Luce IX: The Imposing
Despite how close the peace summit had come to explosive failure, Luce had actually done it. It felt hard to believe even now—not only that he’d managed a political feat worthy of Father and the Grimoire line, but that his plans hadn’t been catastrophically diverted by whatever primordial force of the universe seemed to delight in his failure.
He was even letting himself celebrate the new year with the other Charentine, sitting under a hanging lattice of lanterns, their flames somehow burning the same green color as Fernan’s eyes. After three glasses of Lyrion single malt—supplies purchased freely from the now-quelled Horace Williams thanks to the Charenton Accords—Luce felt more at ease than he ever had since leaving Cambria, even the usually-stifling night air of this northern edge of the continent providing a comfortable warmth where this time of year they’d be shivering at home.
Having Charlotte here didn’t hurt either, regaling him with what she’d learned from her exile out in the hallway. He’d squeezed in next to her on their ramshackle bench to better examine her notes—written in code, of course.
“Maxime’s Condorcet isn’t the one I was led to believe. Though for all that, it isn’t much better.” Leaders spurring their citizens towards senseless violence was hardly anything new, nor was it unique to Condorcet’s strange system of government, but it was in a way disheartening to learn how little Khali really had to do with any of it. “Anything else catch your ear?”
Charlotte nodded, flipping the page with a smile. “Jethro claimed he successfully plundered the Grimoire Archives, but refused to elaborate on the boast. I’m hoping you know what that means?”
“I do...” Though it’s not something I’d risk anyone overhearing. Luce switched to Avaline, trusting Charlotte’s impressive grasp of the language. “My family have always been exemplary binders, and they’ve defeated plenty of others to claim their artifacts as spoils. But not all of them are as benign as the Gloves of Teruvo, or the Gauntlet of Eulus. The most dangerous must be safeguarded, some scant few used only in the times of severest desperation, and the rest, not even then.” Father had promised to show him the contents one day, though once his date of majority had come and gone, Luce had begun to assume it was an empty promise. “He couldn’t have cleaned it out, or he’d have more at his disposal. He stole his most destructive item, the Gauntlet, from my father, but the Archives store far more dangerous artifacts than that. And someone would have noticed by now if he’d broken in.”
“If only your father is allowed inside, wouldn’t it take a long time to discover?” She frowned. “We should assume he’s keeping the worst of your family’s spoils ready for the right moment, more powerful than we thought.”
“It’s not a question of power, necessarily. More of the unique effects that—” Luce cut himself off as he heard an indistinct sound he was pretty sure was his name.
His full name.
“Yeah, that’s right. I said it! I’m not afraid of you, Prince of Darkness.” Almost seven feet tall, the complainant must have downed an entire barrel to get that drunk. “Damn year’s already over, but is your ‘Autumn Spring’?” His lips jutted out for the last two words, a mockingly high-pitched voice.
Charlotte had already leapt to her feet, but Luce held out his hand to keep her back. For now. “The Autumn Spring is over. It was the week after Sauine, and it’ll be the week after the next one, too.”
“That right? Then why the fuck did I only get half-wages for a month? Why the fuck did I get fired tonight? Huh, Lucifer?”
“That’s enough, worm.” Charlotte drew her sword in one hand, the other hovering near her pistol. “Time to go.”
I guess now that the diplomats are leaving, the menace of my threat isn’t keeping them quelled. “But let me answer his question first, Charlotte. Free speech is a cornerstone of Avaline civilization, even for the least worthy of it.” Luce stood, craning his head to meet the drunkard’s eyes. “You got fired tonight because the mill closed down, because its owner fled back to Avalon a failure rather than try to make something of Charenton.”
“Because you—”
“Because I stopped the lumber cutters from venturing into the forests of Refuge. Because Refuge was never Avalon’s to begin with, and sending you in there risked your lives against Cya’s revenants every second you spent on that side of the Rhan. I held you back right before the Red Knight arrived, intent on slaying as many as he could get his hands on, another risk that the owner was happy to ignore. But as long as I remain the protector of Charenton, I’m not going to gamble with your lives as they did. I’m not willing to pay the bloody price they were.”
Not that it was primarily for your sake, but it feels good to throw it in your face. Still, Luce had justified his takeover of Charenton in the peace talks with a legal fiction about protecting this city and its people. After driving Levian off and bringing his High Priestess into agreement, I suppose it’s even true. There was something to be said for maintaining a presence here, even after they rebuilt from the worst of Levian’s attack, investing more of his resources to turn it into a proper modern city.
And if Guerron and Malin are going to benefit from Avaline science thanks to the treaty, surely the personal domains of a scientist prince ought to as well. It might even be a good way to ease people into things, on both sides of the Lyrion sea. After decades of Avaline influence, Charenton was culturally far less of a jump than Guerron, let alone Malin.
Watching four of his shadow guards manage to wrestle the belligerent away under Charlotte’s steely glare, Luce felt that for once he was properly planning for the future, rather than scrambling to deal with the latest crisis.
As he strolled out into the bright moonlight, Luce overheard a parent telling his daughter about the full moon, good tidings to bring into a new year. He followed the father’s pointed finger up towards the sky just in time to see a jagged crack appear in the moon’s white surface, bleeding pink as the circle began to blacken, only the corona letting off the slightest bit of light.
≋
“Has she ever gotten the face of a spirit before?” Luce felt his teeth clench tightly, trying to assess how bad this really was.
Fernan scratched his beard, frowning. “Camille would know, but she wasn’t there when I got back to the beach. I think she must have already left.”
“Then what happened to the tides and sea? They look normal from here, but—”
“They are,” Fernan interrupted. “I think someone else is filling the role. She talked about getting Fenouille to claim it at the convocation, so she might have found a way to summon him? Or settled for Rhan in the interest of avoiding disasters?”
“Or claimed his power for herself. No wonder she was so willing to oppose her patron.” Luce scoffed. “One backstab after another. Betrayal seems to be a chronic condition for her mind.”
“She was fighting him before Gézarde ever got involved, and she and Jethro never would have beaten Levian on their own. I don’t think it went the way you’re saying.”
“You don’t know her like I do.” Luce sighed, staring up at the darkened moon. “Was anyone but the moon spirit killed?”
“Maxime barely got away before Courbet spotted him, but he’s okay. As far as I know, no one else was caught up in her scheme. But Lamante... She went too far this time. Lunette didn’t do anything to her. She just wanted her power and role! Maxime didn’t even see how Courbet killed her, so we have no idea what else she’s capable of. And I doubt being in league with the new Arbiter of Darkness will slow her down any.”
“Lamante took over Lunette’s seat right away?” Luce perked up at the news, not having known that was possible.
“She’s only holding it until the real convocation, but seizing Lunette’s power lets her take on the role until then. Not the role of the moon though, apparently.” The faint corona of the blackened moon still ominously looked down over the halting New Year’s celebration from the dark sky, neither replenishing nor fading away. “Thinking about it, I bet that’s what Fenouille is doing with the sea, too. They were supposed to wait, but... Well, I guess I didn’t misjudge Camille that much, even if she did surprise me.”
“Already the High Priestess of the Sea once more, and now for a spirit that owes his position to her.” Luce shook his head, though it could have been worse. Fenouille was probably the best they could expect to fill the role, evenhanded and willing to negotiate with a prince of the hated Avalon, but Camille could likely put an end to much of that with her words, if she saw fit to. She remained far more dangerous than Levian ever had been. “Apparently peace wasn’t enough of a victory for her.”
“Her loss,” Fernan said, which was so perfect that Luce felt compelled to toast him for it.
“We still came out ahead tonight. Levian was a thousand times more dangerous than Lamante, and she’s still bound by her word to never kill. Cut her off from this Courbet, and she won’t be able to pull something like this again.”
“I hope so...”
Me too, Fernan. But either way, that’s tomorrow’s problem. “I’ll put out an announcement so that people know there’s no reason to fear. At least, not for now. Do you think you could help me reassure them?” With his reptilian-looking face and flaming eyes, Fernan cut an imposing figure, but the menacing image was barely even skin deep, and his warmth could go a long way to easing fears.
“I would, but Cya asked me to meet her in Refuge on the morning of the new year, something about learning the truth at the heart of the world. I know it sounds hard to believe, but those visions have real significance to them. They actually connect to important things in the past and present, and they don’t lie to you, even if you feel misled.”
Well, that’s an efficient way to cut through all of my half-formed excuses about the family history I saw in my own visions from Cya. “Oh, I know. Not something I ever want to experience again, but I understand its potency.” Camille herself had probably used it against him, timing her coup perfectly with the return of the— “Wait, were you the one feeding her information about the sun’s return? Did you use the spirit visions to do it?”
The flames in his eyes flickered, followed by a momentary pause. “I should be going. If I don’t encounter you again before we go, I just want to say I’m glad I met you. I don’t think peace would have been possible with anyone else sitting behind that ‘Avalon’ placard.”
“Likewise,” said Luce, meaning it, but already trying to unravel the consequences of this discovery. Before it had just been a suspicion, enough of a theory to realize he’d already been outmaneuvered either way. But now...
Semaphore telegraph towers will look like a messenger on a horse next to this if I can make it work without sages. Even before then, all it took was two sages willing to spend an inordinate amount of time hallucinating to communicate anywhere in the world... Camille had even mentioned having conversations!
He waited only until the instant Fernan left before calling Charlotte in to tell her about it.
≋
By the time they departed for Cambria, Luce’s shadow guards had swelled to two hundred from the Charentine, though he had no doubt that most of it was driven more from pragmatism than any great loyalty to him. That would be forged and tested in the time to come. In the meantime, under Charlotte’s vigilant eye, they were still a boon to him in Cambria—where they were unlikely to find allies besides him in any case.
That was one reason to justify taking Charlotte with him even when he really ought to have left someone he could trust to run things in Charenton. His own protection supplied another. But still, the pragmatic choice would be to leave her.
Pragmatic, but not... not acceptable.
With the Red Knight still prowling around—so far as anyone knew, at least—it was unlikely the Charentine would test Cya by trespassing in the near term, even if they found other ways to buck Luce’s authority. Graves would have his hands full with a mere eighty shadow guards, but he only had to hold out until Luce could return to relieve him.
As nice as it was to be back home, Luce couldn’t afford to stay long.
His ship, the newly renamed Progress, was docked on Crescent Isle with orders to be ready to depart at an hour’s notice. Leaving it there gave the crew time for the proper renaming ceremony they were so insistent on too, a superstitious waste of time that Luce was only too happy not to be present for. The marina would have been even closer to his business, but it was hard to trust that he wouldn’t be obstructed from returning to it with royal customs officers crawling over every inch of the place. It would hardly be the first time Avalon’s forces had been turned against him.
Crescent Isle, by contrast, was the traditional domain of the younger Grimoire royals, Luce’s own ever since Aunt Lizzie had willingly given up her title as Princess of Crescents. If that nominal claim weren’t enough, Luce had actually toured the shipbuilding facility there quite recently and made more resources available to the officials there in the wake of Robin Verrou’s assault on the island. If that weren’t enough, twenty shadow guards were more than enough to keep the island under control until he returned.
The other hundred followed him into Cambria, marching around and behind him as he walked south through the streets he hadn’t quite realized how much he’d missed.
“Hail Lucifer, of the line Grimoire! Hail the Prince of Darkness!” one of his shadows cried, though Luce really wished he wouldn’t. “The blood of the Great Binder flows through his veins! Hail the Prince of Crescents, the Lord Protector of Charenton! The Scientist, the Peacemaker, the son of the king!” Looking closer, the crier was Preston, who’d often done the same for his uncle when they visited Fortescue. It definitely earned Luce some bowed heads as he walked by, which his many strolls through Cambria in the past seldom had, though that was mostly because Luce hadn’t made any effort to make himself known. In fact, he’d deliberately aimed for the opposite. But it was different now. Perhaps this wasn’t the worst thing in the world when Luce was so unsure of exactly what would be greeting him at the palace.
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Jethro had set him up to die—confessed to it, even—and Harold had always claimed he could be trusted. That Jethro was his loyal agent. Someone had given him the path of Luce’s ship to give to those pirates, and it couldn’t be Father, for all that he’d apparently “tried to kill his son”.
And if that’s not bad enough, Harold’s still waging war in the Arboreum and Micheltaigne, sending his own people to die for nothing. Perhaps there was more to it. Luce desperately hoped so, but until he knew for sure, he’d be keeping his guards close.
Charlotte walked beside him, wearing one of Luce’s purple scarves to identify herself to the more distant guards following her. The moment their procession reached Alora Park, she raised her hand to point the path through the trees, and as one they filed down the largest of the trails, many hikers politely stepping back to get out of their way.
When they reached Peige Boulevard, Luce had a choice to make: turn left, and head for the Palace and the Great Council Chambers where he would need to see Avalon ratify the Treaty of Charenton, or go right for Ortus Tower, Luce’s first true seat of power, where the most significant scientific discoveries in the world happened, and where despite his efforts the weapons of the future were still being developed.
Put like that, it was hardly even a choice.
≋
And definitely the right one. With the Tower secured, Luce could walk into the palace far more comfortably.
“I’m telling you, I’m the Overseer! The Prince Regent appointed me himself when Arion got sick. Whatever you black clad ruffians think you’re doing here, Baron Williams will hear about it! Why, after the treatment you’ve—Your Highness, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d returned.”
Luce’s shadows dropped a sniveling Ronald Esterton in front of his feet as he poured himself a glass of brandy from the bottle he’d hidden in his office for just an occasion like this—well, maybe not just like this. After a moment of reflection, he retrieved a second glass and filled it, handing it to the erstwhile Overseer. “Sir Julius was overseeing things temporarily, in my stead. I don’t doubt that my brother turned to you when he fell ill.” Unfortunately, it tracks all too well with his extremely questionable decision making of late. “However, now that I’ve returned, your assistance is no longer required.”
“But, Your Highness, I must insist, I was granted this duty to uphold. By all means, assume your position as Overseer once more, but I would serve you better by staying. The war effort will suffer without me remaining to serve you, to maintain continuity.”
Luce shrugged. “I think we’ll muddle through.”
Esterton glared, and Luce realized he might try something on his way out. In a place like this, that could be catastrophic. “Carthy, Reginald, please see that Lord Esterton reaches the exit safely. In these troubled times, you never know what might happen.”
“I don’t need an escort!” He wrenched his arm free of their grasp, then started gathering his possessions from Luce’s office. “It’s just taking the elevator down my own damned tower. Nothing’s going to happen!”
“You never know, Ronnie. It’s a long fall if you slip, and accidents happen. Safer if you’re escorted.” Luce took a long sip of brandy as the former-acting-Overseer was carried out, looking with satisfaction at the rain splattering against his window.
With a toady of Williams’ in charge, doubtless countless errors would need to be rectified within the Tower’s walls, but for the moment, Luce could take satisfaction that it was his once more. Mistaken changes in personnel could be remedied, starting with the blatantly nepotistic hire of Olivia Esterton that he’d spotted working on level five. Her, I might fire personally.
With the Winter Term over at the Cambrian College, and the corresponding graduation of every good student whose progress the darkness had arrested, there would be no shortage of new talent to choose from. Albert Ingles for one, with his revolutionary work on the desk-sized printing press. Kelsey Thorley for another, the train undergrounding expert Thorburton had mentioned. Luce had tried to invite him to take his father’s place at the Malin railyard, but the darkness and Camille had put an end to that. Now he could finally put those plans into action here, and better yet, in Charenton.
Perhaps even Rebecca Williams, if doing Harold and the Baron the favor would be enough to lock in support for the Treaty. Recent events had definitely proven the value of explosives, and the fact that they could be turned towards positive ends. Luce would just have to be careful about what technologies reached the broader Avaline military, especially if they were still determined to wage this pointless war.
Safer to keep them in the hands of the Tower, under the control of people who understood the significance of their destructive power.
Though the Tower itself needs to be cleaned out before I can truly begin with that. Olivia Esterton was hardly the only new face that didn’t belong there, and several old ones were conspicuously absent. Even Lucretria Marbury was gone, ostensibly still out west for some New Year’s party even weeks into the new year, but more than likely reaching out to her network for another job. Luce would have to head that off when she got back—for all her philosophical limitations, she was too good a scientist to let loose, especially if she fell into private consulting for the military, which seemed the most likely avenue for her to take.
Ideally, Luce would be able to find a pair of sages willing to experiment with hallucinogens and remote communication too, or at least willing to model the interaction for other scientists to copy, but finding any willing to help would probably only come after months or years of deepened ties with the continent. A shame, too. Sages are my only good source of information on the spirits now that I’m not with Cya. The tides were still turning as they ever had, so someone was filling Levian’s seat, but the next convocation could come without any warning and ruin it and Luce would have no way of predicting it in advance.
Perhaps Fernan could be persuaded to visit... Not until things were stable here though.
Luce heard Charlotte’s distinctive knock on his door and returned to his seat, gesturing towards the guest seating in front of his desk as she ushered everyone else she’d been instructed to gather into his office.
Aunt Lizzie was the first to take a seat, noticeably flinching when she saw Luce’s missing eye. She was wearing the new fashion too, a carefully tailored pants and jacket in matching dark purple, with a narrow black cravat hanging down from her neck, grey hair pinned tightly up against her head as ever, not the slightest thread out of place.
The other Owls seemed to take their cues from her, dressed more or less the same though without the same attention to detail, sitting only when she did, and likewise trying to hide their shocked reactions to the sight of Luce’s face but not doing it quite as well...
It would have to do.
“Welcome to Ortus Tower,” Luce said, leaning over his desk to stare down the party leadership. “Aunt Lizzie, it’s wonderful to see you again. Thank you for gathering your colleagues.”
“My pleasure,” she said without a hint of a smile. “They’ve been briefed on the terms of your treaty, but there were just a few outstanding questions to settle before we vote. Terence?”
An elderly man tugged his collar, his face looking like halfway melted wax. “Well, Your Highness, I just don’t see the benefit. I know the Territories were getting rowdy, but that just means they need new leadership. Sack Horace Williams and the rest like you did with Ticent and there’s no need to concede anything.”
Here it is. The Harpies, without a doubt, would say the same thing far less politely. They, perhaps, were beyond winning over, but the Owls were prime allies in this, so long as Luce approached them the right way. Aunt Lizzie had already done most of the groundwork, but apparently there was still more convincing needed.
“Concede?” Luce scoffed. “The Treaty of Charenton isn’t a concession, it’s an opportunity. Think of your business partners, the joint stock companies where you and your friends have ownership stakes... The Territories were a crown possession; their wealth flowed to Avalon the nation. But a free Lyrion League? It’s a golden opportunity for the private individual.”
“So were the Territories, before your brother starved them half to death,” a middle aged woman muttered in the back.
“I can’t speak to my brother, but that’s exactly the sort of thing that a free Lyrion League avoids. Better still, they’re exempt from most Avaline regulations with their Special Administrative Zone status. Think about how much profit Versham-Martin made from nightshade before it was banned. Naca extract, tobacco, every substance controlled by the crown within Avalon’s borders—In Lyrion, it will be legal for you to sell as you see fit. Tributary taxes will still be exacted from the League government, but with targeted exemptions for those courageous pioneers helping to ensure a free Lyrion... And their Avaline partners.”
The overall flow of wealth to Avalon would certainly slow, but it would hardly stop, and investing the powerful and wealthy in Lyrion’s independence was the only realistic way to ensure the treaty’s passage. Aunt Lizzie had made that much abundantly clear, and Madeline Nella had wholeheartedly agreed.
He was planning to talk to Vas Sara to get the Jays on-side too, but that would require a different message, better tailored to a mostly-Mamela audience. Considering he’d misremembered her name as Cindy before requesting the audience, it would doubtless take more research to properly craft the proposal too.
Luce could see the change in the Owls’ faces, lit up with the possibilities before them. None of what he’d said was new to them—more than half was taken directly from what Aunt Lizzie had already told them, but it must have been different hearing it directly from the treaty’s architect, the peacemaker prince who’d personally dealt with the Lyrion rebels.
“Any other questions?”
≋
“Why would he do this? He’s the Prince Regent—he’s not supposed to refuse to sign legislation.” Luce tried to contain his rage, knowing that the entire Great Council could see him right now. “We have the votes, royal support! Sure it took the Jays to get the numbers to outvote the Harpies, but that’s still a majority! It’s the smart thing to do, and what Father would want, and he just—” Luce clenched his fists, biting back a louder complaint. “I’m going to go talk to him privately.”
Aunt Lizzie nodded dispassionately. “If that conversation proves frustrating, come see me afterwards. It might be time to fully inform you about your father’s will.”
Fitting timing, I suppose, since every second since getting back to Avalon has been all about imposing my own. But such was the price of peace. “See you then,” he said, not bothering to hide his low expectations.
Harold was slouching into Father’s throne when Luce came upon him, a glass of red wine in his hand. The portrait above it had been removed, replaced by a painting of a purple ocean, four long-haired men’s faces in a white cloud on the bottom, though Luce had no idea who they were.
“Brother! It’s been too long.” Harold grinned smugly, then took a sip of his wine. “I see that those pirates couldn’t get you down.”
He didn’t even flinch at my eye... Somehow that was worse than all the people who did. “They did, for a while, but I bounced back.”
“I like the eyepatch, by the way. It makes you look very dark and mysterious.” He smiled, swirling his wine without a care in the world. “Inspired by the pirates?”
“More by Levian slicing out my eye when he attacked Charenton, really.” Luce walked up towards the throne, spotting Harold’s half-empty bottle of Jaubertie and pouring himself a glass. “Don’t worry, he’s dead now.”
Harold raised his glass. “To the Grimoires, bane of spirits everywhere!”
Luce reluctantly raised his glass, trying to gauge his brother’s temperament. Though it’s not like I’ll be able to read from his face whether he sent pirates to kill me. “I saw Jethro, in Malin.”
“Ah yes, my loyal spy. It seems that even his aid wasn’t enough for you to keep the city.”
Not helping your case, Harold. “He was key to it falling. Now he’s fallen in with Camille Leclaire, nothing but her lapdog.” Where before, perhaps, he was nothing but yours.
Harold shrugged. “Well, then he’s a dirty traitor I guess. We’ll get his face up on a wanted poster for you, Luce, make sure he can’t set foot in Avalon again.”
Theoretically the right answer, but given too quickly, and without any apparent surprise. “He tipped off the pirates, Harold. They knew my heading and how to intercept it.”
Harold nodded, feigning contemplation. “I’ll triple the bounty from my own funds, then. It was a miracle you survived that at all.”
“It’s a miracle any of us survived the darkness.” But honestly, investigating my own assassination attempt is of secondary concern right now. “Is that why you went to war?”
“We needed more. The Territories weren’t cutting it, let alone Avalon itself. Our brilliant father built a house of cards, dependent on trade and tribute to keep the engine running. When the ice and darkness cut everyone off, well...” Harold leaned back on his throne. “It may surprise you, Luce, given how long I’ve disdained the royal office, but the responsibility does change you.”
“I’m well aware.” Not always for the better. “Maybe I can understand why you invaded the Arboreum, an unfortunate necessity, you might say. Not something I’d agree with, but I understand it. Micheltaigne is hard to justify, but perhaps things got away from you, or the commanders took initiative without your leave.”
Harold remained silent, waiting for Luce to continue with an eyebrow raised.
“But killing this peace treaty accomplishes nothing! Even the Great Council agreed to it. Why can’t you?” That was the measured line of inquiry, the best way to test his brother. What followed was not. “What is wrong with you?”
“Not all that much, in the grand scheme of things. Nothing that wouldn’t be wrong with you, if you’d been born in my place. But enough.” Harold smiled. “With Father imprisoned, I could rule for decades as his regent, expanding our kingdom far beyond what he or any of our ancestors ever could. It’s a chance to truly make my mark on the world, myself, and under my own name.”
Luce clenched his fist, feeling his teeth grind as he stared down his egotistical brother. You never cared about that before, and you actually listened to what I had to say then too. What had happened to him?
“Harold the Undying, they’ll call me, my legend living on long after I’m gone. Peace would stand in the way of that, Luce. Worse, it could see Father released.”
Your words, or Williams’? At this point, did it even matter? “I’m realizing now that you were never particularly invested in politics, not the substance. You’re good at winning people over, but apparently the ends weren’t that important to you.”
“They are now.”
“That’s worse! Father went too far in Guerron, but even he would never conscience this unjust invasion, let alone spearhead it for nothing more than his own ego!”
“You’re wrong about that Luce, and so much more besides. I’d have hoped that after everything you’ve been through, your childish idolization of our monstrous father would have eroded even slightly. Apparently, I overestimated you.”
Luce grasped his wine glass tightly, staring Harold’s two eyes down with his one. “The Treaty of Charenton will go through. Peace will be enshrined with the Empire of the Fox and the Lyrion League. Even Guerron.”
“Not if I have anything to—”
“But,” Luce coldly interrupted. “The terms cede Father to them legally, as their prisoner. He’s guaranteed fair treatment and comfort, but never freedom. He’ll be more securely locked away under the treaty than he ever was in this silent game of threats and brinkmanship. Now sign it.”
Harold’s eyebrows perked up, his face lighting up. “He’ll be their prisoner for life? And it doesn’t say anything about the Rhan lands or Micheltaigne? Nothing about Paix Lake or Hiverre?”
“Correct.” Not that I wouldn’t want to negotiate a peace down there as well, but I have to take things one step at a time.
Harold laughed. “Then perhaps we can both get what we want. You make your peace with the northern Territories, and I make my mark upon the world and cement my legend forever.” He held out his hand for Luce to shake, implicitly demanding he accept all-out war with the rest of the continent in exchange for upholding his peace.
But not explicitly, not codified into law the way the Treaty would be once he signed it. There would be other ways for Luce to work against his brother’s wars, no matter what they agreed on here today.
What happened to you, Harold? Luce felt the darkness burning inside him, overwhelming his despair over what had become of his brother. He shook the outstretched hand, his eye glaring at Harold’s smug grin. Peace, no matter the cost.