Copyright 2017, Nicholas S. Casale and Jenifer E. Casale

Chapitre Trois

Les Joueurs

Cecile

She had excused herself saying, "I feel fatigued. Pardon me, my lords. I must retire."

"Good night, my lady," the suitors said, almost in unison.

Why must they all be so similar? Each wearing the same fashions: same coat, same hair, same shoes. Each quoting the same poets when praising her beauty, and the same scholars when feigning intelligence.

All it brought about was a tedious amalgam of suitors, and part of her game relied upon her keeping their names straight.

It was for this reason that Cecile stammered for a moment when her father asked her, "Which of your suitors do you think could be the most useful to us?"

She sat in a private meeting room with her father, her step-mother, her brothers and sister, Lucilla, and Fitzroy. The ball was long since over, and it was time to review every detail of the evening

"I...I suppose Alexandre of House Aimon," said Cecile.

"Count Bastien's son?" asked Lucien stroking his beard. "Why him?"

"He has a younger brother in the Imperial Guard, as he told me tonight," Cecile said, her confidence slowly coming back to her. "Such a connection would allow us to keep an eye on the Empress herself."

"We already have spies watching the Empress," said Lucien, folding his arms.

"Servants, yes?" Cecile asked, glancing back and forth between Lucien and Fitzroy. Fitzroy nodded to her. "Servants certainly overhear enough, but nowhere near as much as the Imperial Guard."

"Quite right," said Lucien, nodding to her with a smile. "Well done. Flirt with Alexandre now and again. Write to him, but make sure your letters do not promise any lasting commitments. Otherwise, pull at him a bit to see if he'll let anything useful slip."

"Yes, father," said Cecile.

Lucien turned to one of Cecile's brothers. "Andre, I'm assuming you were successful tonight?"

"I was indeed," said Andre, with a smug smirk on his face.

"Splendid," said Lucien, wringing his hands together. "And what do I stand to gain from your night between the sheets?"

"Delight at the very least, father. I was with Madame Babette of house Corbeau."

"Baron Damond's wife?" asked Lucien with a proud grin.

"The same," said Andre, folding his hands behind his head.

What a conceited little tramp...

"Excellent work!" said Lucien. "Fitzroy's agents have reported about them recently. It seems Baron Damond is in league with gangs in the capital. If their intelligence is accurate, a plot will soon be underway to assassinate the Empress."

"Then warn her!" Leon's fist slammed down on the table. Cecile jumped, unable to contain a slight gasp. "People are trying to kill our Empress. You've known about it! Why have you waited this long before warning her? Why would you have a second of hesita--"

Lucien raised his hands to quiet Leon.

"Don't shush me!" Leon waved his hand, reciprocating the dismissal.

"SILENCE!" Lucien roared as he rose to his feet and glared at Leon. "Foolish boy! Your words must form on your lips themselves for how obvious it is that they are not the expressions of a working mind! Has it simply become an effluence of your nature to ruin everything?"

"Ruin... Ruin?" Leon stared at him, aghast. He could scarcely speak. Cecile's stomach sank. In that moment, Cecile felt she couldn't be more embarrassed by her twin brother.

"Warn the Empress! Save the empire!" Leon spat back.

Lucien, still standing, leaned both hands on the table and looked hard at his son. "Do you think our dearest Empress has even one second of respite from whispers of her assassination? When do you think the plots may cease?" Lucien's words seeped out from between clenched teeth. "Would a report be any news at all? Would her guards, ever by her side, say, increase the veracity with which they defend her at every single moment?"

"There is a difference, Father, between persistent rumors and acquired intelligence," Leon's nostrils were still flared. "Share what we know about Baron Corbeau. Surely his arrest--"

Beatrice then placed her fingers on the back of Leon's hand, ever so gently. "Peace, son. Your father is speaking."

Leon seemed to look from Beatrice to her hand a few quick times before shooting a glare at his father. Then, almost nervously, he shot a glance or two back and forth between the two of them. Cecile watched his lips purse and pucker, doing the same dance her own mouth did when she wanted to speak, but didn't. Ever so briefly conflicted, he then slumped without a word into his seat.

"Thank you, dear," said Lucien, kissing his wife on the forehead and stepping away from the table. "I'm surprised that I need to explain this to you, my boy, but a baron has little to gain from an Empress' death." Lucien approached the map of Salia, hung up on the wall, and he dropped his head back against his shoulders to stare up at it. "Do you remember your lessons from when you were a boy? The capital city sits at the center, yes? It sits surrounded by baronies. The rulers? Very good. Barons! Baronies encompassed by the count-ruled counties. Each of the counties lie within a duchy, ruled by dukes. Then all the way out here, in the outer borders are the marches and their ruling marquis."

"Save us the derision, Father!" Leon interjected. "What is the point of --"

"The barons are the lowest order of nobility," said Lucien, looking back over his shoulder to shoot Leon and stern glare. "No other player is farther from the throne. Inheritance of the throne belongs to dukes and duchesses, cousins of the Imperial Family. They would be next in line if the shadow of death were to fall upon every member of the Imperial Family in a night. But for a baron? In order for a baron to inherit the throne, he'd have to have cast his shadows on every single prince, laid waste to every duke, every count, every marquis, and every last bishop." Lucien pointed a finger at Leon. "What then must we ask? 'Why is Baron Corbeau involved in a plot to assassinate the Empress?' What could he possibly have to gain? Do you know? How about a guess?"

"I..." Leon hesitated. "I have no idea..."

"Exactly!" said Lucien, beginning to pace the room. "Neither does Fitzroy. His networks buzz constantly in order to deduce the workings of the baron's plot. With whom is he working? What might he gain? Money? Protection?"

Cecile nodded. "So, any attempt to thwart him would simply remove the one sure link we have in knowing chain of command behind the order."

"Exactly!" said Lucien. "See, your female counterpart has eclipsed you, Leon."

Cecile resented the term female counterpart. As if she were not her own person... But she let it go, her father was making a point. "We keep an eye on Baron Corbeau until we discover who pulls his strings. And, now, thanks to your brother, Andre, we have a new spy in the Corbeau homestead: Dear Babette." Lucien pulled fervently, at his own fingers. "Andre, I assume you kept some item of hers that we can use as proof?"

"Indeed," said Andre, producing two golden earrings from his pocket, each with an emerald in the center.

Fitzroy crossed the room and took the earrings.

"Here's what we'll do," said Lucien. "Fitzroy," he pointed to the spymaster, "have one of your agents get in contact with the baroness. This agent will give her one earring, be sure to make it clear who holds the other. If she does not cooperate we can be sure her husband knows of her indiscretions. He'd have had a plan in place to ensure her fidelity if she'd had any prior knowledge of his dealings. Surely she is not privy to the depth of his business and will have little reservation in obtaining something useful from him now."

"This is disgusting..." said Leon under his breath, though not enough to avoid being heard. Cecile rolled her eyes at him.

Lucien seemed to ignore him, but turned to Cecile to say, "Your brother wants to save the Empire. Perhaps you can help him to understand now that a single earring will do just that."

Surely to her father's delight and brother's chagrin, Cecile gave a coy nod.

Fitzroy pocketed the earrings with a simple, "Yes, my lord,"

"Now, Leon," said Lucien. "I hesitate to ask. Did you learn anything useful tonight?"

"I was very nearly murdered," Leon snapped.

"Oh?" said Lucien, with shockingly little surprise in his voice. "How do you know this?"

"I saw the assassin," said Leon. "There I was in the privies and somewhere between looking from the mirror to the sink, I was an instant from death. Though, Fitzroy got to him first."

Lucien turned to Fitzroy, silently asking for an explanation.

"He was one of dozens of assassins and spies I had to stop tonight," said Fitzroy. "Two almost found Edmund's room. One nearly got into the wine cellar. Three tried to get to the younger children. The one who went after Leon was the last I saw of the night."

Every time Edmund's name was mentioned Cecile felt her heart sink a little. According to her father, Edmund was his ward, a young man suffering from a terrible and contagious disease. Lucien often spoke of the physicians he hired to cure the poor boy.

"The assassin got far too close to my heir, I say," said Lucien, his brow furrowed. "Leon should never have seen him."

Fitzroy dropped to one knee. "I beg forgiveness, my lord. I should have acted sooner. Punish me as you see fit."

Lucien smacked Fitzroy's face with the back of his hand, nearly knocking him over as he did. Fitzroy looked down at the ground for a moment in shame, then looked up to Lucien. Lucien nodded and said, "Remember that next time. Part of your job is protecting this family. No assassin who enters this house should be able to gain the upper hand over you."

"Yes, my lord," said Fitzroy.

"Father," said Leon, grabbing Lucien's forearm. "I was the careless one. If you're going to punish anyone it should be me."

Lucien pulled his arm away. "Careless or not, you've actually done much better than you realize. No one orders a kill on one who is not a threat. You must be better at Le Jeu Fatal than either of us thought."

"Thank you," said Leon, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Which brings me to a very important piece of news," Lucien brightened. "I am trying to arrange for you to marry Corina, Duke Armand's eldest daughter."

"Pardon?" Leon said, shaking his head in disbelief. "May I ask why?"

"It should be obvious."

Leon paused for a moment, clearly thinking it over. Cecile tried not to laugh at how dense he could be at times. How was it that they were born of the same womb only moments apart and yet now lived, seemingly, worlds apart?

When Leon still did not seem to grasp their father's intentions, Cecile interjected, "Because Duke Jehan only has daughters, no sons."

"Quite right," said Lucien, beaming at her with approval. "So, you will become lord over both the Renart and the Armand Estates someday."

"Oh, no!" said Leon, crossing his arms. "You can keep me out of your schemes!"

"You're in father's 'schemes' whether you want to be or not," Cecile interjected.

"My son," said Lucien, "You are playing Le Jeu Fatal, even when you don't intend to. From the moment you were born you entered the game. You can try to refuse to play all you want, but all that means is that you're losing. You're an athlete, tell me what happens to an idle player."

"This is different," said Leon. "You destroy lives in this game!"

"Do you also mourn for a mouse in a hawk's talon?" Lucien was obviously growing bored of his son's indignance.

Cecile was also losing patience. She sat forward and leaned across the table. "Since you insist on dodging Father's query, I'll try to explain this to you in a manner you might understand." Leon shot a glare at her. Cecile folded her hands in front of her. "If one member of a football team simply sits down in the middle of the field and refuses to move, he lets his team down. They'll kick the ball around him, maybe even trip over him, but in the end they are that much more likely to lose the game. All because one player refuses to play his position. Now, consider this, in Le Jeu Fatal your family is your team, and if they lose they die." Cecile leaned in closer to Leon, speaking now in a low and somewhat threatening tone. "Think, then, on the consequences of your refusal to have anything to do with it. You are the idle player on the field; the goal protector is asleep at his post."

Leon said nothing.

"Well spoken," Lucien said with a smirk.

Cecile sat back in her chair, basking in the praise. "Besides, you could do worse than Corina. I hear she's a pretty young lady, growing prettier every day."

"Quite so," Lucien chuckled.

"If it's so important that someone marry her," said Leon, "Why not have it be Andre?"

Andre laughed. "You've never even met this poor girl and you wish such curses on her?"

"You know your brother," said Lucien, waving Leon's notion aside. "He's...well, rather worldly."

"I believe the word you're looking for is 'hedonistic,' Father," said Andre with a snort.

"Everyone knows this about him," said Lucien. "It's going to be difficult to convince even the lowliest baron to betroth his daughter to Andre." Lucien laughed. "Only someone truly brainless, or heartless, would subject his daughter to that sort of humiliation."

"Fine!" said Leon, throwing his hands up in defeat. "An alliance by marriage is far less disgraceful than this infernal Game! If you make the arrangements, I'll marry Corina."

"Good to hear," said Lucien. "Now, Annette." Lucien turned to Cecile's younger sister.

"Yes, father?" said Annette.

"First of all, it was wonderful to see you tonight," he said, smiling at her. "How are your studies going?"

"I'll be ordained by the end of the year," Annette beamed. "And Bishop Duval has taken notice of me recently."

"Duval is a very influential man," said Lucien. "Get as close to him as you can."

And so the meeting went on. Cecile's father went on to discuss his schemes and machinations with the family.

__________________________________________________________________________

She considered carefully the pending marriage alliance, Madame Corbeau's blackmail, and the chance of penetrating the Imperial Guard. It was her duty to ensure its momentum. Even for her part, there was so much to do!

"Lady Cecile."

She would have to write to Alexandre immediately.

"Lady Cecile."

But to what sort of meeting should she invite him? Perhaps to play croquet? Perhaps to see a ballet?

"Lady Cecile!"

"What?" Cecile snapped out of her daze and in an instant remembered where she was; the study, with her tutor, Pepin.

"Were you listening at all?" Pepin asked, adjusting the small, round spectacles on the end of his nose.

"I..." Cecile hesitated. "I confess I was in a daze."

"Very well," said Pepin, rolling his eyes. "I shall repeat the question. What was the significance of the Treaty of Fausspaix?"

"Since then Salia has not seen a single civil war," she responded promptly, trying to focus on the task at hand.

"And why is that?" asked Pepin, leaning on the blackboard.

Cecile looked down at her desk, away from all the maps, books, portraits and other distractions around the room. "The emperor at the time, Tavin XIII, sickened by the number of innocent common people who'd been slain in a war between feuding noble houses, forced all of the noble houses to sign a treaty and swear an oath. Each noble house swore that they would never again make war upon one another. The treaty stated that should any noble house break the peace, every other noble house in the Salian Empire would attack the instigator."

"Splendid," Pepin said with absolutely no enthusiasm in his voice. "And did this, indeed, create peace between the noble houses?"

"Only if one defines peace simply as a lack of war," said Cecile. "The noble families still fight amongst themselves. They simply fight with assassins, secrets, and spies."

"Did Emperor Tavin XIII not achieve his goal?" asked Pepin.

"He did," said Cecile. "He didn't really care if the nobility got along, what he really wanted was an end to the bloodshed the common people had endured. Now, instead of civil wars costing hundreds, if not thousands, of lives, we have Le Jeu Fatal, which costs only a few dozen lives each year throughout the Empire."

"Glad to see you pay attention some of the time," said Pepin. "Now, after Emperor Tavin XIII died, the throne went to his son, Verrill III. Verrill III repaired ties between the throne and the Church..."

As Pepin droned on, Cecile's mind wandered back to Alexandre. An idea struck her, and, pretending to take notes, she began to compose a letter to the heir of House Aimon. She'd include some inane paragraph about her frustrations with her brother's rude manners toward the guests. A shameless gossip, Alexandre would certainly take the bait and would return his letters with reports of his own siblings.