Luce V: The Project Manager
As soon as he parted from Charlotte, Luce had no issue keeping himself busy, quietly ignoring the part of his heart that had withered as if afflicted by the day’s experiment.
I made an offer so compelling that she dismissed it without a moment of hesitation. And why wouldn’t she? Charlotte was pragmatic, like Luce. That sort of gallantry had seldom had any place in their relationship before. What had changed, that made him think that was ever a good idea? It hurt all the harder knowing just how right she was.
If Harold contested Father’s will, it’d be nothing more than a piece of paper until the Great Council affirmed its legitimacy and acclaimed Luce as the rightful king. As soon as Maddy Astor won her seat, Luce’s coalition would barely be able to scrape out a majority, but one seat was an incredibly thin margin to pass such a radical upset to the succession.
And I doubt I can peel off any of Harold’s people. Ever since the Foxtrap, the Harpies had been buzzing in Father’s ear, pressuring him to renew the offensive. Harold had given them everything they could have ever wanted, while Luce, they surely knew, would rip it all away from them in the name of peace.
The Owls had benefited greatly from free trade with the Lyrion League and other nations to the south; they had the right incentives to back him, but every last one of them would have to fall in line, which seemed a tall order.
Aunt Lizzie had told him there were about fifteen Owls whose ideology better aligned with the Harpies on most policies, but who would always vote with the party on the most crucial votes. It didn’t get any more crucial than recognizing the next King of Avalon, but that didn’t guarantee their total obedience. It would only take one.
Lizzie had brought it up in the context of appearances, allowing two or three of them to vote down popular legislation that the Owls had to be seen to support, but which she had no intention of passing. The Decree for Civil List Reform, for example, had proposed drastic reductions to the royal family’s share of Avalon’s national budget, proving for all to see that the Owls were no mere pawn of the Crown, nor Elizabeth Grimoire herself an extension of her brother.
With over a century spent accumulating lands and investments in ventures as various as transportation, medicine, garments, and arms, the Civil List itself was a drop in the ocean of royal incomes, but allowing its reduction would have subtly shifted the balance of power between the Great Council and the Crown, and neither Father nor Lizzie could allow that. Thus, the decree failed on account of four defectors, each given explicit permission beforehand.
It worked well for her, but Baron Williams had taken the opposite approach, demanding absolute loyalty to Harold and the Harpies, no matter the cost. No small part of why it took the king’s abduction and a Summer of Darkness to get them the barest, briefest majority. Peeling off even one Harpy Councilor to support Luce seemed nigh impossible, while there was a good chance that his coalition would hemorrhage support in turn. He trusted his aunt to keep the Owls in line with the aid of Father’s own words, but the Jays had never been beholden to him before; they’d more been allies in denying Harold’s agenda.
It just takes one...
Damn it all, why did Charlotte have to be so correct all the time? The right marriage alliance could bring the numbers for a commanding majority to his side, instantly making a queen of whomever Luce offered himself to. Vas Sarah could firmly bind the Jays to his side, more closely integrating the western isles with his new realm and eliminating any chance they’d abstain from the vote. A Harpy bride could secure victory by other means, subtracting from Harold’s numbers and adding to his own, if only he could find one agreeable to such a deal. He shivered as he realized he had to consider Lizzie Stewart.
And either way, I’d wind up married to a woman I could not trust. Everything that Luce had built with Charlotte rested atop that trust, the confidence that each of them could see each others’ vision through. Marrying alone carried no small risk of tearing all that apart.
Let alone if I must invite into my bed the Mamela version of Camille Leclaire, or the spitting image of the woman who kidnapped me in Malin, who shares a name with my aunt. In truth, no one in the world could compare to Charlotte. Her stature cast a shadow so long it wound its way around the planet, her resolve within as strong as her body without. They had already built such an amazing life together, and the succession would be a challenge greater than any they’d faced yet. Was it truly so foolish to want to face it together?
She would do anything for me; I know that. Anything, it seems, but that.
At least the experiment was poised for success. Luce had spent the whole morning fine-tuning every last detail. Small vibrations had proven insufficient to reach the proper resonant frequency of the Gate, which meant that they’d be using the full might of the DV bomb. But they had ample space to distance themselves from the blast across the endless moors of the Fortan Highlands, and Luce was confident that the design could be further refined to allow a safe opening of the Gate atop Ortus Tower.
Thanks to Luce’s ample precautions, the risk of a resonance cascade was effectively miniscule, and hundreds of tons of concrete were positioned to seal the Gate through more mundane means even if that unexpected scenario did come to pass.
Luce completed his final circuit around the test site by mid-morning, verifying that there wasn’t so much as a hair out of place. He saw Charlotte completing her own security check, and their eyes met for an instant before they went their separate ways. She made her opinion extremely clear, and challenging that would only make things worse.
He returned to his quarters to change, noting that his black coat had served its purpose in hiding most of the grime and sweat he’d built up while tinkering with the vibration mechanism. But to greet Lady Stewart and her retinue, a higher level of presentation was warranted.
I know she probably only let me use the lands so that Harold could get me out of the capital, but the Stewarts are influential Harpies... If I can convince her to back me, as many as ten Councilors might follow in her wake. Even one or two could be enough to make the difference, which made it a worthy effort no matter how low the odds of success were.
The initial encampment hadn’t had hot water available without building a fire to heat a basin, as if it were still Year 18. Luce had wasted no time in rectifying that by hooking the heater up to one of Russel’s battery tanks for the experiment, powered by a small field of windmills. It wouldn’t have been fair to his scientists to march them out into this vast snowy expanse without even allowing them a nice bath, especially considering how hard he’d been working them.
Luce availed himself of it for a short while, then dressed in royal purple and his now-signature black. He kept his goggles—one lens shattered on the side where it made no difference—tucked away in his pocket, instead using a fresh eyepatch from the drawerful of hundreds he took wherever he went.
It had only taken one occasion where it had caught fire in a lab and he’d needed to hole up in his office until Charlotte could fetch a fresh one, lest anyone see the frosty blue coloring permeating the flesh of the wound; his reputation had issues enough without introducing the touch of the spirits into the mix. The scar running up and down his face had taken on the slightest hue of it too, but it was nearly impossible to notice.
Levian might have given me something to remember him by, but I ensured he passed into memory. Leclaire took all of the credit and all of the blame, but Luce sincerely doubted that she could have successfully betrayed her patron if he hadn’t had a massive bomb expend all of the power Levian had harvested from the souls of Charenton. According to Fernan, he and Gézarde had come to Leclaire’s rescue after her own scheme had horribly failed, which was amusing to imagine, if nothing else.
Yet she still profited in the end. He could only hope some skillful binder could deal with her in time, because the prospect of a woman like her with a lifespan like Father’s was truly horrifying to imagine. Otherwise, in five hundred years, my most noteworthy legacy might be enabling her rise by losing Malin. At least she’d kept to the terms of the Treaty so far. There was some hope she might be acting in good faith for once, though Luce knew far better than to entertain that thought as it pertained to his own plans. Leclaire’s inability to tell explicit lies would hardly even slow down her relentless torrent of deception.
As he made the final adjustments to his vestments in the mirror, he could almost feel Camille standing there watching him, silently judging his appearance. His lone eye stared out from the cloak of darkness enveloping him, a green beacon amidst the black expanse. A younger prince can disdain the sheen of the quicklime stage light, but a king could never dream of it. Making this claim for power was also committing to the pageantry necessary to entertain it, along with the force of arms to exterminate all challengers to his reign. And, the way things were looking, trading any happiness with Charlotte for the material gains of a suitable marriage alliance.
If Harold could have only listened to me before... The Prince Regent could not even conceive what Luce was risking in order to save him, nor could the denizens of Terramonde comprehend what Luce was giving up in order to spare them from his brother’s rule.
But now was not the time to falter. If anything, this was the moment Luce could least afford to hesitate. So he forced his face to a neutral expression, donned his coat and scarf, and ventured into the snow to greet the Lady of Forta and her retinue.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
⚈
“You built out more than I would have expected.” Lizzie Stewart narrowed her eyes at the small village built up around the Nocturne Gate, sticking out harshly from the white moors where the snow had been cleared aside. “My understanding was that you’d be testing a new bomb next to the gate; surely that wouldn’t necessitate all of this.”
“That’s the Tower for you—never spend one mandala when ten will do,” Ronald Esterton tutted dismissively. “Consider yourself lucky that he isn’t also running three months behind.”
“Is that right?” squeaked the youngest of the retinue, a boy of fifteen. Behind him lurked his personal guard, a tower of a man dressed in blue with a sword and whip on either side of his belt. “I wasn’t aware that you were so... familiar with Ortus Tower, Ronald.”
“Familiar? I was the bloody Overseer.”
“Briefly,” Luce clarified, not wanting to let the blockhead cement himself in the group as some kind of expert. “When Julius first fell ill, my brother tapped him to fill in until my return.” The intent had clearly been to keep him in place for significantly longer, contesting Luce’s sway over the Tower, but the Shadows had been enough to consolidate firm control, leaving no need to step lightly around Esterton.
“You didn’t wish to stay on?” the boy asked, the hint of a smug grin threatening to curl from his lip.
Luce didn’t answer for him, letting Esterton dig his own grave. “No, Terry, I did not. Once the hour of need had passed, I had more important matters to attend to.”
“We were lucky to have a man of his expertise here to help us develop our academy,” Lizzie offered charitably—or perhaps she was truly grateful. Oafish rejects like Esterton weren’t fit to sweep the floors of Ortus Tower, but his stint as Overseer had apparently bought him enough cachet to swim out to the small pond of northern Avalon and carve himself a niche as an expert. That in mind, it seemed far more likely that Lizzie had brought him on to survey the technical details of the experiment, rather than as an attempt at provocation.
Not that that’s better, necessarily. Technically, this sort of research was forbidden within the borders of Avalon, and the DV bomb alone was the sort of weapon that could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.
Fortunately, most of the internal mechanisms for the vibrations had been hidden hours ago, obscuring the connection between the bomb vessel and the Gate’s resonant frequency. Charlotte had done another pass while Luce was in the bath, seeing boards nailed in place to obscure nearly everything.
And I have every intention of keeping them far away. “If you would, please follow me to the bunker. Once the bomb is armed, we must be miles away.”
“Potent,” Terry noted. Honestly, why did Lizzie think it was a good idea to drag a fifteen-year-old along to a weapons test? Showing up herself made sense regardless of her motives, to personally witness what exactly Luce was doing to her lands. Even Esterton was clearly here to act as a loyal expert. The rest comprised various lower-level northern nobility like Jen Fluorspar and Bill Garnet, little more than filler for the retinue so its numbers could even further exceed Luce’s own.
But Terrence Monfroy hailed from the Isle of Shadows, geographically and politically as distant from Forta as anywhere in Avalon could get. It was hard to see what benefit Lizzie Stewart got out of bringing him here, nor was it clear what he was doing so far north at all.
But then, perhaps I merely feel guilty. It wasn’t as if the boy was behaving inappropriately. His father had been exposed for heinous crimes, then wiped himself off the face of Terramonde with a blast that killed thirty people. Not a month later, he’d been dragged up here to see a man who had every intention of seizing his lands.
It wasn’t an unjust act after what Monfroy had done, nor could Luce afford to leave Charlotte landless and common for another moment if there was to be any hope of cracking the layer of ice building up between them. But it’s harder to keep that plan in mind when I have to look at him.
“Might I get a closer look, first?” It was Ronald Esterton who asked the question, but Lizzie affirmed it an instant later, insisting more firmly when Luce tried to refuse.
We knew this might happen. We took precautions. Nothing for it but to carefully bring them closer. Six Stewart guards followed behind them, as did Monfroy’s bodyguard, so Luce made sure to signal eight shadows to join them as they approached the Gate. It meant leaving fewer shadows at the perimeter of the test site, but Charlotte would want him to have the numbers advantage here, even if it made her job harder.
Lizzie’s eyes widened as they grew closer, seeing as if for the first time how otherworldly the dark floating disc remained, more than a century after Khali’s sealing. “You aren’t planning to tamper with the Gate itself, surely?”
“Of course not.” And don’t call me Shirley. Father’s old joke came to mind unbidden, an unwelcome reminder at such a portentous moment. Luce cleared the memory from his head and focused on the story he needed to tell. “It’s merely a power supply. When the Gate vibrates at the right frequency, we’ve noticed energy emanating from it that bears further investigation with an appropriate power supply. Hence, the bomb.”
“Best hope it doesn't power off the vibrations themselves then.” Esterton chuckled. “You might not realize, but if it keeps resonating in a feedback loop, you could end up with a failure cascade that tears the whole Gate apart.”
“It was the very first consideration.” Luce refrained from rolling his eye, staying on task. “I assure you, the chances of that sort of resonance cascade are functionally zero. We have precautions aplenty for every conceivable scenario. And all of us will be miles away from the blast.” The sooner the better, really.
“Is it truly a blast?” Monfroy mused as he stepped up the stairs to a raised platform roughly three feet above the ground. “I was given to understand that this project was derivative of proper magic, fueling itself with the vitality of all that it consumes until it at last collapses, exceeding its reach.”
“That’s...” Where did you get such an accurate understanding of the Desiccation of Vitality mechanism? “Not relevant either way, when it comes to safety. The effects will be destructive enough that we cannot afford to stay.” Luce stepped close to Monfroy, trying to impress his point on the boy. “I’m afraid that we must go now if we’re to keep to the schedule. Delays, too, are destructive, and I’m sure we’d all rather avoid them.”
“If I might simply examine—”
“Give it up, Terry. This is as far behind the curtain as we’re allowed.” Ronald Esterton reached up to tug on his shoulder from behind, and his face paled. “What—”
“You will address me as Lord Monfroy.” Monfroy wrapped his hand around Esterton’s wrist and tightened his grip, expression neutral as Ronald’s hair went grey, then white. His skin began to sag, then tighten back, his posture crumpling, until Monfroy threw him to the ground.
Luce was already running, eyes scanning the test site for any signs of Charlotte. “Alert!” he cried out to the first shadow he saw, crying out to anyone who would listen that they had to sound the alarm.
Charlotte was nowhere to be found, which would have been concerning enough without a murderous child on the loose.
Or is he? Luce risked a glance back towards the Gate and saw that Monfroy had grabbed hold of Lizzie Stewart, who presumably hadn’t been captured so many times that her very bones knew when to bolt. It was hard to be sure, but his face looked slightly rounder, his height a hair lower. Why would a man like Monfroy buy a child? To keep himself young.
Suddenly it all made sense. The cover-ups, the disappeared construction workers, the massacre in Cambria using the same drain on vitality as the DV bombs... And now he was here. Now—
He has the Gate and the bomb, Luce realized, cursing. Where is Charlotte?
“I wouldn’t run too far, Prince Lucifer,” Monfroy called out, his high voice discordant from his menacing posture. He tightened his grip around Lizzie’s hand, then pulled it away, revealing a skeletal hand, more obviously touched by the spirits than Fernan’s flaming eyes. “All of you will stand down, unless you wish to see these fine young lords and ladies wither to dust.”
Can I afford to do that? This whole arrangement with the Stewarts had already felt a bit like a trap, albeit one intended to glean information for Harold and keep Luce out of Cambria more so than... whatever Monfroy was doing here. And Lizzie had been the one who invited Monfroy along... could she be in on this plan?
If so, I’m sure the hand was a surprise. Ceding control was exactly what Monfroy wanted, and Luce couldn’t trust that Lizzie and Harold didn’t want it, either. I sincerely hope that Harold wouldn’t stoop to allying with a man like that, knowing what he’s done, but they were friends. He said he owed him...
“Is this all about revenge?” Luce asked Monfroy, signalling his Shadows with a tilt of his head. All but three of them took off across the hillside, scattering out of Monfroy’s sight to ready their next move. “I dug up the bill of sale and Ernest Monfroy had to ‘die’?”
“There is a certain appeal to that; I won’t lie. You’re meddling with spiritual forces beyond your comprehension, just like your father did. It seems a fitting end for you to be swallowed up by your own creation, forever a laughingstock, the careless prince who perished through his own ineptitude.” Monfroy beckoned Luce closer, keeping the retinue wedged between himself and the bomb carriage. “But I can’t have you opening the way to Nocturne, not even for your oh-so-limited aims.”
“I was never going to—Ow!” Luce felt a flash of pain on the back of his head, like a nail through his skull. He turned back to see Monfroy’s bodyguard, whip in hand. Three Shadows were dead on the ground beside him, killed so silently that Luce hadn’t even noticed.
It seems there’s no end to my failures today. They would be awarded the highest posthumous honors, their families generously compensated... provided that any of them made it out of this. Luce lunged to the side, but the whip caught him again, tripping him.
He squirmed with all his limited might as the blue bodyguard hoisted him into the air, but went still when he was dropped at Monfroy’s feet.
“Ah, thank you, Richard. You’d best get away, now.” Monfroy tapped his finger against the back of Luce’s hand, leaving a fingerprint of grey-brown skin, then shoved him against the wall of the bomb case next to the other hostages. “I will confess that I’m surprised. Despite your respective... reputations, somehow, you’re even more foolish than your brother.”
The insult galled Luce, the desperate circumstances bearing down on him from all sides. But his mind wasn’t on the hostages, or the bomb, or even Monfroy.
Charlotte, stay safe. Don’t toy with your own life to save mine. Please. Luce held her image in his head as if he could speak to her, as if he could pass the order on... But it accomplished nothing, of course. Even if she had been able to hear him, it wouldn’t have changed her mind. So here I am, counting on you yet again.