Luce IV: The Second in Line
With the room cleared, Luce could hear rumbling from outside, weak waves of chants and jeers washing over the Palace walls. Fernan was absolutely right about the benefit of going directly to the people.
Leveraging Luce’s own black legend to win hearts and minds would have been a fool’s endeavor, of course, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t get his resources to people who would use them to help. Several weeks ago, workers from the Princess Lizzie’s garment factory had begun striking rather than renew their contracts, each of them banding together to ensure that work slowed to a halt.
With Harold in the city opposing his every move, Luce couldn’t leverage the Grimoire shares in the factory to do as he’d done in Carringdon. But that didn’t stop me from covertly donating funds to keep the workers from starving a little longer, then requesting their help with another great issue of our time. It didn’t take much convincing, when so many of them were opposed to the war in the first place, though Luce had obviously gone through an intermediary rather than show his own face.
While the workers themselves remained in front of their factory, the cramped apartments in Brickston made for close neighbors, and it turned out that there was no shortage of people willing to protest at the palace in their stead. It helped that the strikers were already well set-up for this kind of organization, and that they had newfound access to funds.
Ideally, it would put pressure on Harold to end the war in Micheltaigne. Considering what a pittance Luce was paying, it was easily worth the risk. Better yet, after the first demonstration Luce arranged, they’d continued to do it on their own, marching all the way from Princess Lizzie’s to the Palace and back to show their solidarity with each other. And it was a very good sign that their chants could be heard from within the Throne Room.
“Alright, Luce. Let’s talk.” Harold slouched on the throne, brandishing a too-full glass of red wine above the paper on his lap. The portrait above him had been replaced once more, no longer the first King Harold nor the moving, abstracted waves, but instead a larger-than-life portrait of Harold himself, waving a scepter off towards the right of the throne.
Though it might as well be Father again, considering how similar they look. Luce couldn’t help but frown with pity as he took it in. Imagine having your very identity tied so intimately to your own cessation of existence. It was important not to forget what Father had intended for his eldest son, all the more so when said son insisted on rank folly and careless cruelty in the name of his own glorification.
“I saw that the City Guardians wished to conduct an inspection of Ortus Tower,” Luce began, wanting to head the largest issue off as early as possible. “I’m afraid that won’t be happening.”
“You’d refuse a direct order from your king?” Harold seemed amused at that. “You can keep your precious Charenton for now, but Ortus Tower remains on Avalon soil. I could burn it to the ground if I care to—an inspection is nothing.”
“Prince Regent,” Luce corrected. “We both know that you will never be the king.”
Face curling into a snarl, Harold tightened his grip around his wine. “Bluster all you want. Anything could happen while you’re dallying off in Forta. Or did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
I met Lizzie Stewart mere minutes ago in this very palace; I expected you to learn of it eventually, but it’s worrisome that you apparently knew in advance. Could that mean a surprise in store for Luce in Forta, courtesy of the same brother who’d once sicced a rowdy band of pirates after him?
Or he’s just messing with me, trying to get me to call it off, or leave more guards behind than I should. If anything, that only strengthened Luce’s resolve to arrive in force, Charlotte at his side. “You know that I’m doing all this for you, don’t you?”
“All for me? The perfect brother once again, eh?” Harold took a hurried swig of his wine, spilling a few drops onto the paper in front of him. “I wonder if even you believe that.”
“Why else would I risk opening the gates to Nocturne by detonating a bomb in front of them, you ass?” Luce walked closer to the throne, ascending the steps until he loomed over his brother. “I’m trying to break Pantera’s curse. I have been ever since I found out.”
“Heh, sure.”
“It’s true. When Khali was sealed in Nocturne, all her energy went with her; all her spiritual workings ceased to function; every last one of her sages lost their magic, never to return. If you and Father were separated, each alone in a world cut off from the other, it might just free you from your curse.”
“Really?” Harold sputtered with disbelief. “For me?”
“Who else? Yes, of course, I want to save you.”
He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. “Would that even work?”
“There’s no way to be sure until we try, and even the attempt carries its fair share of danger. Charlotte’s tried to talk me out of it. She doesn’t think you’re worth it.” Nor worthy to rule Avalon. “But I know that this isn’t your fault; it’s the position Father put you in.”
“Well, if the mighty Charlotte doesn’t think your own brother is worth it, I guess you have no choice.” Harold finished his wine, then poured himself another glass, not offering any to Luce. “Though I do find it a bit disturbing that throwing me to the wylls is apparently the sort of suggestion that tickles your fancy.”
“It’s not! I just told you that I refused her.”
Harold laughed, spilling slightly more of his wine. “But it didn’t stop you from inviting her into your bed, nor from doing your bidding in Carringdon. Honestly, Luce, you plucked her from obscurity in Malin—you, a prince of the blood, second in line to the throne of the most powerful nation on the planet. And now she works for you. She’s never going to tell you anything but what you want to hear, nor will she ever refuse you any request.”
“That’s not true at all.” Luce frowned. “You don’t know her. Or me, it seems.”
“It’s not a question of character. What’s she going to do, say ‘no’ to you? Run back to her farm in Malin or wherever? Come on!”
With Camille Leclaire in power, I can’t imagine she’s welcome in her homeland, either. But Harold was still being ridiculous, poking his nose into things he knew nothing about. He was wrong... Wasn’t he? “I can’t make Charlotte do anything she doesn’t want to. She could snap my spine like a twig in the space of five seconds, for one thing.”
“And what would happen to her then? Your guards walk in the room, find her standing over your corpse, and crown her Princess of Darkness?” It’s not a completely ridiculous idea. They’re about as loyal to her as they are to me. “Or maybe she could slink away to a life of disgrace and exile.”
Only then did Luce realize why his brother was prodding at him like this, trying to drive a wedge between him and Charlotte. He wants me paranoid, bereft of allies. As if it weren’t hard enough to stand back from that precipice after what Camille had done to him in Malin.
“All of that applies just as much to your paramours,” Luce felt compelled to say, though turning it on Harold felt like an admission of failure. I saw through your intent, but as for the content of your argument... This current arrangement wasn’t fair to Charlotte, whatever her own professed feelings on the matter.
“True enough, though I don’t typically hire them into my service.” Harold shrugged. “It hasn’t stopped the odd few from refusing to see me any more before I had the chance to do the same to them, and the lack of retaliation serves as permission for the rest. Not keeping anyone around too long also helps.”
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Even comparing Charlotte to those one-and-done wastrels is an insult of the highest order, Harold. You’re lucky I’m so practiced at holding my tongue around you.
“I’ll give your Charlotte Carringdon, at least. She really messed that one up for me. Delbrook is still refusing to concede for whatever reason, but he’s got about as much chance of sitting on the Great Council as that bull of yours has of being Queen.” Harold reached for the bottle of wine, only to frown as he found it empty. “So I suppose you’ll have the Great Council for a little while, by the barest of margins. I look forward to vetoing what I’m sure will be many softhearted decrees and power-grabs for your Tower.”
“I had nothing to do with that, and neither did Charlotte,” Luce lied. Delbrook is probably only keeping himself in the race to delay Charlotte or the Guardians going after him directly. Well, he could delay all he wanted, but it wouldn’t save him. “What Delbrook and Monfroy did was bound to come out eventually; this was just fortuitous timing.”
“I’m sure.” Harold rolled his eyes, then leaned forward. “But is it really true? What would Monfroy want with a child slave?”
“I have no idea,” Luce admitted. “But I trust the evidence. Yes, it’s true.”
Nostrils flared, Harold set his empty glass down next to the throne. “I thought Monfroy was a friend. Without him, I’d still be prancing around thinking I was Father’s heir instead of his vessel. He’s the only one who’s ever been honest with me.”
“Ernest Monfroy? Him?” Luce wasn’t quite sure how that made any sense. Did Monfroy know about Father, somehow? But he kept it to himself... until he told Harold? To what end? Alone, none of those pieces seemed likely; together, the whole chain of events was functionally impossible.
“My shadow followed Leclaire until he realized she was just another Father, grasping for immortal tyranny no matter the cost. I can’t help but wonder if I haven’t made the same mistake.” Harold seemed to make a decision there, flicking his hand across the paper on his lap and leaving red streaks where the drops of wine had touched it. “If you truly wish to do me such a favor, Luce, then I shall be generous to you as well.”
Why don’t I find that reassuring? “Is it related to that paper?”
“As a matter of fact, yes!” Harold stood, clapping Luce on the shoulder. “This is a letter from one Alvis de Sableton, an Imperial aristocrat and something of an athlete, I’m given to understand.” Harold wiggled his eyebrows, a smile wide across his face. “He’s started a rebellion against Camille Leclaire. Ha! Her little Empire is going to be torn apart without losing a single Avaline life. And then it’ll be ours once again. Yours, if you want it.”
“What?” Frantically, Luce tore the paper from Harold’s hands and pored over each word.
“With Charenton, it makes sense, doesn’t it? You’d be Governor-General of the Southern Territories. Of course, you’d have to cede Ortus Tower back to the crown, but one tower for an Imperial capital is more than a fair exchange.”
That’d be convenient, wouldn’t it? Get me out of Avalon and away from the Great Council so you could do as you please unimpeded. “Malin is already pacified, in case you forgot about my landmark feat of diplomacy. I’m not going to toss aside the Treaty of Charenton.”
“Oh, come now! Like you wouldn’t enjoy seeing Camille Leclaire’s head posted outside Malin’s walls? Guy Valvert told me—”
“Valvert? He’s a prisoner of the Guerron Commune.” Fernan wouldn’t have released him... But how could he have escaped where Father failed to?
“He was.” Harold nodded. “Once Malin is secured, these rebel knights have volunteered to clear out Guerron for us too. From there, who knows? I might just be the first man to unify the world, under my own name.” He smiled. “So many times, our forces have been held back because they don’t know the land. The peasants are against them, sheltering in hidden caves and shrouded forests. But now we have collaborators on our side! Locals! With none of the image issues that arise when sending our own soldiers.”
My plan worked. It wasn’t hard to find people against the war in Cambria, but finding one willing to tell a Prince that was considerably more difficult, so the protesters had been an excellent way to force the issue. “They want weapons, Harold. Cannons, guns, even bombs! We can’t give them anything.”
“You want me to tell them to fuck off? Why? They’re half the world away, fighting against our enemies.”
“The Empire are not our enemies! We signed a peace treaty.” Luce sighed, holding his hand to his forehead. “All the problems with this war in Micheltaigne, and you want to open up another front? Our technology is our power, Harold. We can’t afford to give it away. It’s been hard enough to comb through all the scientific knowledge we shared to ensure it couldn’t be used for weapons against us.”
“All the more reason to be sure we hold those lands ourselves, no?”
“No! This is a bad idea. Don’t do it.” Especially not while thinking you’re doing me a favor. “You’re thinking about this the wrong way. If you want me gone for a while, let me go to Micheltaigne. I can take command and negotiate a peace.” It’ll play merry ruin with my plans for a while, but I can’t miss what could be the only moment to change his mind. “Father would never dream of it.”
“Don’t talk about that man in front of me,” Harold barked. “We both know he’d do exactly that. Just look at the Unification, or the arrangement with Guerron after the Foxtrap. He left half the Lyrion League standing! Look where that got us. What he would never do is launch a full-scale assault on that barbaric continent and not let up until they all submit or die.”
“Because it’s foolish, Harold! It’s impatient and short sighted and wrong. If you burn away all our goodwill with the people and feed army after army into this thresher, the whole continent could rise up against us! You could ruin everything.”
“That’s fine by me too.” Harold flopped back down into his seat, putting his hands behind his head. “Either I realize Avalon’s purpose better than its architect ever could, or tear the whole project down with my own two hands. My name would go down in history forever either way, the sort of immortality that matters most, while Father would die a forgotten footnote.”
“Or you could live. I told you what I’m trying to do—”
“And I love you for that, Luce. Really. But it won’t work. Pantera’s Curse is inevitable, Undying. All you’ll accomplish by throwing Father into Nocturne is killing him instantly, and with him, me.”
“I wouldn’t risk your life until I was sure I’d be successful.” Unlike you, so carelessly throwing away mine because you thought the worst of me. “You need to listen to me. Not just about the curse, or the rebels, but everything. You can’t keep ruling like this! Avalon isn’t just some inheritance from Father you can set on fire to spite him. Isn’t that what you hated about Jethro?”
Harold leaned further back in his chair. “Honestly, Luce? What I hated most about Jethro was that I didn’t get to be him. When darkness fell just as I was thrust into ruling Avalon, I felt the need to step up. For the people. They wanted war, and now they hate me for trying to win it. Just listen to them.” He went silent, letting the low murmur of chants rumble in the background, then shook his head. “No, now that Jethro’s gone, I find myself wondering if he didn’t have a point.”
“Then there’s nothing more to say.”
Luce emerged from the palace into the fog, letting the riotous chants wash over him, growing louder once they saw he was there. I don’t want war either. But as long as my brother rules, he won’t stop.
And yet Luce still couldn’t leave him to his fate. I would not wish such a thing on my worst enemy, let alone my brother. All of this... cruel, irrational carelessness that the Prince Regent had been possessed of stemmed from the horrific position that Father had put him in. Being a better king didn’t make him a better man.
But I can’t let things continue like this. Perhaps once Harold was saved, he would see reason and begin to accept Luce’s guidance, but that could take months. Years. Perhaps his ingratitude will last a lifetime.
Avalon couldn’t afford to wait that long.
Luce sent two letters as soon as returned to his office, personally escorting his messengers to their ships so as to take no chances.
The first, he sent to Carringdon. Charlotte’s work was finished, now, successful as always. Luce would have liked to give her a bit of leave before launching back into work, but the Nocturne Project had to continue. We need to set up that experiment in the Fortan Highlands and get things moving as soon as possible. With bold, decisive action, the project could be complete by the end of the year, and with it, the worst of the danger. Charlotte would meet him there with a detachment of Shadows while Luce organized the scientists.
After Marie Laure had broken the story about Monfroy and the Twilight Society, Crete Marbury had been expelled, and Luce was trying to keep her out of the public eye. Being seen with her in Forta, with Lizzie Stewart of such dubious loyalty and Harold having ominously alluded to bad tidings if Luce went, he couldn’t take any chances. Rebecca and myself will lead the project, with Russel and Kelsey to manage energy storage and infrastructure, respectively. Crete, regrettably, will be assigned elsewhere. We need to keep the team small, and the latest DV for the project was Rebecca’s anyway.
The second letter he wrote was to Fernan, with instructions concerning what to do with Father. It’s not what I wanted, but it’s the only way I see to stop Harold from destroying Avalon. Luce could only do his best, and hope that his brother would forgive Luce for his treachery in time.
Charlotte had the right of it, though I wish it weren’t so. It was time for the regency to end.