The Bell Tolls for Me

"Do you have any idea what she's attempting to do?" Prince Amaury asked his council.

There was silence for a long while until someone managed to speak up, beginning, "I—"

"That was rhetorical," the prince interrupted. "This Royal Progress is very consequential. Physical presence is important for a ruler. Being able to witness the scene personally provides them with firsthand knowledge of the situation, and further the ability to impose their authority without argument. You cannot attempt to deceive if your liege lord is viewing things from the ground. It will act as a great correction of excesses built up in the absence of strong central authority. In simpler terms…" Amaury leaned in. "The good times are over for each of you. No more inaccurate taxes, nor improper declarations."

The nobles cleared their throats and made other such awkward gestures.

***

Meanwhile, in another room, at another meeting…

"I'm told that she's bringing the vast majority of the proceeds from auctioning Albert's auction house along with her. That can mean only one thing." Bernadetta took a deep breath and looked out the window. "Charity. That, or establishing an army. The latter would be unwise."

"Why would that be unwise?" Prince Anselm, meeting her while disguised, asked curiously.

"Because every soldier in an army needs to be fed. Do you know how difficult it is to sustain a large army for an extended period of time?" Bernadetta tapped her chest. "I do. And if they can't get it from their supply lines, they'll use their halberds or their swords to coerce it from the citizenry. She may have gold sufficient to pay them, but they can't eat coins. If I've judged her properly, she'll expand a small core of private troops while giving charity to all those she passes by freely. And do you know what that means to the rest of us?"

***

Archduke Felix leaned into the table. "You think engaging in charity will force the nobles to do the same."

Isabella nodded. "Just so." She kneaded her palm with her thumb as she continued, "In many ways, the leading figure establishes the culture for those beneath them. As my father established a cult of personality, I will establish a precedent for generosity. To retain their influence in the peasantry, they'll need to do just the same."

***

Back in Amaury's meeting, the conversation was unfolding similarly.

"Hold on, hold on," one of the nobles cut. "Why does her giving freely necessitate us following suit?"

"Do you have any idea what it'll do to our reputation if she's being open-handed while we're sitting on the sidelines pinching pennies?" the one who'd first spoken said. "It'll be disastrous. Henceforth, opposition to the crown would be met with resistance among the peasantry. It'll result in a vastly strengthened royal authority, even if that authority is merely soft."

"Even if we do aid them, I have no doubt that she will propagandize it as the 'Royal Progress of Her Highness Princess Isabella,' to all involved. Even as we spend, her reputation will soar," another complained.

"Perhaps it could be a good thing," one noble with ties to the Republic of Ambrose proposed. "Her providing handouts of coin could cause inflation."

***

"And is that so terrible?" Isabella asked, sitting with Valerio. "The coin comes from the auction house, after all, or from the alms of those accompanying us. It's merely a redistribution of Albert's wealth to many people."

"I've been all around the world, and in the places that I encountered the most unrest, one of the primary causes was inflation." Valerio crossed his arms and shook his head. "Wages seldom increase in tandem with prices. When regimes devalue their currency by minting in excess or exorbitant spending of some fashion, prices rise. Forcing wages to rise alongside them merely exacerbates the problem. The Republic of Ambrose faced one such dilemma during my time there."

Isabella thought of it. "Then… we must provide something else to the people, then." She tapped her finger against her cheek, then an idea came to mind. "How about…?"

***

Bernadetta slid forward a piece of paper for Prince Anselm's review. "Isabella has posted several royal decrees throughout the city demanding that the finest architects and engineers join her on the road. They've been promised steep compensation. I imagine she's going to be doing a variety of public works projects to raise her image—far more permanent than a simple infusion of coin. Bridges, roads, wells, aqueducts… the list of what she could create for public benefit is endless."

Anselm was sobered by that realization. For the regent to travel around the countryside, erecting monuments under her name to bolster her image… it was a nightmare.

They weren't the only ones grappling with that.

***

"You should bring engineers of your own, Prince Amaury," one of the nobles suggested. "Then I—"

"But we're playing right into her hands!" another interrupted. "There must be something that we can do to delay or prevent this. There must be some way that we can orchestrate this in our favor. We can sabotage the progress itself, or perhaps delay construction substantially."

Amaury nodded. "But that presents just as much risk as it does benefit. Moreover, how will it appear for someone aiming for monarchy to be a saboteur of the progress within their own realm?"

"I don't think that Prince Roland or Anselm would balk at such things," one pointed out.

"Perhaps not. It largely depends on how the regent herself handles this matter. Her authority has been waxing daily, however, and I cannot think she would miss an opportunity to hinder her enemies." Amaury rose. "Hastily improvised sabotage would be among the easiest to ferret out. The saboteurs would risk exposure. People have spent decades building up power bases in the capital, but beyond it, their influence may be found wanting."

"Is not the same true for her?"

"Yes, but she has legal right and tradition on her side." Amaury walked to the window. "That lends her far more opportunity to act without fear of reprisal."

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"And what of the capital?" a noble asked. "Should some of us remain behind to exploit the vacuum her absence leaves behind?"

***

"You will be Castellan of the Royal Palace and governor of the City of Dovhain in my absence," Isabella said to Valerio.

"What?!" he said, striding toward her. "You can't be serious. With the guillotine of your father looming overhead, you intend to tour the kingdom without me?"

Isabella reached up and put her hand on his face. "Believe me, I'd like you by my side more than anyone. But Arthur has said that the testing needs to continue, and he needs access to his labs. Moreover, the absence of the royal court will leave a power vacuum in the city. As my castellan, you'll have the opportunity to fill it. There's no one that I trust more for that task than you."

Valerio clenched his jaw together, unconvinced.

"When I come back to the capital, the city… its military, its bureaucrats, all of it… you could ensure their loyalty, or replace them with more able figures. You could ensure an incident like Cesare's occupation never happens again," Isabella continued. "And fret not. Arthur will be here, with you, if that's a concern."

"Even if he wasn't, I trust you," Valerio said steadfastly, taking her hand. "Yet the threat of assassination looms large. The only way I feel I can ensure it won't come to pass is if I'm by your side."

Isabella took a deep breath, contemplating that. Her life was of great concern to her as well.

***

Bernadetta looked at the walls of the city from a distance. "I suspect that she will have prepared for an assassination. There will be no food that is not meticulously tested. There will be no guards at her side that she does not know the loyalty of. There will be no opportunities for attack, and few ways in which to force them."

"Even still…" Anselm crossed his arms, placing them on the table.

"I have little doubt an assassination attempt will occur," Bernadetta said vaguely. "Prince Roland has been all but entirely discredited following Albert's fall. He'll attempt a last-ditch effort, without a doubt. If he succeeds… we will have great opportunity. Nevertheless, if it fails, which I believe it almost certainly will, it will serve only to engender sympathy and give her further justification to exert tighter control over the interregnum council."

Anselm stood and walked around nervously. "How is it that a mere princess came to be the most powerful figure in the kingdom?"

***

"Her actions seem more akin to one intending to hold on to power, Prince Amaury," one of the nobles pointed out. "Do you believe she intends to take the position of King?"

"Queen, you mean?" another interjected.

"Queen is a title denoting one as a consort to the king. That title has never had any authority over governance except in cases of regency," a noble argued. "If she were coronated, she would be King Isabella, and Valerio her queen."

"Queen, and king-consort," that same one argued back.

"The fact that we argue over semantics suggests how unlikely that outcome is." Amaury looked back from the window. "It's never an argument we've had to consider. Daughters have always been passed over in favor of male heirs. And considering that she has the ardent support of Archduke Felix, we can assume that she has promised to support Prince Sylvain convincingly enough the archduke believes her. Sylvain does have the strongest legal claim, after all."

There was silence in the room for a while. "What do you think of this, Your Highness? Will it work?"

Prince Amaury stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking out the high window of the tower. "It's magnificent," he admitted, his voice low and impressed despite himself. "Each action engineered to wound us without drawing a blade. A Royal Progress that strips us of our rural narrative, coin that forces charity from our coffers, monuments that will outlive any of us, and the unspoken implication of permanence in her governance. This, my friends, is a masterstroke of statesmanship."

Amaury smiled, though whether from some hidden agenda or genuine admiration, none could say.

***

"What do you think of it, Bernadetta?" Anselm asked.

Bernadetta folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Desperation wrapped in pageantry," she said simply. "She's buying love because she lacks the teeth to enforce loyalty. And when the coin runs out—and it will—those same people she feeds today will turn ravenous tomorrow. The ignorant masses will believe this act of charity is their right. The nobles will grow resentful of the expectations she sets. At some point… the image she's built will collapse under its own weight. Once it has, all will remember how quickly adoration turns into expectation, and expectation into revolt."

Bernadetta looked bitter, perhaps from disapproval or perhaps because this progress undermined her plans.

***

"What do you think, father?" Abigail asked.

Archduke Felix exhaled through his nose, his fingers tapping lightly on the map before him. "It's a well-executed maneuver, certainly," he said, tone measured. "Effective in scope and symbolism. But such moves are rarely without consequence. The weight of expectation she is placing on herself is enormous, and the nobles she outpaces today may not remain outpaced tomorrow. Public goodwill is fickle. They may applaud her works, yes, but they are not blind to ambition. For now, all I can say for sure is that this is a tremendous gamble."

Abigail looked optimistic, trusting in the prowess of her friend.

***

Isabella strode toward the carriage, boots loud on the pavement, the wind snapping at her cloak. She wore a riding outfit. It suited her, she felt. Valerio had agreed, in part with his words and in part with his hands. Now, he watched from the gates. She felt his absence already. Yet… Randolph trailed beside her, helm tucked under one arm, the other scratching at his stubbled jaw.

She glanced at him. "You've been quiet."

Randolph sighed, adjusting his sword. "Forgive my silence, Your Highness. I was merely preparing myself—physically, mentally, and spiritually—for the herculean burden I am to endure. While you cavort about the countryside like a messianic mason laying stone and doctrine in equal measure, I shall be your ever-suffering pillar. The strain on my soul will be immense. I anticipate little rest and much groveling, but I shall persevere, because I am, if nothing else, tragically dependable and regrettably literate."

She gave him a dry look. "So, you disapprove?"

He widened his eyes with exaggerated awe. "Disapprove? Your Highness, I am in rapture. Who but you could combine fiscal irresponsibility, imperial optics, and divine providence in a single carriage ride? Truly, you possess a genius that renders the rest of us as dumb livestock bellowing in the background of your political opera."

Isabella only stared as he mocked.

"I'm sure the… 'charming' rustics with the collective discernment of a stunned mule will be delighted," he continued. "I know these people well. Half of them will praise you for inventing wells, the other half will riot because their cousin's thatch roof is nicer than theirs. Feed them, bless them, build them a bloody amphitheater—they'll still sell you out for a goat and a half-baked prophecy if the mood strikes. But they will cheer, Your Highness. And in the end, isn't that what matters most?"

"You're looking forward to this, aren't you?" Isabella realized.

Randolph inhaled deeply. "You've no bloody idea, dear. Barring the occasional rogue arrow and poisoned meal, I expect this to be a deeply satisfying journey. I'll be sure you don't spoil the mood by dying."

Strangely assured, Isabella clambered aboard her carriage. Waiting within was a familiar figure—the monkey, Sosen.

"Speak no words," the monkey said immediately. "My head aches. If you wish me to be in top form to aid your escape should the king arrive, you will be silent."

Isabella smiled and looked out the window, where a vast array of people gathered to see her off or travel alongside her. This was a gamble—perhaps the largest she'd ever made. But if performed properly… she was confident it could become the cornerstone for her victory. The spider would come out, and she would position herself to crush it.