Luce VII: With Will of Iron
Luce hadn’t spared a second pulling Harold into a hug, as much as he didn’t usually care for the gesture.
It didn’t even matter that him being here didn’t make any sense, or that if Luce hadn’t escaped from Stewart, their ships would have just passed each other in the night.
It didn’t matter, but it was strange.
The Lyrion sea was an impassable wall of ice and storms, and no ships had been spotted in the harbor. How are you here, Harold? It was hard to care too much about the how of it with Harold sitting right in front of him, though. The important thing was that he was here.
The hearth blazed bright in Perimont’s solar, casting warmth and light into the room with a force it had lacked in days past. Harold probably asked for extra logs. It was slightly uncomfortable, but Luce simply moved his chair back a bit to compensate.
The true comfort lay in knowing his authority was back. Stewart and Perimont had surrendered, Charlotte was rounding up collaborators even as they spoke, and Camille had managed to make it through the whole coup without betraying him, just as she’d promised — even helping people fight back against the injustice of it all.
The Acolytes remained a thorny proposition, now armed with stolen weapons that on its face disproved the official story of Gordon Perimont’s death.
It had been sobering, realizing everything he’d been working towards could have been undone in one night if things had gone just slightly differently. Progress is fragile, not inevitable. We forget that at our peril.
“Alright,” Luce began, once they were sufficiently settled in. “I have to ask: How in Khali’s name did you get here?”
Slouched in his chair, Harold swirled the glass of red wine in his hand, deliberating over his response. “Jethro,” he answered after a moment. “I arranged a meeting after the work in Guerron was done, and I ended up with the Gauntlet of Eulus.”
Jethro, the fucking spy who set me up to die? Someone would have given him the order, and information about Luce’s path of travel to pass on to the pirates. It was just a question of who had done it.
And apparently he’s still on good terms with my brother.
“The—Isn’t that the Williams family artifact?” It had come up during that interview for Tower staffing, what felt like a hundred and eighteen years ago. “It was made from a storm spirit, right? Lightning and rain and stuff.”
“And wind, relevantly. Eulus was the consort of Corva herself, in fact. What Father was thinking, taking something so priceless to Guerron…” He shook his head in irritation. “But it did help me in the end. Short of an icebreaker ship, it’s one of the only ways back to Avalon right now, and certainly the fastest. It took a bit of practice to get the hang of it, but that still saved me days of travel time.” Harold smiled as he took a sip from his glass. “It’s Jaubertie. Would you care for a glass?”
“No.” As nice as a drink might be, this situation called for a clear head. I have to know the truth. “That explains the ‘how’, I suppose, but who’s running things back home? I mean—” Luce couldn’t help but press his hand to his face. “You’re always complaining that Father is too reckless, sneaking out alone. And now here you are doing the exact same thing.”
“Avalon can handle a few days without me. Rest assured, they’ll not want for leadership. Your Sir Julius remains, for one, amongst others. And I have every intention to remove my face from this city at the earliest opportunity.”
At least he picked the right person. As much as he was surely needed back, Luce couldn’t help but wish Harold could stay a bit longer. His skills would be invaluable in setting things to right, here, and his loyalty was far more certain than the likes of Camille.
“But… If you didn’t know about the coup attempt, why did you come at all?”
Harold laughed. “Idiot! My brother was almost killed by pirates, and as soon as I learned he’s safe, the bloody sun went out. Jethro’s departure finally gave me the opportunity to come here and see how you landed. Of course I was going to take it!”
Luce found himself smiling too. “You couldn’t have picked a better time, to be honest. I managed to sabotage the ship and escape, and Camille seemed to be doing alright at pushing back the guardians that backed the coup, but it was a near thing. If you’d gotten here a day later, you might have been greeted by my swinging corpse.”
Harold pursed his lips together, head tilted in deliberation. He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to change his mind as he took another sip of wine.
What are you hiding? “Can I be honest with you, Harold?”
“Always.”
“I’m not sure Father ever actually sent me here to assume command. Gordon Perimont clearly wasn’t expecting me, for one thing. And those pirates knew exactly where to find us, almost as if someone had told them ahead of time.”
Harold took another sip of wine, clearly considering his response. What he says next could mean everything. Denying it wouldn’t look good, but even if he were entirely uninvolved, it was a momentous thing to imply, something that would require a lot of thought to get one’s head around.
“Jethro told them,” Harold said at last, confirming Eloise’s words. “Though he didn’t realize it at the time. He was instructed to leak the travel path for a royal class vessel for the greater good of Avalon, and didn’t ask any questions. His job often demands as much, but…” Harold set his wine down. “Luce, I can’t help but feel responsible. If you’d just stayed in Cambria, none of this would have happened.”
Decent answer, but not enough to exterminate all doubt. “That’s true.”
“The way I see it, you can count on one hand the people who knew the crucial details: Jethro, myself, you, and Father.”
“Succinctly put.”
“Jethro can’t be above suspicion, but I find it hard to articulate a motive there. He was honest about his role in things, when he could have remained silent. He offered to give me his resignation and present himself to royal authority. If he were conspiring against the crown, why risk visiting me at all, let alone coming clean? There’s no end of mischief he could have wrought in Guerron.”
True enough. “He seemed contrite, once he learned what his words had done?”
Harold nodded. “For what it’s worth, I trust him absolutely. He’s obeyed my orders and kept my secrets at great risk to himself, and he knows exactly how much you mean to me. You obviously didn’t inform on yourself.”
“Leaving only two.” Either one almost too horrible to contemplate.
“I wouldn’t blame you for being a bit suspicious of me, given everything you’ve been through, but… Well, I’m hoping showing up to help you here proves my intentions. And when it comes to Father, I know a few things that you don’t.”
Do not trust Magnifico. He tried to have his son killed, and would think nothing of doing the same to you if it suited him. There is no greater monster in all the world.
“Do you think he would be capable of doing that? Setting me up to die for—for what, exactly?”
“I don’t know. You were always his favorite, but maybe that sets expectations he didn’t think you were meeting.”
“Definitely not.” Luce didn’t even bother to deny the favoritism. And why not, when I was always the one putting in the effort? “I did everything right, just as he wanted, my entire life.” I even sent that spirit to pass the message to him, to give him a chance to tell his side of things. But Corro hadn’t relayed anything back, and Father seemed to be just as silent. Probably more because of the state of the world than because he has nothing to say, but…
“Did you?” Harold’s tone was more curious than accusatory. “You learned everything a prince ought to, but it just drove a wedge between you and the nation Father built. Perhaps he saw what you were doing with the Tower and took it as an insult.”
Now, of all times? That felt more like an excuse than a reason. “No one is petty enough to have their son murdered over matters of staffing in a research facility, least of all Father.”
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Lips curling inward, Harold reached for another sip of wine. “Remember Ombresse? He doesn’t take well to those he views as ungrateful.”
“But I’ve been nothing but grateful. Nothing but dutiful. He would never—Look, Harold, I sent a message to him voicing my suspicions. I’m sure once he responds—”
“He’ll have some clever response for you; I have no doubt of that. You’ve given him the time to craft the perfect lie. That’s all he does, worm his way in to assuage his vanity. The entire Avalon project is just an excuse to have the adoring masses fawning over him.”
“Or your mysterious double-agent isn’t as trustworthy as you think he is. No use in hunting for a more complicated solution when the simpler one fits all the facts.”
Taking that in stride, Harold returned a reluctant nod. “I suppose you can interrogate Jethro when you see him next, as can I. His whereabouts are well accounted for, and I’m sure he would tell you the truth if you asked.”
“Good,” Luce said a touch too quickly, eager to put the matter to rest. “How fare things back home?”
Harold sharply exhaled, then drained his cup. Without answering, he poured himself another glass, tipped the bottle into an empty one until it was empty, then handed the second glass to Luce.
“What?”
“Drink it first. Trust me.”
Taking his advice, Luce took a long sip, letting the sharp taste soak through his tongue. “Stop waiting around. What happened?”
“What do you think happened? The sun was murdered, courtesy of our dearest father. At the height of summer, no less. Even where there’s enough fuel to keep people from freezing to death, famine is everywhere. Half a harvest doesn’t count for much when the crops aren’t done growing. One of the professors from the college, the demographer, tried to get a handle on the numbers, but even she’s sure we’re missing deaths.”
“Missing deaths with what figure, exactly?”
Harold mumbled the answer into his cup, inaudible.
“How many?”
“One in four people are gone. Almost certainly more on the western isles. There’s villages just a few days' ride from Cambria without a soul left in them save frozen, wasted bodies.”
“Khali’s curse.” Luce took Harold’s cue and finished his drink. “I should have been home. The first floor of the Tower could have produced something, or maybe using one of the binders’ artifacts could have… I don’t know.”
“You were doing things here, and having quite the awful time of it from what I’ve heard. No point in looking back now.”
“I suppose you’re right, but that’s no reason to sit back now. I’ve…” Hmm… What’s the best way to broach the topic with him? “Comparatively we’ve been doing much better here, thanks to a few of my projects. We’ve already cultivated one harvest since darkness fell, and we’ll be expecting another in a week or so. And clustering people inside has helped the wood stretch further, though we are running out of forest that’s close enough to be practical.”
Harold nearly choked on his drink. “Luce, that’s amazing. How?”
The Prince of Darkness bit his lip. “A breach of orthodoxy, and a break with Avaline tradition. The details are highly sensitive, and… Just the rumors were enough to fuel a coup against me. We need to be careful about this.”
“So you’re saying those rioters were right? You’ve been conspiring with that sorceress and her monstrous masters?”
“‘Conspiring’ is the wrong word. I made a very specific deal with a small number of spirits to infuse land with their energy and move it into place. Fenouille of the Sartaire allowed us these harvests, and Cya of Refuge offered her land to grow fathoms more! We can feed Avalon too, if this operation grows enough.” That would mean more deals with more spirits, itself hardly an enticing thought, but Camille had proved herself before and she could probably manage it again.
If things were truly that bad in Avalon, the discomfort and risk was more than worth it.
To Luce’s surprise, a wide smile was stretched across Harold’s face. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Luce. You were always following the rules, and here you go breaking one of the biggest and oldest.” He raised his glass to Luce, a glint in his eye. “To the hallowed traditions of Avalon, may they fuck off to Nocturne where they belong.”
“Cheers,” Luce muttered softly, sipping his own glass as he looked at a brother at once familiar and hard to recognize. “You support it, then? The sooner we proceed with this, the more food for Avalon.”
“Of course I will! You’re my brother. As soon as I’m back in Cambria, I’ll put my whole weight behind it as the Crown Prince.”
“That should address the worst of it, then.”
“If only it were so easy. As though he thought the ice and famine weren’t doing enough, Robin Verrou’s been cutting a bloody swath through Avalon. Edward Williams and Edith Marbury are both dead, while Srin Savian barely clings to life after the attempt, his keep razed to the ground. And now Verrou’s disappeared, probably counting his riches on a beach in Condillac or something.”
Two Harpies and a Jay died over this; that’s sure to pour dust on the fire. “Verrou is crafty, but he’s not untouchable.” If the pirates he trained are any indication, it’s amazing he’s lasted this long.
“He needs to be caught, Luce. If the Great Council thinks the Crown is powerless to protect them, they might question the need for our very existence. And I’m worried he’ll find a way to kill Father. He has the motive and the means, and it’s been a while since he was spotted in Avalon. Right now we’re stuck relying on Guerron’s security to keep him safe, and they might not even realize the value of who they have.”
“Shame our best pirate-catcher is a monster and a traitor, then.”
“Captain Stewart is the most experienced in tracking him, yes, and the best suited to the task. Robin Verrou cannot be allowed to live, and with that in mind—”
“No.” Luce cut him off. “I know what you’re about to say, and I absolutely refuse.”
“Well, I hate to say it, but it’s not really up to you, Luce.”
“She tried to kill me!”
“She tried to abduct you and take you to Cambria. A usurpation of authority, to be sure, but not a murderous one. You did much the same with the late Governor Perimont when he showed himself to be derelict in his duty.”
“That is not the same at all.”
“She was given leave to investigate Perimont’s death, and it appears that you really did cover it up. I don’t like her either, Luce, but she was acting within her mandate. And Lord Stewart’s vote is needed in the Great Council. What will he think if I have his mother executed?”
“If she treats him anything like she does her other children, he’ll probably throw you a parade. Of course you need his vote.” Luce rolled his eyes. “A woman like that has no place in the world we’re trying to build.”
“But she might nonetheless have a crucial role in allowing it to come to be. Do you realize how fucked I am if Verrou kills another noble?”
Luce growled, but it was hard to contest the point. Harold’s meeting me more than halfway on the spirit thing, and that’s a much larger thing to ask. “She can’t be allowed in Avalon, or her territories. I don’t want her undermining me or you.”
“Exile?” Harold scratched his chin. “She would be all the more motivated to find Verrou and restore her honors. Perhaps that might provide a motivation that enmity alone did not. But if another noble dies on Avaline soil because she wasn’t permitted to follow Verrou there…”
“Then it’s on her head for not catching him sooner.”
Harold shrugged. “Fair enough. Given her reputation, I think the Council will see it that way too. I’ll decree as much after we’re done. As Lady Perimont has no such utility, she’ll be stripped of her lands and titles.”
“That’s getting off too easy.”
“Then executed.” Harold stared, waiting for Luce to contest the point.
But she made her choices. The injustice is that Stewart won’t be hanging alongside her. He’d felt much the same when they’d found what was left of Captain Whitbey, though his torn and bludgeoned body made for a grisly sight. He’ll be covered by a sheet when they put him on the slab, and I can’t say I really mind. He’d brought it on himself.
“We have to hold ourselves to the same standards we’re holding our subjects to. Everyone in this city knows someone Perimont hanged over some imagined treason or another. Now they’ll see that even Avaline nobility is not above the law.” They’ll see the Forresters finally disbanded too, and all the collaborator Guardians drummed out of the organization. Charlotte was already finalizing the list. The best time to clean that house would have been months ago when Luce had first arrived, but the next best time to do it was now.
“You continue to surprise me, Luce. If I’d known your spine wasn’t made of jelly, maybe I’d have done some things differently. Let you in instead of shutting you out.”
“What?”
Harold chuckled. “Father is slippery. He thinks he’s invincible, and so far he’s been right. ‘Magnifico’ always escaped to manipulate another day. He murdered that old man, and he would have gotten away with it, too. Until Jethro stepped in.”
“He stepped in… Wait, was Jethro that Montaigne fellow who proved Father’s guilt?”
“No, Fernan was just trying to do the right thing. But Jethro made sure it actually worked, and provided the tools to make sure it would stick. Regretfully, after he’d already killed Soleil, but at least he won’t be doing any more damage.”
“You… You planned all of this?”
“Not entirely. I couldn’t know exactly what Father planned before Jethro was sent to Guerron, so there was a fair bit of reaction to things as they happened. But he was in position for a reason, and he succeeded beyond my wildest imagination.”
“You wanted Father to get captured.”
“Yes,” Harold said with no shame in voice. “He’s the greatest monster in the world, and this stops him from doing any more harm. I didn’t entrap him into anything; he’s seeing the consequences of his own actions. I just made sure they would actually stick, for once. I mean, Luce, he tried to have his son killed! He plunged the world into darkness! He—”
“I get it,” Luce said, though he still felt that there was so much he had yet to grasp. And Father still had the chance to explain his side. Perhaps there was an angle Luce was missing, a reasoning behind what he’d done.
And yet…
Luce wasn’t alone any more, no longer the white sheep in a flock of black, as Cya had once described him. Harold is just as committed as I am, just as willing to second-guess the war machine our nation’s built. I don’t how I never saw it before.
“We’ll keep each other's secrets. For a better world.”
“That’s a promise.” Harold alighted from his seat gracefully, clapped Luce hard on the back, then swiftly left the room.
Luce followed quickly behind him. There was work to be done.