Chapitre Trente-Quatre

Une Mort Dans la Famille

Lucien

Everything was wrong. How could this happen? Lucien had been certain he had the election well in hand. The Empress was not one to disregard public opinion. She would never do so without good cause.

But what cause could there possibly be to give the March to Raul?

As Lucien cheered with the rest of the crowd, Leon looked at him with confusion in his eyes. Andre continued scratching the raw palms of his hands, as he had been since the previous night. Sweat glimmered on his forehead. Yes, even he could sense what was truly wrong here. There was only one reason the Empress could have for choosing Monsieur Micaedon over Lord Olivier.

For a brief moment, Lucien met her eyes, and in that instant he saw exactly what he feared. How had he been so blind? How had he failed to prevent this?

Lucien and his sons left the Imperial palace, all of them in total silence as the other aristocrats around them celebrated and patted each other on the back. They were celebrating a decision to which so few of them had actually contributed. Lucien's eyes wandered over to the Imperial guard in their gem-encrusted breastplates. Their returned gaze made him shudder. It seemed that they were watching him for any sign of suspicious behavior. Any excuse for them to turn their halberds and muskets on him.

Through it all, he kept his smile as congenial as possible. It was important to seem, as much as he could help it, as if this outcome didn't displease him in the slightest. He didn't need to make any more of a target of himself.

His driver held open the carriage door for the three of them. Never before had such a small compartment beckoned so much freedom and release.

He climbed in after his boys, groaning as a shooting pain radiated out from his lower back.

Damn! Why did it have to act up now?

The boys were silent as the carriage took them down the street, back towards their apartment, where they would soon pack up to return home in defeat.

Leon stared at him without speaking a word, though his eyes asked so many questions. Undoubtedly, he hadn't guessed the true implications of everything that had just happened.

Scratch.

Scratch.

Scratch.

"Will you stop it?" Lucien snapped at Andre.

Andre jumped and slipped his hands into his coat pockets. "I'm sorry... Father... I'm not feeling well..."

"Neither am I," said Lucien, scratching his head furiously.

"No," Andre said, giving him a sad look. "I think I might be sick."

Lucien's heart stung, realizing he'd neglected to pay attention to his son. Of course something was wrong with him. He'd been scratching at his palms constantly; he'd been sweating. Perhaps he was having an allergic reaction to something he ate.

"I'm sorry," said Lucien, shaking his head. "We'll buy you some medicines before we leave."

Andre nodded and turned his attention out the window, as if searching for something.

Lucien turned to Leon. "This is terrible news."

"I gathered," said Leon.

"We have to start considering how we can turn this around now."

Leon tilted his head. "I thought we'd just send Fitzroy's agents to spy on Micaedon, then turn in all evidence of his weapon smuggling to the Empress."

"Micaedon and Raul aren't the ones I'm really worried about." Lucien sighed. "It's the Empress."

"The Empress?" Both Leon and Andre repeated in unison. Though, it sounded like Leon was more confused and Andre more afraid.

"Yes, her Imperial Majesty," said Lucien. "There are two positions that are the worst to hold in Le Jeu Fatal. The first one is obvious; second from the bottom. The very bottom no one cares about, but weaker lords are just looking for some poor upstart to claw his way to the top so that they can put him down and take all he has. The other position that's dangerous to hold..." Lucien groaned and rubbed his temples with his fingers. "Is second place. Just below the Imperial family. Especially if you're a duke."

"I don't understand," said Leon, leaning forward. "How is that bad?"

"For once," said Lucien, "I don't blame you for your ignorance. I never really taught either of you this lesson because it never struck me as something you'd have to worry about." Lucien sat back and produced a cigar from his coat pocket. "Do you boys mind if I smoke? I have only the one."

"That's fine," said Leon. Andre said nothing. Lucien could swear he was scratching his palms on something inside his coat pockets.

Lucien lit up the cigar and let the smoke linger against his tongue. Ah, what a soothing flavor. He exhaled the smoke and leaned the cigar out the window, not wanting to choke out his boys. "You see," Lucien continued, "There has been many a time in Salian history where someone in second place has seized the opportunity and taken the throne."

"I don't remember reading about that..." said Leon.

"That's not the way the history books would phrase it," said Lucien, placing the cigar between his lips again and savoring the smoke. When he spoke again, smoke accentuated his every word. "But it's what happened. The history books speak of these things as if it were some noble hero who rose up to depose a tyrannical emperor. Sound familiar now?"

"Oh," Leon caught his breath. "Oh, yes! Every time a distant relative of the Imperial Family takes the throne it follows that story!"

"Indeed," said Lucien. "And, so long as the usurper has some royal blood in him, the Church will agree to coronate him. He can be the cruelest, most blasphemous bastard alive, but if his blood is right they'll put a crown on his head. Yet, if the best, kindest, and wisest leader of all time were to take the throne and not have the right blood, the Church will not only refuse to coronate him, but will send their agents to replace him with the proper blood."

"To the Empress we're an even bigger threat than the barbarians?" Leon asked.

"So it seems," said Lucien. Contrary to his hopes, the cigar was doing little to calm his nerves. "How else do you explain her allowing such an opportunity for a foreigner to sell weapons to those clans of savages? Senon is in the very center of the Salian Empire. She's further away from any foreigner than anyone else; why would she fear them? But me? Oh... I'm only two weeks away by carriage, and my agents are already in the city."

Leon glanced at the windows, clearly afraid that someone might have overheard.

"Oh, Leon, that's hardly a secret!" said Lucien, rolling his eyes. "One more thing around here that everyone knows about but no one says. Only a novice has no agents in Senon."

"If you knew second from the top was the worst place to be why didn't you stop before you got there?" asked Leon. "Why were you trying to marry me off to Corina and get me both the Armand and Renart estates? Wouldn't that have made us an even greater threat?"

"I didn't realize I was so close," said Lucien, glancing out the window. "We all struggle to be in the light, but if you fly too close to the sun you'll burn up. It's hard to tell, though, if you're too close, because it's so bright, and you see so many others around you who seem to be flying just as high. For that matter, you could swear one or two are flying far higher than you. By the time you realize you're too close, you smell smoke."

The carriage came to a stop and the three of them kept their lips closed tightly shut as they entered the apartment.

Once inside, and with the door firmly shut and locked, Leon said, "So what do we do?"

Lucien paced the room, never removing his coat. "Well... it just makes sense that we're the bigger threat, now that I think about it. Armand has no sons, Loup has neither wife nor children, and Colette will have to marry a lower lord just to keep her hold on her estate. The other dukes and duchesses aren't even close..."

"I understand," said Leon as he grabbed Lucien's wrist. Their eyes met, and Lucien saw a strange intensity in his son's eyes. "I understand our situation." What was this look? "How do we fix it?" Leon pulled on Lucien's coat, soon taking it from him and hanging it upon the rack.

It was the same look Leon gave his teammates just before an intense polo game. That silent agreement to give this competition their all, a drive to achieve success together. Lucien knew spending all that money to have Leon trained in sports would be worth it someday. He'd hoped it would help Leon gain friends and make connections, but giving him a drive to win could work even better.

"Well..." Lucien began, trying to think back to his early lessons. How had other nobles dealt with this situation before? "We can try a few things. None of them are great... we could humiliate ourselves in some way."

"Humiliate ourselves?" Leon repeated, giving a most befuddled look.

"Yes, humiliate. Something embarrassing enough to make us seem less dangerous. Andre, do you think you could manage that?"

Andre glared at him, and only then did Lucien realize how terrible that sounded. Especially given how the boy had been feeling. "I'm sorry, Andre," Lucien said. "Why don't you rest for now and Leon and I will work this one out."

"Fine," said Andre, drifting upstairs.

"We'll get a physician to look at you before we leave the city," Lucien called up the stairs.

Andre looked back and silently nodded, before entering his room and closing the door behind him.

"Now," Lucien continued, clasping his hands together, "The first way to seem less dangerous in Le Jeu Fatal is to embarrass the family."

"I can't believe we're considering this..." said Leon.

"I know!" said Lucien. "I hate the idea too. But our other option... well, it's to find a way to make one of the other dukes more dangerous than us."

"We can have Fitzroy's agents spy on Michaedon," said Leon. "Just like I said earlier. They can catch him dealing weapons to the barbarians and prove he's a traitor--"

"No, my boy!" Lucien interrupted. "Like I said, the Empress doesn't care about the barbarians. Not as much as she cares about us, anyway. No, we have to make another duke more dangerous to her. We'd have to make them more powerful."

Leon grunted his disapproval at this idea, and Lucien could understand why. He'd spent so much time telling them that Jehan Armand and Raul Loup were their enemies, but now he was suggesting that the Renart family could survive only if one of them were more powerful.

"Our enemies..." Leon said, seeming as if he wanted to say more but could not find the words. This was a truly terrible situation.

"I know!" said Lucien, pacing the room again. "That leaves only Duchess Colette. She's the only one not actively acting against us."

"Colette..." Leon repeated. "Need I remind you..."

"Yes, I know!" said Lucien. Everyone knows that! She had her own family killed off so she could inherit. She's a heartless demon, everyone knows it! "But she doesn't see us as enemies right now. We can use that. But how? Could we marry someone off to her? Andre? Or you? No... then House Renart would be stronger too, and then we're both targets! Ugh!"

"Wait..." said Leon, holding up a finger. "You said she'd have to marry a lower lord just to keep her holdings."

"Typically, yes," said Lucien, "But, if I were trying to marry you or Andre off to her I'd ensure that we had one of you sign a fully-legal waiver of all rights--"

"And then we wouldn't be able to take her estate through her," said Leon, nodding. "I understand now. Alright, but how is that not humiliating? One of your sons being politically castrated like that?"

"Because House Renart can use that marriage alliance against the Empress in the future. Even if I wouldn't be foolish enough to move against her, she couldn't take the risk that a future generation of Renart's wouldn't."

"What if there were no future generation of Renarts to worry about?" Leon asked.

"Excuse me?" Lucien rattled his head, trying to make sure he'd just heard Leon right.

"Well, here's my idea," said Leon, pacing the room. "You marry off Andre to Duchess Colette Poignard. Then, on the day of the wedding we have Fitzroy fake my death –"

Lucien burst out laughing. "Fake your death? Really? You speak as if such things were simple..."

"Just hear me out!" Leon growled. The glare on Leon's brow gave Lucien's heart a start. "You fake my death on the day of the wedding, and I go into hiding. With Andre having signed that agreement waiving any right to title inheritance he'd be under Poignard's control, meaning that he could not inherit the Renart estate."

"Which would leave House Renart without an heir!" Lucien yelled. "I'm not trying to actually destroy our family! Leon, that plan is insane!"

"I'm not talking about destroying the family either," said Leon. "At such time as you... were to... pass away, I would come back, out of hiding, and take the estate myself."

"My cousins will be trying to take it by then," said Lucien. "Those lower lords would be just scrambling to get off the second rung. You'd have a serious fight on your hands."

"With Fitzroy involved in all of this I'm sure he can help us make sure it all goes smoothly," said Leon. "He can position his agents... years ahead of time."

"Assuming I die years from now," said Lucien. "If we fake your death... Leon, the consequences won't just be... We'll never see each other again... Please tell me that's not what you want."

"No!" Leon said, clasping Lucien's shoulders. "No, of course not! Please don't think that! Actually, I had planned for you and I to meet up all the time. I'd be work – spending time with the Pain Street Club, here in the city."

A full-time field-agent for the Pain Street Club? Lucien hadn't thought of that. Certainly, that would be great for their cause, and would allow Lucien to see Leon and know he was doing well. It wouldn't be goodbye this way. Not for the two of them, anyway. "What about the rest of the family? Andre, Cecile, Annette, Beatrice?" Leon winced as Lucien reminded him of his family. "I saw that! Can't abandon them, can you? If we fake your death they'll have to believe you're dead too. The fewer people who know about this the more likely it is to succeed. Can you live with that? Can you really do that to them?"

"I..." Leon hesitated.

Lucien watched him carefully for any sign of faltering. If he showed any true loathing for what he was suggesting, rather than just an appreciation for how heavy it all was, Lucien would refuse it. His resolve needed to be absolute if he was going to commit himself to living a lie like this.

But Leon continued, "It seems I have no other choice. This must be done, it's the only way I can go on from here and say I did the right thing."

Lucien tried to fight it, but a smile spread across his face. "Leon, did I just hear you right? Did you just say lying to your family would be the right thing to do, given the circumstances?"

Leon looked up at him and paused for a moment. A look of realization formed in his eyes. "Yes... yes I did."

Lucien threw his arms around his son and pulled him into a fierce embrace. This was not as he'd hugged him after his trial, where he'd held the back of his head and imagined him as a baby. This was the hug Lucien reserved for grown men whom he respected dearly. Come to think of it, he'd not embraced anyone like this in years.

After a few moments, he released his son and paced the room again. He brought his voice low, "All right. Then we need to speak to Fitzroy as soon as we can about this. No letters, we wait to talk in person. We'll have someone in the Pain Street Club know what you are doing, and they will be the ones to hide you. Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Yes," said Leon. "His name is--"

Lucien thrust both hands into the air. "Don't tell me his name!"

"He... he's the journalist," said Leon.

"A friend of yours, hmm? Very well, you'll stay with him, then. Good. Now, we just need..." Lucien thought for a moment, then chuckled. "For now, I think that's all we need, actually. I... I can't believe I'm doing this! I'm plotting my son's assassination!"

"How do you think I feel?" asked Leon. "I'm plotting my own assassination."