Florette II: The Inspiration
Dinner was exquisite, all the more so after weeks of nothing but dried-out desert rations. The main plate was a variant of pâté en croûte: a flaky golden crust surrounding a tender filet mignon, with a layer of creamy foie gras between the two of them. Served alongside it was a flavorful mix of sweet onions that had been simmering all day, guanciale, and peppers, with a mushroom sauce plentiful enough to soak into the pastry, a hint of lemon to cut through the richness. A hybrid of Avaline and Imperial cuisine, the meal was still so decadent that Florette could barely get through half of what she’d put on her plate, even after a long day of travel absent any other food.
“My compliments to the chef de cuisine,” Florette offered, cutting off one final sliver. “Hobbes has truly outdone himself tonight.”
Across the table, Fernan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.
“Most heartily, I concur,” the Professor offered, raising his glass of wine. “As is this red an exquisite pairing. Well-chosen, my lovely Edith!”
“You were the one to procure it, my dear.” Edith turned to address Fernan directly, perhaps mistaking his anxious boredom for curiosity. “Ever since Hermeline’s capitulation, Avalon’s swept up all of the best Rhanoir wines and left none for the rest of us. This is probably the only bottle of Mondrillaud west of the Sartaire.”
The Professor shot Florette a grateful look, since she’d helped him choose what to purchase on their way back. Hardly an expert on food or wine, the few months spent listening to Camille Leclaire and her snobbish complaining still apparently made Florette more qualified than most of eastern Avalon, who seemed to think that boiled beans and sausage were the height of cuisine, the occasional breaded filet or potato hash aside. In Cambria, she’d mostly found herself getting food and spices from the Mamela markets, chillies and cumin and sumac at a price so shockingly low it was baffling that more Cambrians didn’t take advantage. The western isles actually seemed to understand the value of flavor, and it made for better versions of ‘the classics’ too.
Not that she had much time to cook in Cambria. Breathing room was hard to come by, and the crunch to finish all her coursework comprehensively enough to graduate on time was only making it worse. And as soon as I step off that boat, it’ll all begin again.
“What do you make of Empress Hermeline’s submission, Sabine?” Maxime asked. “I’m curious to hear the Avaline perspective.”
Did Fernan tell him? There wouldn’t have been much time, but a quick whisper would have been enough for the gist. “I understand why she did it. Micheltaigne was firebombed into ruin, and the sack of Lorraine sent another brutal message about resistance. At least she stayed with her people to try to soften the blow, rather than fleeing like Her Verdance. But if you ask me, she should have fought.”
“Give it time,” Fernan muttered, frowning at Florette’s reading of the situation. “There’s a good chance she’s stalling until the moment Rhan is confirmed as Levian’s successor, waiting until Rhanoir sages have enough power to resist. The war would spread north.”
Florette shrugged. “Princess Mars isn’t a sage, let alone of a Great Spirit, and she’s fighting back just fine. Plus, there’s a good chance that Camille Leclaire manages to cling on to power. She’s tricky like that.”
“Sabine grew up in Malin,” the Professor supplied, answering Maxime’s question. “She only came to Avalon about five years ago to reunite with her father and attend the College.”
“Oh!” Maxime’s eyes moved between Florette and Fernan, finally realizing. “Well, that is certainly quite a unique perspective with which to approach such geopolitics. Though I cannot imagine it is easy to be against the war in a nation that still believes it’s fighting for its very survival.”
“Avalon protects free speech,” the Professor rebutted. “Edith and I are also against the war, as is anyone with a modicum of sense. Unfortunately, that quality is in short enough supply that many others back the Prince Regent, but I would prevail upon you not to tar all of Avalon with the warmonger’s brush.”
“Were you not there yourself in occupied Salhaute, Professor Alcock? I seem to recall reading about you sifting through the rubble for the royal treasures, including the sword Nuage Sombre. A direct collaboration between your department and the Avaline Army, was it not?” Maxime leaned back in his chair, smiling at the shit he was about to stir up.
You picked a good one, Fernan. If, indeed, that was the nature of their relationship. It was hard to tell, exactly, and there hadn’t been a good moment to ask. None of my business anyway, really. She certainly didn’t want to answer any prying questions about Rebecca, especially under Fernan’s judgmental stare.
“I had no power to stop the war, or save the civilians in Salhaute. It was a grueling fight to get General Echols to listen to me about Micheltaigne’s cultural heritage at all! I did what I could, ensuring that Nuage Sombre and countless other relics of Micheltine history were preserved. I’ve no regrets.”
“Sometimes it’s not enough to convince,” Florette said, not quite directly criticizing or agreeing with him. “To do the right thing, you might need to step in yourself. What if you’d warned Salhaute to evacuate?”
“As if they’d listen to him.” Edith Costeau waved her hand dismissively. “He did everything he could.”
“Couldn’t Echols have firebombed an unpopulated area, to prove he was capable of it without taking any lives?” The fire in Fernan’s eyes sparked. “Did you try to convince them of that?”
Surprising to hear Fernan advocating even that much. But then, he’d led a revolution and singlehandedly frightened off a troupe of mercenaries in the time since Florette had last seen him, so he’d clearly done a bit of growing up.
The Professor laughed. “As a scholar and adventurer, my insights are sometimes respected, though I often have to fight to be taken seriously. As a military strategist? They’d laugh me out of the room, knight or not. Nor did I have the time to sneak ahead of the assault on Salhaute, nested so high in the mountains you practically need to fly to get there.” He turned towards Florette, staring her down with unexpected intensity. “I suppose I could have gone rogue entirely, sabotaging the war effort directly like the Blue Bandit.”
Does he know? Florette gripped her fork tightly, trying to maintain her composure. “You’re thinking of the Red Knight. The Bandit’s never been seen outside of Cambria. Nothing to do with the war.”
“Do try telling that to Mr. Eserly after the Bandit brought his munitions factory to a screeching halt. The way I hear it, she delayed an entire offensive for months, without needing to take a step outside of Cambria.” He kept his eyes focused on her, his expression difficult to read. Judgemental? Proud? Ambivalent? It was possible that he didn’t know, and this wasn’t meant to be about Florette, even if that seemed stranger at this point than the idea that he did. “I imagine it seemed like a low-risk way to do the right thing. No one was hurt, and hundreds, perhaps thousands, were spared a gruesome fate.”
“I’m impressed,” said Maxime, who obviously had enough context to figure it out himself by this point.
“But they’ll catch her eventually, if she keeps this up. Her life would be over. Impressive or not, this bandit could better effect change through politics or activism, without leading her own life towards disaster.” Finally, Florette understood the sentiment hidden in his inscrutable stare: concern.
Alright, he definitely knows. Florette still took care not to react—no reason to eliminate all plausible deniability—but she wasn’t sure what to say beyond that.
“She must believe that the risk to herself is worth the good she does for everyone else,” Fernan said after a moment of silence. “That kind of selfless heroism is admirable. It doesn’t come easily to most people.”
“In its own way,” the Professor granted. “But I think a lifetime of good done out in the open can outweigh a brief slew of criminal sabotage, no matter how selflessly done. If I’d turned my cloak before the Salhaute assault, for example, I doubt I could have stopped it, and centuries of history would surely have been obliterated, along with my own standing and anything I might have accomplished after. The Founder’s Tomb, for example, might still be buried beneath the sands.”
“Almost certainly,” Florette agreed, finally finding the right tone to address him with. “I’d like to think I made a big difference there, but we could never have done it without you. You needn’t follow the Bandit’s lead yourself.”
“I doubt the Micheltine would see it that way. There is always more we could have done,” the Professor allowed. “In any case, soon the world will understand Pelleas Grimoire as they never have before, and the entire Giton society along with him. We’ll be studying these findings for decades.”
“Pelleas Grimoire?” Fernan, surprisingly, perked up at the name. “He wielded the Blade of Khali, didn’t he?”
Where on earth did you get that idea? Florette had heard that the sword she’d slain Flammare with had ended up with Leclaire, used to kill Levian, but considering all the ridiculous things she’d heard about Camille’s duel in the months and years after the fact, Florette was inclined to question that fact.
“Ah, very close! I’ve seen lettered men make far worse mistakes. But there was no Blade of Khali in the time of Pelleas, as Khali herself remained the Arbiter of Darkness. The Blade was crafted with power cleaved away from her as she was sealed, similar to the Cloaks of Nocturne, so Pelleas could never have wielded it. Instead, he drew on Khali’s power as her sage, High Priest as all Giton kings and queens were.”
Fernan probably hadn’t been doing it intentionally, but getting the Professor talking about history was the absolute best way to avoid dwelling on all the Blue Bandit discussion, and Florette was extremely grateful to him for doing it.
“But he definitely... I mean, I was told...” Fernan tilted his head, momentarily resembling Mara. After a moment, he dropped the subject. “I suppose I misremembered.”
They spent the rest of the night continuing on in that vein, discussing the dig and the history of it all, fortunately not returning to the topic of Florette’s extracurricular activities. After Fernan and Maxime left, Florette waited a few minutes, then pretended to go to bed.
Glaciel’s ring made climbing out her window the work of minutes, and it didn’t take much longer to catch up with Fernan. Maxime went ahead to put Aubaine to bed and give them some privacy, which was courteous but unnecessary.
“What was all that about Pelleas Grimoire?” Florette asked as they walked back to the Spirit Quartier. “I could tell there was more you didn’t want to say.”
“I heard it from Lamante, and she can’t lie,” Fernan answered. “She gave the sword to me to fight Levian with, and told me that the last ones to wield it were Pelleas Grimoire, Harold Grimoire, and you. I guess she’ll have to add Camille now too.”
“So you were involved with that! I knew it. Well done, Fernan!” Levian was one spirit that the world was indisputably better off without, even if his death had given Camille Leclaire cause to be even more insufferable. “Probably just some other Pelleas, then, unless the Founder somehow outlived his head being cut off by six centuries.” Which, given Magnifico seems to have done more or less that very thing, is worth considering, I suppose.
“Lamante listed them separately, so it’s not one unbroken chain like Harold Grimoire.” Fernan shrugged. “Either way, Pelleas Grimoire is definitely gone now, so I suppose it doesn’t matter much.”
“Probably not,” she agreed. “Anyway, I figured this was a good time to talk about what I have planned for before I leave.”
Fernan visibly winced, his dread plain on his face. “Right, that.”
Florette laughed. “I said it would be something big, and I meant it, but I think you’ll like this one. It’s important-big, not flashy-big.”
“Florette, is that you?”
“Hey, you haven’t seen me since I was like 19. Everyone’s stupid then.” Though most people don’t get anyone killed. “Anyway, I was thinking we should work more closely together, now that there’s cover for it. In Cambria I started working with this neighborhood organization of workers crushed under Avalon’s boot, filling me in on opportunities to rectify injustices and such, but it’s a small, local thing. With more literature, funding—maybe even people, if they want to come help—it could make a real difference. I was hoping I could take some books back with me this time and then set up a good system to move things back and forth without scrutiny.”
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Fernan’s relief was audible, amusing in how dramatic it was. “That’s a great idea! I’d love to help. Maxime’s been writing exactly the kind of essays I think you’re looking for, and he’s already started translating them into Avaline.” Knowing his Avaline, I should make sure to grab copies of the original too.
“Could also make some extra silver for both of us cutting Lyrion out of your little drug-running operation. The most lucrative stuff always ends up in Avalon anyway.” The idea had occurred to her over dinner, and considering the Commune’s existing operations, it seemed like an obvious approach. “Want to make sure our transportation is rock solid first, of course, but I’m sure Captain Verrou has people he knows in the shipping industry.” Eloise Clochaîne would probably know people even better suited to this, given the divergence in their professions, but that would mean dealing with her again. Cleaner to find another solution.
Fernan didn’t seem pleased, though. “That would mean violating Avaline law. We’d be breaking the Treaty of Charenton.”
“Breaking the law? Oh no, perish the thought! I could never.” Florette let out a quick laugh. “Neither could you, obviously. The Montaignard Revolution was more of a sternly-worded letter thing, right? Nothing illegal there.”
“That was for something important, not just money.” Fernan shook his head. “No, the Commune’s ties to Avalon are too important to jeopardize for that. The Treaty of Charenton isn’t some aristocratic decree to be skirted around or defied; it’s maintaining the peace. It’s important.”
“To you, maybe. I doubt Leclaire feels the same way about it, or President Nella. Even Prince Luce, I bet.”
“He risked his life and reputation to make it happen at all! It’s even more important to him than to me.”
“Fine, he values it. But does Avalon? This is about more than your personal friendship. Sure, the Owls upheld the treaty because it let them profit more directly off Lyrion suffering, and the Jays agreed to the funding the Luce shoveled their way in exchange for support. But the Harpies? They’d roll up on Guerron with an army to take back their king the moment they got the chance, and they’re only one seat away from a majority.”
Fernan looked slightly surprised that Florette was so informed on Avalon politics.
All that research I did for Monfroy is coming in useful, I suppose. Florette wasn’t sure why he’d wanted reports from her on the Great Council of all things, especially since he definitely knew Councilors himself that could give a far better picture of what took place there behind closed doors, but it had been an easier assignment than most, so Florette hadn’t been inclined to question it.
“The Harpies might want their king back enough to break the Treaty, but Prince Harold would never. He’s the one who most wants Magnifico trapped in the first place.”
“Oh, he must know about Pantera’s curse then.”
“You know about Pantera’s curse?”
Florette nodded. “Spirit visions—I had, um, quite an interesting experience meeting up with some of Khali’s followers in Avalon. I assume it was similar for you?”
“Not really. Jethro just told me, the morning after Levian died.”
“Why would he know?” Florette wrinkled her eyebrows, trying to think back to her few brief encounters with him. “Was Prince Harold actually stupid enough to tell his infiltrator every last detail about why he wanted Magnifico captured?”
“Not that, but Jethro knows everything. I don’t think he’d want me to tell you why, if you don’t mind me leaving it there.”
“If you insist,” Florette acquiesced, already planning out how to figure it out on her own. “Do you know what happened to him after that? I sort of wondered if he was tied up in any of that Red Knight stuff.”
“Not really. That was the last time I saw him.” Fernan shrugged. “He mentioned drinking himself to death on a beach somewhere, but I think that was a joke.”
“Doesn’t mean there wasn’t some truth to it, though.” Something to keep in mind. “Anyway, Prince Harold would never jeopardize Magnifico’s captivity. And the Harpies wouldn’t breathe save by his leave. If Luce is your buddy too, that’s even less reason to worry. Why not make some money?”
“I said no!” Fernan’s eyes flared, the outburst out of proportion to the request. “We don’t even really know that opium is safe. Some of the reports I’ve heard coming in from Lyrion... It was hard enough to get the Assembly behind what we have now, and it’s not worth jeopardizing our relationship to Avalon to greedily reach for more.”
“Fine!” Florette held up her hands. “I think you’re giving Avalon far more respect than it deserves, but it’s your call. We can still do a lot with the rest.”
“They’ve done bad things, but Magnifico is locked up now. Luce is pushing them to be better, and Prince Harold... Well, I can understand why he’s making the mistakes he is, even if that doesn’t justify them.”
“See, that’s exactly my point. Prince Harold isn’t some misunderstood little bean, he’s a fucking warmongering tyrant, and his father being even worse does nothing to excuse that. I wouldn’t be so naive about Luce either. Elizabeth Grimoire was in his position and chose to be complicit in her brother’s death, along with 118 deaths in the factory fire that they’re still blaming on the workers. They’re two sides of one coin, and we’d be better off if they all hanged.”
“You don’t know him at all! All you did was capture him and kill his cousin!”
“I’m just saying—”
“She had a name, you know: Cassia. She was a lot like you, the way Luce tells it. Selfless, adventurous, not great at thinking ahead. And you ran her through with your sword because she was defending herself.”
Why did you have to bring that up? “My mistakes don’t mean that trusting him is a good idea. He’s a prince, and he took over Charenton with almost no justification.”
“It was the only way to keep Cya’s forest safe. They were going to raze the whole thing if someone didn’t step in.”
Luce Grimoire defending a spirit’s domain? There has to be more to that. “My point is that he’s an avatar of the state, of injustice itself. His personal character is pretty much irrelevant. Being a nice tyrant doesn’t change what you’re doing, nor does being friends with you.”
“An avatar of the state? I’m First Speaker of the Commune. It’d be pretty hypocritical to see that as a problem. It’s not like that means injustice, not inherently. You sound like an anarchist.”
“Hmm, why might it sound like that?”
Fernan groaned. “To think I’d thought you’d grown up. You haven’t changed a bit. Why would you look at the problems of monarchy and conclude that the solution is total mad chaos instead of building a society where everyone is equal, firmly enforced?”
“It’s not about chaos; it’s about helping each other on a scale that’s comprehensible instead of building new edifices of power that are inherently rife for abuse. There will never be a law so just that breaking it isn’t sometimes the right thing to do. Eliminating the coercion that comes from owners forcing you to work to live, just as much as the kings that would send you to war by force of law. ”
“You're comparing working to conscription? You sound ridiculous.”
“You led a fucking violent uprising against the aristocracy and you’re still hand-wringing about this? I thought you’d changed, but I guess I was wrong too.”
“It wasn’t meant to be violent,” Fernan said, his tone subdued.
“Of course. Those pistols you brought must have been decorative.” Florette turned to face him, looking into the flickering green fire of his eyes. “Do you think it’s fair that Edith Costeau lives in a place like that, a ruler of Guerron, while for every one like her thousands are being ground up to support it, not seeing any benefit from their own labor?”
“No, but I live in the real world where finding compromise to make real changes is better than dreaming about an idyllic world free of troubles. We’d never have dislodged Valvert without the merchants in the Montaignards, and the ones in the Assembly were in turn chosen by the people to represent their interests. There’s no coercion involved. Not everyone lives equal lives, but everyone has the opportunity... legally, at least, and that’s a lot more than we could say before.” He sighed. “And your twit professor was right—this Blue Bandit stuff is just going to get you caught.”
“Well, sometimes the risk is worth taking. Right, revolutionary? I suppose it would have been a bit much to expect we’d draw the line in the same place.” Florette rested a hand on his shoulder, trying not to let the argument spiral out again. “I’ve got some good books on this stuff; you should at least hear it out.”
“Well, I’d love to read them, but I’m afraid I can’t.”
Of course. It was embarrassing not to have thought of that. “I’ll see if I can get them printed in tactile type.” Sara isn’t exactly the type to appreciate their content, but I bet I could borrow her press as long as I’m vague enough about what I’m using it for. “Let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to read, too. I have a feeling it’ll be easier to get it printed there than it would be here.”
“Maxime has a list somewhere,” Fernan muttered, his eyes calming in their intensity. “Thank you. I’m glad you want to build up more ties between what you’re doing over there and the Commune. Even if it doesn’t meet your standards, I’d hoped our success could be an inspiration across the world. Avalon probably needs it most out of anywhere.”
“Definitely. I’ll write you—as Sabine, to be safe, but you’ll know the truth. We can say we became friends tonight. I don’t want to fall out of touch for another four years.” Though I hope we can make it at least that long before retreading this same argument we always have.
“Neither do I,” Fernan agreed. “Stronger ties benefit everyone. I’m glad I got to see you.”
Maxime was standing in front of the door to their apartment, a message in his hands. “Gabriel Rochaort died a few hours ago. His heart failed.”
“Oh.” Fernan’s voice was surprisingly somber. Turning to Florette, he explained, “He was born an aristocrat, the Viscount de Miroirdeau, and raised in Gaume before accompanying the Duke of Condillac to Guerron for the tournament, where he stayed even after the Duke left. His support helped us pacify a lot of our opposition, especially out in the country.”
“And in turn his oratory prowess helped to stave off any attempts to institute capital punishment against the Commune’s foes,” Maxime added. “As sad as this news may be, I think his decline may have been worse. Why he was elected again... Well, now we can all remember him as he was, instead of what time made of him.”
“I hope so. He deserves that much and more.” Fernan scratched his beard, thinking. “His daughter lives down in the Hills, right? I should tell her in person. I should—I’m sorry, Florette, we’ll have to continue our conversation another time.”
“Of course. I’m here a few more days, we can figure it out.” Most of the setup could probably be done with Fernan personally, too, though Florette would have to be careful about who she showed her face to. The original Montaignards had fought Glaciel with her, trained with the pistols she’d stolen. They would not be likely to forget her face, though hopefully that same experience would lessen the risk that they’d jeopardize her secret. Still, something she’d need to approach carefully.
“Paul Armand wants to search his apartment,” Maxime said as Florette started to walk away. “Ostensibly to ensure that no foul play was involved in his death.”
“Ostensibly,” Fernan scoffed. “He wants to find dice or drugs or some other means to admonish his character postmortem. It’s petty, but we may as well eliminate all doubt. He won’t find the kind of vices he’s looking for.”
“I quite agree. As to Mélisse Rochaort, I can make the trip myself. You should check in on Aubaine...”
Florette didn’t linger to listen further, instead noting some homes she remembered and planning out her itinerary for the next day, starting with Eleanor Montaigne, who could certainly be trusted.
And then, before long, back to Cambria. Back to College and Rebecca and Banditry and whatever Lord Louche wants now.
Not to mention turning a pile of notes on the Founder’s tomb into a proper thesis project. It would be something of a disaster not to graduate from the College that was the entire reason she’d been sent over there in the first place.
A job people died just to make possible.
≋
It took her four days, in the end. And there would certainly need to be another trip made after graduation, but that was easy enough to excuse with the Professor planning to stay with his wife for the duration.
Hidden in her valise, along with a second and third one she’d claimed to purchase to transport a day’s worth of shopping, Florette had funds, books, and weapons. Just in case. With any luck, they wouldn’t be necessary, but the same had been true for the pistols that had played so pivotal a role in the Montaignard Revolution’s success.
The waters were calm and the ship fast, leaving Florette free to relax a bit with the latest book Kelsey had recommended to her, Le Voleur, about a child touched by a batlike spirit who’d followed Khali, imbued with dark wings, and cast out of his village. An outlaw, he was forced to make his way in the world as a thief, struggling to survive. It wasn’t bad, but the protagonist was the sort of dull hero who was perpetually less interesting than literally everyone else around him, seldom taking any kind of initiative and instead just reacting to whatever was thrown at him, or doing whatever another character told him to with minimal reflection. After such a promising start with his exile, that was proving to be a bit of a disappointment.
Still, it passed the time, and before long her ship was pulling into the Cambria Marina. Rebecca was waiting on the docks, holding up a Congratulations Sabine banner decorated with countless little illustrations of ancient Giton, which just about melted Florette’s heart.
She felt a smile creep across her face, wider and wider until that good feeling abruptly died at the sight of Lord Monfroy’s carriage, parked on the street just above the docks.
It looks like he’s got another job for me. That was poor timing, to say the least.
But maybe that’s the push I need to finally make my move. It would depend on what he had to say. Another easy job like the Council dossiers would mean it was worth taking more time to prepare, even if Florette didn’t have much to spare to begin with.
If he wanted something Florette couldn’t live with? Then it was time to stop him from doing any more damage.