Simon Perimont shut the door slowly rather than slam it, veins bulging from his hands as he did. With a pointed glare at Camille, he stepped up to the worktable Prince Grimoire had been using.

“Have a seat, Simon,” Grimoire repeated. “Please.”

“I’ll stand. It’s better for circulation. Father knew that.” He folded his arms. “Until Carrine and her bodyguard murdered him, anyway.”

“My condolences,” Camille said, as sincerely as she could fake. “Your father was no favorite of mine, but he was a principled man, and his motives were not selfish. That’s more than many can say.”

Simon blinked, mouth open. “Are you hearing this shit, Luce?”

“You don’t have the full story.” Grimoire turned his head away, not making eye contact. “Let her explain.”

“Celine shot him in the chest with a pistol, and Captain Whitbey recognized her! What could there possibly be to explain?” He pointed his finger towards Camille. “Don’t even try to say you didn’t know about it. That girl was your shadow the entire time you’ve been here. She came with you from Guerron and you vouched for her.”

To my unending regret. Why couldn’t Florette have just kept her impulses under control?

The question was how to handle this. The Prince saw her as a monster, so she’d taken the role of the necessary evil. But Simon Perimont wouldn’t be moved by pragmatic appeals to help the people; he barely cared about them.

No, it would have to be another approach.

“I didn’t have a choice, Simon. She had my life in her hands.” Camille turned her head demurely to the side, shrinking back into her chair. “To begin with, I do have something I must apologize to you for. You and your sister both, really.”

“I should fucking hope so.”

She smiled. “My name is not Carrine Bourbeau, but Camille Leclaire.”

He blinked. “The dead girl?”

“Or so I let on. I had to, to keep myself safe.” She consciously bit her lip, adjusting her posture inwards to look more vulnerable. “I barely survived that duel after Lord Lumière shot me with his pistol. By the time I washed ashore, half dead, he had imprisoned the city’s leadership and assumed full control. If I’d returned to Guerron, I wouldn’t have survived it.” Better not to mention Lucien by name, in case it reminds him I’m betrothed.

Simon’s head tilted to the side, taking it all in. “So you thought you’d try your hand at sabotage. Why else would you come here? Under a false identity, no less. Is that supposed to make me feel better about—”

“I’m sorry!” she cried out, willing tears to her eyes. It usually wasn’t hard, just a matter of remembering what had happened to Mother. Tearing apart those ships as screams and splinters filled the air, slipping beneath the water never to return... The real sadness panged her for a moment, but she moved past it. “I was just trying to keep myself safe. I had to find somewhere outside of Lumière’s influence, but where I could still blend in.”

“And yet you kept your hair blue?”

“I didn’t have time to dye it,” she sobbed. “The moment I arrived, Sir Gerald arrested me. I was stuck in that horrid jail for weeks, being baked alive in that cramped, dark, disgusting place. By the time I finally made it out, I had no idea what to do. ‘Carrine Bourbeau’ was a way to… to belong, to be around people I knew could protect me.” She wiped red eyes with the back of her hands, feeling the salty wetness that marked her success. “I’m sorry for deceiving you, Simon. I just… Once you caught my eye at that party, I knew I had to… to…” She covered her face with her hands, sobbing loudly.

When she pulled them free, she could see that Simon was beginning to crack, his stern gaze softening as he shrank back into himself. Perfect. “And Celine… That’s not even her real name. She’s a pirate named Florette, a monster.”

“Uh…” Grimoire tilted his head up. “She wasn’t without her humanity… Kinder than the rest of them, for certain.”

That’s right. “She was one of the pirates who kidnapped the prince! She recognized me, and blackmailed me into helping her. If I’d said anything, all she had to do was give my name to Lumière, or your father, Simon. Then I’d just be another corpse swinging the gallows on the beach.”

Simon let out a long breath, fingers tapping nervously at his sides. “You had nothing to do with it?”

Just one more push. “She told me she was robbing the train, but I couldn’t say anything! I never knew she was going to assassinate your father. I could never have…” She reached out and grabbed Simon’s hand. “I’m so sorry. We will stop her, and avenge your father. I owe it to you.”

He kissed her hand, and she knew she had him. “It’s terrible that you had to go through that. If my father were a different man, maybe you could have been honest. He was such a…” He trailed off, then quickly shook his head. “From now on, no more lies, alright?”

“Of course,” she agreed, allowing herself a smile. It was in-character, anyway.

That’s one.

≋

Pierre Cadoudal led the Acolytes of Levian now, despite his near-total break from the water spirit himself, and the centuries-old traditions of the Temple. I have to remember that, even if it rankles.

His temple building, an ugly edifice of grey stone, seemed fit to burst, clustered with people warming themselves in front of a roaring fire at the back of the room.

Camille surreptitiously pulled her scarf over her nose and mouth for the smell, and because such a large gathering risked disease, then shouldered her way to the hearth.

Pierre sat against the wall next to it, placing a log at an angle above the rest, allowing the fire to flow up from under it. He turned his head around to face her without getting up. “If you have another place that will keep you warm, Lady Bourbeau, I recommend sheltering there. Everyone is welcome, but space is at a bit of a premium here.”

It wouldn’t be at the real Temple. “I was actually hoping to speak with you. Outside?” She reached her hand out to help him up, which he accepted.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said to those gathered as he and Camille made their way back out to the street.

Camille felt her blood turn to ice as the cold wind blasted into her face, but she still pulled the scarf down so he could better read her expression. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Of course. What can I do for you? I was under the impression that you were headed back to Guerron.”

“Circumstances changed.” She waved her hands up to the sky. “I don’t know if you noticed.”

“Ah, of course.” His words sent puffs of fog into the air. “You need passage back, and that’s not exactly easy to come by. I can speak to Mr. Clochaîne when I get the chance, but it could be some time before—”

“Not that.” She shook her head. “Guerron has plenty of sages to keep people warm and safe.” Including one who had better get my letter soon. We need to coordinate. “But Malin is in a dire situation only I can help with.”

Cadoudal raised an eyebrow. “Guerron is home to Soleil and his flame sages. I wasn’t under the impression that your skill with water would help.”

That’s because you never learned it yourself. Instead you disdained it for money and respectability, selling out our every belief. Camille smiled widely. “Fortunately, I can. Prince Grimoire is quite the expert in energy and thermodynamics, as it happens, and I’ve been working with him to help craft a solution.”

“That’s wonderful news!”

“Indeed it is. I can’t promise anything yet, but our first experiments were very encouraging.”

He folded his arms, rubbing them with gloved hands in an attempt to keep warm. Good. “What is it that I can do for you, though? I don’t see much of a connection.”

“There isn’t one, aside from me. That’s not what I came here to discuss with you. Rather, it’s my position as Malin’s Spiritual Liaison.”

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“I beg your pardon? I’m aware of the Liaison of Commerce, the Liaison of Dwelling, of Curriculum… All the spirits are dead, my lady.” His head was tilted, his eyebrows furrowed in what was either genuine befuddlement or an extremely convincing act.

The latter couldn’t be ruled out, but it seemed like it was safe to proceed. “Not all, not even after Avalon’s campaign of extermination. And it looks as if some of those who remain are willing to help us.”

“Really? That’s—” His eyes narrowed. “You, a foreigner of Guerron, managed to seek out and negotiate with spirits that have eluded Avalon for seventeen years?” He didn’t say ‘eluded us’, so it seems like they weren’t even looking.

That was fine as far as this plan went, but still distressing to hear. “About that… My mother did you a disservice, not letting you come with us. All of you. Space was at a premium, the circumstances dire, but still… You and your order have more than proven yourself resilient, adaptable, and kind hearted enough to thrive here even in our absence. That’s commendable. Please accept my apologies on her behalf.”

A thin stream of visible fog escaped his lips as he exhaled slowly. “Camille… I wondered when I first saw you, but it’s been so long. And you were meant to be dead.”

She smiled. “The very same. Thank you again, for letting me in the gate, by the way. I might never have made my compact with Levian otherwise.”

“You’re welcome…” He breathed into his hands, rubbing them together. “What do you want?”

“To make peace,” she replied, mostly honestly. “At first, I resented you for capitulating to Avalon, but what else were you supposed to do? We didn’t have your back.”

“You were a child, that’s not—”

“It’s all in the past anyway.” She breathed deep of the crisp air, feeling ice creep into her chest and fill her with strength. “You adapted to survive, even if it meant abandoning so much of what it meant to be an Acolyte. But you preserved the core, that essence that stands more important than anything else.”

He shivered, rubbing folded arms. “Helping people, you mean. I certainly try.”

“You do, and it’s commendable. I want to help. I want to reunite your compassion with spiritual tradition, now that it’s no longer a threat to the Temple’s survival.”

“In what way is it not?”

Camille laughed. “Didn’t you hear me? I have the prince’s ear, and official authority invested in me from him. I’ve been meeting with spirits, negotiating a way to help secure crop yields, perhaps better supplies of fuel for warmth as well. It’s a price that Grimoire looks willing to pay, given our last conversation.”

“Camille, I—”

“I’m not trying to take over your operation,” she lied breezily, a smile on her face. “I’m doing my best to help the people here, to secure them a future, with or without Avalon. Don’t worry, I have my position and you have yours.”

“That’s a relief.”

Camille ripped a blanket off of the crate she’d left by the door. “Blue hair dye, if you desire it. I pulled a cache from the seafloor. Consider it a gesture of friendship.”

His face twisted for such a brief instant that Camille almost missed it, then readjusted to a smile. “Thank you! I’ll be sure to ration this carefully, so as not to waste the gift you’ve given us.” Liar. But then, she was hardly in a position to blame him for that.

“I just wanted you to have the truth, and to know that if you hear about meetings with spirits and negotiated deals, it’s no longer prohibited. I hope you can see me as a resource, a bridge between the old and new ways.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

“I could even introduce you to Fenouille, if you’d like to be more involved with that side of things.”

“... I think perhaps it’s better if I don’t. Each to their own role, no?”

Phew. “Of course. And don’t be surprised when I come to help. I’ve a lot to do on a larger scale, but there’s plenty of worth in what you’re doing as well, and I’d like to be part of it when I can find the time.”

“You’re always welcome here. And I appreciate the gesture. I’ll let the other Acolytes know to expect you, too. In case I’m elsewhere when you return.”

“You have my thanks.”

≋

“Are you feeling alright?” Simon asked with what sounded like genuine concern once she returned, a pleasant reminder that appearing to debase herself like that had at least been productive. “You were gone a while.”

“Much better,” Camille replied. “I think I just needed some fresh air.”

“It’s freezing out. And I don’t think Mary’s clothes fit you very well.”

“I managed. It’s fine. Thank you.”

Grimoire looked up from the device he was tinkering with. “It’s freezing out? Already?”

“Not literally. Just cold.” Camille shrugged. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“Could you plant this thermometer in the ground on your way out? I want to see how fast things are declining.”

Simon scoffed. “What, you don’t have some formula to tell you?”

“I have ways to guess, but that’s all. No one was taking the kind of measurements I want, the last time this happened. And according to Camille, it’s not even the same cause, so the effect could well operate on a different time scale.”

“Different how?”

“Soleil’s dead.” The one silver lining in all of this. “It has nothing to do with Khali, so far as anyone knows.”

“So far as anyone knows… No one knows anything. How is that supposed to help?”

Camille turned to Grimoire. “You didn’t tell him?”

“Tell me what? Luce here hasn’t budged from his desk. I can’t even get him to go out and make a speech.”

“I’m now the Spiritual Liaison for Malin. I’ve been talking to some of the remaining spirits, and all of them felt a pull to Guerron to choose Soleil’s replacement. None of them are aware of Khali returning from her prison world. No word from Avalon about Khali’s world either.”

“Nocturne,” Grimoire chimed in. “Easier to give it a real name than to keep calling it ‘Khali’s world’ and the like. Especially since Khali’s only been in it for a hundred and eighteen years, and it was presumably empty before that. Nocturne is the preferred term for experts and scholars now.”

“Whatever, fine.” Camille exhaled wearily. “The point is, I’m doing my best to help work things out to keep people alive.” For as long as I can… It was getting harder and harder to imagine giving Levian the thousand souls he was due in time, even purely on a practical level, but failure meant worse than death. “The prince still hasn’t gone to talk to people?”

“Ugh, I know.” Simon sighed. “It’s baffling. He’s the de facto Governor, and a prince besides. He needs to reassure people that things will go on as normal.”

“As normal?” Camille felt her voice, louder than she would have liked. “Have you looked up recently? Nothing about this is normal.”

“So what?” Simon shrugged. “We have wood, we have candles. Life can go on mostly as it has, for a while anyway. Why panic people? The best bet is to downplay the problem, reduce uncertainty and disruption to everyday life.” Disruption to your pocketbook, maybe.

“That would mean lying…” Grimoire set his tools down on the table and looked up, finally joining the conversation. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Exactly,” said Camille. “The last thing you want to do is lie so blatantly. No one’s going to believe you over their own eyes.”

“Sure they will. People will believe whatever you tell them to believe, as long as you do it forcefully enough. I’m not saying I’d go this far, but my father would probably have just said that the sky was still working fine, to proceed as usual.”

“I’m not exactly a persuasive speaker, let alone a forceful one. Or a good liar.” Grimoire sighed. “If Harold weren’t definitely dealing with so much worse right now, I’d kill to have him here.”

“You don’t have to lie, not necessarily.” Simon opened his hands. “Camille, these spirits are going to choose a new sun, right? And then things will go back to normal?”

“Eventually… There’s no way to know how long it will take, though. In the past, for some spirits, it took years.”

“Right.” Simon nodded. “So you can tell them truthfully that this will pass, and until it does we have candles and firewood and shelter and everything else we need to keep going.”

“Not food.”

“Well, yeah, so don’t mention that part.”

“I have to agree,” Camille said reluctantly. “Today’s problem is the cold. Bringing up food right now would only muddle things.”

“Really?” Grimoire raised an eyebrow. “We’re working on a solution, though. I would think you’d want to mention it. Honesty is the best approach in a crisis like this.”

“Uh, no.” Camille laughed. “You’re making deals with spirits that your people falsely demonize as vicious monsters. I’m working on it, but right now people here who know me at all will, at the very least, not be particularly confident in my ability. Saying that I’m negotiating with the spirits for the food issue, right now, before I’ve laid the proper groundwork, it would reassure no one. At least, none of the masses.”

“Well, there you go.” Grimoire flicked the back of his hand towards Simon. “Now, if you both will excuse me, I have work to do.”

Seriously? “I’m not saying you should stay hidden in your little hole. You absolutely need to go out and talk to people. Whatever your hangups, it’s long past time. Reassure people that it’s being handled. Be vague, and calm. Tell them that they don’t have to do anything, because the problem is being worked on by top experts and scholars. By your esteemed self, in fact.”

“And that in the meantime, they can go about their business,” Simon added unhelpfully.

“Look, give whatever speech you want to give, but you have to do something.”

Grimoire frowned. “Even setting aside that the last thing I need is hundreds of people staring up at me, hearing my full name and jeering at the stupid awkward foreigner, I don’t have time to write a speech.”

“I’ll do it for you,” Camille and Simon volunteered at the same time, then exchanged a look.

“Fine. Work together and get a draft to me by tomorrow morning. The Guardians can gather up whoever has the clothes to keep warm and is willing to attend, and the rest can read it in a journal the next day.”

“Excellent choice, Prince Grimoire.” Camille forced a smile.

“Yeah, I guess that’s fine. I’ve got an office we can work in, Car—Camille.” Simon smiled back at her, a slightly wistful cast to his face.

Yet another thing to add to the list. But as busy as her schedule was getting, this was an invaluable opportunity, even diluted with Simon’s mercantile ramblings.

Ultimately it was just like Annette always said: sleep was for those without anything better to do. And I certainly have my work cut out for me here.