Laura I: The Empty
Thousands of graves lined the riverbanks, each marked with a dull bronze spear slowly crumbling into dust. Somehow, after so many centuries that no one could really be sure what battle they had come from, the markers had never fallen or faded entirely. The riverbed stayed dry and the grass stiff and brown, even in the most verdant spring season after the wettest of winters.
They’re stuck, in time and place, even as the world’s long moved on from whatever it was.
The first time Laura had returned home in disgrace, the sight of those spears had been reinvigorating. The familiarity of home, even if she’d rather not have come back under such circumstances.
Fucking Leclaire.
Today, the view from the Stone Tower brought no such comfort. Torpierre wasn’t home anymore, but Guerron couldn’t be either.
Again.
Because she’d trusted someone to be decent, and instead they’d stabbed her in the back.
Again.
For all that it was only visible from within the tower, apparently the macabre scene outside was real and tangible. ‘A reflection of reality’, according to Miroirter, although it seemed like everything was a reflection with him.
Still, he was probably right. He was old enough to know, and it better fit the facts besides. Mere illusions couldn’t burn your skin red, at least not any that Laura had ever witnessed, nor have a truthbound spirit vouch for their authenticity. The Stone Tower may have been the ancestral home of the Bougittes, but it predated them by millenia, to the point that no one was really sure how it had ever been built.
Everything above the third floor of the Stone Tower was just as impossible to see from the ground as the rushing river outside was from within it, though the temple stretched so high that Laura had long lost count of the floors before reaching the top. That was all anchored to reality, true physical space, even if it couldn’t be seen.
Why couldn’t an ancient graveyard be just as real, for all that it couldn’t be touched? In the rooms old enough that the windows lacked glass, the air flowing through remained dry and hot, and when Laura stuck her hand out, she could feel the sun’s burning heat on her skin.
“Did it still look like this before the sun came back?” she asked absently, not moving her gaze from the window. Her old chambers had been on the twelfth floor, still low enough to see the ground pretty clearly, but this time Laura was to stay on the thirty-eighth, sleeping in a bed that may well not have been used since before the Fox-Queen’s day. From up here, looking East, she could see that the entire lakebed was dry, dotted with mud houses whose ruins were probably still under the water, if anyone cared to descend to find them.
“Yes,” Valentine answered, walking up to the window next to Laura. “It faded to night and back, just as it always has.” She was wearing that dress with the high collar that Mother hated, the smallest trace of self-expression on her otherwise immaculate presentation as the eldest Bougitte daughter. “It helped us keep track of time.”
“Hmm. Whatever’s down there, I guess they’ve still got their sun.”
“If only we could say the same.”
Laura frowned. “Depends on the ‘we’. The world has one, in the form of some pissant hermit with a backstabbing scoundrel of a High Priest. House Bougitte, on the other hand, well…” She pulled out her pouch and papers, dropping them on a dusty shelf and rolling herself a bit of comfort. “Thank you.”
Valentine scoffed. “I’m not going to rat you out to Mother and Father. But try to blow it out the window. These drapes are older than some countries; it’d be a shame to leave them with an odor.”
“Not that.” She held the hand-roll up to her lips and lit it with a spark from her fingertip, burning away an hour’s life in the process. “Thank you for not asking if I really betrayed Flammare. Everyone in Guerron was looking at me like some treacherous bastard.”
“I know you better.” She held out her hand, so Laura passed her the smoking roll. “Not a treacherous bone in your body. And you don’t exactly have the temperament for scheming, nor any aptitude for it.”
Laura yanked the roll back out of her sister’s hands and took a deep breath through it, watching the tip glow red. I thought the same thing about Fernan, and that was totally fucking wrong.
“That’s a compliment, Laura.”
Trails of smoke drifted out, the tiny flecks of ash within them destined to rain down over the ancient graveyard. “Doesn’t feel like one.”
Valentine only answered with a shrug. “You had the opportunity to foster with the Fox-King and nearly ended up getting disowned within a few months of arriving. Now it looks like you’re in the same boat again. What am I supposed to say? Political genius, you are not.”
“Thanks, Valentine.”
“You should try not to use your magic trivially like that, you know. With Flammare dead, we’d be powering it with our own lives.”
“Whatever. It’s not like I’m ever going to get another way to use it. For that matter, it’s not like I have anything better to do with my life.”
“Don’t say that.” Valentine put a comforting hand on her back. “Mother and Father want to see you. And the spirits are already here for the convocation. There could be a way out of this for us.”
“For you, maybe. Every spirit with Flammare saw ‘me’ lure him into the ambush that got him killed. If I get within half a mile of a convocation again, I’ll probably be killed by a dozen spirits at once.”
A frown traced its way across Valentine’s face, but she had nothing to say.
Laura threw what was left of the hand-roll out the window and watched the speck fade into the distance below, then steeled herself for what was to come.
“Don’t feel like you need to back me up,” she told her sister as they descended to the fourth floor, home to the Count and Countess of Torpierre. “I think at this point it’s a lost cause.”
“You need all the help you can get.”
“That was last time. Save yourself.” Laura felt her nails digging into her palms as they arrived at the Count’s chambers.
Andréa led them inside, his tone noticeably icy as he greeted Laura. And why wouldn’t it be? It’s not as if we got along before, either. He was the eldest, the heir to Torpierre and Flammare, and now all of that could be gone. If he blames me for Flammare’s death, it’s not exactly going to help.
“We are to hang back, Valentine,” he said at the threshold of the door. “Our parents wish to speak with Laura alone.”
So it was.
Count Bougitte and his Countess looked much the same as they ever had, though perhaps slightly fatter, and the Count’s hair looked as if it were losing its battle against the ravages of time.
“Mother, Father.” Laura found herself gripping her belt, as if drawing her sword could accomplish anything here. “Sorry I’m not here under better circumstances.”
“A grossly inadequate apology.” Countess Hermine rapped her knuckles on the table in front of her, shielding Laura from the obligation to stand any closer. “I will have the truth from you this instant, with all the contrition befitting a scion of this House.”
“Yes, Mother.” Laura tried not to sigh. “Flammare was deceived by that peasant boy, Fernan Montaigne. They led him into a binder’s ambush and saw him slain, so that his patron spirit could be elevated to Soleil’s seat in Flammare’s place.”
“And while this churl was plotting the greatest threat to our family since the War of Three Cubs, what were you doing?” Count Cédric folded his arms. “Drinking? Carousing? Shaming the name of our house once again?”
“Or were you conspiring towards our downfall?” Mother’s voice was free of hesitation. “The peasants have seen you with the Montaigne boy, and the spirits say that it was you who led Flammare astray.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“I didn’t! I wouldn’t! There was an imposter mimicking my form, maybe a sage of Miroirter, or someone with a face from Lamante.”
“Such paltry excuses.” Father shook his head. “No, I think it’s quite clear what happened.”
“Aile is dead! My power is gone, unless I want to kill myself to use it! Why would I ever aid them in doing this to me?”
“Aile?” The Count raised an eyebrow. “One of your louche associates, I presume?”
“My familiar, Father. Without Flammare’s power, or any warning, she…” She would have died instantly, after a much longer life than any normal hawk. It would have been painless, at least, just the light inside her going out.
Just another misery to throw on the pile.
“Good riddance. A hawk ill-suited a sage of flame. Now cease prattling on about irrelevant matters.” The Countess knocked against the table again, jarring Laura from her memories. “As your father said, it’s quite clear what happened. You possess all the cunning of a soggy pair of pants, and no motive to rise against us save childish spite.”
“So we can’t rule it out,” said the Count with a smile on his face, as if the thought amused him. “However, it would not do to be overly punitive. Not in any way visible to the masses. That would as good as confirm your guilt, a stain our family name ill needs.”
Laura felt her grip relax slightly. “You’re not disowning me?”
“We have arrived at a better solution,” Mother answered. “I’ve written to Guerron, and the Crown is willing to announce your innocence to the world, condemning the imposter as Flammare’s murderer. The spirits will not be well inclined to listen, but perhaps humanity at least will regard you as more than a treacherous monster.”
“If only you’d do the same,” Laura muttered. “Why would they do that? Lucien and Annette have no affection for me after the trial.”
“Both have departed for Malin, leaving the Count of Dorseille to act as the Lord of Guerron in his cousin’s place. I have corresponded with him personally, and ensured that he has a vested interest in proving your innocence.”
“How? Why? Guy Valvert is—” The answer came to Laura belatedly, just a moment before her mother answered the question.
“In need of a wife. And as you have proven yourself manifestly unsuitable to furthering our family’s interest as anything but a sack of flour to be traded, you will serve us in another manner.”
“Absolutely not!”
“It’s a good match,” Father said. “You would be the Lady of Dorseille. And if anything happens to the Duchess before she has children, Valvert would inherit Guerron, as would your children with him.”
I’d sooner die.
“And don’t think I can’t hear your muttering, you sullen child,” Mother said. “I’ll have you know that we love all our children equally.”
Father snorted.
“...As a starting point,” she corrected. “Any disfavor you have earned is your own doing, and you are fortunate to be granted this chance to rectify it.”
“But what about fixing things here? The spirits will be meeting soon to choose Flammare’s replacement. If I just—”
“Your days of meddling in our affairs are over.” Father’s voice was firm. “No thanks to you, we have found a way to salvage our reputation. Andréa has pledged himself to Tauroneo, and Valentine and Edouard will soon do the same. Once he takes Flammare’s seat, our position will be entirely restored.”
Edouard is eight. He’s in no position to pledge himself to anyone. “That’s not going to work. Earth spirits don’t take on sages. They barely even talk to humans.”
Mother shook her head. “The gravity of the situation has convinced Tauroneo otherwise. Without human followers, he was left without the power to be secure in his role. Great spirits have been dying like flies of late, and centuries of refusal to deal with us have already left him disadvantaged. This solution benefits everyone.” Her voice went cold. “Provided you do not ruin it, as you have ruined so many things before.”
“You can’t be fucking serious. Guy Valvert is almost twice my age, and a larger prick than Terramonde’s. If you could let me—”
“No. That will be enough of that.” Mother gestured to the door. “And if you utter such vulgarities in my presence again, you do not wish to know what punishment I have in store.”
“But—”
“Enough,” Father said. “Pack your things and prepare for the trip back to Guerron. You’ll be wed within the month. You are dismissed.”
“Fine,” Laura snarled, already halfway out the door.
Andréa had already fucked off back to his room, scant surprise there, but Valentine was waiting for her, face twisted with concern. “What happened?”
“They’re marrying me off.” Dread pooled in Laura’s throat, dripping into her words. “Guy Valvert, prick extraordinaire.”
Valentine winced, pulling Laura towards the stairs so they could speak privately. “I know that sounds bad, but at least you’re still in the family.”
“Pfeh, not for long. This is just a way to be rid of me without losing face. No matter that they’re throwing me into a life of misery.”
After a moment of pause, Valentine sighed, putting her hand on Laura’s shoulder. “It might not be as bad as you think. He’s older, for one thing, which means that he’ll die sooner, and you’ll end up with everything he had as his widow.”
“In like fifty years! You want to wait around until he dies, suffering through for decades?”
Her face twisted, weighing whether or not to say what she was about to say. “Guy is… not one for monogamy. He will want to do as he likes, married or no. I think, if you approach him in the right manner, he would grant you leave to do the same.”
Laura sighed. “I’m not going to bet on him not being a hypocrite. This is Guy Valvert. Who’s to say he wouldn’t impose rules on his wife that he had no intention of following? And either way, I’m just as trapped there. No, I can’t do it.”
“Most marriages reach that point eventually. I’m not saying it’s great to start there, no love between you, but… In ten or twenty years, what’s the difference?”
“That’s hardly inevitable.”
“Don’t be naïve. You’ve seen Mother and Father.”
“They seemed to be on the same page in there.”
“Sure, but they sleep on different floors. Even that precious little Fox-King is going to get there eventually. Do you remember his anniversary party? All the girls throwing themselves at him? And you know Leclaire and her charming personality. I’d bet he tires of her before they’re forty.”
That only made it worse, imagining what could have been, what could be, in a depressing future. “Why bring up Lucien?”
“Because he’s the perfect example. He could have any of the Empire’s best, but he’s never been tempted for a second.” Not true. “And yet, still, it’s inevitable.”
Laura felt her hand grip her sabre, a final gift from Aurelian Lumiére. He’d seen Soleil’s cruelty, and the inevitable anguish that awaited his son. Had he meekly accepted his fate? No! Even when it cost him everything, he had spared Aubaine his own fate. Death was nothing, in the face of that.
“The spirits are gathered by the cave, right? That’s the most fitting place to choose the spirit of the hearth.”
“Uh… Yes? What does that have to do with—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Laura said, descending the stairs.
“Laura, don’t do anything rash!” Valentine called down after her, but Laura left her sister there with her words.
I’m a warrior. I’m not going to wither and die, surrounded by my failures. There was an honorable way out, here, and Laura would take it, no matter the cost.
At the foot of the Stone Tower, she had to use a boat to get to the shore, so swollen was the Coulée Pierre from all of the snowmelt, but one of father’s men saw to it without issue, and before long the cave was in sight.
No spirits guarded the entrance, so Laura simply drew her sword and walked inside.
Fernan took so much from me, but I still have sage’s last resort. A good death need not elude me.
Live as a sage, die as a sage.
She sprouted a fire from her hand to light the way, since the spirits seemed to be too deep within for the light outside to reach them, keeping Aurelian’s sabre firmly gripped in her other hand. Had he felt this way, holding this same blade, as Avalon’s cannons thundered in the Foxtrap? Or when Leclaire held a guillotine of ice above his neck?
As his body collapsed into slag?
I don’t think I’ve been in here since I made my compact with Flammare, Laura realized, looking over the handprints and animals painted across the walls, remnants of a bygone age. It’s worth savoring this last look.
In the distance, she saw a faint green light bounce from the cave’s walls, so she extinguished her own light to see it better. It flickered like a lantern, though no lantern had ever taken on a color like that. Still, it meant she was on the right track.
“Come out and die!” she called, hearing her words echo through the cave. “My name is Laura Bougitte, sage of Flammare.” The spirits would know what that meant, or at least they’d think they did: a treacherous human with the gall to conspire against her patron and the prowess to see him slain. None of that was true, of course, but it would give her the fight she needed.
“Where are you?” she called again. “Is every spirit here too much of a coward to face me?”
The light stopped retreating.
As Laura got closer, she saw the spirit, a silhouette in green of a wispy snake swimming through the air, but it disappeared behind her almost the instant she caught a good glimpse of it.
“It seems that you wish for death, human.” Its voice was so quiet that Laura couldn’t clearly make out the words until they were joined by their own echo sounding off the walls, perfectly in sync.
“Your death,” she said, whirling around with her sword. “As long as you’re worthy of the fight.”
The spirit flickered by, gone as soon as it was there. “If you are who you say you are, then I have a proposal I believe will serve you better. A way to regain power that you have lost, in exchange for a fight you already desire.”
Holding tightly to her sword, Laura peered into the darkness to try to find it. For all that spirits were bound to truth, every word carried the menacing suspicion of a stinger in its tail. And yet, what did that even matter? What was there to lose?
“I’m listening.”