Fernan XII: The Ambassador

“So you’ve finally come to see me again.” Magnifico—King Harold IV of Avalon, in truth, though Fernan found it hard to think of him that way—apparently looked more disheveled and ratty than Maxime had ever seen him before. His hair looked gray and greasy, spilling unkempt down his back out of the metal crown, joined by a patchy unshaven face that Maxime couldn’t in good conscience describe as anything close to bearded. With the heightened danger of his escape, blades were no longer allowed in his cell, and the luxuries that Valvert had been so eager to extend to a prisoner of such high birth had been significantly reduced.

Fernan trusted the assessment, especially given how emaciated the bard appeared, but his dark aura looked just as menacing as ever. “I don’t see anyone. Ever.”

A smile split Magnifico’s face as he began cracking up. “That’s smart. Own it.” He let out another laugh. “Allow me to rephrase my language to something more politically correct then: it’s good to see you finally realize what a resource you have at your disposal.”

“That was never a mystery. Having you here is the only reason Avalon isn’t invading.” Or Camille and Lucien, for that matter, but the less you know about that, the better. “I’m just making sure our leverage is secure.”

“You are, are you? And you had to pay me a personal visit for that when your loquacious boyfriend has already been so thorough?” He laughed again, though it sounded slightly more forced. “No, I think you’ve finally realized what Florette did months ago: I’m an invaluable mentor, and I want to help you.”

Florette?

Magnifico shifted his head to the side. “She never told you, did she? Hah! But you must have wondered how a green rookie learned enough binding in scant weeks to capture a sliver of Glaciel’s essence, or slay the sun and replace him with one more to her liking.” He scoffed. “Honestly, Fernan, she copied my playbook almost exactly, right down to enlisting Flammare’s sage and then hanging her out to dry.”

“You don’t know that.” Honestly, it’s kind of comforting to see you get something wrong, even if it’s perpetuating that horrible lie about Laura. For all his power and reputation, Magnifico had his limits. It was important not to forget that. “You don’t know anything.”

“But I do!” His cheeks widened in an impression of a smile as he lifted a plate of food, then tossed it aside. “I would think we were good enough friends that you’d know better than to think me a fool, Fernan. It’s insulting, really. Valvert’s guard came cheap, as far as buying information went, and I’m sorry to be the one to tell you that your zealous little communist drones proved no less corruptible.”

“Communard,” Fernan corrected, trying to assess exactly how much he’d figured out. “If you were really so well-informed, really on our side, you’d get that right.”

“Your side, Fernan, ‘tu’ rather than ‘vous’. This whole revolution business... Well, it’s awfully convenient for me, and I’m happy to help you see it through to its end, but on a personal level, I can’t say I’m too impressed. When I heard gunshots echo off the castle stones, I expected more. But what you’re doing here doesn’t work, Fernan. I’ve seen that enough times to be reasonably sure. Just look at the Plagette Republic, a corrupt oligarchy wearing the clothes of a representative government. Or, for that matter, think about your Condorcet partners: a pariah state of brutality and oppression that would fold up like a tent the moment Avaline money stopped flowing there.”

“Then stop sending them money.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” Magnifico shrugged. “They’re friendly to Avalon’s interests, influence in the region for pennies on the dollar. Certainly a far more prudent investment than this moronic war business that Beckett lost his mind over.”

Baron Beckett Williams, Fernan remembered, was the leader of a faction in Avalon’s government called the Harpies. Michel had been filling him in where he could, to make sure Fernan knew what he was talking about when it came to foreign policy in his new role, but it was a surprise to see it be useful so soon.

“Your little Guerron republic can serve as a similar counterpoint, I’m sure, which is one reason that I’m happy to help you here, but under your leadership it could have been so much more.”

“That would be tyranny.”

Magnifico tilted his head back, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m sure you’ve gotten to know the representatives pretty well in the time since your coup. Do you think they care the way you do? Do you think they’ll protect your people the way you could?”

Fernan couldn’t help but think of Lemoine, the knight who’d won his south district election despite the arrest of the people intimidating on his behalf, who seemed constantly amused by the mere prospect of participating in the government he’d sworn an oath to faithfully serve. Arrogant professionals like doctor Sézanne believed in the process, but their priorities seemed to be tilted more towards lining their own pockets. Edith Costeau, similarly, had spent the better part of an hour arguing about patent enforcement, as if the Guerron Commune wasn’t under existential threat from all sides. And worse, now that her fiance had arrived for the wedding, she’d started taking him to the salons, where he’d proved to be such an ignorant idiot that it was almost unfathomable how Avalon even functioned with educators like that.

Even on the left side of the Assembly, Étienne Lantier spent more time criticizing Mom and the other representatives for their perceived moral failures than proposing anything substantive, worse about stoking the flames of infighting than the people Fernan disagreed with. And Mara, though Fernan hardly blamed her, seemed to think that burning their problems to ash was a far more effective solution than it would really be. Michel didn’t have those problems, nor did Mom, but they spent so much time playing peacemaker to the different factions that sometimes it seemed like they lost sight of the larger issues.

“Sometimes there’s nothing for it but to do it yourself,” Magnifico continued. “And if you’re worried about succession planning, there’s a solution for that as well. Just don’t die. You and Florette have already killed one sun, and I’m sure you can trust her to bind the energy into you more than you can trust me.”

“I’m not going to kill Gézarde! We’ve done enough damage to him and his children.”

“Of course, I haven’t seen Florette in a while,” he continued as if Fernan hadn’t said anything. “Perhaps she’s unavailable. If so, I’m more than happy to perform the binding and swear whatever you’d require to feel comfortable about it. Or I could teach you to do it yourself; sages are already adept at wielding spiritual energy, and your vision was touched before you breathed your first flame. Plus, you’d be learning from a master. I expect you’d take to it even faster than Florette.”

“Are you even listening?”

“To your pathetic protestations? I can’t say such performative platitudes play much of a role in my process, no. The fact is, sooner or later, they’ll all let you down, just like the Fox-King already has. Gézarde, the Montagnards, even Guerron’s people—they don’t always know what’s best, and when you try to tell them, they won’t always listen.

“Someone very dear to me once told me that I am Avalon. At the time, I didn’t give it the proper consideration it was due, but as the years went on, she’s only been proven more and more right. Avalon would be nothing without me, just as this Guerron Commune would be nothing without you, Fernan. The people might realize that now, fresh off your victory, but as the decades stretch on, they’ll forget. Being a popular national hero isn’t enough, not always. There will come a time when you simply have to handle things yourself.”

If I had any doubt about turning down that Chief General appointment before, it’s gone now. Diplomacy seemed like a much better fit, for all that it required extensive teaching in geopolitics.

“You know what, Magnifico? You’re right. Putting on a costume to throw old men off their balconies is the natural endpoint of statecraft.” I don’t know why I’m even here. Maybe this was a mistake. “Hopefully someday I too can end up moldering in a cell while the world passes me by.”

The bard shrugged it off, apparently unbothered. “My plan still worked. They always do. That’s why you’re here, listening to my advice. You know I’m a master of politics, unmatched in binding acumen, with a vested interest in your success. I’m only in here because an ungrateful little wretch caught me off guard. I seem to have a weakness for that, but ‘Jethro’ won’t be an issue for long. And in a few years, your pitiful hospitality will be but a distant memory right alongside him.”

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Fernan couldn’t help but let out a scoff. “Magnifico, you’re going to die in here. No one wants to let you go, not for all the florins in the world. Even if Leclaire has her way, you’re still too valuable as a threat to ever trade away.”

“My son will secure my release in due time, I have no doubt. He too needed to learn the lessons I’ve been trying to impart on you, Fernan, but from what I hear, he’s taken to politics marvelously. Even younger than I was when I took my first city.”

“You think Prince Harold will save you just because he conquered Lorraine? He’s the one leading this war you apparently think is ‘idiocy’. According to Jethro, he cares enough to keep you alive, but he’s happier having you out of the way in a cell than back ruling Avalon.”

“No, Luce.” His tone implied that even considering the alternative was baffling. “And if I’m to die, he and Lizzie will ensure that Avalon is in good hands. Hands that would, at once, be free to act in whatever manner they deemed appropriate when it came to Guerron and the Erstwhile Empire. I know you think me a villain, Fernan, but my death would only mean sorrow and tragedy for everything you hold dear. I think you know that, or you’d have killed me by now.”

“You’re wrong again. I’ve never killed anyone.” Fernan turned his back on the king, opening the chamber door. “And I’m not going to pollute my soul for you.”

≋

“Welcome to Charenton,” Magnifico’s favorite son announced in a voice firm enough to make it feel true, even though the endless stares at Fernan’s eyes had made him feel anything but from the moment of arrival. He spoke Imperial with remarkable acuity, though not without a certain stilted, mannerly quality unlikely to be found in a native speaker. “I’ve had rooms prepared for you and your retinue in the Magister’s palace. I’m afraid it’s a bit cold and damp, for obvious reasons, but I’m hoping that the magic at your disposal will help to soften the blow there. Please let one of my shadows know if you need anything.”

From his gesture, it seemed like those ‘shadows’ were his guards, silently standing in formation behind him, facing out at everyone in the flooded square. None stood out more than the lieutenant at his side, aura burning strong and golden, almost an echo of Lumière’s, though without the same magical boldness a sage possessed.

“Sire Montaigne,” the Prince began quietly once Fernan was close enough. “Could I have a word in private?”

But the negotiations don’t begin until tomorrow. If he was trying to win Fernan to his side on some issue beforehand, this would be a perfect opportunity to feel out his position on Guerron independence. Fernan had fairly high hopes considering he’d extended an invitation at all, a recognition of a sort for a state that in many ways could be considered illegitimate, but considering what he’d seen in the vision, what Camille had pretty much confirmed about his character, perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Maxime patted Fernan on the shoulder. “Perhaps it is best if I go ahead to ensure the suitability of our accommodations. My pleasure meeting you, Prince of Crescents.”

“Then I’d be happy to,” Fernan said, handing his bag to one of the prince’s shadows. Can’t imagine I’ll need his descriptive skills for a simple conversation, and I can always fill him in later. “But please just call me Fernan. I renounced my knighthood, out of respect to my oath.” Duchess Annette deserved at least that small measure of respect, considering that Fernan had pledged to serve her. It didn’t hurt that it made him equal to the other citizens again either.

“You’d be wise not to dismiss the trappings of power, however frivolous they might seem. I tried that in Malin, and it didn’t end well.” His aura briefly darkened, growing more purple, then returned to its starting red. “Charlotte, could you show Guerron’s retinue to their rooms, please?”

Prince Lucifer ushered Fernan into a small study, walls lined with half-empty bookshelves. “Please forgive the state of my library. I’ve got another few dozen books drying on the roof, and the rest were unfortunately a lost cause.”

Fernan shrugged, pointing at his eyes. “I’m not much of a reader these days.”

“Oh really? Fascinating.” He pulled two glasses and a bottle from his desk. “Brandy alright? My uncle has a distillery in Fortescue.” When Fernan waved him on, he poured a modest amount into each of their glasses. “I hope you don’t find it rude of me to ask, but...”

“It’s fine.” Though I can’t see what relevance it has. Fernan took a long sip of his brandy, feeling the flame swell in his chest. “My eyes are like those of Gézarde’s children; I see hot and cold, from the warmth of a human heart to the endless void of the night. Books might as well be empty for me.”

“You should try tactile type. You can read with your fingers once you learn the alphabet. I think I might have a couple of prototype books on the Progress somewhere, though they might be back in my office at the Tower.”

Tactile type. “Like the words scratched in beeswax on Jethro’s note?”

The prince’s mouth opened briefly, a half step ahead of the words that followed. “That was our initial design, yes. Harold wanted to impress a blind girl and I wanted to invent something to help people. Of course, Cindy was the one who actually turned it into a workable idea with the modified typefaces... I’m surprised Harold shared that memory with a cur like Jethro.” Aura darkening, the prince poured more heavily into their glasses than the first time. “So your sight was fully given over to your aspect, leaving none of what was there before... Was this before or after you made your sage compact? Or at the same time? Do you think the process could be repeated with a willing participant?”

“Uh, good luck finding someone willing to get their eyes burned out.” Feeling his face wrinkle, Fernan finished his brandy. “Could you please get to your point?”

“Of course. My apologies.” He paused, adjusting his collar. “My father... He... Is it true that he plunged the world into darkness?”

And apparently, never told you to expect it. “I saw the end of it myself. I swear on my soul. Then, when we spoke afterwards, he bragged about it. Called it inevitable, one small step of a larger extermination of spirits. He said it was better done now, when the population is smaller.”

“That’s horrible! What—” Prince Lucifer seemed to realize he’d lost his composure, then finished his glass of brandy. “He’s smarter than that. He knows our technology is only improving, that in a century we could weather the darkness far more safely. He knows there’s no justification for doing what he did when he did.” He let out a long exhalation. “Do not trust Magnifico. Fah!”

“He tried to kill his son,” Fernan continued, more surprised than he should have been to hear the prince repeated Jethro’s warning. Of course they’d have exchanged information, especially something so directly pertinent.

“Darkness leaves traces but the light blots all else,” they both finished, exchanging puzzled looks.

“I’m surprised you’re not defending him,” Fernan said to break the silence. “Didn’t you call this meeting to negotiate his release?”

“Nothing nearly so simple. Peace seldom is.” He pulled out the brandy again, then seemed to think better of it, and returned it under his desk. “I don’t expect you to believe me—no one ever does—but I’m trying to do things better than my father, better than every Grimoire that ever wore a crown. I wish I could believe that all the stories about him were just Leclaire’s propaganda. Throwing that poor old man off his balcony certainly sounds that sinister, and I’ve heard how much she’s willing to make up about me... But I know my father too well. He wants a united world, free of spirits. No matter the cost.” He sank bitterly into his seat. “Apparently enough to send pirates to kill me.”

“No.” Camille would have told him to lie, to turn the son against the father, but Fernan wasn’t going to lie about this. “Every time I see him, he asks about you. When you were first kidnapped, he was devastated. He hadn’t even been revealed as your father yet! There was absolutely no benefit to pretending, every reason to keep his thoughts to himself. I’d sooner believe he’s a spirit in disguise than that he’d ever set you up like that.”

The prince nodded, clearly processing the information; but whatever conclusion he was drawing, whether he accepted Fernan’s word or not, he left no indication. “Have you ever heard of a king’s ransom? It’s large enough to be a figure of speech. Not something I’m much inclined to part with, especially to get a man like my father back running Avalon again after what he’s done.”

“That makes sense,” Fernan agreed, a second before realizing his mistake. Idiot. I’m here to negotiate and I just talked him into valuing our prisoner less. Hopefully assuring him about Magnifico’s innocence in the attempt on his life at least helped resolve him against letting his father die. Hopefully.

“M. Fernan Montaigne, I only know you by reputation, but it speaks highly to your ability. And your compassion. Standing for the rights of the downtrodden, refusing to continue your temple’s sacrifices even once your patron spirit became the sun, standing in defiance against Camille Leclaire... I’m hoping to build something here, and however things go tomorrow, I’m hoping you can help me with it.”

Now why does that sound ominous, coming from you? The Grimoires, father and son, seemed to have that much in common. “Build what, exactly?”

“Would you be willing to take a walk across the river with me? There’s someone I’d like to introduce to you, as important a stakeholder as anyone who’ll be sitting at that table tomorrow.”

Given what I saw in that vision... “Cya, or the Red Knight?”

“Cya.” Prince Lucifer set his brandy down just a hair too suddenly. “The Red Knight is a butcher whose presence I tolerated for the purpose of peaceful negotiation, nothing more. He’s like Leclaire in that regard, the red to her blue.” His aura faded to a deep purple. “How did you know? Most sages don’t even know she’s alive.”

“I’ve seen her already.” Fernan shrugged. “I saw your whole meeting with Cya and the Red Knight, actually, including Cya warning you about unwanted eyes on it. It wasn’t Camille watching, but me.”

“What? You? Why?”

Fernan smiled. “I wanted to know how much I could trust you. And I got my answer.”

The prince’s aura brightened to a lively red. “I think I got my answer too.”