Luce VII: The Rightful Heir

  Eighteen hours left.

  The deal had been writ in the ink of secret messages, passed back and forth by the swiftest of ships making as few trips as possible in the dead of night, rather than signing any treaties or any shaking of hands. Luce hadn’t wasted any time upon his return to Cambria.

  Luce’s terms were generous, offering Guerron generous exemptions on import taxes, massive grants to further develop their city’s infrastructure, including the same metro system Kelsey had designed for Charenton.

  Perhaps most significant of all, Avalon would make a commitment to their mutual defense. If Guy Valvert thought to turn his Blue Knights against Guerron, Luce’s shadows would be there to greet them. Officially, they were military advisors provided to help Guerron improve its own defences, and with any luck, that would be deterrent enough. If not, Luce might be forced to drag Avalon into another war as soon as he took the throne.

  That wasn’t a sacrifice made lightly, even for a war of protection rather than conquest. He’d hoped a friend like Fernan wouldn’t have driven such a hard bargain, but he couldn’t blame him for putting Guerron first.

  Reluctantly, Luce had agreed. For one thing, every day spent haggling meant Harold sending another dozen soldiers to their deaths, another hundred oppressed in the Arboreum; for another, Fernan had just foiled Camille Leclaire’s latest evil scheme to seize power at the spirits’ Convocation. Valvert isn’t the only one we might have to join together and fight.

  Luce had signed and sealed his agreement for Fernan, and committed to adopt the terms as his first official decree. As soon as the Great Council officially acclaimed him, verifying the authenticity of Father’s will and abdication, Guerron would become an official Friend of Avalon once more, the same designation it had been so briefly granted under the tenure of Aurelian Lumière.

  But it’s not done yet. I can’t afford to get ahead of myself. Even the Queen of Lies, Camille Leclaire, had just seen her scheme at the Convocation blow up in her face, despite what Luce was sure amounted to ample preparation. Perhaps if Fernan had been in Malin the night she took it, I’d never have been forced to flee. Such thinking was pointless, though. Listening to Charlotte more and earlier would have been sufficient on its own, and there were greater concerns than Malin. Even Charenton was only a small piece of the puzzle, now.

  I’ve all of Avalon to think about, all the world, and perhaps another world as well. The image of Nocturne still lingered in Luce’s head, flashing into focus every time he tried to see through the eye Levian had slashed apart. Dark skies, yes, but mountains and valleys and rivers not so different from Terramonde. For a world one might expect to be drained and devastated by Khali, it seemed remarkably pristine. More than some areas touched by humans, in fact.

  To be sure, he hadn’t seen any signs of life, and Khali and her spirits surely still prowled the land, but a skilled binder with sufficient supplies could probably carve a life there. Was it wrong to be happy about that, to imagine that Father deserved to live out the rest of his life so long as he could no longer endanger Harold? He has lived out his life, Luce forced himself to remember, and then at least three more. Aunt Lizzie had been told that Harold I had been Father’s first incarnation, but there was nothing to say that he hadn’t lied to her.

  Luce straightened the papers in front of him, giving one final glance over what would be his speech for the evening, and the decree that would follow. Hopefully everyone is distracted enough by the new successor that they don’t pay enough attention to the Guerron provisions to ask why I’m doing them. Luce had answers prepared, but being questioned about it at all would be less than ideal.

  With luck, there would be more time to practice later, but he couldn’t afford to keep his visitor waiting any longer.

  Despite the early hour, Vas Sarah’s glistening black hair was neatly coiffed, pinned in place by a jeweled purple headband, her face made up and alert. “Good morning, Your Highness. Might I begin with a question?”

  “Certainly.” Though I’m not sure why you would.

  “Is this meeting, perhaps, regarding that secret decree the Owls are all whispering to each other about?”

  Unless you already know. Luce tensed, trying to study Sarah’s hollow grey eyes for any indication. “In a way, yes.”

  Sarah smiled. “You’re counting votes, and you want the Jays to join your auntie’s Owls.”

  “Correct.” But it seems you don’t yet know what it is. Good. “The decree is on the desk there if you’d care to take a look, but it’s principally a modest civil service reform. The larger issue at hand is this.” Luce pulled his father’s will from his pocket and handed it to Sarah.

  She held it in front of her face for a few seconds. “What exactly am I expected to do with this?”

  “Show it to anyone you trust, if you aren’t convinced of its authenticity.” He reached into his desk and pulled out the tactile type version he’d printed earlier in the morning. “I swear to you, it’s true.”

  Skeptically, Sarah ran her fingers across the will. “King Lucifer the First?”

  “The First of Avalon,” Luce clarified. “Cambria had two kings named Lucifer and there’s record of another Grimoire by that name in ancient Giton, but none of them ruled a united Avalon as my Father does—or rather, as he did. He abdicated.”

  “So you say.” She snorted. “How incredibly convenient for you. And by what means, precisely, did you come to possess this testament of his? King Harold is imprisoned by the Guerron Commune. We’ve had no word from him for years save proof of life.”

  Luce frowned. “Fernan Montaigne is a man of unimpeachable character. Had I bid him to lie about this, he would have refused me. These are my father’s words written in my father’s hand, I promise you.”

  “To be sure.” Sarah laughed. “Rather uncharacteristic of your father to give up power like that, isn’t it?”

  “He feels guilty for his part in the Summer of Darkness,” Luce reassured her authoritatively, though in truth it was just a guess. It was uncharacteristic of Father to agree to this, all the more so considering the truth of his nature. But he’s always supported me when I needed it, no matter how many others he’d hurt so callously. If he could have offered that same support for Harold, if he’d tried hard enough to save his life, there would never have been any need to do this.

  But he didn’t, so now it falls to me to set Avalon to rights. “I mean to present that will to the Great Council for recognition, that none might question its legitimacy. Will the other Jays follow your decision in this?”

  Sarah frowned, offended. “We just sailed to easy victories in our seats, the mandate of our people behind us. Your little democracy experiment wasn’t the worst idea, it turns out. If Ciq Prashant hadn’t turned his coat at the last moment, we might even have picked up Carringdon.”

  Carringdon... There was a Jay in that race? Luce had all but forgotten about it as soon as Delbrook’s heinous crimes had come to light. The name was familiar, one of Anya Stewart’s crew at the time she’d tried to help Lillian Perimont take over Malin. Back when the Progress had been the Ferrous Ram, Prashant had been one of Luce’s jailors during his brief moment of captivity. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised she considers him a traitor. He probably offered his votes to Madison Astor in exchange for some position in her staff. It seemed optimistic to think that he could have won in Carringdon, of all places, but Luce saw no need to argue the point. “With the Jays behind me, I’ll have the votes I need.”

  “Will you?” For the first time, she turned to face him, making a reasonable approximation of eye contact. “You know how this game is played, Luce. Why should we help your coup?”

  “It’s not a coup!” Luce insisted, instantly regretting the way he raised his voice. More softly, he said, “Surely the western isles understand the benefit of a grateful king. What has my brother ever done for you?”

  “What have you?” she countered. “A few transactional deals? A school here or there, when I saved you from a massive scandal?”

  “Monfroy was your problem, not mine. If it had come to it, I would have dismissed Crete Marbury and you would have been lost in the wilderness. I did you that favor, and then compounded it by dealing with Monfroy personally.”

  “That was Sabine,” Sarah insisted. “She told me all about it.”

  Luce looked into her stone-grey eyes, trying to discern her purpose. “Care for a brandy?”

  “Has the sun even risen yet?” Sarah blinked. “Have you been up all night?”

  “I haven’t been idle. This is a delicate situation and it needs to be handled with care.” Luce poured himself a glass, starting clean instead of showing her the used glass he’d tucked into his drawer. “But if you’re looking for a favor, I have just the thing: information.”

  “Oh?”

  I promised Charlotte I would ask her; why not frame it as if I’m doing Sarah a service? For a moment, his dead eye caught a glimpse of a serpentine presence standing behind Sarah’s shoulder, an elegant figure with blue hair and green scales, laughing. “Srin Sabine is not who she says she is. That’s not even her real name.”

  To Luce’s relief, Sarah looked genuinely surprised to hear that. “She’s the by-blow of a Count so deeply slid into genteel poverty that her only inheritance was debt. No one crafting an identity would pick that one.”

  “Unless they knew it would pass beneath our notice for precisely that reason.” Luce took a long sip of brandy, trying to push past the fact that he might well be condemning the woman who’d saved him from Monfroy to death. “I knew her, Sarah, back in Malin. This isn’t some third-hand report; I’m telling you what I’ve seen with my own eyes. Charlotte too.”

  “Charlotte, Montaigne, yourself... you’d do well to learn the value of an unbiased witness, Luce.”

  “Verify it however you like; she isn’t who she says she is. ‘Srin Sabine’ didn’t even exist until five years ago.”

  “Because Srin Savian hadn’t acknowledged her. Only in his mortal hour did he pull at every thread to find an heir.”

  “An heir to what? Naught but debt, as you declared. That inheritance drove Savian to scour the bedsheets of Malin for a long-lost daughter?” Luce shook his head. “Her name is Florette.”

  “That’s a song,” Sarah waved her hand dismissively. “‘Florette, bandit-queen of the we-e-est.’ I think it was The Fool Flammare. You might have chosen a more creative alias.”

  “Who do you think the Florette of that song was named for? Who else would possess the skills and ambitions to infiltrate your Twilight Society? To worm her way into the Cambrian College and cozen up to Thomas Alcock and—” Luce cut himself off, not wanting to extend accusations towards his own staff.

  “And? Rebecca?” Sarah tilted her head. “Or she is another mole, to hear you tell the tale?”

  “That remains to be seen.” To get a bigger picture of how deep the infiltration went, he’d given Charlotte permission to question her, gently, but her time was better spent elsewhere at this crucial moment, and she’d reluctantly agreed to wait. “Rebecca is my problem to deal with. Until you grant me leave to make a move, Florette is yours.”

  “You have to realize how ridiculous you sound.”

  Of course. A part of him wondered if that, too, wasn’t part of the plan. “I don’t know what she said to you about her time in Forta, but it was she who lopped off Monfroy’s head, slipping out of the darkness with a Cloak of Nocturne.”

  “So I’ve heard. It seems she did us both a favor, then.”

  “True enough, but can you trust her intentions? She kidnapped me on my way to Malin. She stabbed my cousin Cassia through the heart. She stole explosives to collapse a tunnel on Governor Perimont’s train, then shot him in the head. If half of what Fernan told me is true, she’s more dangerous yet than that—maiming the winter spirit Glaciel and facing her down in a duel, stabbing Flammare in the back and slaying another sun, a feat only my father can match. She cut through Monfroy like it was nothing, a playful smirk on her face. This is a dangerous woman, Sarah, and she’s been playing you false for years.”

  “And who says I’m not dangerous?” The morning light twinkled in her eyes. “I promised her not to tell a soul, but since you think you’re doing me a favor, I’ll return it. Monfroy was blackmailing her. He did it with everyone, a ‘collector’ of people.” Even you, Sarah? “She took on her father’s debts and Monfroy gave her no choice but to work them off on his behalf. That’s how she acquired her Cloak of Nocturne, her skill with a blade, her—”

  “Do you take me for a liar, Sarah? I know what I saw. She’s been avoiding me for years because she was worried I’d recognize her, and she was right to fear it. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes as Cassia’s blood spattered across her chest. You’d be a fool to think she means you or your Society well.”

  Sarah tensed for a moment, carefully weighing Luce’s words. “I’ll have that brandy.” Luce set it on the desk with a clang loud enough for her to reach for it and take a sip. “Don’t do anything to her until I investigate this. Your word alone isn’t enough, especially given your other questionable assertions of the morn. True or false, she won’t go anywhere until the final exams are over. In the meantime, if you want Jay votes, you’ll have to give us more than that.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  With a frown, Sarah set her glass back down on the desk. “You should be trying to dazzle me right now, jumping into this half-formed excuse for a coup. You’re practically... Ugh. Did I ever tell you how I lost my sight?”

  What? Luce blinked at the non-sequitur. “No.” It happened before I met you the first time, when you couldn’t have been older than thirteen.

  “When I was seven, my mother initiated me into the mysteries of spiritual visions. She said I had a rare gift, which Monfroy echoed when he became aware. I was curious, and incautious, so I thought to peek into Monfroy’s past. You’re well aware by now as to the depths of his depravity, but I was not.

  “I went to him with my concerns, and he reassured me. ‘The visions are metaphors,’ he said, ‘symbols and themes rather than true events from times past’. I asked him for proof, and he told me to look to Micheltaigne, to turn my eyes on the aftermath of their War of Swords and Crowns. I beheld their High King waving Nuage Sombre aloft, and then I witnessed the ravages of Blinking Death that the soldiers carried home.

  “The Blinking Death spreads by vision, eye-to-eye, and I’d seen it with a Sight as true as any other. Monfroy had known exactly what would happen, though I think he expected to kill me. He was nearly right. As I thrashed and screamed in my locked chambers, my eyes flashing all colors of the rainbow, there were times I yearned for death to take me. Instead I resolved to survive, and now I’ve outlived him.”

  “This is about Florette,” Luce realized. “Or Sabine, if you prefer. Of course you’d feel grateful to her for killing Monfroy.”

  Sarah shook her head. “This is about you, leaping at the chance to grasp for things you scarcely understand. As a child, I did the same, and now I know better. You ought to learn the same lesson. No good will come of this.”

  It’s as if she’s speaking my own worries right back to me. Luce flinched at the words. How many times have I considered that this might be a mistake? Only the weight of Harold’s follies, the thousands dead in pointless wars, the hundreds of thousands more subjugated in the Territories he claimed, could outweigh Luce’s momentous trepidation and guilt. I’m making the right choice, he reaffirmed to himself, but her concerns are valid ones.

  He finished his brandy as he composed himself, thinking carefully about his answer. “You don’t really believe that, or you wouldn’t still be here. You know I’d be a better King for the Mamela.”

  “I suspect it,” she admitted, “but you have yet to affirm it. When your father—the same father whose will you’d have us believe is so authentic and so important—plunged the world into darkness, the isles starved. Were you there to give us relief? Were you in Cambria to contest your brother as he gleefully consigned us to the front of a train barreling towards oblivion? Or were you down in Malin, letting Camille Leclaire lead you around like a fool as you tried to protect a people that would never be yours?”

  You know the answer. “I’m not the man I was then. And the Mamela are my people. My mother’s mother was Velle Vanji, as Mamela as you are. Her blood runs in my veins as sure and true as the Great Binder’s.”

  “One quarter Mamela.” Had she her sight, Luce was sure she would have rolled her eyes. “And yet you bear your father’s look, raised in his home, your mother cast away. Your Mamela heritage did little to convince you to help us in our moment of crisis, nor has it drawn you towards us in the four years since. How shall I tell my people that they’re risking treason charges for your drop of blood? Entangling ourselves in eastern affairs over the matter of King Harold’s will? Alone, it cannot serve.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Then what?”

  Sarah sighed, reaching over the desk to pour more brandy for them both. “I’m afraid you weren’t wrong. It’s a matter of blood.”

  ?

  “We have the Jays,” Luce confirmed, adjusting his purple-trimmed collar. “Beth Stuart promised to talk to her brother and a few Harpy loyalists too; even if they don’t like me, the king’s own will might convince some of them to abstain.”

  “‘Might’ may not be good enough.” Aunt Lizzie frowned. She too was dressed for the event, a royal purple jacket over a crisp grey shirt and pants. “You have my support, and I’ve whipped every Owl I could to support the King’s legitimate will, but there is a faction who remain reticent.”

  “Of course there is.” Luce sighed, letting his tailor adjust the fit of his cufflinks into his sleeves. He’d commissioned Mika from the Charenton Corporation Yard to craft him a set for every elemental glyph of the lethiograph, but after his mastery of the Nocturne Gates, the dark circle with its single open eye seemed too fitting to ignore. “Why is it that the Harpies can bald-facedly admit that every aspect of their ideology exists to spread fear, war, and misery, yet the Owls are the ones overburdened with the feckless and the disloyal?”

  “It’s a matter of finance.” From her tone, it sounded more like she was referring to the present situation than the chronic malaise of the Owls, but the two were hardly unrelated. “Versham-Martin has always been generous with its donations, and the war has been good to them.”

  That wasn’t a surprise either, unfortunately. Rather than waste resources and manpower trying to hold down two hostile territories at once, Harold had contracted out the management of the Arboreum territory to Versham-Martin after their proven record with King Harold Island, formerly the Lunette Duchy. The Grimoire family had a large stake in the business, so all of them were all profiting from it directly as well, independent of any impact to the nation of Avalon. “Surely by now they know I’m not above bribing them. I know how these things are done.” Though after a few years as King behind me, with any luck, that too can be reformed.

  “The personal donations you can spare, the contracts you can offer, they don’t look to measure up compared to the prospect of new, untouched territories. Versham-Martin has every incentive to back your brother, and there’s at least a dozen who won’t acclaim you without Versham’s leave.”

  “Then we go to the source. We don’t have time for anything else if we want to move today—and I don’t think we can afford to push this back, either.” Luce had already approached the Jays, higher levels of his own staff, and via the Stewarts, even some of the Harpies would have an inkling of what was to come. Any delays risked word getting out in the wrong way, and granting Harold a chance to block it. “Versham’s in Cambria right now, isn’t she? Have her meet me in an hour.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “I already took the initiative. She’s waiting downstairs.”

  “Then send her up.” Luce dismissed his tailor, then cleared his desk of empty glasses and sensitive documents. This day feels as if it will never end. Any misstep could mean ruin. The whole system was rotted to the foundation, a congress of the clueless, corrupt, and grasping set against him, but the time to fix that was after Luce came into his power, lest he fail to get there at all.

  “You’ve quite an interesting office,” Versham Paruna said after they’d shown her up the stairs. “It’s very... traditional. Rustic.”

  “I work with the tools I have. You should see the one in Charenton.” Luce had seen the Versham-Martin building in Bayview, a modest construction compared to the memorial tower, but a pioneer in the same modern aesthetic of metal and glass. “The whole Tower is a masterpiece, really, and much of the rest of the city was rebuilt with the same enlightened practices.” Levian had torn so much of it apart that entire neighborhoods were unrecognizable now, but aesthetics weren’t the reason Luce was bringing it up. “Our trade deals with the Lyrion League have proven most prosperous.”

  Versham smirked. “I was wondering how quickly you’d get to the point. I suppose you have a lot to do today.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my courtesies.” Luce gestured to the chairs at the front of his office, a table between them with a premium brown bottle procured specifically for this meeting. “Take Ciel Laudanum, for example. Plagetine opium is restricted in Avalon; you could never produce a profitable volume without a Special Administrative Zone for its production. Free Lyrion has profited all of us more than the Territory ever could, including your own company.”

  “And it’s profited us less than if we didn’t need an SAZ at all. Lyrion is a workaround, a stopgap, and it makes up a smaller part of the VM revenue than either of the Arboreum or KHI ventures. So what if you’ve looked at the books? It’s diligent of you, honey, but you’re missing the bigger picture.” She took a quick sip from her glass, her expression softening as the medicinal drink did its work. “Profits are one thing, but you can’t be so shortsighted about it. Especially if you mean to be King.”

  Especially if I want your help, you mean. “It’s the colonizers being shortsighted about it. Your friends in the Great Council are always the ones pushing to deregulate trade, while my brother seeks to clamp his boot down on Micheltaigne and the rest of the world until he’s ground all their wealth to dust. I’m not appealing to your morality; I’m asking you to be smart about your exploitation.” Luce felt his skin crawl uttering those words, an uncomfortable itch on the back of his neck, but this needed to be taken care of today. “Think about what’s good for business.”

  “Oh, you poor sweet boy. I suppose even your aunt doesn’t know enough to tell you how this really works.” For her part, Lizzie arched her eyebrows downward, looking as if she wasn’t quite as well-informed as the merchant had implied.

  Versham finished her laudanum, then faced Luce with a smile. “All this business of business is just a bridge from one feudal system to another. The thing that gets us to the thing. Profits require labor, production, and a minimum perception of quality for our products and services to remain competitive. Before the Mercantile Revolution, landholders subsisted off rents, the peasants tied to the land. They didn’t need to compete, nor to jump through half the hoops we encounter in these modern times.”

  “And now they’re barely clinging on.” Luce frowned, unsure of where exactly she was going with this. “How many proud and ancient families have slid into genteel poverty over the last century? Your gains come at their expense, the triumph of profits over rents. It’s already happened.”

  Versham shook her head. “It’s in progress, a transitory step from one feudal system to another. In the Age of Darkness, you had landed aristocrats building power and wealth from their estates. The Age of Gleaming saw the ascendance of enterprise, trade, selling goods and services one at a time to an increasingly discerning customer base. But we’ve found a better way.”

  “Why do you need a better way?” Lizzie asked in an idle tone, a negotiation tactic. “You’re the premiere company in Avalon, in the world. Right now, you’re getting everything you want, and my nephew Harold is taking a wrecking ball to it, with any hope for a prosperous future as collateral. The Owls will preserve a system that’s served you incredibly well.”

  But Versham ignored the question. “I’m speaking to Prince Lucifer. You understand the value of innovation, surely? I’ve seen the strides you made in just the last few years, that desiccation technology especially. We’ve put it to excellent use already.”

  “I’m... glad to hear it.” Luce tried to avoid turning the statement into a question, though he wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded. What else am I going to have to give up?

  “It turns out you can use it on all manner of tonic and milk, alongside other nutrients, to make a sort of powder with the same effects. Our research and development says it’s years out from approval for sale in Avalon, but the Arboreum has been using it just fine for a year now, even feeding it to their babies to spare the mother the effort. All you have to do is mix it with water, and theirs is still mostly clean enough to be safe.

  “A few weeks of free supply, and the mothers dry up. Then they have no choice but to buy it. We started doing the same thing with our pain management supplies once we learned how much people continued to enjoy them after their recovery. The territory isn’t fit to grow poppies, but we’ve had great success establishing plantations for tobacco as well. These repeat customers only grow more dependent with time, needing more to feel the same way they used to.” She downed another glass of laudanum, not a care in the world. “But they can’t just purchase another carton; they need to upgrade their subscription. We charge them every month to pick it up from the store, so there’s nothing they can do about the fact that it’s a little less every time. Rents, on our terms, without limiting the people’s freedom.”

  She seemed to have lost Aunt Lizzie, at least, but she looked more bored than horrified. “How do you deal with the laborers? They’ve been making quite a ruckus in Cambria, of late.”

  Versham answered her with a cavernous grin. “With them, we’re even better off. They eat VM food, sleep in VM houses, and buy VM candles with VM scrip from the VM store. It’s a closed system, just like the estates of old. The difference is that this time we’re on top, the product of talent, skill, and hard work rather than exalted bloodlines.”

  “I’m no stranger to hard work, just as you’re no stranger to benefitting from your name, Versham. Don’t forget that the Grimoire family owns one of the largest stakes in your company. We could push you out.”

  “Ah, but those are family shares. Your Father chooses how they do or don’t influence the company, until such time as they pass to his legitimate heirs. And I must say, this document of yours is rather dubious. To be sure, with King Harold imprisoned, we would look to an appropriate conservator for any relevant decisions, and who better than his eldest son, heir to his stake?”

  “The rightful heir, the one true King of Avalon.” Luce frowned, looking to his aunt for reassurance, but she remained unfazed at the walls that Versham was putting up. “What you’re doing in the Territories can’t be legal.”

  “It’s in our contract, inherited from when we bought the North Territories Company. If any other company tried to do it, of course, they’d run afoul of a dozen Territorial guidelines and laws, but we have a contract. Don’t worry your little head; Avalon’s still taking a heavy cut from the sweat of our brow, interfering in the free commerce of peoples which your Owls claim to support. Your brother won’t let us extend those terms to Avalon, but so long as there’s more contracts for more Territories, there wouldn’t be any need; we could still continue to grow. But if you mean to cut off his strides to take more land, well... You need to make sure it pencils out for us.”

  Let you gut Avalon the way you’ve gutted the Territories, or continue Harold’s moronic wars of conquest? Twelve Representatives weren’t worth what it would cost. Luce would just have to find another way. If he and Stewart leaned a little harder on the wavering Harpies more loyal to the King, it would only take six turncoats to compensate for twelve abstentions, provided the winner of the Carringdon election arrived on-schedule.

  Resolved, Luce gripped his glass tightly as he considered the words he wanted to share. Monstrous, backwards, exploitative, evil...

  But Versham Paruna could clearly tell how depraved this all was, and she didn’t care. Nor would it be good form to turn up his nose at the meeting Lizzie had arranged at a moment when her loyalty was absolutely essential. So instead, Luce grit his teeth and said, “You’ve given me a lot to consider. In the meantime, I hope to have you and your friends behind me tonight when I make the will public.

  Versham looked amused as she replied, “You’re clearly more knowledgeable about this than he is, and you’re more desperate for my help. That’s useful, hon. But I need to know you can see this through, to think of the future instead of the status quo.” She addressed the last word in Aunt Lizzie’s direction. “I have a dinner scheduled with Representatives Harwood and Bortimer scheduled for five o’clock this evening. The rest take their cues from them. If I’m to advise them appropriately, I’ll need to know where you stand by then.”

  That would give enough time before the vote, though it would be close. Lizzie would call an emergency session at midnight in the hopes of blocking a few Harpies from bothering to attend, since Luce’s allies were already aware that their presence was essential and why. There’s not a chance I’ll give her what she wants, but it might be worth playing her false until I’m crowned, then going back on the deal. That was the sort of approach Camille Leclaire would have taken; she’d used Luce in a similar way back in Malin.

  My reputation is dodgy enough without adding ‘oathbreaker’ to my list of titles, but perhaps it would be worth it to ensure a decisive majority. If only it were an option to do the same with Sarah.

  I’m giving up so much for Avalon already; what’s another lie against that? “The southern kingdoms and the western isles are off-limits, but I’m sure these restrictions could be relaxed at Oxton’s latitude and above. The Harpies there would deserve nothing less, if they defied the will of the King.”

  “A punishment? Hmm... It’d be better if they could be convinced to welcome us, but it would still work either way.” She drained the last of the laudanum, then patted Luce on the shoulder. “All hail the king, I suppose.”

  ?

  And now, at last, my moment has come. Charlotte stood at his right side, dressed in a black satin evening gown tailored specifically to subtly hide two holsters beneath it. To his left, though a part of him still felt sick for working with her, Aunt Lizzie represented the Owls and the Great Council as a whole, not to mention serving as a proof of Grimoire family loyalty. She’d recommended leaving Charlotte out of the ceremony, but Luce had brusquely overruled her with scarcely a second thought.

  She’ll leave early, anyway. Luce and the shadows would be leading a public march to the Great Council to officially present the will, but the First Speaker would be better served to show up early and quietly before calling the session to order.

  He’d spread the word as far as he could through the city, going directly to the journals for a special edition and inviting all of their political reporters to watch the proceedings from the Ortus Tower gardens, closer than any of the people gathered outside the walls, though the bountiful foliage would have obstructed their view if it hadn’t been trimmed in advance. Promising for the wastes of Refuge, though.

  Luce had first thought to make his announcement from outside his office on the thirteenth floor, but he would have been little more than a speck to the spectators below. Instead, he’d gathered everyone on the fourth, a good middle ground between remaining visible and ensuring he towered above them. The shadows had the Tower completely locked down, with orders to report any sightings of Harold or his Harpies at the first opportunity.

  The last thing Luce expected was to spot Harold himself, flying up into view with a silver slash of a sword and landing on the balcony as if it were nothing.

  “Harold,” Luce greeted coldly, trying to hide his shock. After approaching so many people, I can’t be surprised that word made it back to him before it was supposed to. That had been a calculated risk, and it might yet pay off. Harold jumping a hundred feet into the air was another matter. “If you’d approached the front gate, I would have let you in.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Harold laughed darkly. “You’d have put a bullet in my head the moment I was out of sight, and the last obstacle to your coup would be gone.”

  “There is no coup!” Luce insisted for what had to be the hundredth time that day. “Get in here before someone sees you.” Without waiting for a response, he stepped back inside. No one had introduced him yet, anyway. It would be less of a disruption than dealing with Harold in full view of everyone.

  “For someone so smart, Luce, you sure can be stupid.” Harold graced his aunt with a look of disgust, then swept his eyes past Charlotte with scarcely a second glance. “A secret will? Delivered by your friend, some peasant communard? You’d think all that time around Camille Leclaire would have made you better at lying. No one will believe something so transparently self-serving.”

  “It’s the truth. Father and I were concerned after you spent the last four years running Avalon into the ground. And what do you have to show for it? Micheltaigne threw your soldiers back, the Arboreum is nothing but plunder for a few companies, and the crisis you used as an excuse has long-since passed. I tried to counsel you, but—”

  “Oh please! You don’t think you’re overreacting? I didn’t listen to you, so you try to overthrow me? You used to be better than this kind of temper tantrum. It’s reckless. You haven’t thought this through.”

  “You haven’t thought this through. I’ve already won,” Luce corrected with a shake of his head. “I picked the right moment, after you sent Baron Williams down to relieve the occupation force and consolidate control over the Rhan lands. I wrote and vetted every decree for my first day, each covering the next to consolidate my control. I have my shadows ready to protect the succession, a majority of the Great Council behind me, and all at your moment of profound failure in Micheltaigne, the workers striking and rioting against your war. And I timed it down to the day with the Carringdon election. Their new representative will be sworn in at the emergency hearing, and then I’ll have the numbers even if everything breaks your way. It’s over for you, Harold.”

  I suppose I learned from your tutelage after all, Camille. Malin was a lesson I needed to learn for the greater challenge ahead.

  “I was talking about what comes afterwards, but... You’ve been so unlike yourself lately, so impulsive, selfish... This isn’t who you are, Luce. We’re brothers; we should be on the same side.”

  Luce let out a bitter laugh. “I’m giving that fact exactly as much consideration as you did when you sent pirates to murder me.”

  “This is better than you deserve,” Charlotte added, glaring unblinkingly at the other prince. “Be thankful that Luce still loves you despite everything you’ve done. He’s doing this to save you.”

  Harold scoffed. “Either he’s letting our vile father lead him around by the nose once again out of petty spite, or he connived to steal my crown with some forgery. Standing here now, watching you turn your back on me like this, I know what really happened.” His tone was angry, but something about it felt pathetic. You were supposed to be the one who’s good at politics, Harold. This is the best you can do?

  Luce couldn’t waste any more time with this, so he brushed past his brother and out onto the balcony facing the city. The shadows knew to take him into custody at the most opportune moment, though him bringing the sword Sieglinde might pose a problem there. With any luck, it would never come to that; if it did, well, delaying him would be enough.

  I don’t know what I expected, but... The streets were clogged with people, the crowds stretching halfway into Alora Park. It looked like all of Mourningside had turned out, including all the students and faculty from the College. A surprising amount of workers were present too, some of them holding the same picket signs they’d brandished in the production strikes. Are they here to protest me, or support me? Luce had thrown support their way, but it wasn’t widely known that he’d been the one to do it, and hatred of Harold and his war didn’t necessarily translate to any love for Luce.

  Still, they’re here. They’ll hear it. Families were present as well, from Bayview or Westfall or anywhere, pointing out to their children where the Prince of Darkness was about to speak. Thousands of them.

  I’m glad I had Toby set up this ampliphone, or I would have needed criers to relay the message. Instead, they would all hear Luce speak with his own words. The device had been installed into the bannister of the balcony, positioned just in front of where Luce would stand. After a few rehearsals, they’d installed windbreaks on either side as well to avoid any unwanted sounds getting picked up.

  “Please prepare yourself for an address from the Prince of Darkness, Overseer of Ortus Tower, Lord Protector of Charenton, of the blood of the Great Binder. Hail the Prince of Crescents, the Scientist, the Peacemaker, the eldest loyal son of your king!”

  Below the bannister, out of sight, Charlotte squeezed his hand.

  “Good people of Cambria,” Luce began, his voice echoing through the city. “Loyal citizens of Avalon, hear my words. Hear the will of my father, King Harold Arthur Grimoire. All of you have seen the devastation of war, the ruin wrought upon our great nation by the follies of the Prince Regent and his wicked councilors. King Harold has seen it too. His heart weeps for you, as mine does.”

  Luce skimmed over the details of how the message came to him, eliding Fernan’s part in it entirely, then read the will in almost its entirety, omitting only the final line.

  What did he expect? Jeers? Stunned silence? Somehow a wave of applause made its way through the crowd. Whether they’re truly behind me or not, they can see what’s happening here.

  Luce bent his head, and Charlotte produced his crown, a circular lattice of hardened dead wood, black as coal, with three purple gems set in the front. Father’s crown was turned against him, and lost to us. This one shall be my own. Charlotte placed it on his brow, and Luce raised his head to look out over the people. My people.

  Heavy is the head that wears the crown, Father sometimes said, but the wood felt airy upon his head, even comfortable. Luce stepped lightly forward, the wind at his back, as the crier spoke the last of Father’s words into the ampliphone. “All hail Lucifer of the dynasty Grimoire, first to bear the name, King of Avalon, Arbiter of the Western Isles, and Aegis of the Realm.”

  “I do not wear this crown lightly,” he lied to them by the thousands, “but to set our great nation to rights. I march for the Great Council, to ratify my father’s will beyond all doubt, then end these fruitless wars and bring our soldiers home.” He glanced towards a gathering of laborers, clutching their signs tightly. “Cambria has been suffering at home as well, burned and battered, denied all just compensation, choked in the flames of war... This too, I vow to fix for all of you. For Avalon.”

  “For Avalon!” many of them shouted back.

  Emboldened, Luce trotted out another notable line. “For a better world!”

  “For a better world!”

  “May your path be bright in all the days to come.” Luce took a deep and elegant bow, electricity dancing across his skin. It’s almost intoxicating.

  By the time he descended to the ground, his shadows were ready to escort him, hundreds flanking him in all directions as they set out into the city. To Luce’s delight, many of the people in the crowd followed them, falling into step behind the wedge of shadows. By the time the procession arrived at the Great Council, he felt as if he were at the head of an army a hundred thousand strong.

  Luce gave Charlotte’s hand one last, lingering squeeze, then flung open the doors to the Council Chambers.