Camille V: The Counter-Revolutionary
The fires burned for two days before they could put them all out. Camille took a personal hand, for reasons both pragmatic and presentational. Never before had she so wished she could conjure water from nothing, but that ability eluded her even as a spirit—one power of many she’d left to die with Levian, not that she’d realized at the time. After the storm, there wasn’t much energy remaining anyway. But without it, the entire city might have burned down.
Fortunately, the fires hadn’t even come close to the royal nursery, but Camille had tripled the guard on the prince and princess just to be safe, despite the high demand for soldiers elsewhere. Dealing with all of this, Camille had scarcely even had the chance to see them, but that was no reason she couldn’t keep her children safe.
The rebels remained a serious issue, but for the moment, they were no longer close to home. Camille had promised them the night to deliberate on their response, a magnanimous gesture intended to prevent any bloodshed that was far more than such traitors deserved. Alvis de Sableton, that dastard, had taken the reprieve she’d granted and used it to lead a midnight cavalry charge out Romain’s Gate at the north of Malin, overrunning the guards stretched thin by the riots and the fires.
Not to mention the fact that they were all trained to guard the city from external invaders, an issue that must be corrected most urgently. Be it Montaignards or knights, it was plain to see that the greatest threat to the Empire comprised its own citizens. Managing perceptions to ensure her own approval would be crucial, but leaving preventative measures to that alone would be the height of naïveté.
Despite the fury she’d felt hearing the news of their escape, after a few hours’ reflection, Camille wondered if they hadn’t made a mistake. In Guerron, the rebels had acted rapidly and deposed Guy Valvert in the space of a day, claiming legitimacy to rule Guerron with some level of practical control before there had been any time to contest it.
If Camille had been among the blue rebels, she’d have advised a similar decisive strike, seizing power in the name of the Fox-King and purging any of the loyalists or Greens who contested it before they could organize to fight back. Fortified on the Old Castle Hill, with loyalties uncertain and the city in disarray, they’d had a chance of doing just that, low though it might have been. Now if they wanted Malin, they’d have to lead an attack from the outside, menacing the citizens within as an hostile force.
Of course, if she’d really been in that position, she would have done everything in power to disperse the riots with a minimum of loss to reputation. The knights had once been deeply embedded in the Imperial government, granted offices and prestige in exchange for their acquiescence to the loss of their historic privileges, and possessed of Camille’s ear. She’d had far less at her disposal when taking Malin back from Avalon, and still managed to make it work with a mix of careful planning, having the right allies, and knowing when to seize the opportunity in front of her.
But now, the closest thing these rebels had left to a real path to victory was slinking off to exile somewhere, begging for aid from one power or another with reason to oppose the Empire in the hopes of returning with an army. In my experience, it’s not a course of action liable to grant you much success. That, or finding Lucien and winning him to their cause, which Camille knew—but they seemingly did not—had about as much chance of success as charging Malin naked with sticks in their hand.
Now that the city was essentially safe, Camille could spare the resources to eradicate every last threat from the blue rebels. This wasn’t how she’d wanted it, but drawing any recalcitrant obstacles out into the light to be dealt with had always been one of her goals; this was simply a messier manifestation than she might have hoped for, coming from the side she hadn’t expected.
All the messier considering the timing. Étienne Clément had been invited in part to demonstrate the strength and stability of the Empire to him, and instead he’d been provided with the perfect demonstration that they were anything but. He’d helped with the fires, blowing the storm directly over the city, but as things stood, he would still almost certainly return to Condillac with news of the Empire’s weakness and fragility, if not outright hostility to his hosts.
“I was happy to help,” Clément began, his dark clothes accented with green instead of the usual purple. Margot stood silently at his side, opposite Camille. “But now that the commotion has died down, I must return to Condillac. I am needed there.”
“I’d hoped you might want to stay longer—to inaugurate the first chariot race after the abolition of the blue team, if nothing else. I know my stagière would miss you terribly.”
“An inviting opportunity, to be sure, but I’m afraid I must decline. Plagette’s Senate just ousted Marguerite Merlan in favor of Bernard Aureaux, which means that the border is no longer secure. Guame needs to see that their Duke is there to protect them, Corva’s magic protecting them from their foes.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking in that instant far more like a child than any kind of ruler. Just as he did in that alleyway, frightened within an inch of his life due to nothing more than unfortunate timing.
Fortunately, Camille had a way of turning this particular misfortune into an opportunity. “I can’t in good conscience let you embark on such a journey while the rebels roam the countryside. The risk is too high to allow it.” Moreso because of what you might do to us than anything that might happen to you, but it’s not a lie. “So long as you remain in Malin, you do so under my personal protection. I swear I will not allow any harm to come to you.” An easy enough oath to make when the alternative would mean an invasion from Condillac that we could never hope to repel.
“And I’m grateful for your generosity, but I must insist that I leave. Immediately.” Just like you did in Guerron, fleeing the moment we encountered the slightest bit of trouble, abandoning all of us to our fate.
Camille’s face hardened, a chill whipping through the room. “I’m afraid I must insist that you stay. You’ll be under heavy guard here, for your own protection, while the road to Condillac is quite treacherous. Anything might happen to you if you think to chance it.”
“That’s horseshit!” Margot yelled, leaping immediately to Clément’s defense. “You can’t even protect Malin—how could you possibly think he’s safer here than his own Duchy?”
“You are a child, and there is much you do not understand. Both of you. I’m doing this for Étienne’s own safety.” Who can say for certain what might befall him on the road, outside the bounds of guest right? Camille had no intention of sending anyone after him, not really, but the possibility of it allowed her to speak truthfully to the danger. “And as for you, Margot, if you cannot act with respect, perhaps it’s best that you end your service as my stagière.”
“What?” Her eyes widened in genuine shock, providing just the right performance in response to the crucial detail Camille had omitted. “You can’t do that! I didn’t do anything. I’ve done everything you asked!”
“Of course I can. What could you possibly do to stop me?” Camille laughed in her face, leaning into the cruelty. “You are officially relieved of duty. I never want to see you as my stagière again.”
“But... but... This is total crap! Étienne deserves to be free and you’re punishing me for telling you to do what’s right.”
“Come with me,” Camille ordered, her tone curt as she brusquely grabbed Margot’s hand and led her away. Margot obeyed, leaving the dejected Duke of Condillac behind as she fell into step behind Camille, genuine perturbation writ clear on her face.
Camille made sure that they were far beyond the building before flashing Margot a smile. “Nicely done.”
Margot bit her lip. “I wasn’t completely lying. If he really wants to go, I think you should let him.”
“Should? Most likely. But if he leaves now, Condillac is liable to stand against us. He needs to be convinced to be an ally before he goes, or all of the Empire will suffer.” Camille felt her words bounce off Margot like arrows on plate armor, seeing the dejection in her eyes, and knew she needed to take another approach. “There’s nothing wrong with using your feelings to present the façade that best serves your ends. I used to do it all the time; the best lies always rest close to the truth, incorporating whatever of it they can to best serve their ends. And it makes it far easier to keep track of the mirrored realities you construct, to ensure that no one has the opportunity to pierce your veil of deception.”
“You’re a spirit. You can’t lie anymore.”
And what a tragedy that is. Camille lived, more powerful than ever, but she was reminded of that crucial part of herself that she’d sacrificed on a nearly daily basis. The challenge her position presented was significant, but fortunately not insurmountable. “True words can mislead just as well, if deployed in the right way. But I doubt I’d be able to manage without twenty-five years of experience lying the traditional way under my belt. You’ve made just as much progress in four—truly commendable.”
“Thank you, but... Étienne is—”
“Genuinely in danger from the Blues should he roam the countryside alone.” Not much danger, probably, but the fact that it’s more than none lets me say that truthfully.
“We could put him on a ship!”
Camille sighed, shaking her head. Talent with deception was never enough to turn me away from my convictions; why should Margot be any different? “And risk an assault by Robin Verrou? Or the Montaignards? He’s safest here; I truly believe that.” If any serious harm befalls him, it’s all over anyway. “Margot, I trust you. If you think he ought to leave, you’re welcome to help him escape the wicked Maiden of Dawn, tell him all about how cruel your mentor was, and set him up to invade Malin. Escape with him, become his Duchess if you so desire. I would not hold such scheming against you.” How could I, when it would be so massively hypocritical? “But know what you would be doing to Malin. To me, and your sister, and all of the people who only just recovered from riots and fires and rebellion.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Margot didn’t look fully convinced, but her resolve was definitely wavering. “I don’t think it would have to come to that... I wouldn’t badmouth you or Eloise, not behind her back, anyway. That’s not the point.”
“No, it’s not. My first duty is to my people. Yours, you must decide for yourself.” Camille put an arm around her shoulder, hardening her skin to avoid the clammy wet touch that Lucien occasionally mentioned. “I made it out to be a punishment with that bit of theater back there, but this is a reward. Make no mistake—I’m entrusting you with significant responsibilities because you’ve proven yourself worthy of the challenge. It’s time you moved into the next phase of your life.”
“Really?” Margot hadn’t mentioned wanting to leave, but Camille had found ample evidence on her desk—journal clippings, literary magazines, mercantile ledgers, and the like—to see that she was already seeking the next opportunity. As all children must. I was no different. Hard as it was to grapple with the fact that her defiant little stagière was growing up, this was clearly the right decision.
“Absolutely. You’ll have the opportunity to prove yourself, doing something crucial, outside of my direct supervision. I have no doubt you’ll make me proud.”
“What, exactly?”
Camille answered with a smile, then pushed open the door of the Daily Quotidien, trusting Margot to follow behind her.
Not wasting any time, Camille marched straight into Scott Temple’s office and laid down the journal with the incriminating swan engraving on his desk with an airy whap.
“I was protecting my staff,” Scott Temple tried as an excuse, his posture shrunken enough that his usually-large frame and extensive musculature did little to make him intimidating. “Imagine if we’d published an article decrying the knights and they’d won? What would they have done to us?”
“You were hedging your bets when you should have been supporting your country, sitting on your fence in lieu of doing your job reporting the truth. That swan engraving was first used as an act of sabotage against Lillian Perimont, malicious incompetence. How could I possibly take it any other way when you do the same to me?” Camille drummed her fingers against his desk, sharpening them into spikes of ice to accentuate her point. “After you showed such defiant courage against the Prince of Darkness, I’m disappointed, Scott. It’s clear that this arrangement is no longer working.”
“I-I agree, Your Grace. Managing the Quotidien has put me at too much of a distance from your esteemed government. Had I been the Minister of Truth, as you have so many times assured me that I one day would be, there would have been no chance at any such miscommunication.”
Camille couldn’t help but laugh. “You are a bold one, Scott, I shall allow you that. But next time, ask me for a promotion after you’ve helped me, rather than making the bold decision to do nothing. You wanted to protect your staff? You’ve done it. Every journalist employed by the Quotidien may keep their job, and no one will go after them legally either.”
Scott practically flinched with shock. “Even me?”
“Fecklessness is not punishable by death, nor is incompetence.” Much as it might make my life easier if it were. “You’ve committed no crime, merely proven manifestly derelict in your duty to the people of Malin. Fortunately for you, I’ve found a solution.” Camille lifted a finger, extending it into a tendril of water pointed down at the desk. With a few taps of her finger, she left a damp imprint on the wood. “It just so happens that my stagière is ready to move on to her next phase of professional development. Unlike you, she can be trusted to be competent and loyal. As such, I’m gently requesting that you appoint her onto your staff.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Scott breathed an audible sigh of relief. “I’m still managing editor?”
“For now. You can keep your salary and your perks, keep telling whoever you want that you run the Quotidien. And you’ll keep your life. But make no mistake as to who you work for. What Margot says, goes. Consider her my eyes and ears at this journal.”
“And your voice.” Scott frowned, but his posture relaxed at the news he would keep his job. In all likelihood, he was already planning how best to skirt around his new supervision and prove his worth, but that suited Camille fine. Either he’d distinguish himself in the coming months, or the time would provide Margot with enough experience to replace him entirely. Dealing with a schemer of comparatively low danger would be good practice for Margot, too, especially without Camille right there to guide her directly anymore.
The way she was handling the Duke of Condillac was proof enough that she was ready, but Camille couldn’t help but feel an inexplicable melancholy at the thought of Margot moving on in her life. But it’s time. Even the best stagière can’t compare to a loyal ally in the right place, and she’s more than earned the responsibility.
Ultimately, Camille decided to leave the children behind for her next objective, despite the value that having them along might have provided: for Margot, invaluable experience at acquiring information, for Clément, a demonstration of how seriously she was taking the rebel threat to his safety. And a look at what befalls my enemies. But she had no desire to antagonize him beyond the minimum necessary for keeping him in the city, and exposing him to the likes of this carried a strong risk of exacerbating the issue.
“Sire Raoul de Montgallet, the Knight of Cold Steel.” Camille shut the door to the prison cell behind her, allowing no one else to see what would transpire. “Those rebels must not have thought too highly of you, leaving you behind to cover their retreat. What drives such a stalwart man to such depths of treason?”
“Treason?” de Montgallet inadvertently spattered blood from his lip with the exclamation. “Is Lucien even alive? If he were, I know he’d weep to see what you’ve done to his realm. Slaying your own patron spirit is affront to every Leclaire who ever lived, and yet you prance around the capital as if the Fox Queen’s blood runs in your veins. You left Guy Valvert to rot, even when it meant his execution at the rebels’ hands, leaving Guerron in their unclean hands. I can’t just sit by and watch as a brat like you pollutes our once-glorious Empire with the very machines and merchants that brought us to the brink of death. I swore an oath to King Romain Renart to serve him and his heirs faithfully, to protect the Empire of the Fox. I never thought I would have to protect it from a young girl like you, Camille, but I am bound by my honor. I didn’t want it to come to this, but I had no choice.”
“You always have a choice.” Camille frowned, surprisingly hurt by the old man’s words. He doesn’t know how closely Lucien and I are still collaborating, doesn’t understand the depths of Levian’s evil... But his condemnations weren’t without truth to them, either. Camille would certainly be lying if she said she weren’t enjoying the opportunity to rule the Empire in Lucien’s name, nor that she was discarding many of its hallowed traditions in the race to catch up to Avalon. How not, when the alternative was annihilation? “Tell me where the rebels went, and I see no reason you can’t be transferred to your home for the remainder of your arrest. A man charged with treason could scarcely hope for better.”
Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but de Montgallet looked tempted. “And if I refuse?”
“The Code Leclaire entitles you to reasonably humane accommodations until your guilt is ensured by a trial. Despite your own self-professed guilt, I shall continue to abide by it.” Camille smiled, chilling the room. “However, given the danger you pose to the citizens of Malin, you shall remain bound tightly to the wall.” It wouldn’t do if you could move out of the way. Camille pointed her finger towards the ceiling right above Montgallet’s head, extending a tendril of water into the stone for long enough to imbue it with a steady drip for several days. “You have my apologies for the roof—it’s not easy keeping all the prison maintenance up to date.”
Montgallet’s eyes narrowed as the first drop of water dripped into his nose. “This pettiness is beneath you, Camille.”
“You will refer to your Empress as Your Grace.” Camille frowned. “Treason is beneath you, Raoul. At this moment, I want nothing more than to allow an old man to live out the rest of his life free, secure in the knowledge that he did the right thing for his country, despite his mistakes. You still have that opportunity.”
Camille didn’t wait for his response, shutting the door and leaving the knight in nearly-silent darkness, punctuated only by the steady drip onto his head.
She got what she needed after about a day and a half—between the water and a well-timed reminder about the knight’s beloved niece. Despite not exactly being forthcoming, Raoul de Montgallet had opened up enough for Camille to get what she needed.
Crucial information in hand she assembled her ministers and advisors once more. “I’ve found out where the rebels slinked off to—Calignac, a village of little import to the south. They plan to rally the countryside to their side as they retreat, ensuring a base of support for their return.”
Despite the betrayal of so many stalwart knights, there were still aristocrats who remained loyal, Annette foremost amongst them, Simon Perimont not far behind. The most fervent voices of the aristocratic cause were with the rebels, which left the rest desperate to prove their loyalty, mostly wearing muted greys and blacks to melt into the background of overwhelming green. Under the circumstances, Camille’s dress that day was green as well.
To demonstrate sympathy for the poor misguided souls who were about to spend the rest of their lives ruing the day they’d crossed her, and to distance the Leclaire coloration from the rioters, the sleeves were blue, as were the earrings. It wouldn’t do to appear too unsympathetic to a movement that had gripped nearly half the city—or at least, half of the chariot fanatics—but the lots had been cast. Treason could not be tolerated.
“How significantly does their rebellion impact our finances?” Camille directed the question to Simon, giving him a chance to prove his loyalty.
“Less than I would have thought. Few of them were paying taxes as it stood before, so the assets seized should result in a profit, if anything.”
“Just as I thought. Most of them are contributing about as much now as they were before. And they can’t hold out for long without allies or fortresses. Calignac is a village our armies could knock over in a matter of days, but they know that too. They won’t stay long.”
“Of course not,” Eloise drawled. “These people are so smart that they’re going to war against the future, fighting a war they’ve already lost. Why would they compound their folly by staying close, thinking they’ll win the people to their side?”
“She has a point,” Annette agreed, one of the few times Camille ever had seen her opinion accord with that of Eloise. “They were raised on tales of knightly honor as they endured the brutality of Avalon’s occupation. If we wait for them to flee of their own accord, they might dig their hooks in enough to pose us problems.”
I suppose so. Camille had her doubts that the peasantry would rise for the aristocracy who thought so little of them, but every day they remained at large was a blow to the Empire’s credibility.
“Assemble the legions. I want a march on Calignac in three days. Arrest the alderman aiding them and kill anyone who violently resists. If they think they can close the village gates and endure a siege, I want the whole village wiped off the map. Make an example out of them.” Else Alvis de Sableton will only be the first. The time for peaceful solutions had passed, lest Camille lose everything.
“Yes, Empress,” they said, uniform in their obedience.