Florette XI: The Birthday Girl

The Tancredi museum had been entirely redecorated for Sauin, with scattered orange gourds to celebrate the harvest season and what Florette hoped and assumed were fake giant spiders clinging to the walls and ceilings.

This, from the people who mercilessly cut down Teruvo of the Woods. They even had thin lattices of twine hung up all over the place, providing a fairly convincing facsimile of spider webs. Hard to be sure whether they missed the irony, or simply didn’t care. Given the celebrations over plucking Nuage Sombre from its rightful owners just so it could sit in this very museum, perhaps the appropriation of imagery was even a bonus.

On closer inspection, there were faces and figures carved into the gourds, features flickering ominously in the dim light — a black cat, a twisted snake, a sharp-featured man in the likeness of Prince Luce. And, of course, there was no shortage of spiders.

Nor was the museum the only one dressed outside its usual attire. Kelsey Thorley and Toby Folsom, Rebecca’s friends from the party, each had a half-mask perched on their face, obscuring enough of their features that Florette didn’t recognize them until they waved at her, a third mask clutched in Toby’s hand.

“Happy Birthday, Sabine.” Toby’s mask was white, matching the color of pants and jacket, and a limp black cravat was tied around his neck. He handed her the extra mask, navy blue with fake cat ears on top, then put his arm around Thorley.

“Thank you.” Florette had been slightly worried, seeing all of the other gala guests wearing these masks without one of her own, but now she could blend in even better than she’d previously hoped. “I don’t usually get a lot of gifts.”

“Tough luck, having a birthday on Sauin, having to compete for celebration space.” Thorley pulled out a book from his pocket, a paperback with its edges visibly worn down. “The mask isn’t your gift though, that’s just for the gala, since Rebecca said you didn’t have your own. This is from me. Happy Birthday!”

Florette took the book from his hands, examining the cover, an image of a girl with colorful butterfly wings spread out behind her back, outlined in fire, with wisps of smoke drifting up into a starry night sky. “The Mists of Lethe, an Arcadia Luna Mystery. Hmm.” She flipped open the cover, skipping past acknowledgements and forwards to dive into the meat of the story, before realizing that she was at a party and unfortunately couldn’t just hole up in the corner reading.

“Rebecca told me you’re a big reader, but I bet you haven’t seen anything like this in Malin or Chaya. It’s called science-fiction, speculating about what the future might hold. They have boats that can travel between stars, colonies on faraway planets, and real-time communication across miles of distance.”

“That is different from anything I’ve ever read.” Florette nodded slowly, gaining a new anticipation for tearing through it in a single sitting. Her usual more historical fare was rather thin on the ground in Cambria, at least if she wanted anything that wasn’t cheering for Avaline imperialism. Based on the thickness, even written in Avaline, she guessed that this one would take her no more than a few hours. If things went well tonight, perhaps she could spend a morning poring through it at that café in Mourningside.

Though she’d probably have to spend that time studying. Florette tried not to let the thought poison her response. “Thank you!”

“This is technically the second book in the series, but the first one isn’t really reflective of what’s to come. There’s no Elpis, you don’t even see Pheme, and Grimsley gets a good enough introduction in the third book that you don’t really miss much without seeing him in the Intrepid Traveler. Plus Cadie is pretty unbearable at the start. Don’t worry, she gets better.”

I have no idea what any of those words are, but thanks? I guess? Hopefully the book itself was less impenetrable.

“Be sure to let me know what you think. I don’t have anyone to talk to about it. Toby thinks it’s pulpy trash.”

“It’s printed on pulp! What do you want me to say?” Toby shook his head, though the corners of his mouth were curled into a hint of a smile. “I hope you enjoy it more than I did, Sabine. And, either way, I got you something too. Check the bookmark.”

Florette flipped to about halfway through the book, where a slip of paper was inserted between the pages. This voucher guarantees 1 (one) Pulsebox Pro Model 119 and installation, to be redeemed at any point in the future -Tobias Folsom. The signature was penned in script, but the other words had the mechanical cleanness of newsprint, as if he’d run the words through a press.

“I know you’re in student housing this year, but as soon as you move somewhere a bit more permanent, I’ll come by to supervise the installation and make sure the acoustics are right.”

“Thanks, Toby.” Florette tried to frame her grimace as a smile, feeling a strange sense of guilt.

It was Magnifico you stole it from, not him. And it doesn’t seem to have set him back much. Really, considering the plan tonight, stale pulsebox heists that Florette had, truthfully, only been rather marginally involved in ought to be the least of her concerns.

Next to Cassia Arion, it’s hardly even worth mentioning.

But it was alright to feel guilty too, whatever Eloise might think. Feelings wouldn’t make a real difference either way, so there was no point in shunting them off and pretending they didn’t exist.

And hopefully I can handle this better than that amateur stuff from this Spring. After stealing advanced weapons from under Perimont’s nose and leaving him dead in the process, lifting a sword from a museum ought to be pretty easy by comparison.

Still, Florette wasn’t taking any chances. She’d told Monfroy as much, when he’d asked her to run in and snatch it then and there.

My heist, my plan, or you can get someone else to do it. She wasn’t going to risk her identity so recklessly, not before accomplishing anything she’d come to Cambria to do, not after all the blood Captain Verrou had spilled to get her here.

Including Rebecca’s cousin. Edward Williams had died to put her here, sliced apart by Captain Verrou’s blade.

Florette had her mask up just in time to see Rebecca arrive, taking a half-step back in amazement at the floor-length red dress she was wearing, accented with a matching mask over the top half of her face, with red feathers fluffing out behind her ears and ruby earrings in the shape of a bat dangling down beneath them. “Sabine! Happy birthday!”

“Thank you!” Florette leaned forward towards her, not exactly sure how to greet her. “You look great.”

Rebecca solved the problem for her, pulling Florette into a tight embrace, warm and comforting despite the limits that had to be drawn.

This was no different from the detective back in Malin. Boundaries. Impropriety was bad for the ruse and it wasn’t fair to the girl either, not when they’d be pursuing a phantom identity that didn’t really exist.

Not to mention how angry she’d be if she knew who I really was.

In Malin there had been Eloise to consider, misguided as it was, but here and now… It was still the smart thing, the right thing.

“You too,” she said, even though Florette only had a poorly-fitting green dress borrowed from one of Christophe’s neighbors. She’d had to pad out the chest and belly just to avoid looking like a child in her mother’s gown, and the bottom still ended well above her knees.

Considering that the alternative would have been spending money that could go to solicitors or debts, it had been the prudent choice, but it definitely made Florette feel out of place.

Traveling a half-step behind Rebecca was a bulky man that could only be her father, Baron Beckett Williams. He wore an Avaline officer’s uniform, complete with a Cloak of Nocturne, with a red sash draped across his chest. Before placing a red mask over his own face, Florette caught a glimpse of a freckled face not unlike Rebecca’s own, cleanly shaved and hardened with age in a way that looked far more menacing than the massive sword sheathed at his side.

“Good Sauin to you,” he said disinterestedly to the group. “And I suppose it’s your birthday as well, westerner?”

“Father! Her name is Sabine!”

“It is, my lord Baron.” Just ask your questions and go away. I have too much to do tonight.

“And how old are you, Sabine?” He didn’t make eye contact as he asked the question, his head turned towards the cloth-covered display at the back of the room. “Not another older girl I’d hope, Rebecca?”

“Twenty-three,” Florette answered, supplying the lie she’d tied to Srin Sabine.

“Twenty-three,” he repeated, finally deigning to look at her with narrowed eyes. “A contemporary. You don’t look a day over nineteen.”

I’m exactly a day over nineteen, as it happens. “You’re kind to say so. I just have one of those faces.”

“Hmm.” The Baron didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t call Florette out any further. That much was good, though how a man in his fifties could tell the difference between twenty and twenty-three, Florette hadn’t the slightest idea. “Enjoy the gala. Rebecca, if you’ll excuse me—”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“There you are, Beckett! I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever show up.” The Baron was interrupted by a familiar figure swooping into the conversation, sending a terrified shiver down Florette’s spine.

How are you here? You’re supposed to be locked in a cell in Guerron. I saw you there myself!

Magnifico’s gaze drifted off Florette without a second glance, settling on Rebecca. “And this must be your daughter.”

“Rebecca,” she clarified. “We’ve met, actually. I made you that fire bomb for the stroke of midnight at your new year’s party.”

He stared at her for a moment, blinked, then snapped his finger. “Rebecca Williams, of course! My apologies. My brother was working out the terms of your employment before his unfortunate waylay. I’m sure once you graduate, we can work something out.”

“I’m pleased to hear it, Prince Harold.”

Prince Harold! It’s the son! On closer look, he lacked the slight signs of age gracing Magnifico’s temples, the hints of grey in his black hair, but the resemblance was still remarkable. Luce looked like Magnifico’s son; Harold, apparently, looked like his twin.

Florette lifted her mask to wipe sweat from her brow, trying to control her breathing. If Magnifico, King Harold of Avalon, had actually managed to escape to Cambria, he could dispense with ‘Srin Sabine’ in a second, and very likely throw Florette in the dungeon as well.

“I haven’t met any of you three, I hope?” He directed the question towards Toby, Kelsey, and Florette. “Friends from the College?”

“Oh, pardon me, Your Grace. This is Kelsey Thorley, whose father was in service in Malin, and Tobias Folsom, whose pulsebox work I imagine you’ll recognize.”

“Oh, that was you? Fine work indeed.”

“Though the wrong sort of people seem to have gotten rather attached to it,” Baron Williams added. “In the Erstwhile Empire, they’ve been illegally reproducing the boxes based on the one your father brought. Stolen by pirates, I heard.”

Prince Harold shrugged. “Perhaps, but that’s no reason to criticize the creator. Once you make something, it belongs to the world more than it does you.” He smiled at Florette in a manner she found rather too familiar. “And who might you be?”

“Srin Sabine,” she answered cautiously.

“Charmed.” He smiled, taking her hand and lightly kissing it. “From your accent, I’d guess you’re from the Erstwhile Empire?”

More than you could possibly imagine. “My mother raised me in Malin before her passing, Your Grace. Since then, I’ve lived with my father in Chaya.”

“Oh, that Srin. I’m terribly sorry about the pirate attack. Please tell your father I wish him a swift and painless recovery.”

“I will.” Though he’ll be ‘dead’ before I ever get the chance. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.”

“You say that as if you’re going somewhere. The party’s only just begun!” He smiled, pointing back towards the covered case. “Sir Thomas hasn’t even made his speech yet.”

“Umm…” If I can’t slip away soon, it’s going to be awfully hard to steal this sword.

“She’s not leaving the gala, Harold. She’s expecting to be free of your company,” Baron Williams said dryly. “Seeing as we have important matters to discuss, I think it best if we withdraw until Sir Thomas’s speech.”

“But—”

“There must be a hundred girls here who’d be delighted to go home on your arm. This one does not. Shall we go?”

Prince Harold frowned at the chastisement, eyes darting to Florette then back to Williams. “Hold on a moment, Beckett. Work can wait. This is a holiday, after all.”

No, he was pretty much correct. Not in the least because hanging around the Prince Regent had to be just about the riskiest thing Florette could possibly do even without considering the fact that she was here to steal a priceless artifact.

“I haven’t even had a chance to ask her about the Blue Bandit,” Harold continued. “After all, you’d know more about her than anyone here.”

Florette’s blood went cold, eyes widening behind the mask. What does he know?

“I only visited Malin briefly, before my father’s ill-fated voyage to Guerron, but Governor Perimont told me the broad strokes of the story: a rebel teenager, an outlaw living off the land and kindness of sympathizers, caught and executed by Joseph Whitbey. I rather think that was the last straw for my Uncle Miles, given his resignation so shortly thereafter. You grew up in Malin; I’m sure you’ve heard the story, right?”

Florette let out a nervous laugh. “Of course.”

“So, in your better-informed opinion, why might our local arsonist adopt the moniker of a long-dead fourteen-year-old? The name was certainly ill-advised, if she truly were an agent of Camille Leclaire. Misdirection?”

If I say no, are you going to go to war with the Empire? “I doubt she put that much thought into it. Most criminals are stupid, and learning magic wouldn’t do anything to change that. Probably just wasn’t creative enough to think of their own name. Besides, didn’t the journal say she was Hiverrien, what with the ice magic?”

The prince shook his head. “We don’t know that for certain. And Glaciel isn’t the only spirit with some command of ice. Volobrin of Sunderé, for example, wields it in concert with his fire magic. I’ve even heard that the East Wind of Micheltaigne can chill her wind to mimic it. She would certainly want revenge after the bombing of Salhaute.”

“I’m impressed at your knowledge of the spirits. I was raised in the Empire and I’m not nearly so informed. Could you tell me more?” And move the subject on from my crimes, please?

“Any good binder knows his enemy, as Beckett here can attest. Not only is their power the threat you face, but in success it becomes your own once you claim it. Knowledge alone can be the difference between a lifelong boon and undying curse.”

“Or a swift, ignoble death,” Williams added. “And His Grace took to the task with gusto, I’m given to understand. Even your bookish brother didn’t spend half so much time in the Grimoire Archives.”

The prince frowned, nodding slowly. “I’d rather you didn’t speak of such things tonight. My brother is… If half of what I hear is true, then when he was rescued from those pirates, he never fully returned. He’ll come home when he’s ready, and I’ll be ready in turn to greet him. But until then…”

“You need say no more, Your Grace. I, too, have a wayward brother abroad, grieving a personal tragedy in a less than exemplary fashion.” He gestured to the far wall of the room, where another section of the museum was gated off with a red velvet rope. “Now, if we may be going…”

“Beckett, it’s a gala! I already told you: I’m not working tonight. Neither should you. Spend some quality time with your daughter, and we can talk about whatever it is you want to mention tomorrow.” He paused. “Afternoon, at the earliest.”

The Baron ground his teeth, seemingly weighing the choice to keep silent or speak further, then spoke. “Your Grace, the red knight struck again. He melded his forces with Cya’s revenants and seized control over the mills and logging camps on the east side of the Rhan, across from Charenton. We must discuss our response immediately, Sauin or no Sauin.”

A look of horror jumped across the prince’s face. “It must have been a slaughter.”

“Actually, according to my reports, well… It’s best if we speak in private.” The Baron placed his hand on Rebecca’s shoulder, bending his head down slightly to better meet her eyes. “Have fun tonight, dear. Be strong. Be brave. Be smart.” He gave a curt nod to the other students, then led the prince away.

“That was strange,” Rebecca said at last, after a long stretch of silence. “Even once I reminded him, he acted like he’d never seen me before.”

“He’s the Crown Prince.” Thorley rolled his eyes. “He sees hundreds of people a day. Hundreds of girls he probably has a lot more reason to remember.”

“But he remembered the deal! One unforgettable explosive party trick in exchange for a job at the Tower.”

“Then he remembered meeting you.” Thorley scoffed. “Sabine, do you really think the Blue Bandit is a criminal?”

“Of course,” Florette answered automatically, trying to keep her cover as aggressively as possible given the threats it was enduring tonight.

“Really?” Toby wrinkled his nose. “She was saving people. They all said it themselves. The whole mad arsonist thing is just a way for Versham-Martin to cover its ass for locking hundreds of people in a flammable death trap.”

Florette blinked, momentarily speechless.

They actually believe the truth? I didn’t even try to spread the word.

“I thought it was a Princess Lizzie’s factory.” Rebecca frowned.

“Yeah, but guess who the Lizzie is? Elizabeth Grimoire. Harold III and Versham-Martin went in together on the venture around forty years ago and named it after Avalon’s most adorable princess. The crown’s got a stake in the profits, so they don’t want it getting out that VM’s negligence got a hundred and fifty-one people killed.”

Kelsey nodded. “The Blue Bandit is just a sacrificial lamb to draw the ire away from where it belongs. And draw attention away from this awful war. Which—by the way—sounds like it isn’t going so well.”

“But if that’s true—” Rebecca blinked. “I—I need to do more research on this.”

Me too. Florette had thought of villainizing her for saving people as just Avalon-being-Avalon. But if it were deliberate, in pursuit of greed… Versham-Martin was the same company that had locked their doors to keep the workers trapped. That left rags soaked in oil scattered all throughout their factory. That peddled opium to the masses, taking inspiration from the Empire’s sacrifices. They were business partners with the royal family.

And, of course, I owe their president an enormous amount of money.

Toby elbowed Kelsey, jerking his head in the direction of the bar. “Excuse us for a minute. We’re going to go grab drinks.” The two of them slipped away, leaving only Florette and Rebecca.

“I’ll help. With research, I mean,” Florette offered, seeing no harm in looking into things together. Rebecca’s insights would probably be valuable too, looking at things from a different point of view, with different expertise. Christophe had certainly been a boon in that regard.

“Thanks.” Rebecca smiled. “I’m sorry about my father. He—Well, I’m not going to make excuses. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Florette tried to match her expression. “Listen, I need to—”

“Wait, I never gave you your present!” Rebecca reached down into her pocket and pulled out the blue silk scarf from the department store. “Happy birthday!

Wasn’t this eight-hundred mandala? And she remembered me grabbing it?

“I saw you were looking at it, and I remembered that in Malin blue is a really important color symbolically, and you’re so… so I thought—”

Florette silenced her with a kiss, then immediately pulled her head back with regret.

Rebecca’s cheeks were red, eyes wide. “Umm…”

“I have to go.”

“What?”

“The—To the facilities. Excuse me.” Florette drummed her hands against her leg. “I really like it. Thank you. Bye!”

Shit!

Florette tried not to think about it too hard as she tensely walked away. All you had to do was nothing! You murdered this poor girl’s friend! And now… ugh, things were going to be so complicated.

Florette shuffled slowly around the edges of the gala crowd, choosing her moment carefully to avoid anyone glancing at her, then stepped over the velvet rope and around the corner, entering the restricted section of the museum.

And don’t forget, you’ve got a sword to steal.