Camille III: The Councilor

Château d’Oran had an intensely pleasing isolation to it, a winding path through the foothills separating it from the city beneath while still allowing caravans comfortable access to keep the castle well-supplied.

As Camille’s horse drew closer, the path began to widen, until it gave way to the large hollow upon which the château had been built. If she remembered her history correctly, the Lord of Dorseille had established a holdfast here around three hundred years ago, to provide a defensible fallback for the harbor and project power across the water to the Lunette Duchy.

When the Debrays swore their service to the Fox King, he had granted the holdfast and its lands, as well as tax right over the waters along the gold coast. The city had all grown up around that, trading ores from the mines as ships of supplies and luxuries made their way up and down the coast. The movement of the imperial government had only grown it further, drawing in clerks and tax collectors to manage the bureaucracy.

And whenever Guerron might fall under siege, the denizens could hole up in the hollow at the foot of the castle as soldiers held the narrow path, rolling boulders onto tightly packed armies or dumping water during winter to make the path too icy for horses to traverse.

All the while, the meager holdfast had grown taller and stronger, building ever upwards against the side of the mountain. Now the towers stretched above the walls of rock protecting the ground beneath them, granting a view of the city and the waters past it. Camille’s chambers were at the top of such a tower, her view unobstructed. Staying closer to the sea would have felt safer, but, for the time being, this was an acceptable compromise.

Well, acceptable for Camille, anyway. Lucien had opted to stay with the rest of the displaced in the Villemalin area on the north end of the city.

Duke Fouchand had offered him lodging in the castle innumerable times over the last seventeen years, and each time Lucien had refused. Even as a child torn from his home, he knew a King should be with his people, and they loved him for it. That had only grown in the years since; however much Lucien might claim it to be simply his nature rather than calculated appeal, the effect was the same.

Of course, the royal tent was hardly a slum dwelling. Lucien had guards to protect him, tutors to instruct him, and servants to wait on him. Yes, he had the amenities, but he was there with the rest, showing a solidarity important to his image as their King. For similar reasons, Camille tried to spend as much time as she could manage at the Temple, greeting anyone giving offerings, throwing occasional feasts of deep sea fish and plants that would otherwise be difficult to acquire.

Not how she might choose to spend her limited time and energy, otherwise, but it was important to keep herself ever in their minds.

By the time Camille reached her chambers in the Château d’Oran, she had a mere two hours to prepare. As her servants drew a bath, Camille went over the papers she had gathered from the temple earlier that day.

The Temple of Levian kept meticulous records of the Malins as a matter of course: births, deaths, marriages, and the like, stretching back to the days when the Empire of the Fox had held sway over the entire continent. Most of those sorts of papers had been hidden back in the Great Temple back in Malin, buried under water and glass where the Avalons could never touch it. But the scholarship, the analysis, the better part of that had made it here intact. Jehanne Corelle’s On Malin and Empire, in particular, painted an interesting portrait.

As the Empire had splintered piece by piece after the Fox Queen’s death, the population of Malin had fallen in turn. Most of the loss fell within the less desirable hinterlands, closer to the desert and further from the trade and fresh water of the Sartaire, but it represented a decline nonetheless. With the interconnected systems of the Empire, Malin and its people could prosper, but as the corners became lost to ambition and treachery, they bled.

All of that before Avalon had reared its ugly head and seized the capital, driving the royal court and thousands of its retainers and servants into the city of Guerron. Under the boot of hostile foreigners, one could only imagine what Malin had been driven to. Duke Fouchand, as Regent, had negotiated peace out of fear when he ceded the capital in Lucien’s name — fear for his people in the face of Avalon’s unrelenting assault. But stagnation was a death of its own. Presented in the right way, it might help persuade the Duke to support war to reclaim Malin, lest Guerron see the same death of attrition. But that was for the future; she needed to deal with Lord Lumière today.

For that, she had the Writ of Dominion, an old pact between Lucien’s father Romain and Camille’s mother Sarille as Fox King of Malin and High Priestess of Levian, codifying what had previously stood largely on precedent and tradition. Camille did not know why that had happened so recently––the Leclaires of Onès had served the Fox Kings for centuries––but it suited her purposes well on this evening.

With her papers in order, she picked out appropriate attire for the council meeting. The more practical garb from the execution suited the ceremony and the audience, but for a meeting with the Duke, it would be entirely inappropriate.

By the time the bath was hot, everything she needed was organized and ready. It was difficult to relax, with the meeting so close, but it was at least sufficient to clean the salt and sweat from her skin. She also took the opportunity to apply a fresh dye to her hair, noting that the supply was dwindling as she did. The cerulean snail was rare enough that kingdoms could beggar themselves to acquire the amount Camille went through in a year, but with Levian’s power, it was easy enough to scour the sea and gather it herself. Another run would be necessary soon, if she wished to avoid showing blonde roots and ruining the façade.

With the bath finished, Camille donned the dress she had chosen: pale blue with gold trim, and the serpent insignia of House Leclaire discreetly embroidered onto the lapel. In addition to a set of golden half-circle earrings, it perfectly paired the aesthetics of the ocean spirit Levian with the Sun spirit Soleil. She would be attending as a councillor to the Duke, rather than a High Priestess, and it was important to present herself accordingly.

As she had planned, she was the first to arrive in the council chambers. The setting sun streamed through the window to the balcony, casting rays of pink and gold into the chamber as it descended to the water.

Duke Fouchand would take his place at one head of the table, King Lucien Renart the opposite end. As his betrothed, Camille would sit to his left, pointing her eyes oh-so-conveniently directly at the sun. For venerators of the Sun spirit Soleil, no doubt that had important symbolic value, but in practice it was incredibly annoying to have to shield her face.

She set her folder down at her place and gazed out over the sunset as best as she could while she waited for the others.

Lucien came next, looking much the same as he had earlier in the day, only a red cape behind his shoulders marking any preparation for the event. They had argued earlier, but it was a relief to see him all the same. He would back her up when the moment came. Of that, she was sure.

“You’re looking quite sharp, Lady Leclaire.” He took his seat beside her, smiling like she was the only other person in the world. “Are you ready for the meeting?”

“Even more than usual.” She patted the sheaf of papers in front of her. “Just be ready in case Lord Lumière starts something.”

Shrugging, Lucien nodded. “He’s made no secret of his feelings towards the Malins. Why the warning?”

Camille smiled, placing her hand over his. “Just wait and see. I will explain after, if you still have any questions.”

He raised an eyebrow, but refrained from asking anything further.

Duke Fouchand, the Lord of Guerron, Duke of Soleil Isle, and former Regent for Lucien, was the next to arrive, standing tall despite his age in the grey and white colors of House Debray. He greeted Camille cordially and took his seat at the table with quiet dignity and grace. The Duke was followed closely by his granddaughter, Annette, the head of the Bureau of the Sea, which managed all things naval. With all of the activity in the harbor leading up to the tournament, Camille knew she had her hands full at the moment.

Annette rubbed her eyes as she took her place at the Duke’s left, her back to the ocean. “Hello Camille. Grandfather and I were just talking about you.” She blinked, then brushed a tuft of brown hair out of her face.

“Only good things, I hope.” Camille waved down a servant. “Lady Debray would like a cup of black tea mixed with a spoonful of pixie powder, unless I’m mistaken.”

“And sugar,” Annette added. “Thank you, Camille. Things have been so hectic with the tournament I haven’t had a moment’s rest. I could certainly use the stimulation.”

“Of course.” If she ever saw Annette Debray getting six hours of sleep, Camille would have to check that it was not a shadow doppelganger. Half of Annette’s blood was probably pixie powder by this point; her desiring more was not exactly difficult to guess. Still, every little bit helped, in a delicate situation like this. A reminder of their friendship could help tip the balance if Annette ended up being a deciding factor in any conflict with the other High Priest.

The final members to enter arrived together: Lord Aurelian Lumiere, High Priest of the Sun and Emperor of the Pricks; and Guy Valvert, Head of the Bureau of Land, when he could be bothered. They were laughing together at some private joke as they took their seats, not making eye contact with Camille.

Valvert sat at Fouchand’s right hand, squinting at the red sun beaming into his eyes. The thirty-two year old son of Fouchand’s deceased sister, Rosette, cruelly cut down in the Foxtrap, he owed his position entirely to the Duke’s fond memories and political necessity, rather than his aptitude. North of the mountains, the Valverts of Dorseille ruled the only other major city free of Avalon’s control. Even then, Guy only barely managed to avoid being incompetent enough to be removed. He shifted his head to try to block the sunlight with Annette’s shadow, but she subtly moved to render the attempt unsuccessful.

Camille suppressed a smile at that as Aurelian sat down across from her, his shiny golden tunic catching the light behind him. After their encounter near the Singer’s Lounge, and the hateful bile he was spewing at the time, there was no low she could not risk him sinking to.

“Excellent,” announced Duke Fouchand. “Since all councilors are present, I believe it’s time to begin with the subject of this meeting: the Festival of the Sun and the accompanying tournament. To begin, if the heads of the Bureaus would present your progress on your duties thus far?”

Guy Valvert rolled his eyes, slumping to his elbows on the table. “Yes, yes. It’s all done. I presented those instructions to my bureau for the lists, seeding the bracket for the melee, and all such affairs. The city watch at the North, East and South gates of the city are prepared to collect that entry tax. Everything we talked about last time, I passed it on.”

“Truly your contributions are invaluable,” Annette commented with her head tilted up. “What could we do without you to relay instructions to others, cousin? The Duke might have to send a letter.”

Valvert pounded his fist on the table. “Hey listen, Annette. I do my Khali-cursed job, and if the Duke has a problem with it, he’s free to mention it. Otherwise, shut your trap.”

“No more of that, Guy.” Fouchand gave him a stern, silent glare before turning his head towards his granddaughter. “Is this really necessary, Annette? My nephew has done what was asked of him and on that front given no cause for complaint.”

“Very true,” she acceded. “For him, that alone is quite an accomplishment.”

Camille and Lucien snickered, although Guy and Aurelian looked unamused.

“Nearly everything is proceeding smoothly on my end,” Annette announced once the laughter had died down. “Harbor space is at such a premium that we may need to delay exports to Avalon until the tournament is finished, but the tax collectors and customs inspectors know their new duties, and I’ve taken the liberty of hiring enough extra hands to double the count for the duration of the tournament.”

“Very good.” Duke Fouchand nodded.

“There is the matter of the Seaward Folly. A ship of such origins, captained by so notorious a figure–”

“We will speak of that later, in private,” the Duke interrupted. “Thank you, Annette. It appears things are proceeding quite smoothly on your end.” He gave her an approving pat on the shoulder. “You and Guy should both be made aware that the bard Magnifico will no longer be arriving by ship. There was an explosion at the harbor in Malin, destroying his ship while he was ashore. His party crossed the Sartaire and will be making their way through Guerron pass.”

“Explosion?” Camille perked her head up. “What happened?”

Fouchand shrugged. “No one was certain when the messenger left. Some manner of accident or attack, one can only assume. We won’t know more until it’s investigated.”

Aurelian Lumière nodded solemnly. “May the culprit be swiftly found and brought to justice.”

“Good riddance,” Guy said. “They were asking for it, taking the city like that. Those heathens don’t even send the ones they execute to the spirits, you know, just condemning them to a wholly wasteful death. It’s barbaric.”

Duke Fouchand narrowed his eyes. “Over a dozen people died, with thrice that maimed or injured. There may have even been ships of ours in port.” That seemed to chasten Valvert, for he rubbed the back of neck guiltily. “Now, if we can move on. Guy, please see to it that the watch members manning the East gate are ready for his arrival.”

“Ugh, must I really?” Valvert wrinkled his nose. “It’s bad enough that we’re even letting the bastard in here at all, giving him a king’s welcome is just too much.”

Lumière gave his crony a withering look. “Magnifico is a trusted emissary of King Harold, Guy. Word of mistreating him will reach the king and reflect most poorly on us.” As Valvert rolled his eyes, Lord Lumière continued. “Magnifico is here as a gesture of goodwill from a Kingdom which, lest you forget, utterly defeated us in the last war. If Avalon attacks before we are ready, something that is sure to happen if we allow an envoy under our protection to come to harm, the fate of Malin will reach us here.”

Duke Fouchand narrowed his eyes. “Precisely. The bard will be treated with the utmost care and respect, and Guy will see to his accommodations. ”

“Fine!” Guy held up his hands. “I’ll pass it on to the City Watch. They love escorting scum around the city. Anything else?”

“Actually, there’s something we need to discuss,” Aurelian spoke, drawing all the eyes at the table to him. “Lady Leclaire has transgressed against me and the Temple of the Sun, a grievance that needs to be redressed.”

“Oh?” Camille clasped her hands together, feigning surprise. “Do tell.”

“That harbor bandit, he was stealing artifacts from the Temple bound for the Isle of Soleil. He wronged us twice over by robbing our delivery and knocking it into the harbor.”

“That’s a terrible shame.”

Aurelian narrowed his eyes. “His soul belongs to Soleil, whom he offended. And yet you sacrificed him to Levian this morning, brazenly trespassing on the rights of Soleil and his temple before spirits and men. Duke Fouchand, I confronted Lady Leclaire herself on the matter earlier this very day, and she refused to address the issue.”

Camille shook her head. “Jean, the robber, was of Guerron, but his allegiance was to Levian. He even left offerings for him from time to time, I can attest. Once he learned his sentence, he had no objections to the spirit receiving his soul.” In exchange for his permission, he had required only the assurance that his family would be taken care of, which Camille found an easy price. As she spoke, she readied the paper from the top of the sheaf in her hand.

“It was Soleil that he wronged though, no?” Valvert drummed his fingers on the table. “Soleil would need his soul to be made whole. You had no right to deprive him, Camille.”

“Lady Leclaire,” she corrected. “And I had every right.” Take that. She slid the Writ to the end of the table where Guy and the Duke could read it. “Per the Pact between the Fox-King Romain Renart and the High Priestess of Levian, Sarille Leclaire, the Temple of Levian holds the right of first refusal over all murderers duly sentenced under the King’s justice.”

Snatching the paper out of Guy’s hands, Aurelian clenched his fist. “You can’t be serious. This pact was made between the Fox-King of the Empire and the Priestess of his city, his spirit. Both dead, by the way. It says nowhere that the Guerron are subject to it. This is our city, Leclaire. Our law.”

Camille held her hand to her face to hide her smile. Just as planned.

“The criminal is already dead, by the King’s justice.” Lucien spoke. “What do you hope to accomplish here, Lord Lumiere?”

“I demand redress! Five souls, in return for the one stolen and the impropriety. You have cost Soleil power rightfully his!”

“Cost you power, you mean. No doubt Soleil blames you.” Camille chuckled. “I refuse, obviously. I acted fully within the bounds of the law.” That she had eroded the Sun Priest’s support with his patron in so doing was no coincidence, but neither was it a crime.

“I think no redress is necessary,” Lucien added. “Camille acted within the law.”

“Of course you would say that, you little lovestruck child.” Lumìere rolled his eyes. “Duke Fouchand, I beseech you! This sets a terrible precedent, allowing any who attack us to escape our justice. King Lucien and the Malins are our guests in the city, and they must obey our law.” Aurelian shoved the paper aside.

“Is the Lord of Guerron not subordinate to the Fox-King? Has the law changed to put a Duke before a King, Lord Lumiere?” Camille leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed. “If so, please enlighten me.”

Aurelian wrinkled his nose. “Must you make me spell out the obvious? Malin is no longer the capital of the Empire––it’s occupied territory! Your people exist here wholly on Duke Fouchand’s authority, whatever nominal claim your fox boy might have to be his superior. You’re lucky we even allow you to worship your ocean spirit in your pathetic tents.”

“Well said,” added Valvert. “What those Avalons did to Malin was a tragedy, but it doesn’t mean we need to put up with your people’s every eccentricity. Infringing on the justice of Soleil is an affront to all of us.”

And that was it, the moment she had been waiting for. “Duke Fouchand, would you care to weigh in?” Lumière had been right about one thing: in practice, the Duke held the most power here. Howevermuch Lucien’s authority might outstrip his by law, every institution and aristocrat in the city had answered to the Duke for nearly two decades during the regency. But, Camille had bet, Lumière was grossly wrong about how Duke Fouchand would rule on this issue.

The Duke bore a stern look, arms folded. “I suppose I must.” He took a deep breath. “Would all of you please give Camille and myself the room for a moment?”

Camille bit her lip, hiding her surprise. This was not how the next part of the meeting was meant to go.

Lucien gave her shoulder a squeeze before he left, while Lumière only laughed. None of the councilors said a word as they filed out of the chamber, not wishing to anger the Duke.

“I do understand your plight,” the Duke said once the two of them were alone. “Three hundred years ago, the Rhanoir invaded the Isle of Soleil and drove us from our homeland. Only by the generosity of the Fox King Vetain Renart, who granted my ancestors Guerron, could we build it into the city it is today.”

“I know all of this.” Camille tried to keep her tone polite.

“I’m making a point. You won’t find any Debrays seriously considering reconquest of the Isle anymore. Even with ‘Duke of the Isle of Soleil’ still in my title. We made the best of our new circumstances, rather than ruminating bitterly on the past. Today, Guerron is five times the city as anything you could find back on the Isle. We’ve had seventeen years of peace. Is there any part of you that could accept that and build something new?”

Camille narrowed her eyes. “Everyone called you a coward for your surrender. I thought I knew better. That you wanted time to consolidate, to rebuild up our power, that we might retake the land that is rightfully ours. Was I wrong?”

“No.” Fouchand took a deep breath. “But I am not the same man I was in the Foxtrap. I miss the family I lost every day, but another war will not bring them back. Nor will fighting with the Sun Temple bring back yours, Camille.”

She pulled out one of the papers from the sheaf. “Have you seen the population counts for Malin after the Empire broke apart? Every moment we spend with less than total dominance is killing our nation. I’m doing what has to be done, to avenge them, to retake what we’ve lost. Can you really say that you don’t want the same? You can’t bring your family back, but you owe it to them to bring justice to their killers.”

“Your mother showed me something similar, once. Impressed upon me the need to reconquer the Fox Queen’s old holdings across the continent.” He stroked his chin, looking out over the water. “I’m trying to think of your generation. Old men like myself can hold onto our bitterness, but I had hoped better for Annette and Lucien. Even for you, Camille. The last thing I wanted to do was drag you children back into my war, however much I want to take back the capital. It’s not what I’d want for you.”

“It is what we want for ourselves, my lord Duke. I want to see Lucien coronated before his people in the city his ancestors built. I want you and Annette to be free to rule Guerron while we take care of Imperial administration. I want, someday, to take my daughter to make a contract with Levian in the Great Temple of the Sea, the true seat of my power. Lucien trains every day, hoping he can slay King Harold himself. He supported me on this because he knows that people like Lord Lumìere are dangerous to our people. This very day, I caught him riling Guerrons against us. It won’t stop until we can return home.”

“You could have still handled this more gracefully.” The Duke clasped his hands together. “If we are ever to retake the capital for the Empire, we must all stand together — followers of Soleil and Levian both.”

“Then you agree?” Camille’s eyes widened.

He nodded. “But keep all of this to yourself. Avalon must remain ignorant of any such plans. Snooping on such affairs is likely half the reason that Magnifico was even sent here.”

“Of course,” Camille agreed, carefully holding back any expression of joy. “I apologize for putting you on the spot like that, Duke Fouchand. It shall not happen again.”

“See that it does not.” He rapped his hand against the table, signalling a servant to inform the other councilors that it was time to return.

“Well?” Lumière drummed his fingers against the table as he sat down. “Will this heathen be punished?”

“King Lucien made his opinion clear,” Duke Fouchand responded. “There is no need for reparations.”

Lord Lumière’s eye twitched. “Did you listen to a word I said?”

The Duke nodded. “When I ascended to this seat, I swore an oath of fealty to King Romain. After he perished in the Foxtrap, I renewed it with his son Lucien. Our king, Aurelian. I am no oathbreaker. The Writ of Dominion stands. Lady Leclaire maintains the right to the murderer’s soul, and there shall be no redress.”

“Very well,” Aurelian responded icily. “If that is your judgement, I will let the matter lie. Until next time.” Pounding his fist on the table, Aurelian stood up. Valvert followed him shortly thereafter, and the two filed out without another word.

“Then the meeting is adjourned. Until next time, Camille.” Fouchand pushed his chair in and left the room.

Anette drained her tea in one gulp and set it down gently on the saucer. “Aurelian and Valvert are buffoons. Anything you do to them is fair game, as far as I’m concerned.” She stood, patting Camille on the back as she passed.

“Thank you.”

Lucien waited until she had left the room to turn to Camille, eyes wide.

“Well?” Camille clasped her hands together. “Are you satisfied?”

“Most definitely,” he said, face full of mirth. “You will make such a good Queen.”

“I certainly hope so.”

He kissed her on the forehead then stepped back towards the door, grinning all the while. “Until tomorrow then, Camille.”

Camille nodded, returning his smile. “Until then.”

Once Lucien had left as well, she was alone in the council chamber once again. Twilight had arrived, the sun fully covered by the sea.

After today, confirmed before King and Duke, none could stop her from directing sacrifices to Levian and growing his power, gaining his favor. Lumière and the rest of the anti-Malin faction at court had not received the rebuke she had hoped for, but she had shown the people that Soleil’s sages were incapable of enforcing their own justice, even against a murderer who had directly stolen from them. And so Levian’s influence would grow, and Camille’s power to match.

And now that she had confirmation of the Duke’s intentions, planning for the liberation of Malin could begin in earnest.