Luce III: The Auditor

It was eerie how empty the vineyard was. Autumn winds whipped across the verdant hillsides, and despite everything, the harvest seemed to have proceeded smoothly, the vines vibrant yet free of grapes. But so too were the grounds bare, not a single worker to be found.

Lyrion was better known for its peat-bogs, the source of their famed single malt, though what people saw in that liquid ashtray, Luce couldn’t say. Horace Williams, Governor-General of Avalon’s continental Territories, had elected to bring a taste of home with him instead of following the local culture, which meant that, when he welcomed Luce onto his patio, the glasses on the table were filled with a delightful red, rather than Lyrion’s famed single malt poison.

“I must confess to surprise at seeing you here, Prince Luce. After everything you’ve been through in Malin, none would doubt the need for rest.” He bore the trademark freckles of the Williams family, and carried much of the same physical presence as his older brother Beckett, the Baron, though the latter always looked dangerous in a way that Horace William’s doughy face couldn’t match.

“I had plenty,” Luce answered, taking another sip of the wine. “It was nice to see my family in Fortescue again, but I was needed elsewhere.”

Williams snorted. “That’s an interesting way to put it. Your solutions to Carringdon’s ills were unorthodox, to say the least, and I very much doubt that Miss Delbrook appreciated your help.”

Me too. That had been a harrowing thing, seeing her body swing lifeless from the gallows, the air filled with raucous applause. She’d had a trial, as was her right, but the verdict had practically been decided before the proceedings even began, and Delbrook had simply sat quietly in her seat through the entire thing.

Luce had felt so very righteous, handing down the sentence, and those cheers had tickled the same part of his brain, but it was hard to stack them up against the sight of a woman he’d condemned to death, her blue face glaring accusingly at him through the fog.

It was the right thing to do. I have to remember that.

“I’m sorry about Eddie,” Luce said, changing the subject. Governor Williams’ son had been a few years younger, a student at the Cambrian College, but he hadn’t returned for classes this fall. Robin Verrou had seen to that.

“Thank you… I thought he was safe, back at home… Now that the crisis is over, I expect our pirate catchers will be able to get their operation back into gear. Verrou will answer for his crimes in time, of that I have no doubt, your kidnapping among them. I still marvel that you managed to escape. Most would simply pay the ransom.”

If only. “I did what I had to do, nothing more.”

“Well said.” Williams raised his glass, so Luce followed, clinking his own against it. “To Eddie, who never had the chance.”

“To Eddie,” Luce echoed. This is a new low for Verrou, and I can’t even imagine what he got out of it. No riches stolen, no true blow dealt against Avalon itself. Naught but spite and cruelty, going after students barely older than children. Though it shouldn’t have been a surprise, after Cassia.

“Well, Luce,” Williams said after another few glasses spent catching up, “as much as I enjoy a social visit, I imagine you have another purpose in coming here.”

“That’s true, I’m afraid.” Luce paused, choosing his words carefully.

Carringdon had, in many ways, been easy. His swords had outnumbered Delbrook’s, his authority had far outstripped her own, and even if things had gone truly poorly, Fortescue and family had just been a short boat ride away.

Not so in Lyrion, where Horace Williams could, if need be, call upon entire armies of Territorial Guardians. Uncle Miles couldn’t help him here, nor Mother, nor Father, if indeed he would even want to.

But this isn’t Malin. I’m not alone anymore. Charlotte was standing just inside the doorway, five of his new guards right alongside her. Someone he could actually trust, but still a pale fraction of the might that the Governor-General could call to bear.

Still, Luce had to choose his words carefully. After his show of force in Carringdon, Horace Williams might do more than pack him onto a boat if things went sour. It wouldn’t do to be too accusatory.

“There has been some concern,” Luce began, laundering his complaints through use of the passive voice, “about the exports of grain. The darkness was a great blow to Avalon, and we must ensure that all of our people are fed.”

“Thus the war,” Williams said amicably, as if Luce couldn’t possibly object to tyrannical conquest. “We’ve been doing our part, I assure you, and once the spoils start rolling in, I can’t imagine it would even be an issue. Even if the Arboreum’s bounty proves insufficient, our generals are already pursuing the next target.”

What? Luce did his best not to look surprised, though it wasn’t easy. Lorraine hasn’t even fallen, the occupation has scarcely begun, and if anything happens to Father, war with the Fox will break out in an instant.

And they were already moving on to the next war? Even Avalon didn’t have unlimited resources, unlimited manpower. And after the darkness, we’re far shorter on both than we once were. This idiotic bloodlust would have to stop, even if it meant venturing into the panther’s den himself.

Williams either didn’t notice or didn’t care enough to note that he was delivering new information, instead continuing on. “So whatever concerns may have arisen, I can’t imagine that they’d warrant a personal visit.”

Stay out of it, in other words. “Delbrook wanted me to divert Cambria-bound shipments towards the western isles.”

“Of course she did. So derelict in her duties, and so foolish in her efforts to fulfill them. I sympathize with her labor issues though. We faced similar problems here.” He shrugged. “Given the fate of Miss Delbrook, I’m assuming you’re not here to make that request of me.”

“No,” Luce assured him. “My mother might hail from the west, but Cambria alone has more people than all the western isles combined. So long as our grain supply remains limited, the shipments must continue there as before. That won’t be an issue, will it?”

Williams laughed. “Of course not.”

“Despite your labor issues?”

“I said we faced similar problems here, past tense. Fortunately, things have a way of working themselves out.” And his fields are empty… There’s something he’s not telling me. “Shall I open another bottle?” Williams continued. “It looks as if we’ve killed this one.”

Luce ignored the question, sitting forward in his seat. “How did things work themselves out, exactly? What was your solution?” A sinking feeling was starting to pull him down, one he was reasonably sure had nothing to do with the wine. “Perhaps I can help others to emulate it,” he tacked on, trying to frame the question more positively.

What did you do?

“Well, we had a troublesome population, and a shortage of food, even before taxation entered into the equation. We could never have kept everyone fed here through the darkness, let alone Avalon.” He snapped his fingers, signaling for another bottle. “Some of the peasants got it into their heads that their landlords shouldn’t be fulfilling their duties, and should steal from the crown instead. They even called on the Great Council to ban exports.” He laughed. “Believe it or not, my brother had half a mind to grant the request. But your aunt shut the whole thing down before it even made it that far.”

“I see…” Scant wonder why Baron Beckett Williams would want Avalon more desperate, tilting more towards future wars of conquest rather than remaining content with their existing possessions. No doubt the other Harpies had backed him in that, and Aunt Elizabeth had seen through the whole ruse and shut it down.

With the notable downside that the peasants here would have continued to see their hard won food snatched from their fingers… A grim calculation for the greater good, Luce had no doubt his aunt would call it. She was a pragmatist above all else, and the Owls in the Great Council followed her in lock-step.

But she doesn’t know that there’s another way. Luce clutched the Gloves of Teruvo in his pocket, an artifact from a spirit Uncle Miles had slain around the time of the Foxtrap. Now, it was his. To the right spirit, for the right bargain, it could mean recreating the success in Malin, imbuing the land with spiritual power to massively increase crop production.

A way to feed everyone without taking another inch of land.

“Some of the peasants tried to steal from their landlords when word traveled back, caching their food away from our inspectors or simply taking it and running. Some even fell back on their horrific traditions and made pacts with the spirits, or so their rumors would have you believe.” He shrugged. “Easy enough to deal with, and appropriate discipline helped stop others from following in their misguided footsteps.”

“How easy?” Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say.

“As I said, things have a way of working themselves out. We had a hostile population, and lacked the resources to feed them in any case. It was as simple as letting them starve.”

Bastard. Apparently the vineyards were a high enough priority to direct the laborers towards, while feeding the masses was not. “The agitators?”

“At first, but ultimately it was simpler to paint with a broad brush.” He swept his hands across the empty fields. “Our children will thank us for it, clearing out so much of the rot polluting this land. Now the majority in Lyrion are of good Avaline stock, and the few natives who remain better know their place.”

Luce breathed slowly, fingers clenching and unclenching around the gloves. Whitbey killed one child, but you’ve killed thousands, Williams, and you don’t even seem troubled by it. Any hopes of working with him to increase production were instantly dashed, but it wasn’t as simple as taking over and ending the slaughter.

Luce had thirty-two swords, plus Charlotte, who counted for at least ten on her own. Most were from his uncle, who had his own public regrets about the state of Avaline occupation in the Territories, and had been instructed to report to him. The Carringdon guards were less certain, but outnumbered by the more loyal members, and vetted by Charlotte to ensure that there would be no surprises. Any who’d failed had joined Captain Bainbridge on the front lines, or else stayed in Carringdon to serve under Uncle Miles’ replacement steward.

If he told them to move, they would, but to what end? They couldn’t hope to stand up to the Governor-General and half a continent’s worth of Guardians. Even if they acted preemptively, even if Luce did it right here and now, as he so wanted to, that would be a final break with Avalon, and they would quickly be overwhelmed.

The aegis of royal authority only went so far, especially after Luce’s failures in Malin. Charlotte had even heard some of the Carringdon guards call him the Prince of Darkness, apparently a moniker that had followed him across the water. Delbrook was one thing; the first thing most lords would have said when they heard the news was “Who’s Agnes Delbrook?”

Move against Horace Williams, though, and all of Avalon sits up. The Harpies would move to attaint Luce immediately, and even Harold would struggle to hold them back. And that’s if he’d even want to… For all I know, something like that is exactly what he’s waiting for to finally get rid of me. Luce dearly hoped not, hoped that Jethro had acted on his own, but it was impossible not to be suspicious. Father was no different, perhaps even worse.

No, I can’t simply storm the building again. I’d be dead before the year is out, unless I fancy a hurried retreat into exile.

“Are you alright, Your Highness? Would you like some bread to dilute the wine?”

Luce shook his head, standing up. “I think I had better retire. We can continue at another time.” He barely waited for the Governor’s response, pushing his way back into the inside of the mansion and signaling Charlotte to follow. The original plan had been to spend the night here, but Luce knew he couldn’t stomach it anymore, and he didn’t much want to spend more time surrounded by Williams’ guards either.

He didn’t explain until he was dead certain they were out of earshot of the building, even keeping Charlotte waiting another tense few minutes as they marched down the hill. Not something he enjoyed doing, but she seemed to understand without any need for questions.

Better still, she had ideas of her own on what to do next.

≋

“Are you sure? No one seems like they’re being all that secretive.” Luce looked down at the journal in front of him, its front page article detailing the war effort in the Arboreum. Apparently Camille was having people call her “The Maiden of Dawn” now too, which was just so self-aggrandizingly arrogant that it made him mad all over again.

Ousting me when the sun returned was her plan from the start, to help win people over. It was infuriating, but there were more important things to worry about right now.

“They’re not, but that doesn’t mean it’s not happening. They don’t fear the Guardians, for one reason or another.” Charlotte sat across the table, warily eyeing every patron that entered the cafe. “Didn’t you say that Avalon guarantees a right to speech? They might think that protects them.”

“Not in the Territories. I’m sure you saw that for yourself with Perimont.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Do you see any Lyrionaise in here? These people were born in Avalon, or their parents or grandparents were. They take it as a given.”

“But they must know about the laws against territorial sedition. If they heard about Perimont—”

“Those laws are for other people, to their mind. Depending on how Williams responds, they might even be right.”

Luce frowned, unsatisfied with the answer. “Or he’s in on it. He was acting strange when I visited him. I took that to stem from the loss of his son, but…”

He looked down at the journal again, then flipped to the engraving that had tipped Charlotte off in the first place. A stylized diagram of a panther, similar to the way lions looked on heraldry, but cut into pieces. The head was marked with an L, the tail a D, with two front paws labeled as C and O.

Beneath the drawing was a single caption: Join or Die.

Charlotte had found the artist, a Territorial official named Wentworth Harring, and a few days of tracking him had led them to this gathering in an inconspicuous cafe. “Once again, I advise against you being here for this. It’s an unnecessary risk.”

“It’s security through obscurity. No one but Williams and his household staff have any reason to know Prince Luce is even in Lyrion,” he said with a whisper. Granted, last time, with the ship, it didn’t work at all. But that was because of a defector, and only he and Charlotte knew they were doing this. His other guards had remained behind on the ship. “And I have to see this for myself.”

“You can trust me to—”

“I know I can, Charlotte, that’s not the point.” I spent all my time in Malin holed up in my workshop as Camille tore the walls down to bury me. “My father always says that sometimes there’s nothing for it but to do it yourself.” He was full of aphorisms like that, though in his case it hadn’t exactly led him anywhere good in Guerron. “Guy Incognito can learn a lot more about what’s really going on here than the Prince of Darkness can. I’m not just going to take their word for it again.”

“If you actually use that name, I’m walking out the door and leaving you to die here.”

Despite himself, Luce smiled. She’s finally feeling comfortable enough around me not to walk on eggshells. “What about you?”

She blinked. “No one knows me anyway. And Charlotte’s an Avaline name too, isn’t it?”

“Less common, but…” Luce rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose that’s fine. Though you’re missing out.”

Charlotte opened her mouth to reply, but before she could respond, an elderly man clinked a fork against an empty glass, calling the meeting officially to order.

“Welcome, all friends of liberty. To all returning faces, I extend once again a hearty greeting. And to those of us who are attending for their first time, I would like to extend a special greeting. Your bravery does not go unnoticed.” His eyes settled on Luce and Charlotte, already drawing more attention towards them than they’d intended. “It’s customary to give your name and the reason you’re here.”

Damn it. “Guy,” Luce said. “I’m here because Avalon’s tyrannical grip is a fundamentally unjust endeavor. I can’t abide by it any longer. And Charlotte…”

Despite his fumbling, Charlotte picked up the baton without missing a beat. “I’m here to support my husband, and because of my own convictions. Lyrion cannot remain subordinate to overlords abroad, not without the representation we’re due.”

“Well said,” the speaker responded, filling Luce with an enormous sense of relief. “Taxation without representation is naught but tyranny. If the Great Council continues to refuse our request for representatives, they limit our options. Already, the lord’s portion of our grain is bound for faraway shores! Already, the sweat of our labor is being forcibly taken by a government that has no accountability to us!”

A wave of chatter swept across the room, murmurs of agreement, which Luce and Charlotte both refrained from joining in.

Luce could hear no Imperial, saw nothing identifying anyone present as Lyrionaise. If the uprising that Williams’ cruelty seemed like it must inevitably engender — the same biting back that Malin had experienced — was happening anywhere, it wasn’t here.

Instead, from the sound of it, only reinforced with every scrap of chatter Luce could catch, Avaline colonists were contemplating Territorial independence.

“Hear hear!” the speaker chanted, perhaps the same man Charlotte had tailed to find the meeting. “I know many of us continue to think of ourselves as Avaline. Certainly, we carry forth the spirit of civilization that our forefathers brought with them from Avalon. But that does not mean we must content ourselves as unrepresented vassals.” He smiled. “To that end, we have sent a representative to secure vital assistance. Backing, should the conflict with our homeland come to blows, though I dearly hope that it does not. But, if the Great Council does not heed our demands, aid from abroad might yet persuade them. We are more powerful than Elizabeth Grimoire is wont to give us credit for.”

Aid from abroad… Luce’s eyes locked with Charlotte’s, and he saw the same realization creep across her face. It could only really mean one thing.

It’s fucking Leclaire again.