket and laying on the back of what had been Marbury’s seat before Camille even beckoned her to sit. “This was a good idea; I’ve been meaning to try this place again now that they’re open.”
“Mmm.” Camille hesitated a moment, then told her, “You know, you should be careful about wearing white. In Avalon, it’s the color of mourning, and people are likely to think—”
“That we’re in Avalon? As unworthy as the masses might be of such faith in them, I’m fairly sure they can understand the city they live in.” Well, off to an excellent start, then. “You missed the race. The Green Team won.”
“Ah, that explains your coat.” Camille signaled the server to inform Annette of the menu. “The pageantry lost some of its luster after the incident last time. Another flare up like that and I might just cancel the whole thing.”
“Great idea, get an even bigger riot to deal with, anger both sides.”
My ancestors would have sent them walking on the seafloor into Levian’s embrace for the offense. For a long time, I would have done the same. Doing the right thing, Camille had found since crashing bedraggled on the shores of Malin, had a way of making things more difficult. It was important to remember that the most powerful tool at her disposal had never been Levian’s power, but her finesse in using it. Inheriting some of his magic directly didn’t change that.
“Shame about the race, though. I’m surprised to hear that Blue lost.”
Annette grunted in disappointment. “Clochaîne and some of the other merchants sponsored them, brand new horses carted in from the eastern plains, bearing their merchant insignias like some twisted mockery of heraldry.” She scoffed. “Blue will win the championship; that’s what matters.”
“Though some might say that the governance of our nation matters even more.”
“Of course, sorry.” Annette smiled, holding out a stack of papers. “With Simon away, we need your signature on the new taxation measure.”
“Of course.” Camille rolled her eyes, then inscribed her elegant signature onto the first paper. “How terribly convenient that this was ready just in time for him not to be here for it.”
“You could still go another way. The Peers won’t like the way you’re cutting through their exemptions. It’s a bad look, like the Greens wrote this themselves.”
“The racing team?” Camille asked, rhetorically, even though it was obvious Annette was referring to their backers. I tried to be a conciliator, but this division has grown too strong to contest, and I have to pick the side that actually helps the Empire. “Those who hold offices in the Imperial administration or the military already draw a salary that more than offsets any disruption.”
“And those who don’t—”
“Are not contributing,” Camille completed for her. “Now we can rectify that error. There’s no need to worry.” I have a plan.
Annette opened her mouth, then decided not to press the issue. “Yes, Your Grace.” She sat silent another minute, clearly trying to choose her words carefully.
“Crete Marbury refused my offer. For the time being, she won’t be working at the Debray Institute.” That should bring you some comfort, Annette. I know how it grated at you for me to offer it to another. “Once you have a chance to confer with the scientists, I’d like a debriefing on any progress made as a result of her visit. If they were doing their jobs, they paid enough attention to glean something useful.”
Annette barely tried to hide her pleasure at the news, scant surprise after the indignation she’d shown when Camille had broached the subject in the first place.
I can’t even blame her. When I signed that Treaty, I traded away her birthright, and her role in the Imperial government was all that remained. And a key part of that, one area where she was absolutely irreplaceable at the moment, was the Institute that bore her name. But for all her competence at administration and management, she doesn’t know the science. We’ve been trying to catch up to Avalon instead of charting our own course; we’ll need boldness if we’re ever to surpass them.
“There’s something I wanted to ask you. I want to be clear that I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” Off to a great start, aren’t we? “But the fact of the matter is that I’m a Duchess in name only, and the reason for that is the Empire’s inaction in the face of Fernan Montaigne’s revolt. And by the Empire, we both know who I really mean. Lucien would have loved nothing more than to blood his new army against a soft target, but you talked him out of it, said we needed to ensure that Malin was secure in this perilous time. You signed away my birthright with the Treaty of Charenton, legalizing the cession.”
It wasn’t a decision I expected to have to live with. “And?”
Grimacing, Annette continued. “The Duke of Condillac is visiting Malin for the Championship Race in a few weeks. With his ships, we could swarm Guerron, overwhelm them before they can even realize it. Harold Grimoire would stay in his cell, and we’d not only get back territory so humiliatingly lost, but also ensure that we hold the ultimate bargaining position with Avalon by securing custody of her king. Malin would remain safe, well-guarded. You wouldn’t need to go.”
“You want me to break the Treaty of Charenton.” It wasn’t a question.
“Only for a sure thing. I know I can’t convince you we should do it on our own, even with the power of the raging waves on your side. But with Condillac? By the time Avalon even found out what happened, King Harold would be ours and the fight would be over. They’re already throwing good armies after bad in Micheltaigne. They can’t afford to pick a fight with us over an internal dispute.”
She has a point. Today, Camille was bound to her word, Spirit of Dawn, Inheritor of the Deep, and, for the moment, Lady of the Lyrion Sea. But it had been the human Camille Thérèse Leclaire who’d signed the Treaty of Charenton, and she was no more bound to the truth than a cloud was to the earth. In theory, at least. It would be safer not to have to test that line of logic, given what doom misjudgement could spell.
But the rewards for doing it might be worth the risk. It would go some way towards making amends with Annette, bring desperately needed coal resources under the Crown’s direct control, and help immensely with all manner of other plots as well.
Nor would the change in leadership need to be overly disruptive. Per the terms of their deal, sworn before him and thus lacking the same potential as the Treaty, Gézarde was already receiving more offerings at Camille’s direction, in Camille’s name, than he had ever earned in his own right. If Fernan Montaigne had possessed half the ambition one might expect from a man who’d pulled off a coup against the woman who’d elevated him from a no-name, Camille’s position with Gézarde would have been a danger he couldn’t ignore. Fortunately, after four years of dealing with them, Camille was confident that the relationship between Gézarde and his high priest would not pose an issue, provided she went about things the right way.
So long as power continued flowing to him, the Sun would remain unchallenged; even the profitable gecko glass trade could perhaps continue. The nobles that Montaigne’s group had taken particular issue with could be shuffled aside to minimize resentment, and Guy Valvert would be—
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“You hatched this plot with your cousin, didn’t you?” Camille realized. “He’s not smart enough to come up with it himself, but you’re not usually one to pay attention to such attention to interpersonal politics.”
“What of it?” Annette said with a shrug. “His guards deliver my letters. Guerron’s become so corrupt under Montaigne, it’s laughable. We’ll have our work cut out, cleaning it up.”
I suppose it is fairly amusing that two of their councilors are on the Empire’s payroll. Surprisingly inexpensive too—such a bribe would have been laughed out of the Plagetine Senate, but the Guerron ‘Assemblymembers’ hadn’t even tried to negotiate.
Just as well, when spycraft is so expensive. Closing out that section of the budget would be only another reason to retake Guerron. “If we did this, you would be the Lady of Guerron. Guy could consider himself lucky to be allowed a house in the country where he can slouch his way into an irrelevant death. We’re clear on that?”
“Absolutely.”
Then I can’t dismiss it out of hand. “We’d need Condillac on board before we can even consider this. Should I seat you next to him?”
“Good idea. Between the two of us, I’m definitely the crafty social manipulator.” Annette smiled. “I was actually hoping you could work your magic on him.”
“I don’t know,” Camille said, bound to honesty. “His regency council named me too treacherous for diplomacy. We only got him for the Championship because he’s a fanatic, and because Lucien invited him personally. His council didn’t want to blow up their influence with him just before he came of age over something so trivial, but they’d stand their ground over war in Guerron. And what do they get out of it? Not shares of your lands, surely?”
“Scientific secrets. They weren’t signatory to the treaty; they’re stuck on the outside looking in. This is their chance to rectify that, and to test their warriors in a low-stakes contest.”
“They’d see just how badly Lucien’s professional army outshines them. That would make them reconsider the wisdom of ignoring us,” Camille noted, the idea sounding more and more appealing. “They’d agree to that trade if they were smart. It’s wildly in their favor. But the Duke’s council haven’t seen the value in those secrets so far, and they’ll be Clément's advisors even when he comes into his majority. Not to mention their refusal to treat with us at all. Don’t you think it likely that he’s already been poisoned against me? The way he fled Guerron after I lost that duel, it wouldn’t take much.”
“All I ask is that you try to convince him. Please.”
I’m sure I can find some way to do it. “I will try,” Camille promised, binding herself to the attempt.
I just need to think of the right way to approach him for it. Going directly was unlikely to work; the fact that his regents were allowing him to come at all was a strong sign that he’d been primed not to listen to her directly. Lucien could be a useful bridge, as he had been with the invitation, but he couldn’t be counted on to return in time, which meant that it wasn’t reliable as a plan.
“What about Lucien?” Annette asked, her mind obviously tilting the same way. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Rarely, and today is no exception.”
Frowning, Annette gave her order to the server, grilled octopus and lemon, then spoke to Camille in a low voice. “Do you even know what he’s doing?”
“He’s acting in his Empire’s best interests,” Camille answered, slightly annoyed at the question. “It’s no more complicated than that.”
“But, specifically?”
“No.” No way remained to evade answering with careful phrasing. Considering my limitations in the realm of dishonesty, it’s important that I don’t know the specifics. “He'll come back when he’s done, just like he always does.”
“But is that because he’s finished, or...?” Annette trailed off, Camille unsure exactly where her sentence had been going. “Look, I remember your 25th anniversary. You told him you wouldn’t see the new year, and he ran away because he couldn’t deal with it.”
“Because I lied to him, Annette.”
“Well, sure, but... He abdicated all of his responsibilities. I know you didn’t see a future with him then, or you wouldn’t have asked me to find silphium for you. Obviously, you changed your mind, but... You don’t have to tell me, but you were always happy to talk about your relationship with me before you married. I just want to know what happened.”
Well, it’s a shame that it’s none of your business then, Annette. “He was trying to save me. And in the end, he did. Simple as that. I asked you for silphium because I didn’t see any future for myself, because I thought I was going to be dead.” Camille paused, trying to make sure she could address all of Annette’s points. “And it wasn’t and isn’t an abdication. Lucien knows that the best thing for the realm is leaving the most capable ruler in charge.”
Annette snorted. “Convenient, that it just so happens to be you.”
Good, laugh all you want, and don’t ask me again. “We’re all fortunate in that.” Camille would have to talk to Lucien about this when he returned and make sure he let nothing slip in front of Annette. If word got out, consequences could be catastrophic.
“I’m just worried about you.” Annette pulled a packet of pixie powder from her jacket, expensive enough she had to keep it on her person, now that Plagette refused to trade with them directly. “I know the Spirit Convocation is coming up now. It’s about as good a reason as it gets to be a bit distracted, apprehensive, but we need—”
“You think I’m distracted?” When I was human, I could have flatly denied it, but now I’m stuck with questions. “I’m the Spirit of Dawn, the raging waves. I can’t neglect my domain any more than I can neglect Lucien’s.”
Annette didn’t dispute that, but it was easy to see what she was thinking: doing both, even for you, might be too much.
Thankfully, Annette didn’t bring Lucien up again for the rest of their lunch, and it passed more pleasantly than most had in the last four years. Perhaps at last some of the resentment would fade, now that there was a real chance to help her instead of leaving Guerron twisting in the wind over politics. At the cost of another betrayal, when I’ve already built my reputation on treachery...
Camille seriously considered the matter as she made her way towards a boarded-off well not far from Oliverai, her usual entrance down into the tunnels, no longer meaningfully a secret but still so expansive and labyrinthine that paths could be drawn through them that would avoid any riff-raff.
For her next meeting, it was somewhat important not to be spotted.
Ysengrin, after all, was still officially supposed to be in Charenton with Simon.
Camille met him on an isolated patch of the beach, pleased to see him greet her with a roguish smile on his face. “Success?” she asked, watching him climb out of his skiff.
“We arrived just before the Prince of Darkness left for Cambria. It was perfect timing, really, although Simon was sorry to miss him. But with the Prince’s Lieutenant gone, everyone left let their guard down a lot. Much easier to chat during work hours, laxer security... The network’s in place, and it’s already yielding results.”
“Good.” Camille nodded, relieved that something was going right for once. “Give me names.”
“Are you sure? You said it was better not to hear some things, so that you could—”
“Tell me.” The time might come when I need to contact them without going through you. “Everything you can.”
“Ok,” Yse shrugged, then pulled out a sheaf of papers written in code. “The leader of the operation is Russel Perl—he managed to get a job at the Cambrian Tower studying energy storage. They’re trying to hold spiritual power in these giant glass tanks. Apparently they already figured out how to do it with wind and water mills too, but the potency isn’t there for what they’re looking for.”
Oh good, technology whose function I can replicate better on my own. “His girlfriend is helping him too, though she doesn’t know it. Dead drops, deliveries, that sort of thing. Less suspicious. Her name’s Verona Greenglass. Her brother Paul recruited them both at my suggestion—he’s the one in Charenton.” Yse beamed, rightfully proud of what he’d accomplished. “It helps that the people awarded these plum jobs are such an interconnected circle. They all went to the same schools, their parents knew each other, and most end up marrying each other too. They trust each other.”
For now. Given what they were doing, that was liable to change. “Any useful information? Dare I even ask if you figured out what the DV bomb is?”
“I don’t know what the D and the V stand for—it’s blacked out in all the documents I got—but Paul got tapped to help sort some data from the tests.” Yse flipped to another paper, this one mostly consisting of a messily sketched list of numbers. “If I decode these coordinates right, we can visit one and see exactly what it does. But I’m not there yet—everything I’ve tried has just been empty spots in the middle of the ocean. I can’t tell for sure if I’m decoding wrong or it just doesn’t leave any traces.”
“Neither prospect is comforting. We need more information. Hmm...” Camille looked out at the water, considering the best approach. “Crete Marbury left this morning. The trains were actually working for once, so she’ll be in Charenton tonight. You’ll find her there, and strike up a conversation. Charm her.”
“Me?”
“Why not? You’re handsome, you know what information you need. You collected the dossier on her in the first place, so it shouldn’t be hard to feign common interests. She’s not interested in women, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“What, because she didn’t go after you?”
“It’s usually a reliable metric.” Camille shrugged. “As long as you’re careful, there’s no downside to trying. Whatever helps verify the test data. If she mentions doing experiments on the open ocean, that points to you decoding correctly. Maybe you can even get a quadrant. But don’t come on too strong, just a little bit to check your work against.”
“If that’s what you want, Your Grace.” Yse did not look particularly comfortable with the task, but Camille was confident he would rise to the occasion.
“Do you have the dossier on her memorized?” she asked.
“I’ll review it on the train up. By the time I arrive, I should be fine.” Yse hesitated, then tucked the papers back into place. “This isn’t part of my job, and it’s not really my place to ask, but... the things I hear about Marbury, the things we dug up on her—the artificial spirit-touched slaves, the medical experiments, the Khali cult, whatever this DV bomb truly is... Is this really who you want running the Debray Institute?”
Camille chuckled. “That isn’t part of your job, and there’s no need for you to know.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Hearing that, she felt comfortable telling him. “Marbury won’t be running anything. For one thing, she refused my offer. For another, the leadership of the Institute is promised to the woman it’s named for.”
“So there’s no chance she’ll defect?”
“I didn’t say that.” What did you call Malin again, Crete? A washed-up backwater? “Luce might not care that she’s an amoral Khali cultist, or that she tried to turn living people into husks just to find a better soldier. By himself, I doubt his brother would either. But once the public knows? She won’t be able to get a job selling journals. She’ll be toxic over there, begging to defect. And she’ll be grateful for the opportunity to serve at Annette’s pleasure.”
“Ahhh...” Yse smiled, realizing the plan.
“When you’ve memorized the dossier, give it to a woman named Marie Laure, she’s a friend of Scott Temple. She’ll publish all of it without it pointing back to us. If she doesn’t bite, try other cities, but Charenton’s ideal since Luce doesn’t censor, and he’s unlikely to retaliate when it’s printed. If she’s known Scott for any length of time, Laure will want to follow up. Make sure the evidence is still there for her to find. Then return once you have the coordinates for these DV bomb test sites. I want to see it with my own eyes.”
“Y-yes, Your Grace.”
“I believe you’ll rise to the occasion, Ysengrin.” Though we may find that seduction is beyond your skill set. It was still a worthy effort, considering how little ground Camille had made on her own. Marbury had her guard up against her, but the right intermediary had a good chance of slipping past her defenses. In fact—
“Get Margot in my office,” Camille ordered the moment she returned to the Administration Building. I think I know exactly how to handle the Duke of Condillac.