Luce IV: The Authority

“Are you sure about this?” Charlotte looked expectantly into Luce’s eyes, her expression softer than he was used to. “The Charentine already aren’t exactly your biggest supporters. The docks fire may have fizzled out, but it would only take another spark to light an inferno.”

Luce tore his gaze away, forcing himself to consider the question seriously before giving the final order.

Across the Sartaire, the dead forest was abuzz with activity, stripped bare for half a mile from the coast while woodcutters continued to press the frontier. Luce had been here only months ago, emerging bedraggled and exhausted from the wasteland to the joyous sight of civilization at last, but the logging operation he’d glimpsed then had changed massively in the time since, in degree if not in kind.

The sawmill on the Charenton side of the river was thrice the size it had been, expanded with thick stone walls and hastily assembled roofs of thatch. The inundations of unseasonable spring had finally, mostly, subsided, leaving the water wheel operating at close to peak efficiency, the sputtering howl of saws droning on in the distance.

An impressive operation, if it weren’t for the fact that now we’re robbing the corpse of a forest we murdered.

Nor was the empty city of Refuge spared, Cya’s revenants pushed aside to extract every last object of value that yet remained. Sir Alcock’s work, apparently, to supply the Tancredi’s new exhibit, though the professor had already delivered the spoils to Cambria and moved on to his next excavation site.

“Cya is the only reason I’m not rotting in Leclaire’s dungeon right now. I made a promise to protect her forest, and I intend to keep it, come what may.” It was the right thing to do, for all that Cya seemed not to understand why drugging someone against their will was wrong.

“In Malin, you were reactionary.” Despite your good advice. Luce nodded, letting her continue. “It left you in a position where you had to scramble to protect your own person, to give up the city to Leclaire. Here, Ticent is gone. Your guard is in command of Charenton.”

“For now.” Luce sighed. “I’m not forgetting that I failed horribly there, but this is exactly why I tried to use a light touch in Malin. Bringing Charenton under royal authority is an overreach, for all that Ticent spent decades doing whatever we told him to. No one tried to set my ship on fire then.”

“And you lost control of everything.”

“I did.” Luce nodded, coming to a decision. “On its own, shutting all this down will destroy many livelihoods. Even with the sun returned, the corpses of Cya’s children have been fueling the city for months. And it won’t be long before winter arrives. I can’t take over Charenton only to kill it. The Lyrion League would be in open rebellion before the fortnight was out.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, softening her stern expression. “I agree. But your deal with Cya…”

“It stands.”

“I know you wish to be a man of your word, Prince Luce. Especially after those you trusted failed to do it. It’s one of the things I like most about you. But do not let your honor be the enemy of what must be done.”

Wise counsel, from the most trusted of sources. It was good to see that her reticence to challenge him was gone entirely. Luce liked her much better as a peer than a follower. “I won’t. We’ll just have to find some other way to take the sting out of it, and I think I might have an idea.”

“Should I shut it down, then?” Charlotte asked softly, the question hanging on her lips. “Because I fear that the moment I do, your challengers will only grow bolder.”

We should do it now. Every second that this stands is a dagger in the eye of the spirit who saved me from Leclaire and Jethro, a betrayal of my promise, of the hope that Avalon can ever do better.

But Charlotte was right. As usual. “Not yet. I can’t break out the whip if I don’t even have a cube of sugar in the other hand.” Luce pressed his hands together, considering his next move. “Is the assassin awake yet? Will she live?”

Charlotte blinked, bewildered at the change in subject. “She’ll live. Apparently Ticent’s personal physician is good for more than keeping that old bastard alive. She even spoke to me when I stopped in this morning.”

“Really? Did she give anything away?”

Charlotte shook her head. “Not much. I made it about five minutes before she told me to fuck off. Her arm was in a sling, but she was up and walking. The wound missed her lung by less than an inch, or she’d surely be dead.”

“Lucky us.”

“We are lucky. You can’t question a corpse.”

Luce inclined his head, conceding the point. Even if the assassin herself is secondary, it’s worth figuring out how Leclaire got a binder on her side. Two, if Jethro was more than an ally of convenience to oust me. It was looking more and more like Avalon’s defectors were becoming a significant political force in their own right, bolstered by the secret meetings of the Lyrion League.

Exactly the base of people who ought to be supporting Luce’s reforms, if only they could be convinced it was possible.

“I want to visit her now. Do you have time to accompany me?”

“Always.” Charlotte held her fingers to her mouth and let out a sharp whistle, waving her hands to signal to the guards down the hill. Not yet.

I’m sorry Cya, but shutting this down will do nothing if I’m driven out on a rail moments later. They’ll just put everything back the way it was.

They just had to move quickly. There was still a way out of this.

Now that she was able to move around, the assassin had been moved from the physician’s office to one of the cells under the Magister’s palace, a square building on the water, with a single tower erupting from the top where Luce had positioned his office for his time here.

Luce could hear the waves of the Lyrion sea splash against the stone as he descended, Charlotte at his side, reminding him of the challenge before him. Perhaps Pantera the Undying would have been better suited, but now the spirit of these waters is Levian, Leclaire’s patron, and no friend to humanity besides. Even Camille would have been cross hearing about the White Night, Luce had no doubt, unless she was even more callous with her allies than he’d thought.

The sword the assassin bore was far more likely to yield a solution than the obstinate prisoner herself, but it wasn’t going anywhere, unlike the girl here who could still very well die. If that gave Luce an excuse to put off the sort of research that reminded him so heavily of his experiments with Camille, that wasn’t exactly an issue either. All in good time.

The prisoner was younger than Luce had expected when he’d first glimpsed her, around his own age, with light brown hair just shorter than shoulder length, and eyes full of fury. Her shoulder was heavily bandaged, arm hanging limp in its sling, and the extravagant red tunic and pants she’d worn at the dock swapped out for dull brown prisoner’s garb.

“Oh, you’re back.” She gave a mocking smile, speaking unaccented Imperial. “Welcome to my office. What can I do for you?”

Better than ‘fuck off’, I guess. “As a starting point, I’d like to know your name.”

“Laura,” she answered easily, so easily that it was likely she was lying. But it would do for the moment. “And you’re Prince Luce.”

“I am.” Luce hesitated a moment, then extended his hand, to Charlotte’s visible consternation. “Luce Grimoire, Prince of Crescents. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but—”

“I’ve heard enough. You’re the Prince of Darkness. I guess that explains your get-up.” Laura started laughing. “Man, it’s a good thing I didn’t kill you, you’re doing way more damage to Avalon than I ever could.”

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“You say that like you had any choice in the matter.” Charlotte drew a pistol and aimed it at her. “I assure you, if you don’t give us what we want, I’ll finish the job. Without your weapon, you’re nothing.”

Laura shrugged. “Maybe I’m nothing anyway. Maybe it makes no difference.”

“Where did you get the sword?” Charlotte asked, taking a step closer.

“Hmm, let me think… Oh, I know! I pulled it out of your ass. If you want another one, just check there.” Laura turned to look directly at Luce. “Call off your dog, please? It’s hard to have a conversation with her nipping at my heels.”

“No. Answer her question.”

“Well, dog, I’ll tell you what I said this morning. I don’t deal with lackeys. Fuck off.”

Luce sighed, putting his hand to his forehead. It’s like she doesn’t even care. “That’s a binder’s artifact, imbued with power taken from the spirits. And yet you used it to try to kill me.”

“More than half right, but unlike some people, I remember my vows. And I wasn’t trying to kill you, just to fight your dog there.”

“Stop.” Luce stepped right in front of her face, staring her down. “Call her that one more time and I’ll chain you under the docks. Now, I’ll ask again, where did you get the sword? Did you bind it yourself?”

“Khali’s curse!” Laura rolled her eyes dramatically, stepping away with a twirl of her good arm. “It was a gift from a sage, empowered by Volobrin directly. No binding involved.”

If she’s telling the truth… If it’s possible to do that… And it made sense. If Fenouille could empower the riverbanks to be more fertile by a thousandfold in the middle of an artificial winter, why couldn’t a volcano spirit create a flaming sword? Why could any spirit help solve the hunger crisis gripping Avalon, and ease the tensions with the Territories?

I could cut out sages entirely, deal directly with the spirits. No need for a Camille to twist the plan against me when I’m not looking. There was hope, after all.

“Is Volobrin close? What is she the spirit of?”

“He lives under Mt. Glastaigne, on the other side of the continent. Unless he took Flammare’s old spot, but it sounded like his plan was to move it. Not really my concern, either way.” She leaned back against the wall. “If you’re looking for a closer spirit, Levian represents the Lyrion Sea. And I’d love to see you two meet. I could make the introductions if you like.”

Sounds like a great way to lose my soul, and you just gave away that there’s no need for it. “What about the Rhan? The river must have a spirit, just like Fenouille for the Sartaire.”

“You know about Fenouille?” Laura snorted. “Camille must have some strange pillow talk.”

“Enough,” Charlotte grunted, shoving Laura against the wall. “I noticed how heated you got whenever Leclaire’s name came up. I assure you, we’re no more friends of hers than you are. Prince Luce is trying to save everyone, with the power to let you go free. Be smart.”

“Hmm… No.” Laura turned back to Luce, glint in her eye. “I can’t believe you’re trying this again after how badly you failed in Malin. Seriously, what are you thinking? Are you stupid?”

Maybe. But I tried doing nothing, and it was worse. “Laura, I don’t expect you to understand what it is to be betrayed, to be slandered and painted as a monster to serve someone else’s narrative, but all I’m trying to do here is help. If I can make a deal with the spirits for one last harvest before the onset of winter, I can feed my people and the people here. I can stop the encroachments on Cya’s domain and help her rebuild it. Please, I just need a little bit of information.”

“And then you’ll give me my sword back and let me go?”

“Maybe,” he said, at the same time as Charlotte said, “No.”

Laura’s mouth twisted, unimpressed. “You want me to turn my back on my people to help you feed your own, giving important information about the spirits, all in exchange for… nothing? Is that really the deal you’re offering?”

“I’d like to let you go. If you’re telling the truth, you have nothing to do with Camille or the Lyrion League. But even then…” Luce shook his head. “You did attack us.”

“And set the docks on fire.”

“And insulted Charlotte repeatedly right to her face.”

“You’d prefer I do it behind her back? Fine, send her out of the room.”

“Enough!” This is getting nowhere, and I’ve already got most of what I needed. “Let’s go, Charlotte.”

“Good luck on your delusional quest!” she called out to their backs as they left. ”Good luck talking to Rhan when you don’t even know about their two forks, or that you need a partner to call them forth. You don’t even know they want to reshape the continent! You’re hopeless.”

She stopped shouting once they were out of sight, almost a shame given all of the useful information she was giving them.

“Careful taking that at face value,” Charlotte said once they were alone. “She might be a bit dim, but I don’t think she’s an idiot. She wanted you to know that.”

“I know. And maybe it’s just another layer to a trap, making it more believable than straight-out telling me. Maybe. That’s what Camille would do.” Luce gave it another moment of thought, poring over his memories of Laura’s words. “But I think she wanted deniability for herself. Helping Avalon is something any Imperial would be reluctant to do. You know that better than anyone.”

“I know better than anyone that in a desperate spot, you have to do whatever it takes to survive. Looking out for the entire world is something you can only do once you’ve got solid ground under your feet. In Malin, for as long as I can remember, Avalon’s rule was just the way things were. Even when Whitbey killed the Blue Bandit and Lord Arion resigned, nothing really changed. You just have to do what you can with the position you’re in.”

But what does that have to do with what Laura said? Luce kept the thought silent, since it wasn’t often that Charlotte opened up.

“Anyway, with Laura, now that I have a name, I have a few places in mind to drop it and see what I find. Even if it’s a fake, that might tell us something. There aren’t many people with access to spiritual artifacts, and even fewer that aren’t Avaline binders. And if she really is named Laura, we could hope to get some real leverage on her, and force her to negotiate.”

“But every day that we wait is another betrayal of Cya. And if she was telling the truth, we could reach the Rhan spirit right now.”

“Or lose our souls to her lies. It’s not worth the risk.”

Luce frowned, trying to imagine the consequences of failure. With Camille to provide the introductions, Fenouille had been nothing but friendly, but Corro had been downright disdainful, and Pauvre had needed extra incentives from Camille. It had been precarious, and spirits had ample good reason to hate a prince of Avalon even without factoring in their biases and blindspots.

What if the Rhan spirit had to be addressed alone, and all the talk of forks and partners was just a way to get them angrier? What would happen to Cya’s forest if Luce was killed by the Rhan? To Avalon? To the world?

It’s not a risk I can take. Not until I know more. “You’re right. Again. We need more information, assurances, maybe even a vow before the spirits. Camille found a way around it, but she was bound by it, and with better assurances, we could maybe get some security on her promises. Then we contact the spirit of the Rhan, and try to make a deal.”

“Ticent’s palace has a library from before Avalon even existed. Better information on the Rhan spirit might be there, or at least a way to cross-check this Laura’s claims.”

“Then I know how I’m spending my next few days.” Luce nodded to himself, trying to plan a course through these treacherous waters. “Can you look into Laura, and continue to keep an eye out for any rebels?”

“At once. But the forest?”

Luce smiled at his own idea, always a good sign. “I’m declaring a holiday. All the millers and woodsmen are to rest for the next week, in celebration of the sun’s return. So it shall be every year from now on.”

“And in the meantime, we can shore up our understanding of the facts.” Charlotte smiled. “The mill owner’s not going to like you reaching down over his head to give his workers time off.”

“Too bad for him, there’s nothing he can do about it. If he tries to make them work anyway, throw him in a cell to cool off.”

“Yes sir!” The warmth on her face was visible, hints of red in the autumn air, almost enough for Luce to forget that she could probably snap him in half if she cared to.

“And no ‘sir’, please. I thought we talked about this.”

“You said no to ‘Sire’ and ‘Your Highness’. Not sir.”

“I’m saying no to everything but ‘Luce’. Just with you. I don’t want us… I’d be dead if it weren’t for you, at Jethro’s hand of Camille’s. If I’d listened to you more, sooner, we wouldn’t be dealing with any of these problems. That’s all my fault.”

“Luce…” She reached out a hand towards his face, then stopped herself, letting it drop to her side. “I’ll look into Laura for you. Two days should be enough, I hope.”

“Then I’ll finish my research by then. Laura called the spirit Rhan, not just the river, and the paired forks thing is significant, whether it’s the truth or the opposite. I’ve got a good place to start.” Despite having a firm plan, Luce felt strangely disappointed, but this wasn’t the time for wallowing.

“So do I. She said she was a friend of Aurelian Lumière. With her artifact, I’d expect her to be a binder that went with your father, but she didn’t speak highly of him either. So the first step is figuring out what happened in Guerron.”

Guerron. That place had started all of this mess in the first place, the pretext that Father had used to draw Luce to Malin. Where he was imprisoned now. And if Luce’s theory was true, which the timely return of the sun certainly seemed to imply, then Camille had her fingers in it.

“Good luck,” he said, reluctant to say anything more when it could jeopardize the tasks before them. “Guerron’s been a royal mess all year. Khali only knows what’s going on there.”