“I would like a glass of Chateau Duras. The 108 vintage, if you have it.”

“A good year.” The tavern-keep nodded. “That one, you’ll have to buy the bottle though.”

Camille waved her hand dismissively. “That shan’t be an issue.”

Next to her, the girl with the sword wrinkled her brow, but didn’t comment. “I’ll have a Woods Nymph.”

The tavern-keep nodded and stepped back from the bar, going to gather the necessary materials.

“What was that about?” Camille asked, mimicking the quizzical expression.

The girl, Florette or Celine or whatever she was calling herself today, sighed. “You just love throwing your money around, don’t you?”

Camille blinked. “It’s one bottle of wine! What could it cost, a hundred florins?”

That response was greeted with only a groan.

And yet I vouched for this wretch with the Perimonts. They had arrived so quickly, it had not seemed as if there were another option, and to her credit the girl had played along reasonably well, but Camille was already beginning to regret it.

“Well, what did you get then? A spirit-touched creature from the Arboreum would hardly be less expensive.” All the moreso with Malin occupied. The Arboreum would never deign to trade with the nation responsible for the blight of Refuge, nor suffer any poachers who did to live.

“It’s not a real woods nymph; it’s the name of the drink, you idiot! They don’t put real pixies in pixie powder either.”

“Actually, if by ‘they’ you mean the Aureaux family of Plagette, they do. There’s giant buildings in the countryside devoted solely to grinding them down for it.” Annette owned a stake in one, in fact, ever since her fourteenth birthday. Camille had yet to meet a match for herself in the field of gift-giving.

At the girl’s horrified expression, Camille hurried to clarify. “Pixies might look like tiny people, but there’s no awareness there. Just spirit-touched birds suffused with the energy of the spirit Enquille to warp their form and grant their trademark alertness.”

Florette breathed the slightest sigh of relief. “I discovered the Woods Nymph drink during my first week here. Heard someone local celebrating that they could finally get a proper one again thanks to a shipment, and followed them here. It’s a mix of those distilled spirits the Avalonians make, and some other stuff: gin, absinthe, lime juice, and this special sugar that helps you relax. Not every place will serve it with that, though.”

“Naca extract, I’d guess. Artisans would take oil from the leaves and apply it to all manner of things.” Camille scratched her chin. “It certainly has an effect, but I found it rather useless for visions, and it seems to prompt a rather unbecoming laziness in those who partake of it.” Scant surprise it’s a favorite for you.

“If you say so.” Florette shrugged. “I’m still getting to grips with the language.”

“Really?” Camille turned to face her. “You didn’t know it before coming here?”

“When exactly would I have had time to learn it?”

“How should I know? You were so indignant about your literacy before! I was simply—” She threw up her hands. That’s a thought. “You could only have been here a couple of months, if you saw the duel.”

Florette flashed a smirk. “I’m a quick study.”

She really is if she picked it up that soon. Camille forced a nod, plastering her face with just the right amount of admiration. “The accent is rough, but you comported yourself remarkably with the Perimonts. I didn’t notice you missing a single thing in that whole conversation.”

“That’s because I didn’t,” she boasted. “I’ve been immersing myself in it. A decent grasp is important in this profession. Technical specifications are hard enough to understand even if you do know the language. It’s half the reason I stayed here while the ship moved on.”

“I would think Eloise would be reason enough by herself.”

Florette snorted, a touch too loudly.

“Really though, what you’ve accomplished is genuinely impressive.” All the more so since you’re such an irritating ruffian. “I had to spend years with my tutors to get as far as I did, and even then my skills have degraded through disuse.”

The keeper of the tavern arrived then, placing on the table a high glass of a pale green liquid, popping and fizzing audibly, as if it were some apothecary concoction.

“Why is it doing that?” Camille tapped the glass gingerly with the back of her fingernail. “Is it really safe to drink?”

“You’ve never seen soda water before?” The tavern-keep chuckled smugly. “They use a little bladder to put a gas in the water that makes it do that. Gives you the fizz of beer without needing the fermentation or the taste. Yet another thing one of the Harolds invented, apparently, though I couldn’td say which. He put a bowl of water over a vat of beer and figured it all out, if you believe what they’re selling.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve been tending this bar for twenty years and I’ve never seen anything so useful for lengthening a drink.” He pulled out the 108 Duras, setting it on the bar.

“Hold on.” Florette shoved her arm between Camille in the bottle. “Before you open it, how much will it cost?”

So gauche. Money was a matter better left unsaid.

“This one? Seventy-eight mandala. You can pay in florins if you absolutely have to, but it’ll cost you more. Even this side of town, ain’t easy to find places that’ll still take em.”

She turned back to Camille. “Do you have that much? It can’t have been easy to ‘pack’ funding before your ‘trip’.”

“Of course I—” Seventy-eight mandala. Camille bit her lip. Only twelve mandala of Clochaine’s stipend remained, after the apparel she’d purchased for the Perimonts. “I’m afraid I forgot my... It’s dangerous to go about with that much on your person,” she lied sheepishly.

Her teeth sunk deeper into the flesh of her lip, absolute mortification setting in.

And Florette, that horrid little bandit, was grinning from ear to ear. “Terribly dangerous,” she added, sliding the wine bottle back towards the barkeep. “Between the smugglers and the bandits and the pirates, it’s a wonder anyone feels safe in this fair city.”

Camille slammed her head down against the bar.

“We have a local ale on draft, for our... thriftier customers. Six mandala per pint, or twelve florins.” He sounded genuinely sympathetic, which made it worse.

She lifted her head slowly, unable to quite shrink into her seat. “My sincerest apologies, good sir. I would not have had you bring it out, had I remembered my circumstances.” I’m nothing here, when it should be home. “Nothing for me, thank you.”

“Oh, come on! You gotta have something! Why do you think I took you here?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you with any great certainty.”

After the Perimonts had left, the tension had returned, but Florette had not withdrawn her sword from its sheath, nor made any further threats. “You really have a plan?” she’d asked, excited, more credulous by far than before. “Tell me.”

And I had no choice but to follow. With a word, Florette could reveal who Camille really was, and ruin everything in one fell stroke. With her power this diminished, she might easily end up in chains next to Lucien and Annette.

“It’s because conversations like this ought to be had over a drink.” Florette slapped her palm down against the bar. “Get the lady an Ocean Wave, please. With my compliments.”

Dying wasn’t this humiliating. But acknowledging it further would only make things worse. “Thank you,” she said instead. “What’s in an Ocean Wave? More of this soda water?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you.” Florette shrugged. “It’s blue and cold and it tastes good. Plus, it’s got ice in it, so it’s pricey enough that I wouldn’t justify getting it normally. You’ll love it.”

A peace offering, such as it was. “Thank you.”

The girl matched her gaze. “Earn it. What’s this plan of yours? Specifically, not just little bits and pieces.”

“Somewhere a bit more private,” Camille agreed quietly. Then, louder, she called out to the barkeep. “We’re moving to that table in the corner.”

≋

The Ocean Wave was indeed cool and blue, surprisingly sweet as well. At this late hour, Camille found herself sipping the easy drink faster than she might otherwise, but there was more than reason enough for that.

And Florette was already halfway through her second anyway, paying no heed to the etiquette of keeping roughly the same pace as one’s companions. “Alright, either that’s a really stupid plan, or I just don’t get it.”

“You simply fail to understand it,” she helpfully clarified. “Perimont’s grip is far more fragile than it appears. His power in this city stems entirely from the throne of Avalon, and they’ve shown no signs of helping him. The city is filled with gentry lured by economic opportunity, not aristocrats empowered by their land and magic. Did you hear Simon Perimont? The Governor’s own son, more concerned with trade and taxation than physical violence. It’s an opportunity.”

“How? Those leeches are doing great here, sucking the life out of this place and growing fat off the people’s suffering.” She took another long sip of the drink. “It’s even trickling down to regular people. The railyard Director had Malins doing supply runs for him. We’re building Avalon’s ships, supplying their capital, buying their goods.”

“We?”

She waved her hand. “Not me so much, maybe. But the greater ‘we’. The people of Malin have been beaten into compliance. Even a place like this tavern, far on the north end, the people here would never rise against oppression. I’ve seen it firsthand.” Her face curled into a snarl. “It’s probably happening to Guerron right now.”

“They need someone to inspire them.” Camille took a sweet sip of her drink, wobbling her head slightly as she pulled it back. Deceptively strong. “Lucien would be perfect, but I don’t see any way to free him without greater force of arms.”

Be strong, she willed at the thought of him. Lumière wasn’t trying to kill him the way he was Annette, but still…

“My people aren’t any better. Everyone’s too entrenched in the way things are now. You know what Ysengrin said to me once? ‘In a way it’s good that Perimont banned so much contraband, or Jacques might be out of a job, and the rest of us along with him.’ Everyone’s got what they think is a perfect reason to do nothing.”

Camille nodded. “It’s not in their self-interest to act. If we cannot convince them it is as things stand now, we must make it so. The merchants and gentry especially.”

Florette sighed. “See, that’s where you lose me. Those pricks should be strung up through the streets, not shown the light. They’re Avalonian carpetbaggers, or Malin traitors.”

“Even Clochaîne?”

With a click of the tongue, Florette narrowed her eyes. “In a just world, maybe. But there’s thousands that deserve it first.”

How adorably naïve. “What people deserve has nothing to do with it. Just look at how things stand now.”

“But what you’re talking about…”

Camille bit her lip. “Look to power, first. In Malin, Gordon Perimont has the most, and he cannot be reasoned or negotiated with.”

“He has to go,” Florette agreed. “And the rest of his hangers-on with him.”

“What would it look like, do you think?” Camille steepled her fingers. “Imagine Perimont tripped over a rock on the beach tomorrow and drowned. What happens next?”

“Celebrations in the streets.”

“And then what? Supposing the two of us did nothing.”

She stared at the ceiling in contemplation. “There would be another Governor to replace him, right? Lyrion’s been through a few already. How do they pick them, anyway?”

“It’s a power vested in the throne of Avalon, not the Great Council. King Harold would appoint another. Simon, perhaps, although there might easily be a follower he would sooner reward. Either way, within a few months, everything is back exactly the way it was.”

“So we don’t do nothing! Seize the opportunity. Go after the rest of them. Even if no one else steps up, we can. By the time we’re done cutting through them, whoever gets tapped to fill his shoes will show up to a city in revolt.”

“That’s one approach.” Camille rested her chin on her hands. “Now Avalon’s military arrives. Professional forces, trained and outfitted and ready to retaliate.”

Florette frowned. “So we beat them too. The odds would always be long; it doesn’t mean you don’t try. Any way you liberate the city, that’s going to happen.”

“Probably,” she admitted. “But there are ways that leave it better defended for when that moment comes. Co-opt their strength to the side of the Empire, rather than destroy it.”

“If anything deserves to be destroyed—”

Camille sighed. “See? There you are, using that word again. Do you want to give individuals the fate they deserve, or do you want to liberate Malin? This is about desires. Just because people gather under the same banner, it doesn’t mean they all want the same things.”

“Like the Fox-Queen.” She exhaled. “Once she died, her heirs warred over who had the right to succeed her, forever splintering the Empire of the Fox alongside them. I read about it in Accursed Queen. She gathered an entire continent behind her, but it couldn’t last.”

“Be careful attributing too much truth to that book.” Camille frowned. You must remember that not everyone received the education you did. “It was written centuries later, with the goal of showing how dark and uncivilized the past was. Georges Maurice was one of the first to see the potential of the printing press to make catering to the lowest common denominator a viable approach. He was an author who wanted to turn a profit, not a historian seeking to accurately chronicle the past. Even back in the era of the Three Cubs, there’s little in the historical record to support the widespread murder, rape and pillage that book makes out to be entirely commonplace. Practically no one was getting married at age thirteen or openly practicing incest.”

“But the basics are right, aren’t they? The personal grudges, the infighting that cost them so much. It all came down to people.”

“It all came down to politics.” Camille rolled her eyes. “The Fox-Queen’s oldest was disinherited, but when she died he still crowned himself in Lyrion and claimed the empire at the urging of his wife’s family. The younger son inherited Malin and its territories, while her daughter received the lands watered by the Rhan from her father’s side. She was the oldest child not legally dead, but her lands had been granted purposefully, that she might serve her brother. All of them thought the empire was their birthright, all wanted it intact, but only Colin Renart had been granted the heartlands by the Fox Queen herself.”

“And thus the realm was torn asunder forevermore,” Florette spoke, probably reciting something from the book. “You mean to tear the occupiers apart, prey on their disunity.”

Camille smiled. “Perimont is an idealogue; as best I can tell, he earnestly wishes to impose his twisted conception of order on this city, to stamp out my--our people and culture while stealing our talent and resources to fuel Avalon’s next war. His goals are not the same as that of the wealth-seeking gentry and prestige-seeking merchants. They can be pried apart from him, with the right wedge.”

Florette’s eyes widened. “You weren’t talking to the Perimonts to spy, were you? You want to pit them against Avalon.”

“Amongst many, many others. The very top of the hierarchy here may need to die, but that still leaves many powerful people to work with. The Convocation of Commerce is a key step on that road. Crackdowns and nooses do not serve them, while a cooperative Emperor might. They just need the right wedge.”

“That’s horrible though. What about the people?”

“You said it yourself, they’re too beaten down. They’ll fall in line once the regime changes, I’m sure.” Perhaps it was the drink, but Camille couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “They seem well practiced at rolling over.” And I don’t have enough time, anyway.

“That’s… I didn’t mean it was… Fuck, it’s not impossible.”

“Feel free to let them come to their senses, then. I don’t have time to wait for people to wake up and do the right thing.” I don’t have much time at all. Levian’s deadline steadily trickled closer, but even after that...

How long will I live, with two decades gone from my lifespan? With the loss, aging would accelerate as the end of her life approached. To fifty years at most? Less?

“I am the Lady of Onès,” she spoke quietly but firmly, after a glance to ensure that no one else could hear. “I am the High Priestess of Levian, the Torrent of the Deep. I have been trained to rule from birth, prepared to liberate this place since I was seven years old. We who have the power must act, Florette.”

“We?” She downed the rest of her glass in one gulp. “You just set yourself apart. You’ll poison the occupation from within, alone. And when you’re finished, you’ll leave the worst of it standing.”

“I will win. There is no alternative path. I won’t stand idly by, no matter how much I’ve lost. No matter the cost, I see a way forward, and I shall take it.” She took a deep breath. “But no, I don’t plan to do it alone. I never did.”

But Annette and Lucien were locked away now, Uncle Emile was missing, and Fouchand had been murdered.

“The railyard heist was impeccable, from what I gather. No one even discovered the theft until days later, invaluable knowledge was taken from Avalon’s grip, and Perimont stands all the weaker for it. All the more so if word leaks to the masses at large.”

“What?” Florette looked bewildered at the seeming non-sequitur. “What does that have to do anything?”

“I’m aware it would put you at greater risk, having this news spread further,” Camille continued. “Your reputation would grow, and it could well put you in danger.”

“I don’t care about that,” she replied easily. “Everyone knows Robin Verrou’s name, and Avalon can’t kill him.” A trace of a smile formed at the corner of her mouth. And now I have you.

“You struck a blow at that control, Florette. It could be exactly the wedge I need to pry the whole thing apart.” Camille looked her straight in the eyes.

And Florette stared right back, unflinching.

“I’m counting on you to do it again.”