Conquest of Avalon

Florette VII: The Untouchable

Lying isn't hard, Florette. All you need to do is inhabit the reality you've created. Then it's as easy as telling the truth. In the realm of deception, Camille Leclaire's advice was not lightly ignored.

"So I need to hear it from you. Is it true?" Sarah looked as radiant as ever in the morning sun, hair braided into a wreath, black ribbons woven into it that somehow perfectly recalled the Forest of Darkness, pinned in place with a jeweled purple headband. Her dress was a dark green, patterned with viridian flowers that traced their way perfectly around every contour of her body.

Florette knew better than to let herself get distracted, though. "Where did you hear this?"

"From someone who claims they knew you." Charlotte? But she didn't recognize me in Carringdon. Or the prince? He hardly caught a glimpse of me up in Forta. "They wanted to warn me about the vicious Bandit Queen of the West."

"Well, they're lying. Obviously," Florette replied smoothly, betraying not a hint of her deepening panic. They don't just know I'm false, but who I really am. Unless Blaise or another one of Captain Verrou's crew had given it away, that pretty much guaranteed it was one of the royal couple. "Savian didn't always have the easiest time accepting harsh realities. I think finding me helped him imagine a world where his line continued on in Mahabali Hall. He was certainly in enough denial about the rest of his financial situation."

Sarah narrowed her eyebrows, considering it. "And the rest of it? Robbing a train? Killing Perimont? The Convocation in Guerron?"

Well, that depends on how much proof they have. Hesitating here would be a mistake, though. What would Vas Sarah, de-facto leader of the western isles, think about the truth? They'd been friendly in the Twilight Society these past four years, but that wasn't the same as being close. If Luce, now King of Avalon, really did know about this, Sarah would doubtless be the only thing stopping him from making a move.

And if I can keep that going... "The best lies grow from a kernel of truth. Yes, before my father found me, I was into some dirty business. I was involved with what happened to Gordon Periment, though not because of anything his line did to Carringdon. I was ignorant of my heritage, then. But knowing what I know now? Footsoldiers for Arion in the Inferno, foresters burning down acres upon acres of forest and slaughtering all who tried to defend themselves? Then again in the Foxtrap, picking up right where Butcher Arion left off? I don't regret it. Gordon Perimont lived up to his name, rest assured. We had to do something about it."

Sarah gasped, clearly surprised, and Florette wondered if she hadn't just made a terrible mistake. But if she knew that much, the truth would have come out eventually. This way, at least I have a chance.

"I ran with criminals and I learned their tricks, I do confess it. Hopefully you can understand why I never mentioned it. But that skillset is the only reason I could deal with Monfroy. I saved King Luce's life, and meted out justice to the man who blinded you and murdered countless others." Sarah nodded slowly, so Florette decided to drive the point home. "I'm done doing Monfroy's dirty work, and so are you. We both know what it's like to be under his thumb, but now we have the freedom to serve a greater cause. Surely you and the Jays could use someone with my... expertise. Monfroy won't be the last challenge you face."

Stone grey eyes seemed to stare right through Florette, considering her words. "And the piracy? Did you truly kidnap Luce?"

"Me? Absolutely not." Florette frowned, as if beset by guilt. "Perimont was dirty business that had to be done. What happened to the King was not. Even at my worst, I would have never done anything like that. Flammare's death had nothing to do with me, either, as you could probably guess. A sun-slaying bandit queen, really? I'd never even visited Guerron until the Professor took me this Spring. I think they only did it that way in the song because it rhymed."

"But still..." Sarah sounded bewildered, still, which was good. It meant she wasn't angry yet. "I looked into the train crash. Stolen explosives, gunfire... you're just a College student."

"Now I am, to my great relief. But if you're asking questions about Perimont, you should start by asking Luce why he covered the whole thing up. He let me go with nary a tail. He even dissuaded Stewart from coming after me, from what I hear."

"Why would he do that?"

To avoid a war, knowing what I do about him. "It served his purposes. With Perimont gone, Malin was his. But it blew up in his face when Perimont's wife started asking too many questions." Florette tapped her thigh, as if considering how best to broach a delicate subject. "People think that Camille Leclaire is the only reason Prince Luce was driven from Malin, and she was definitely part of it, but she'd never have been able to make her move if the Guardians had been behind him. Instead, his cover-up spurred Stewart and Perimont to seek revenge against him."

"You're saying he's reckless. Careless." Good, keep the conversation focused on him.

"He was," Florette answered noncommittally. "Things may have changed."

"Or not." Sarah frowned. "I'm worried I might have made a mistake. Harold landed in Lorraine the other day and by all accounts the Territorial Army has rallied behind him. That means Williams, the murder twins, and over a hundred thousand soldiers... His Grace assures me that his project is nearly complete, and we'll have nothing to fear with unlimited energy, but Harold could strike back at any moment."

Is he going to crack open the Nocturne Gate here? If so, hundreds of thousands would die. The DV bomb had only avoided that problem in Forta because the moors around it were empty for miles in all directions. Reckless... Unless it was the mere fact of the gate itself? Sunless skies, Khali's return, visions of the future that shouldn't be possible, yet couldn't possibly be anything else... I need to know more.

"It sounds like you need a closer look at his operations to properly vet them. I could help you with that." See me as an asset, not a traitor, please, or four years of lies will all amount to nothing. That alone might be worse than getting caught. "I already did good work for you in Carringdon; it might have paid off if Prashant hadn't screwed the whole thing up. Please, let me serve the Mamela as you do. When my father found me, it was the first time I felt like I belonged. Despite everything with Monfroy, the Twilight Society was the first time I felt welcome in Avalon. I can't go back to Malin."

With pursed lips, Sarah mulled it over in silence. After an interminable minute, she gave the slightest nod.

Eat your heart out, Camille.

꣼

"They tried to follow me home again." Rebecca managed to look vivacious even when weary, but it wasn't hard to see her frustration. "I had to spend another two hours locked in my office while Charlotte raked me over the coals."

"Did you use the—"

"Yes, I used the damned cloak and gave them the slip." Rebecca brusquely thrust the Cloak into Florette's hands, as if it were somehow tainted. "That's not the point. This is my work, Sabine. It was hard enough to lie about that bomb I gave you going missing. If I hadn't thought of an air-detonation as a solution for a safe activation of the Ortus Gate, I'd have had no excuse at all."

"But you did," Florette insisted, feeling more than a bit guilty. "Because you're a brilliant inventor who can think your way out of anything." She pulled Rebecca close, wanting so badly to just tell her truth. She already knows I killed Monfroy, and the bind I'm in with King Luce. If she's talked to Vas Sarah, she'll have the same abridged account of the truth I gave to her...

But it could spoil everything. All the long nights of studying, tests retaken and essay extensions requested because of Monfroy or Blue Banditry, all the careful work of the last four years toeing the line of a normal Cambrian College student would be for nothing. Final examinations were only two weeks away, and then Florette could officially graduate from the College and insinuate herself somewhere in Avalon further from the line of fire.

A sojourn to Giton, perhaps. Professor Alcock had continued to linger in Guerron for whatever reason, presumably attempting to save his marriage, and the dig was beginning to slow as the overcautious team ran out of low-hanging fruit to excavate safely. Nor did they have any leads on any other sites, which was an area where Srin Sabine, Research Assistant, had already proven herself quite thoroughly.

A historian, an archaeologist, even a spy... After her time aboard the Seaward Folly, any and all of that sounded better than piracy. There would be a place for Rebecca there, room to tell her the truth—or more of it, at least—and opportunities to protect people within and without Avalon from the kingdom's tyrannical imperialism and exploitation. If Luce is half the man he claims to be, perhaps I can even do it with some cooperation from within the government, though I know better than to count on that.

Florette knew she ought to step lightly now, with none less than the new King of Avalon apparently spilling her secrets to every conceivable ally. But Vas Sarah had declared Florette to be under her protection, and—knowing Charlotte de Malin—Florette would have been arrested a hundred times over by now if not for that. Well, they would have tried, at least.

But Luce's grip was tenuous. He needed to avoid a situation where his brother returned and the army turned Avalon back over to the elder son of King Harold. He needed the Jays. Which suits me just fine.

"I'll talk to Sarah. Protecting me means protecting you too. Charlotte has no right to interrogate you like that."

"Doesn't she?" Rebecca groaned. "We're playing with the fundamental forces of the universe, Sabine! Opening gates to dark realms and setting off bombs that could depopulate a city! It's good that she's being careful."

"And if not for me, you wouldn't have done anything wrong. I'm sorry."

Rebecca's face cracked at that, eyes growing wet.

What did I say?

"I told you I didn't want you involved. It's not safe."

"Stop," Rebecca whimpered, tilting her forehead towards Florette. "It has nothing to do with you. She was trying to blame me for the Malin Harbor Bombing. She said the shrapnel matched the materials I used at the College. Even the King said it matched my style."

The Malin Harbor? That's not something I've had reason to think about for a long time.

"One hundred and eighteen people died, Sabine. Innocent stevedores, crew, shopkeepers... Children."

"Did you do it?" Florette asked rhetorically, her tone making it clear that she knew Rebecca was innocent.

"Of course not! I would never. You know that."

"Then you have nothing to worry about." Florette desperately hoped that was true. "Next time you go to work, grab two of those lethiographs."

"The... dials with the glyphs? That's an experiment in telecommunication; it's on another floor entirely. My work has nothing to do with it."

I doubt that; it's as magical as the DV bomb. But that wasn't the point. "Give one to me, and keep one for yourself. If you ever get held up by Charlotte again, I'll rescue you."

Rebecca blinked. "How?"

"You saw how I dealt with Monfroy. I'd do the same to anyone if it meant keeping you safe." Florette felt her skin begin to crawl, as if trying to escape from the crushing weight of her lies... This is why I didn't want a relationship, damn it. I should have turned her down from the first. "And forget about Malin. You know you had nothing to do with that, and so do I. Leave it in the past."

Reluctantly, Rebecca nodded. "Are you staying over tonight?" Technically, the apartment was supposed to belong to both of them, but Rebecca was the one paying the rent. And she didn't need to duck out for a bit of banditry to keep herself sane, to feel like she was actually doing something unambiguously good in the world instead of sneaking and lying to the person who cared about her most.

"I'll be back late. Don't wait up." As a gesture of goodwill, Florette grabbed the scarf Rebecca had given her on their first date, slightly worn down from copious use but still as radiant as the woman who'd given it to her. I have to be clean, if only for an evening.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

꣼

"Finally." Christophe didn't quite manage to keep the shades of resentment from his voice, which Florette could hardly blame him for. How many times have I told him we'd make a big move, that I'd become more involved, that Monfroy would burn? I told him he was free to go and then made him lengthen his stay again while I ran off to Forta. Now, at last, those promises were bearing fruit, but far later than Florette had promised him. In Christophe's position, her own patience would have run out far sooner.

"Finally," Florette echoed, making it as clear as possible that she was conceding the point. She wore a mask fashioned after the statues on the Isle of Shadows, the blue scarf tied up beneath it. The neighbors had lent her a pair of navy pants made of some strange sturdy material only found in Avalon, while she kept her top simple with a black jacket she'd found abandoned in a bar years ago and never worn. All in all, for once, she looked the part of the Blue Bandit, wholly untraceable to Srin Sabine. Or, for that matter, Florette d'Enquin.

"Workers of Cambria!" she called out, not entirely displeased to hear the massive throngs of striking workers fall silent at her words. It wasn't about power, not really. But these people respected her; they were genuinely grateful for the good she'd done. And that, in turn, means I can be sure I'm doing the right thing. That any risks I take today are worthwhile. "And any others who care to listen!

"One hundred years ago, the Lords of Avalon bound their people to the land, property to be bought and sold, their labor extorted and stolen for the good of others, of parasites. Today, the serfs are gone, but the story remains the same. The workers have been granted a choice: toil inhumane hours in brutal factories until the walls come down flaming around them; or starve on the streets. Versham Paruna and her ilk contribute nothing, yet reap all the benefits. When you have the temerity to ask for basic allowances like a steady schedule, time for family or sickness, or doors that won't lock you inside an inferno, you're refused."

Her words were a motley, pulled from Avaline historians and dissidents alike, with no small amount paraphrased from Captain Verrou, though with a considerably kinder outlook towards those trapped in the servitude of wages within the Avaline system. The specifics were largely from the neighborhood group and their shared grievances, including a passage from Helen that Florette took verbatim with her permission.

Just like her clothes, just like the Blue Bandit as a whole, the speech was a gestalt of hundreds of people banding together for a common cause, fighting the tyranny of aristocracy and owners alike, each a parasite in much the same way. In truth, it should have been Christophe giving the speech instead of her, or perhaps Helen or a neighbor who'd actually toiled in an Avaline factory directly, but they'd both insisted that Florette do it.

"They need to know they're protected," Helen had insisted. "The Blue Bandit's been the only thing keeping us safe, the only thing strong enough to stand up to them directly."

"And I'm leaving for Hiverre as soon as this business is done," Christophe had added. "I wouldn't want to focus everyone's attention on someone who'll be gone tomorrow."

So it fell to me. For all the pragmatic reasons, Florette still felt far more like a fraud in giving the speech than she ever did living her life of lies as Srin Sabine. But it must be done, and I'm apparently the best one to do it.

"We've tried asking nicely, but they've left us no choice." Florette adjusted her mask, then flexed her toes, feeling Glaciel's ring settled into place. "So now it falls to me to bring them to the negotiating table."

꣼

"Password?" the shadow asked, confronting Florette in her stolen black uniform.

"Domination," Florette answered smoothly, no need to bluff. The thing about giving every last one of your guards a daily password is that it only takes one to be a bit forgetful, a bit stupid. That was an easy enough role to play, and it fit well with an unfamiliar face. She'd only needed to sneak as far as the gardens before finding a shadow willing to take pity on her. Obviously, this sort of thing happened all the time, especially after the massive recruitment drive had swelled the shadows with less-experienced new blood, more prone to lapses and mistakes.

Ever since King Luce's several ascension weeks ago, Versham Paruna had refused to show herself in public. If she'd been hoping that the royal regime change would quiet the workers' grievances, she'd woefully underestimated the opposition she'd cultivated. As soon as they knew they had the Blue Bandit protecting them again, they'd gone right back out onto the streets, ranks swelling every day with more of the disaffected and exploited. If anything, the ascent of King Lucifer off the backs of the peoples' support had only emboldened them to agitate for change, seeing how powerful it had already proved to be.

After Monfroy's death, Paruna was Florette's last remaining creditor of any significance, but she hadn't reached out. By all appearances, she hadn't done anything at all. Around the College, it was whispered that several Owls were on her payroll, and thus that she must have played a role in Luce's ascension, but that sort of thing was hard to prove and harder to act on. Even if it were true, Versham-Martin hadn't seen any of the benefits that Luce's other backers had. The Western Isles alone were seeing the largest royal investiture since they first bowed their head to the King of Avalon, and the Harpies willing to bow their head to the new administration had seen their lands swollen from the ones who'd refused, deprived and attainted for their 'treason'.

Versham-Martin, by contrast, had to grapple with the end of Avalon's colonial ambitions and all the profit it had netted them alongside a more technically-minded regime, better positioned to audit and investigate their various misdeeds that ran afoul of even Avalon's lax laws in the matter. Normally, Versham would be expected—if not obligated—to push back against these changes, to lean on the corrupt Councilors in her pocket and shower the Crown with mandala until they were willing to submit, but instead she'd been utterly silent, absent. Hiding, most people suspected.

She'd last been spotted in Ortus Tower, which made this a job only the Blue Bandit was capable of. If she wanted to hide from her workers instead of respecting their demands, if she had to be forced to the negotiating table, then that was exactly what Florette intended to do.

The upper floors of the Tower were well-secured, accessible only by a narrow staircase winding around a central shaft and carefully-monitored elevator lift within it. Florette had no illusions that her forgetful shadow disguise would hold up against the monitoring there, but fortunately, she wasn't headed to the top.

Towards the back of the floor, a staircase led down into the darkened basement levels of the tower, ostensibly designed for more dangerous experiments that benefitted from several stories of earth between them and the main tower. According to Rebecca, the area had originally been dug out to allow more dangerous experiments to take place underground, similar to the basement levels of the Memorial Tower in Charenton, but they'd quickly proven too cramped and poorly-ventilated for the purpose and relegated mostly to storage.

After some incident around a hundred years ago, they'd also had four cells installed, each still labeled on the floor plan as a storeroom. Florette had crept in and out of the Tower several times over the last few days, probing at the shadows for any indication of a guest staying in luxury at the Tower, food carried in and dishes carried out, laundry, anything of the sort, but come up blank. But there had been unusually high activity in the basement, including several refreshment carts sent down the main elevator.

They tucked her out of sight, for some reason. It was becoming increasingly unclear if Versham were even here willingly, though the prospect of Luce kidnapping her seemed even stranger than the alternative.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she checked the first cell, unassumingly labeled "Conference Room B-1." Florette had seen similar nomenclature around several Cambrian buildings, including Versham-Martin itself, but juxtaposed against the century-old black basement stones, it seemed more an ironic joke than anything.

A quick slip into Nocturne allowed her an unobtrusive peek, showing the withered woman within, writhing in pain. Are they torturing her? It was hard to imagine why. What could she know? Are they trying to use her to get to me? Florette thought for a moment before her sense of perspective kicked in. If they cared that much about Florette d'Enquin, I'd be the one in there.

She withdrew into the shadows, waiting for a moment to consider her next move. Obviously, Versham Paruna was in no fit state to play the villain. If anything, bringing her out into the limelight like this might only engender sympathy. It would probably be for the better to leave her as an absentee-tyrant, incapable of responding to the truthful accusations flung her way.

On the other hand, was it fair to leave anyone like this? Florette was well-acquainted with Versham-Martin's crimes, both within Avalon and—especially—without. They'd locked the Princess Lizzie's workers inside a burning building, lined their pockets in Imperial Territories by exploiting the people that lived there, and—their latest offense—bribed enough Great Councilors to get a decree in front of the Prince Regent making it illegal to strike, dooming any hope of a peaceful revolution with the stroke of a pen. If not for the good timing of the Prince of Darkness' coup, it might have come to bloodshed already. As it was, Luce hadn't signed it yet, which Florette could only hope would mean he wouldn't, but it wasn't all that hard to imagine their arguments or their money being persuasive to a King whose legitimacy was incredibly shaky, to say the least.

Versham Paruna had been born into that company, taken it over, and continued to ramp up its innumerable evils in pursuit of her own enrichment. Unquestionably, she deserved death. If it was moral to kill an Ernest Monfroy or a Gordon Perimont, certainly this woman had earned herself the same just end. It would even be a mercy... She's in agony right now.

But then what?

Florette knew better than to narrow her focus again. It would be naive to assume that simply killing the evil person in front of her would actually solve the greater issue, mercy or no. Versham was being held here for some reason, in the heart of the new King's base of power. And Luce had hardly seemed amenable to torture and kidnapping—if anything, it was a surprise he hadn't welcomed Paruna into his circle in order to keep the peace, as he'd done with so many of Butcher Arion's guards when forming his shadows. This seemed beyond the pale, difficult to explain yet impossible for him not to know about...

Unless it wasn't his idea.

It all clicked into place as Charlotte de Malin descended the stairs. Florette hid in shadow without a second thought, watching silently as the Lieutenant opened the door and lurked in the doorway. "It's that time again. Have you reconsidered?"

"Please," Paruna croaked, scrambling to her feet. Standing up, it was easier to see that her clothes were as fine as ever, silk and velvet in rich blues and greens, but torn and dirtied, evidently unchanged since her abduction. "Just give me a little glass. A thimble full! It's all I ask."

Charlotte chuckled and pulled out a bottle of laudanum and a thimble, apparently prepared for the request. She opened the bottle and poured it in, staring impassively as Paruna wailed at the liquid dripping through the holes and onto the ground. Seeing the futility, she lunged forward and began licking it off the ground, uncaring of her own indignity.

"You're only making things harder for yourself," Charlotte noted. "The sickness ends when the substance loses its hold, but every drop prolongs it." She dangled the bottle over Paruna's face. "You'd be better off with nothing, you vile, greedy, coward. Yet you can't see beyond your base desires, not even for long enough to keep your tongue off the floor."

"Just a little more, please! You still have the bottle."

Instead, Charlotte pulled out a sheaf of papers. "I'll give you the whole thing. All you have to do is sign."

Paruna's grasping hand curled into a fist. "That's my life's work you're stealing. Do you know how hard I had to work to build that company up from nothing?"

"I do, and it wasn't all that hard. You inherited a thriving enterprise deeply entwined with the royal crown. Half the Councilors you own were already bought by your father, and all of your 'innovations' were just tired iterations on the same evil." Charlotte shrugged. "Not that ingenuity or hard work are particularly praiseworthy, when employed in the name of famine and suffering."

"No," she croaked, finding some measure of resolve. "It's mine. You can't have it, and neither can your prince."

"King," Charlotte corrected, pulling the papers back into her coat. "But it's all the same to me. We have just as much control with you missing as we would if you signed. The only difference is that we can't let you out. There's an estate on the Isle of Shadows you should know well, repossessed from your partner in crime. Sign the papers, and you'll be free to live out your life there in contentment and luxury, with as much or as little laudanum as you desire. Refuse, and we have no choice but to keep you here."

This cruelty is excessive, Florette couldn't help but think. At least it was clearer now why she was here, but a quick death would have been far more merciful. She had little doubt that Versham would not long outlive her pen hitting the page, and the executive likely knew it too, or she would have given in by now. And if she were to die before that, doubtless Charlotte would redouble her investigation. Considering that Florette had, in essence, already been caught—saved only by Vas Sarah's protection—that wasn't a particularly appealing prospect.

And what would it mean for the strikers? A new executive for Versham-Martin, resolved hardened by the death of their predecessor? The Crown taking over, free to force them back to work at the point of a rifle? Or free to compromise to our demands, but how could I know which? It wasn't as if one could take back a murder, however unfortunate that fact might be.

There simply wasn't a good way to be sure. This wasn't a decision to be made opportunistically, or alone. Obviously, Versham Paruna wasn't going anywhere. Surely it would be alright to take a day or two to think it over,

Florette slipped out silently once Charlotte was gone, thinking over the dilemma, almost making it back to Mourningside in time for class. She could meet up with Christophe afterwards and talk it over, or with his neighbors, in the event that he didn't have time before his departure.

Restless and contemplative, Florette was only twenty minutes late, for once. Not that she'd missed much. With her work for Professor Alcock, she was all but guarnteed top marks in his class—not that he'd spent much time teaching it this year. Still, she would have time to think through her dilemma while sitting through the latest guest lecturer's inane recitations.

"...he never fought in any battles, as it happens. The Foxtrap was his father's doing." With thinning brown hair and smile lines cut deep into his face, the lecturer looked to be in his early fifties, and a veteran of the war he was speaking on, if his antique Avalon Navy uniform was any indication. "I see we have a late arrival." He grinned smugly, as if entirely aware that calling out students who showed up late was a faux-pas at the Cambrian College. "Your name?"

"Srin Sabine," she answered sullenly, settling into one of the only open seats, unfortunately in the front row.

"Well, Sabine, I'll show you the same respect for your time that you've shown for mine. Here's a question: what prompted mass defections from the Navy at the time of their greatest victory?"

Wait... Now that she had a closer look, it was impossible to miss it. "Money," she answered confidently. "For all the spoils they'd go on to take, Avalon couldn't afford to pay its soldiers at that moment, and they'd strung out their promises too long to be trusted. Robin Verrou convinced his fleet to go rogue and take what they were owed directly."

"Captain Robin Verrou," he corrected with a cheeky grin. "Whatever else he's done, he did serve with distinction in the war. And it wasn't just money that got so many sailors to turn pirate, either. They were unconvinced that their cause was just, that the deaths of their comrades were contributing to anything that mattered. Verrou wasn't even the one with the idea—he simply took it from another officer who couldn't bear to desert himself."

"Sounds like a pretty unimpressive pirate." In the uniform, with his hair straightened and combed, it had been hard to tell from the back of the room. Now, Florette had no doubts.

"I'll let you be the judge of that." Bold as ever, Captain Verrou took that moment to wink.