For once, Magnifico stood out due to his warmth, a purple glow fading into the cold blackness of the surrounding dungeon.
Only his cell was occupied, the rest emptied in the past few days. The few remaining jailers, all there to monitor one man, had ominously refused to mention where the other prisoners had been moved to.
They’d recognized Fernan on sight, too, which felt more than a little strange. Though I suppose I do look distinctive. Stranger still was hearing “Sire Montaigne” used to address him, the mark of peerage bestowed upon him for exonerating Lady Annette at that trial.
A reward, for underhandedly framing someone, for sending them here.
“I was wondering when you’d come calling.” The bard rose quietly, purple-tinged darkness wrapped around him like vast wings. The crown remained fixed to his head, metal only visible for the way it obstructed the glow behind it. “Knowing you, I don’t imagine you’re here to gloat.”
“No.” Fernan took one step towards the bars, then stopped. “First I need to hear it from you: Did you kill the Duke?”
“Ah, that…” He clicked his tongue. “Fernan, you’ll never win the war if you’re too busy fighting the previous battle. I’d think you have more pressing concerns right now.”
“I do. But I need to know for sure. To… how did you say it at the trial? Exterminate all doubt.”
Magnifico laughed. “Oh, I see it now. You just came to ease your conscience, ensure that you really did frame the guilty party. How terribly noble of you.”
Maybe this was a mistake. “Answer me.”
He sighed. “It was such a shame it came to that. Duke Fouchand was an admirable man in many ways, committed to his principles to the last. Even if they were misguided principles.”
“Misguided principles…” That’s as good as a confession. Not that anything else had seemed possible, given his behavior at the trial and after. But I put him here; I said nothing after Jethro admitted his scheme. And everything that had followed, Fernan had had a hand in that. “For that, you threw him off a balcony?”
“I’d say ‘dropped’, really. A throw has more power behind it.”
Fernan grit his teeth. “That distinction doesn’t really seem important, here.”
“To the contrary. All the details matter, Fernan. You can’t overlook anything, even if it seems insignificant.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “For example, you might go through an arduous ordeal to remove a power-inhibiting crown from your head, defeat the villain that put it there, and then save the crown in your vault, out of sentimental value. A quick decision, years ago, in the heat of the moment, that’s paying quite the dividends now.”
Jethro must have pilfered it from a vault, then. That just raised further questions, foremost among them being why a spy would have a vault with a crown at all.
“Still, I wouldn’t weep too much for poor Fouchand. He invited it on himself, scheming against me as he did. Refusing peace is one thing, but gathering allies for war under the guise of a simple tournament, parking their boats within a stone’s throw of our territory… Something had to be done, you understand?”
“I understand that your ‘solution’ was murdering him and framing his innocent granddaughter.”
“An adult, and an official in her own right. There’s no way she wasn’t in on the scheming, anyway. Not with how close she was to Leclaire. Still, that was more an opportunity of the moment. Once she came barging in, locking the door behind her was fairly trivial with Osah’s lockpick, and then what was everyone going to think?”
“You didn’t even know?” Fernan sighed. “That’s no justification at all. It’s almost pitiful, really.”
“You do your business as you see fit and I’ll do mine.”
“No, you won’t. You’re locked up here, your powers inaccessible. And even that’s…” Fernan trailed off.
“Only until they get around to executing me?” Magnifico nodded. “I assumed as much. Frankly, I’m surprised it’s taken this long. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“It’s nothing to worry about?”
He nodded. “I can see where it looks more dire from your perspective, but I assure you it’s not a concern. For that matter, all I’d have to do is say four words, and they’d never dare to kill me.”
Four words… unless magic somehow tied into it, it was hard to imagine anything that could grant him that level of confidence. It had to have something with what Jethro knew about him, the reason it was supposedly so important to keep him alive.
The pieces were there, but it seemed impossible to fit them together. Probably best to discuss it as a group.
In the meantime, that wasn’t the main reason Fernan had come. “If you’re not worried, we can move on.”
“Oh, was that not all? I’ve given you the truth; what else would you have of me?”
Fernan took a deep breath, centering himself in the flames in his eyes. “You killed Soleil. You performed the ritual to give his power to Lord Lumière, and you made it so he’d die after.”
Magnifico snorted, head tilted. “Surely you’re not coming after me for that? You met Soleil, he was the worst of the worst. Lumière didn’t want that for his son, and I obliged him. Whatever happened to him next, he got the better part of what he wanted.”
“He self-immolated from the inside!”
“Well, he was a human-sacrificing, double-crossing, elitist piece of shit. I can’t exactly say I’m broken up about that, either. Nor should you be. You knew what an asshole he was, and you were willing to pretend to be his friend to get what you wanted. Or his subordinate, really. How is what I did any different?”
Unbidden, the image returned, white and gold and melting, the horrifyingly almost-pleasant smell of burning flesh, his agonized final scream. “Because you killed him.”
“Fine, sure, I did. But again I ask, so what? If I could have done it more humanely, I would have, certainly, but I had to be able to give him the power he asked for, or I wouldn’t have been able to honestly promise it beforehand.”
“Easy to say now.” He doesn’t even care… That complete lack of remorse. Even now, with his lies laid bare. But it wasn’t worth fixating on, not now. “Alright, that’s enough of that. Your excuses are worthless, but I’m not really here to talk about Soleil and Lumière, or Duke Fouchand. Clearly you’ve made your own peace with that.” He clenched his fists. “But you intended all of this, right?”
“Just according to plan, indeed.” He paused. “Well, other than ending up here, of course. I’d rather have avoided that.”
“You planned to leave us with no sun at all. You planned to shroud the world in darkness, condemning I-don’t-even-know-how many people to death. It’s only been a few days, and it’s already starting.”
That actually seemed to sober him, his posture shrinking down as he let out a quiet sigh. “I know it’s not without cost. Better than most, in fact. But Soleil had to be destroyed, and this was the only opportunity I was likely to get. If his replacement is chosen quickly, the collateral damage should be relatively minor. For a while, it’s only as bad as a winter, more or less.” He swallowed. “When you say that it’s already started…”
“Two ships wrecked themselves on the rocks before we could set things up. They were suddenly blind, when they needed to coordinate just right. No one expected a winter. Four of the villages I’ve been to had people out on their own who haven’t come back yet, too. And that’s only what I know of.”
“That’s a shame…” He sat down on the floor of his cell, slowly folding his legs together. “A terrible shame. But if I’d waited, that number would only be higher. At the rate the population’s growing, the sooner this was done, the better.”
“Unless you just didn’t do it all.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“And leave this world at the mercy of the spirits? Fernan, you know how they are, what they do. That’s no choice at all.” He rested his chin on clasped hands. “It will be less severe next time. Whoever the new Sun Spirit is will be weaker, their hold on their domain less firm. And less and less again each time after, until it makes no difference at all whether they live or die. That’s when we’ve won.”
“Avalon?”
“Humanity.” He turned his head upwards, making eye contact with Fernan. “What are you hoping to get out of this conversation? You’ve assuaged your guilt, you’ve learned details that might matter down the line, or not. Yet you’re still here. Am I really such enjoyable company?”
“My skin is crawling every second I spend in your presence. No. It’s about what you said, as Lumière lay there dying. You said it again just now, too. “
“I’m not sure what you—”
“You’d know ‘better than most’ the cost of a dead Sun. You have some unique knowledge, or insights, somehow. You must have, or you never could have planned this whole thing. Maybe a secret tome hidden in your vault? Instructions given by the royal family when you were sent on this mission, maybe? I think you know what happens next, and I want to hear it.”
“I do. Very clever of you to pick up on that.” Magnifico grinned, his jaw stretching so wide it was visible even in silhouette. “Though I think it's better if I don’t say why. That would only complicate things.”
“Things are plenty complicated. Explain it all.”
“No, I don’t think I will.” He leaned back against the wall, stretching his arms out with a yawn. “What happens next is what happens in any slow-motion disaster. People try to avoid thinking about the problem, they do their best to keep living as they have, brainless ennepissix following the script they’ve known their whole life.”
From context, it was easy to glean the meaning of the unfamiliar word, so Fernan didn’t bother to interrupt.
“Someone figures out how to profit from telling people what they want to hear, taking their money and propagating idiocy. I’ll bet you anything there’s already people right now still saying the sky is blue, that it’s just a little cold spell. Even a slap of reality isn’t enough to jar most of them out, it just shifts the rhetoric. Early on, they say: ‘This isn’t a problem. This is fine. No need to do anything.’
“But then, as time goes on, it becomes impossible to ignore. They lose loved ones, freedoms, amenities. That’s when you start to hear that it’s impossible, too late to solve the problem because it’s already gone too far. You’ll notice that either way, no one feels the need to do anything about it.”
Depressingly, it was all too easy to see that prediction coming true. A good fraction of the farmsteads Fernan had visited had barely seemed to understand, asking about selling the sundial or continuing to grow their cash crops. Hardly a majority, though. “So your advice is to beware the brainless masses? Disappointing. It looks like Lord Lumière rubbed off on you.”
“Not at all! Really, you can’t condemn the masses too much, because the higher level players aren’t any better. Spirits operate on the highest level, and our suffering is of no concern to them. If you’re expecting a fast resolution from them, to blunt the damage before it gets out of hand, you will be sorely disappointed. The nobles beneath them are just the same. They’ll backstab each other and count their buttons until the whole world is a lifeless rock, feeling like they’re winning every step of the way. The problem doesn’t affect them until it’s too late. Though I suppose I should be saying ‘us’, Sire Montaigne.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“I’m speaking in generalities, of course. The politicians, the businessmen, noble peers and sages, here. Most of them are worse than useless, but you do see a few brave souls try to do the right thing. Knowing you as I do, Fernan, I could certainly see you fitting into that category. Most end up dead for it, or otherwise out of the running, not part of the decision-making. Perhaps some limited victories, temporary stays of the execution. A new source of energy, but one that can’t last. Or the darkness holding itself back as long as it can, but not forever.
“Really though, that only exacerbates the problem. No matter how limited, how temporary, it’s an opportunity to go back to ‘normal’, to pretend the sun still flies high in the sky, beaming down those summer rays. Some scant few of them succeed, be it by luck or aptitude, and save the rest, though they may never receive proper appreciation for it.”
This was a waste of time. “You’re saying that some people are just naturally better, that they’ll lead the world to salvation because of how amazing and great they are, surrounded by a desert of mediocrity. It’s just Lumière’s condescension, applied to an even larger group.”
“Once again, you misunderstand. That’s all about blood, and birth. It’s crap. A great figure can come from anywhere, Fernan. Many of the best start out unremarkable, but they rise to the occasion. The first King Harold, the Fox Queen, even the Great Binder. They weren’t handed their greatness at birth; they earned it. The Great Binder was no queen, nor even the most powerful binder of spirits, but she found a solution to Khali when no one else could. That solution wasn’t without its drawbacks either, its own collateral damage. But flawed though it was, it was the right choice. It kept this world safe for as long as Khali remains trapped in Nocturne.”
“That’s awfully self-congratulatory. I still remember you talking about entering Cambria with nothing but the clothes on your back, rising up to become the royal bard. Or the royal spy, I suppose. Is snuffing out the sun supposed to be some expression of greatness? Condemning thousands or more to death just because you’re the big man with the big stick?”
Magnifico shrugged. “Better thousands than millions. But it doesn’t matter anyway. You can assume I’m full of shit if you want. You’ll come to see that I’m right as this goes on. Until you rise to the occasion, and do what’s needed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The world needs a new sun spirit, does it not? And quickly, at that. Far faster than a few dozen bickering Soleils could decide on, to be sure. Do you know how long it took after Pantera died? No, you can’t simply stand by and let it be.”
And I won’t need to, not with Gézarde. But it would be stupid to tip his hand to win an argument.
“I’m confident you’ll step up,” Magnifico continued. “I believe in you.”
“Step up and do what? What are you even trying to say, here?”
“Why, assume the mantle of the sun spirit, of course. You’re a powerful flame sage, already touched by the spirits. You have access to Lumiere’s remains, filled to bursting with solar essence. If you took it into yourself, Soleil’s precedent would back your claim. No need to waste time picking a successor if one’s already chosen.”
What? “Are you serious? I watched Lumière die in agony because he thought he could trust you on exactly this same proposal. If you’d wanted a friendly Sun Spirit, you’d have just given him what he expected. Instead you played at being his friend and then set him up to die.”
“Because he sucked, and he deserved it. You don’t. I swore before Soleil that I was capable of performing the binding in a way that wouldn’t kill him; I simply elected not to. I could swear that I would keep you alive, before any spirit you liked. Happily.”
“You must think I’m an idiot.”
“Not at all!” He jumped up to a standing position, shaking his head. “If I wanted you dead, there are a thousand easier ways to do it even from in here. I don’t. Again, I’ll swear it before whatever spirit you like.” He ran his hand through his hair, matted and tangled purple stuck to the all-pervading darkness. “Well, I’d have to kill you eventually, of course. But not for a long time. Hundreds, maybe thousands of years. Certainly longer than you’d live otherwise. And I promise it would be quick, painless. If we set things up right, weaken your connection to your domain slowly over time, you could even be the last sun spirit that has to die.”
“You say that like you’ll still be around. In hundreds, thousands of years.” What is he actually trying to get here? A manipulative liar like Magnifico would obviously be playing at something else, but it was hard to see what. Sympathy through flattery? Was he putting on a brave face about the possibility of execution? He surely didn’t think Fernan was stupid enough to go along with this plan, not after watching what happened with Lumière. But then why present it as an option at all?
“I expect so, yes. Avalon has the best science in the world, experience working with complicated and powerful magical artifacts. And draining life to sustain your own is certainly within the bounds of possibility. What do you think keeps spirits alive for eons? I’m confident it won’t be an issue.”
Is he really this arrogant and delusional, or is he playing at something else?
“And in any case, even if all else fails, I have my son and my lineage to follow.”
Do not trust Magnifico. He tried to kill his son. Jethro’s words echoed back. How did it all connect? I have to talk this out with other people; clearly it’s not a puzzle I can work out on my own. But it seemed as if Magnifico’s son could be crucial to figuring it out. His lineage.
“Fernan, to be clear, I don’t expect you to believe me right away. You’ll stand by for a while, first, watching the world crumble around you as humans and spirits alike are poisoned by inaction. But I have a feeling you’ll reconsider eventually.”
Fernan turned, shaking his head, and began to walk away.
“When you do, you know where to find me.”
The words echoed off the stone as Fernan made his way outside, nodding to the guards as he passed them, each of whom dipped their heads to him in a wave.
“Any luck?” Mara was curled tightly, warming and protecting her charge while remaining close enough to Fernan, in case a problem arose.
“I don’t think so,” said Fernan as he reached past her, pulling out a sleepy Aubaine from within. “We’re going back to the temple, alright Aubaine?”
“Ok…” he muttered quietly, burying his head in Fernan’s shoulder. “Will Father be back yet?”
“Not yet.” Fernan sighed, pulling Aubaine in closer. “Just go to sleep.”
The dark gloom, the cold mountaintops faded into the sunless sky without a clear division between the two. Every day, the cold descended further, growing more extreme.
There were still people there, he knew. Lone travelers from village to village, or simply living off the mountain on their own. They lived because they were prepared, but no one could have prepared for this. Evacuation after evacuation, and still frozen corpses remained. Some had relatives worried about them, still holding out hope. Doubtless, others had none to mourn them at all.
This is what you’ve wrought, Magnifico.
He spent as long as he could looking up at those mountains, taking stock of those left behind, feeling the warmth of a sleeping Aubaine on his shoulder, the comforting fire of Mara at his side.
It was over far too quickly, but Fernan had no choice. It was time to meet the Fox-King and the Duchess.