Camille III: Two Steps Ahead
“We have to do something—they’re going to kill him.” Annette buzzed around Camille’s ear like an irritating pyrefly, acting as if Guy Valvert hadn’t wholly brought this on himself.
“Not now,” Camille hissed, keeping her face turned towards the field.
Étienne Clément, Duke of Condillac, turned his head briefly at the commotion, close enough in his place of honor to have heard some of it and likely guessed the rest. Before he could chime in, though, Margot poked him on the nose, turning his attention back her way.
“We have to move now, Camille. They found some letters with Rochaort, but that doesn’t mean—”
“Drop it,” Camille insisted.
Seeing her oldest friend shrink back, Camille relented enough to elaborate. “It was a good enough plan to consider when we had surprise on our side. Now it’s dead, with Guy not far behind. You need to accept that.” I suppose it’s fitting, in a way. Guy had never given his cousin the slightest consideration until Lumiére had locked her up, and now his own captivity was provoking the same response from Annette, this time largely undeserved.
Camille understood her guilt—it had been Annette who gave him Montaigne’s name and pleaded for him to bring the village sage into Guerron—but Guy Valvert had made a hundred mistakes that had sealed his fate in between then and now, latest but not least of which was trying to cut the Empire out of the Guerron Duchy so he could continue to run it as a vassal to Condillac.
As soon as word had broken out of the Miroirdeau Affair, as the journals were calling it, Camille had appeased the aristocrats in her court with a firm statement of denial, elegantly massaged with Scott’s careful words then signed with Camille’s own name, though she hadn’t been the one to do it. Nothing stopped a spirit from letting other people lie, then lie again to say that their words were Camille’s. But she knew Guy too well to believe for a moment that the letter hadn’t been his, even if Annette hadn’t already let her in the plot. The bastard had tried to steal Guerron right out from under his saviors!
He deserved whatever was coming to him. Why Annette can’t see that... I suppose guilt can outweigh sense.
“Have you heard about this Paul Armand that Montaigne took on as his pet? They’re calling him the Spirit of Death. He’s already locked up half the prison guards, three of the knights your precious treaty freed, and even one of their own false city councilors. They’re going to hold a sham trial for treason, Camille, and there’s only ever one punishment for that. No one with a higher pedigree than the pig farmers is safe there—unless we act now.”
If Fernan really brought on someone that zealous, there’s a real risk to the Assembly members on my payroll. Camille had her doubts, though. “We’ll talk about this later, alright? I promise.”
Annette didn’t look terribly convinced, but the surety of a spirit’s promise mollified her enough to get her to return to her seat, thankfully. If Guy Valvert had simply possessed the good grace to trip and fall off his balcony four years ago, none of this would have been a problem. Instead, the Empire was constantly on the razor’s edge of annihilation, projecting strength they lacked and leaning on the fragile diplomatic ties of a treaty wildly in their enemies’ favor.
It wasn’t a sustainable position. Allies would be a necessity in the months to come. Condillac was one part of that, asinine Guerron invasion plan or no, and by the looks of it, Camille was about to get a report on another opportunity.
“I have news for you, if I may, Your Grace.” Sire Miro Mesnil bowed before her, taking the seat to Camille’s right once she gave him the nod. He sported a fresh wound across his nose, likely to scar him forever, but his lean muscles and determined visage made it clear he was already raring for the next fight. “I take it discussion of the new taxes didn’t go well?”
What? Camille took a moment to reorient herself in the conversation. “Annette is simply concerned over the fate of her moronic cousin now that he’s put himself in the rebels’ sights.”
“She must not have gotten the chance to bring it up. It’s your right as Empress, of course, but alienating the peers who rallied behind you when you took Malin may prove unwise, Your Grace. Even I’m not exactly delighted to come home and find your bureaucrats stealing what I rightfully inherited,” Miro muttered. “But if it’s Montaigne that concerns you, I could be convinced to write to my brother. He has Montaigne’s trust, and his ear. The mutual sympathy of cripples, I suppose.”
“Dominique Mesnil?” Camille scoffed, waving her hand so dismissively that Miro immediately dropped the topic. Whatever the knight’s protestations, it was blindingly obvious that his brother was a rebel in truth, instead of the double agent Miro still insisted on professing him to be. Twice he’d refused Camille’s money, and even thrown out Ysengrin after she’d tried a more indirect approach. Losing his leg in the White Night had clearly been a point of no return, and even his stalwart brother could surely see it. Even if he refused to admit it.
Miro wanted to keep entertaining the fiction that he wasn’t kin to a traitor, which Camille could humor considering his contributions to Lucien’s efforts, but that didn’t mean she had any intention of sitting there and listening to it.
“You said you had news. Since you sought me out here, I’m assuming it’s not too sensitive to discuss.” Despite her words, she kept her voice quiet, inviting Miro to do the same. “How go Lucien’s diplomacy efforts?” Hopefully well, considering it meant him missing the championship he personally invited Condillac to. Luckily Margot seemed to be keeping him entertained, as instructed, but it was still the sort of snub better avoided, especially considering the hostility of the Regency Council.
“Promising,” Miro answered, though his face didn’t much reflect the good news. “After Micheltaigne and the Arboreum, the whole continent recognizes the threat Avalon poses.” It would have been nice if they’d realized that twenty years ago, but I’ll take what I can get. “The Spirit of the Hearth knows he’s first on the list after Micheltaigne is pacified, and his invasion of Hiverre has stalled enough for him to turn his attention elsewhere, provided Glaciel is willing to let the present borders stand.”
“That’s not all that promising. Glaciel was willing to blot out the sun to get what she wanted before. I doubt she’ll let Volobrin keep an inch of those worthless ice flats.” When the invasion had first begun, Camille had feared the Winter War come again, but in practice Glaciel’s armies had largely glared at Volobrin’s from their trenches, occasionally pushing them far enough back for the Queen of Winter to move her drinks cabinet a foot closer to Serpichon.
For his part, Volobrin had started strong but quickly faltered once the mire of Corro’s wastes had bogged down his forces in hostile terrain. It didn’t help that someone had sold Avaline weapons to Hiverre, including the new rotating guns. It was a testament to his power that he’d even made it this far.
Scant surprise that the Hearth Spirit was looking for an exit strategy, and pushing back an Avaline invasion was a good enough cause that none could contest his reasoning. And so the domain remains sundered, the reconquest failed. Still, after four years of war with Hiverre, Serpichon boasted veteran soldiers experienced fighting against Avaline guns. Invaluable allies, if they could be courted appropriately.
“What about the Rhan lands? They’ve been letting Avalon run roughshod through them to fight their war in Micheltaigne, but that doesn’t make them allies.” Fouchand had understood the importance of sitting back and choosing the right moment to strike back, and it seemed that Lucien’s distant cousin felt the same way.
“Empress Hermeline won’t move until Rhan ascends Levian’s seat, but once she’s assured of her patron’s power, it’s obvious her capitulation to Avalon will end. As soon as you step aside—”
“You presume too much.” Getting into my plans for that Convocation with you here and now would be folly. And partnering with a Rhan Empire whose patron was Lord of the Lyrion Sea was a sure way to find the Fox Empire at the junior end of the coalition. Not acceptable.
“But, Your Grace—”
“What of Micheltaigne?” Camille interrupted. What of my Red Knight?
“Princess Mars ambushed an Avaline supply convoy from the rear, just south of Fleuville as they crossed the river. The Red Knight met them on the opposite bank, and the Rhan ran red. Thousands of crates of supplies were swept out to sea, months worth of food amassed from their territories to feed thousands of soldiers. Apparently General Echols is furious with Hermeline for allowing it to happen on Rhanoir soil.”
Excellent. Camille could say nothing aloud, could allow no risk that the Empire be tied to the noble resistance in Micheltaigne lest their violation of the Treaty of Charenton come to light. Nonetheless, she offered her personal felicitations to the Red Knight, her noble savior. There’s nothing quite like a deniable asset with unmatched aptitude for war. The whole idea was so brilliant that Camille wished she’d come up with it herself, though she’d figured out how best to turn the Red Knight towards more productive ends after her ascendance in Charenton. Miro himself toed a delicate line, forgoing his personal coat of arms in battle and ensuring that nothing linked the Mesnil name to the Red Knight, but the surest security was that he simply wasn’t that valuable to her. “You wouldn’t have any personal knowledge of such events, would you?”
“Of course not, Your Grace,” Miro lied, not quite hiding his smile. “Word of the battle had reached every tavern in Fleuville by the time I left the Empress’ palace. They’re calling it the Rhan’s Banquet, though most of the supplies were swept out to the Coullée Verte. Some even suspect that Mars will use the victory to stage an assault on Salhaute. With Avalon cut off, there’s never been a better time than now.”
And to whom will the young princess extend her thanks, once secure in her throne? Nothing less than her savior, of course. “Excellent work, Miro. Feel free to stay in town until the championship is done, though I’ll expect you to return to Lucien’s side as soon as it's over. Check back with me for messages and orders when the time comes.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Miro dipped his head, then stood, taking her dismissal for what it was.
Without any prompting, Eloise Clochaîne plopped herself down in Sire Mesnil’s place of honor not a moment after he was gone. Camille contemplated mentioning the impertinence, but people anything other than obsequious these days were thin enough on the ground that she let the offense slide. Lucien was the only true exception, but she saw so little of him these days...
Even old friends like Annette couldn’t be counted on to speak plainly, now that there was something she wanted from her Empress, let alone the third tier courtiers like Raoul de Montgallet or Madeleine Lazare. Neither had made it onto the invitations list for the Emperor’s box today, but they’d graciously thanked Camille for the consideration anyway, and were now stewing furiously in the stands in their blue apparel. Contrast lent a certain charm to Clochaîne’s bluntness. She smiled cheekily without a word, then started applauding as the Green Team’s racer rounded the finish line.
The Green Team took the first race overwhelmingly. Though the thoroughbred plains horses donated by their merchant backers were bedecked with gaudy insignias that made them look like a farcical cross between a journal advertisement and a jester, they had what was needed to win; this time, they didn’t even need to play dirty. Green racer Claire de Calignac had already dismounted by the time her Blue opponent, Alvis de Sableton, crossed the threshold.
There was a brief moment of shouting after someone threw a rock at the winner from the stands, but a guard was fortunately close enough to apprehend them before it could flare up into anything serious. Per the terms of the Code Leclaire, he’d receive a trial, but it was hard to imagine any magister humoring the possibility of his innocence when his crime had been witnessed by thousands of people.
Gracious in defeat, Sableton pulled Calignac out of the way and cursed at the assailant, earning a riotous rush of applause from the green half of the audience that only increased in volume once the offender was hauled away.
“What do you think of him?” Camille asked Eloise casually. “Alvis de Sableton. They say he hid out with the Blue Bandit in the days of the occupation, fighting the good fight against Butcher Arion and his Guardians.”
Eloise let out a short, undignified laugh. “Yeah, how do you think Whitbey found them? Obviously there’s nothing suspicious about the fact that he was the only one of them to live.”
“Do you really believe that?” Camille asked, genuinely curious. “You were here then, while I was not, but his claim that he was already hiding out in Sableton seems plausible enough to me. Is there any proof?”
“Well, he’s some aristocrat fucker for one, little rich boy helping out the rebels to feel important but running when it gets too tough.” Eloise shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. But he... I met him once. My... my mom invited him over for dinner. As soon as Argent Alvis down there left, she told me I’d never see him again, that he was too dishonest for the cause.”
Worth taking seriously, Camille decided. Eloise’s mother had died for Malin, rising up against Avaline oppression after the Blue Bandit’s death, but she’d been caught too, in the end. Perhaps the blue racer was a part of the reason why.
Or, perhaps, he was simply a gallant young man from a good family who was skilled enough to clinch out a close win in the next race, clawing the Blue Team back to a draw. As he crossed the finish, the wind blew back his hair, more of an auburn than Lucien’s red, but close enough to make Camille feel a pang as she considered her husband, far away and deeply embedded in danger.
He’s doing his part, as I’m doing mine. All of it was essential if they were to triumph.
“It was rather gauche of him to claim the Blue Bandit’s postmortem endorsement for his team,” Camille said, not making it clear one way or the other if she believed Eloise about Sableton’s treachery. “But if I’m not mistaken, he apologized for that.”
“Oh, well if he apologized...” Eloise rolled her eyes as the workers below began preparing the field for the third race. “Hey, I wanted to run something by you: Versham Paruna from Versham-Martin sent over an offer to buy Clochaîne Candles for two hundred million mandala.”
Camille bolted to face her, suddenly irritated at the casual tone. “You’re not seriously considering that, are you?” All the wealth and power of Clochaîne’s business empire were not, under any circumstances, assets that could be allowed to pass to Avalon. These days, the candle business was a sideshow to the larger financing operation, which meant that Eloise had her talons in practically every fifth business in Malin.
“Yeah, I love giving up power for more money I don’t need. That and giving some entitled Avalon fuck exactly what they want.” Eloise kicked up her legs against the bannister of the balcony, leaning back in her chair. “My plan was to drive up the price as high as it would go, then tell her to fuck off. But I thought I’d run it by you first in case you’ve got any scheme ideas. Sort of your thing.”
“I’ll think about it.” Camille allowed herself a smile, filing the information away for later use. Between returning the coal revenues through the Treaty of Charenton and ensuring a stake in the new scientific facilities, Eloise’s loyalty seemed better secured than ever, which was baffling on its face to contemplate considering the woman involved. “I’m pleased you came to me.”
“Not the first girl to tell me that, though most don’t phrase it that way.” Eloise smiled, then lowered her voice. “And don’t think I missed what you’re doing, seating my sister next to Duke Whinypants over there.”
“Do you want me to apologize for introducing my stagière to a handsome young Duke? It’s time she was rewarded for her hard work.” In addition to the fact that she’s simply manipulating him into my camp. I seriously doubt it will end in nuptials. Camille had every intention of finding Margot a good match should she desire it, but Camille’s apprentice had shown far more interest in an Imperial government position, though she was also considering a job at the journal. Any door would be open to her, of course, but it wouldn’t be long before she’d outgrown the role of stagière.
“Camille offers someone a role in her scheme as a reward—Why am I not surprised?” Eloise leaned further back, then jolted forward when Ysengrin jumped into view. “Yse?”
“What is it?” Camille asked, immediately concerned considering Yse’s mission. “Did you find Marbury?”
Ysengrin nodded. “We parted ways recently. She had to go back to Avalon, and I wanted to test the coordinates once I figured out the system they were using.” His smile widened wolfishly as he pulled a notebook from his pocket. “I told her I was planning a trip for us, and got enough sample coordinates to see how they were encoding them. Now I’m certain I have the right site.”
“Aw, you still remember my decryption lessons?” Eloise’s tone was saccharine enough that Camille usually associated it with her sarcasm, but here it seemed to be sincere. “Also, I guess, congratulations finding an employer more evil than me. What does she have you doing out there anyway, seducing scientists?”
“Nothing I could tell you about.” His smile widened.
“Have you been out there yet?” Camille asked, deflating a bit of his smug pride when he was forced to shake his head. “Then how are you so sure?”
“Well, once she marked the ship route I saw that she used a rare geodesy system, probably Mamela since I’ve never seen anything else like it from Avalon, which meant that I could brute force two or three of the coordinate sets to extract potential sites, then narrow the possibilities using—”
“Give me that.” Camille snatched the notebook out of his hand, scanning the newly clarified coordinates for a position of no importance, deep out in the Lyrion Sea which still, for the moment, counted as Camille’s spiritual domain. Quickly, Camille descended from the Emperor’s box and made her way out to the sea, trivial with the underground aqueducts flowing through the old tunnels.
As soon as she touched the sea, she felt herself gliding across the water, more liquid than solid, moving faster and faster as she encroached deeper into Levian’s old domain. She stopped as the test site neared, a tiny island barely worthy of the label.
More of a rock, really, Camille observed as she approached it. The island was totally stripped bare, lacking any signs of life. Only once she reached the shore did she see the withered remnants of a sickly tree, so desiccated it looked as if it’d been cooked in an oven, or left to dry under a scorching sun for a thousand years.
The remnants were everywhere once she began to look, from tall grass as stiff as wheat to the crumbling, semi-skeletal remains of a baby seal.
Past the shore, for leagues out across the water, no signs of life remained, only the same shocking remnants of a once-vibrant stretch of sea, no less dead for the fact that they were under water. She surveyed it for some time, truly processing the untold damage that had been inflicted on the sea, but eventually she had to tear herself away, unsure how long she’d truly spent there. Once Camille began moving back, the contrast between the immediate area around the test site and the abundance of life beyond it was so profound, she was ashamed she hadn’t noticed it on the way in.
This is my domain, and I’ve let this become of it. There remained no room to doubt that the DV bomb was everything Camille had feared and more.
D.V. Bomb.
Desiccation... Vitality... In Avaline, it seemed to fit, though there remained other possibilities.
And as shameful as what had befallen the sea was, the barren island was even more horrifying to contemplate.
Luce has a stock of these he can set off anywhere he can get them, any time he wants. If he had made the mistake of trusting his brother, the whole of Avalon had them at their disposal.
The power of it was devastating, the ultimate weapon of war. What else could one call the power to wipe out a city’s population while leaving it clean and intact for the occupying army? Total extermination, with no damage to the assets around it.
There was no world in which the Empire of the Fox became a threat to Avalon if it had these things at their disposal, no army nor weapon that could deter an invasion the instant Magnifico’s body died, if he felt so inclined.
Yse was waiting for her on the shores of Malin, a panicked look in his eye.
“Yse, I want you to reach out to Perle. To Greenglass, to—Marbury, if you think you can pull it off. I need absolutely everything you can get on the DV bombs.”
“What?” he asked, looking slightly dazed. “I...”
“It’s an existential threat unless we can match them in kind. We need our own DV bombs to credibly threaten Avalon. I want your plants to smuggle the information out so we can start creating them. It’s the only way to thwart Avaline hegemony.”
“I—” Yse blinked, shaking his head clear. “Yes, Your Grace. But—Look!”
Camille followed his pointed finger towards the horizon, seeing a trail of smoke rise above the hippodrome. “What happened?” How long was I really gone?
“The crowd, they—I’ve never seen anything like it. As soon as Green won, it was a brawl. One of them hit my...” He rubbed his face, seeming to lose track of what he was saying. “Your guards tried to push back, but they spilled out onto the streets. They’re smashing windows and lampposts, burning and looting, fighting with Greens...”
“So it’s just the Blues breaking the peace?” Camille asked, disappointed despite herself.
“Not just, but mostly—they’re the ones who lost. Some of the Greens are fighting them, but most listened eventually when your guards led them away.” Yse nodded as he confirmed Camille’s suspicion. “Everyone in the box made it out alright. Eloise tried to organize your guards, but Duchess Debray took command of them and led them out after the rioters.”
Brilliant, I left at exactly the wrong time. If Camille had simply been there, this could have been contained, as it had before. None of it was supposed to happen like this.
But that didn’t mean this was over.
Camille bit her lip, pushing past Ysengin and striding towards the burning hippodrome. “I will handle this.”