Camille V: The Gambler

“Hello, Camille.” The glove glowed yellow as Lord Aurelien threw it onto the pyre. “Consider that my challenge.”

The man bound to the fire didn’t even blink, his eyes glassy and dull.

But the crowds surrounding them muttered and gasped. In the yard at the foot of the castle, there was no shortage of onlookers: the Duke and his coterie, Valvert with a gaggle of his drinking companions, practically every noble who resided in the palace. But far worse than that were the newer faces, guests here for the festival from foreign lands. From the looks of their clothes and windswept hair, they looked southern.

When did the delegation from Condillac arrive? Camille clenched her fists. She had wanted to greet them as they entered the city, to ensure that they played no part in this spat with the Sun Priest — even sound them out for a joint offensive, had their young Duke seemed amenable. And now they were here, bearing witness to whatever this play was. And, without a doubt, they were judging Camille on her strength and poise.

She could try to talk to them later, but what occured here would be their first impression. Acting weak would ruin her. That ruled out running to Lucien or Duke Fouchand, which had probably been Lumière’s plan from the start. “Your challenge? I must confess that you have me at a loss, Aurelian. On what grounds do you challenge me?”

He turned to face the man on the pyre, inhaling the smoke as if savoring the scent. “On the grounds of justice. In the name of Soleil, Great Spirit of the Sun, whom your actions have deprived of justice and power both.” He turned back to face her, curling his lips downwards in a half-passable mask of sadness. “His wise Majesty has ruled on the legality of it, with Duke Fouchand’s assent, and that I do not contest, but depriving a sage and his spirit of offerings rightfully belonging to them is an act of great dishonor. It needs must be rectified.”

Drat.

“I wish you had brought this up at the time, Lord Aurelian. I would have been happy to come to an agreement,” she lied. Justifying the legal act through technicalities served for a council meeting; the Duke wanted no conflict between his councilors. But in front of foreign sages and nobles, the mere implication that she would steal another’s offerings made her look duplicitous and pathetic.

The Sun sage raised an eyebrow. “Is that a refusal, then? Most cowardly of you, but such loss of face is your choice…”

“A refusal to what, my lord? You have yet to issue the specifics of your challenge.” She tried to gauge the audience out of the corner of her, assessing whose side they seemed to be taking.

Duke Fouchand simply looked irritated, which was scant surprise. He’d chastised her for failing to work together, but she’d been smart enough to do it in private. Lumière was giving up considerable standing with him, airing his grievances in fronts of guests like this, but he had to think that it would be worth it.

What was he hoping to accomplish here?

Annette had gradually retreated into the crowd, rather than staying at Camille’s side. That was just as well––it would look better if she appeared to be the unbiased heir to Guerron, rather than a friend, should she need to speak up. Facing the pyre and the half-circle crowd around it with no one at her back, everything was up to Camille. No issues there, nor anything she hadn’t prepared for.

Duke Etienne Clement of Condillac, the young lordling with dark circles under his eyes and a raven perched on his shoulder, looked strangely delighted. He covered his dark green garments under a billowing black cloak, his tousled mess of black hair trailing behind him despite the lack of wind.

That was concerning, to say the least. What sort of man found this sort of farce pleasant? He had been one of the most promising candidates for military aid in retaking Malin, as well. But if he wanted a show, she would give him one.

“Very well.” Lumière placed his hand on the sacrifice’s forehead, glowing slightly yellow as he did. “Then allow me to be more explicit: I challenge you to a duel. As the challenged party, you may name your terms. Then we can resolve this once and for all. Though, for a girl of such delicate constitution, I suggest first blood. It would be unsporting of me to need to kill you.”

And just like that, she had no choice but to duel him to the death or appear a coward before the entire court. Fantastic. “To the death then, or surrender. On the arena set up for the mêlée, the morning before the competition begins.” She smiled. “Unless you’re worried about the masses seeing your defeat?”

He smiled. “Of course not, Camille. I find those terms acceptable. Though, I think we shall have to make things more interesting. Should I win, Soleil must have his redress. Fifty souls, let us say. And you may claim the same in the event that you do.”

Fifty? How could he so callously gamble with that many lives? The Malins didn’t execute fifty criminals of their own in a year. He was demanding more than they could spare, which meant sacrificing people who did not deserve death. Bastard.

“Soleil and his Temple have no issue honoring such a bet,” he continued, “but if the Temple of Levian cannot, well, I suppose that limits you.”

“Of course we can,” she lied. “But that makes no matter, given the certain outcome of this duel.”

“Excellent.” His smile stretched across his entire face. “Then I think our business is at an end, for now.” He sauntered past her, down the path to the Spirit Quartier, leaving the pyre and the sacrifice to his underlings to clean up. “I eagerly await what is to come.”

Duke Fouchand was the first to approach her, everyone else giving the two of them a wide berth. “Camille.” He sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I want you to know that I did not condone this. Lumière presented the whole thing as an offering in honor of our guests’ arrival.”

“And?” she asked tersely.

“And I apologize for allowing it to come to pass.” He furrowed his brow. “Such behavior is unacceptable at a time like this, when we need unity above all else. Especially if word reaches Avalon that Guerron’s sages were fractured like this.”

Camille blinked. “What I mean is: what do you intend to do about it? Lumière has instigated this from the start, though to what end I cannot imagine. Surely this is too far. He must be stripped of his position on the council, for appearance’s sake if nothing else. Otherwise it will seem that you condone such fractious behavior.”

Fouchand shook his head. “I’m afraid it would only make things worse. The Temple of the Sun would take it for a grievous insult; it would only sow more division. At least I can serve as a mediator this way. However… Should you win your duel, well, his seat will be vacant in any case.”

“Unless he surrenders.”

Fouchand winked, giving her a pat on the back. “This isn’t how I would have wanted it, but hopefully once his ‘honor’ is satisfied by the duel, we can be done with this business. Good luck, Camille.” He whistled to his retinue and they began walking back up to the castle.

Camille felt a tap on her back as she watched them leave. Turning around, she saw it was Annette, who lacked even the decency to look guilty.

“What happened?” Camille hissed. “You had promised that I would be first to greet the Condillac delegation, as I recall. I had intended to welcome their ships before they even reached the harbor. And yet here they are, bearing witness to Lumière’s challenge.”

Annette frowned. “Yes, obviously when their ship arrived, I just decided not to tell you for no reason whatsoever. I was thinking, ‘Hmm, what’s the best way to annoy Camille just for the sake of it?’ That sounds like me, doesn’t it? It couldn’t possibly be that they took another route. You got me. And obviously I’m incredibly sorry.”

“Another route? Ship is the fastest way to travel, and Condillac’s fleet is among the best on the continent.”

“They took it up the Sartaire, then traveled through the pass. That’s why it took them so long to arrive.” Annette shrugged. “Still, it’s nice that your first thought was blaming me.”

“You have my apologies,” Camille reassured. “Still, it’s strange, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know…” Annette smiled. “It could be promising. On the Sartaire, they’re well positioned to threaten Malin. It could be a good sign.”

It could, at that. “I need to talk to Duke Clement right away. You have to introduce me before his party leaves.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” Annette grabbed her hand and walked over to the black-clad Duke, still standing in his same spot as he stared at the burning man breathing his last. “Duke Etienne? We met earlier.”

He turned his strained eyes to face them. “Lady Debray, of course. If you would be so kind as to introduce your companion?”

“Allow me to present Lady Camille Leclaire of Onès, High Priestess of Levian and future Queen of the Empire.” Camille dipped her head as Annette introduced her. “Camille, this is Duke Etienne Clement of Condillac, First Sage of Corva. And his familiar, Tiecelin.”

“A pleasure, I’m sure.” Camille forced a smile. However ridiculous the man looked, he would be a key piece in this game.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he said with a smile as he bent down to kiss her hand, his raven spreading and flapping its wings as he did. “I do not yet know you well, but I can see that you do not fear death. If the lovely Lady Annette calls you friend, I’m sure we shall get along famously.”

“I can only hope.” That was a promising start, at least. “But I must apologize for meeting you under such circumstances. Lord Lumière is prone to these dramatic shenanigans.”

Etienne turned back to face the fire and the smoldering body within it. “Death comes to us all, Lady Camille. We can face it dramatically or calmly, but either way it remains inevitable. With a life full of pain and ennui, I think of it most as a relief.”

“I’m sorry?” Annette raised an eyebrow.

He stroked the beak of his familiar. “All life is filtered through our experience, a culmination of our sensations. Death is the cessation of such sensation, of our own existence. For those sacrificed to the spirits, life is often pain. Thus it is incumbent on sages to deliver people to their destiny, to cease their suffering once and for all.”

Camille fought hard to avoid rolling her eyes, noticing Annette next to her fail to curb the impulse. “How poetic,” she said, putting it as diplomatically as she possibly could. “Have you written a treatise on your philosophy?”

“I prefer poetry. I find it the best means of expression of the inner self.” He smiled. “Perhaps I can share it with you, some time.”

“I would be delighted,” Camille lied.

“Yeah, that sounds amazing.” Annette chuckled.

“I shall call upon you then, at the appropriate hour.” He smiled, looking strained with the large circles under his eyes. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Camille.”

By unspoken agreement, they refrained from discussing anything the entire ride back to the Bureau of the Sea, waiting for privacy.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” Annette noted once they were safely back in her office. “You give Aurelian a good old thrashing and this whole business is done. Really, it’s almost like he’s helping you.”

“I don’t know that I can beat him even as it is. Soleil’s power is massive, and Aurelian has never been conservative with it.” Camille shook her head. “That, and I’m sure he has something else planned, or he wouldn’t have bothered. A way to guarantee victory, or to win even in defeat. I don’t… Annette, Malin doesn’t have that many lives to spare. I cannot lose, no matter what.”

“Well, Aurelian’s a very smart fellow, so your concern is eminently sensible.” She chuckled. “You didn’t even lose face today, despite his ambush of an audience. Really, you may be overthinking this. Grandfather has your back, I know, and even Duke Darkness back there seemed amenable enough to your side of thinking.”

“Tch.” Camille shook her head. “Corva is a wind spirit, isn’t she? Why was he all dressed in black like a sage of darkness?”

Annette smiled. “It’s kind of adorable.” She puffed up her chest and began strutting around the room, affecting a deeper voice. “I do not fear the darkness, for death comes to us all. My life is pain, despite ruling a nation in wealth and luxury with the power of a sage at my fingertips. Just read my poetry, and the dark meaning of the universe will come to you from the abyss!”

“Careful.” Camille covered her smile with her hand. “We need to stay on his good side while he’s here if we want Condillac to help with Malin.”

“I know.” Annette stuck out her tongue. “You especially. I think he liked you.”

“Ugh, I hope not.” It might help convince him in the short term, but it probably wouldn’t be worth the trouble when he found out she was not interested. Men had a tendency to get entitled about women they barely even knew, which would only complicate things further.

“Who’s the next High Priest when Aurelian dies, anyway?” Annette flopped back down at her desk. “His son’s too young, surely?”

“They’ll have a regency, like with Lucien. The real power behind the temple will shift to one of his toadies, and the grievances will continue… Hmm.” Camille bit her lip. “If our friends in the Sun Temple step in, they might be able to put an end to this. That’s provided I win, and survive whatever Aurelian has planned, but it’s still the only thing I can think of that doesn’t involve dismantling them entirely.”

“Ah yes, our friends in the Sun Temple. As famous as they are numerous. But then, Camille, you’re so good at making friends that it’s hardly surprising.”

“Stop.”

“I’m just saying: there’s not a lot of sages over there who are all that fond of Malin. Even fewer who don’t hate you personally.”

Camille bit her lip. “You have a point. But all we need is one to help smooth the transition and advocate against reprisals. What about Adrian Couteau?”

“Hates you, ever since that incident in the training yard, back in 104.” Annette put her feet up on her desk. “I mean, he ran home crying.”

“He hasn’t gotten over that by now? Ugh.” Camille shook her head. “Anyone with the name Lumière is out, obviously.”

“Jean Bourbeau?”

Camille shook her head. “Kin to the Lumières. Also, I think he’s still mad about that time I pushed him off a boat.” He had had it coming though, talking about Lucien the way he had. “What about Laura Bougitte? She’s a sage of Flammare, not Soleil, but it’s in the same hierarchy. I bet we could make it work.”

Annette raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you spread a rumor about her…? You know, the whole––”

“Yes, now I remember. No need to get into that.” She clenched her fists. “Damn it, why is this so hard? I am very friendly and personable.”

“Of course you are.” Annette did not bother to hide her laughter.

Soon enough, the conversation died out, bereft of any good options, and precious few bad ones. Annette returned to her work and Camille to her chambers in the castle, stopping only to send a messenger to Lucien in Villemalin.

She slept poorly that night, with fifty souls resting on her success. Why had Lumière forced this confrontation? Was he truly so full of spite and hate?

Killing him was not something she awaited eagerly, either. It would invite hate from the Sun Temple, potentially even violent retaliation against her, or even against the Malins beneath her. And it would mean ending a man’s life. Not a sacrifice that would be doomed in any case, but a fellow sage, no matter how detestable a man.

The necessity of it was obvious. In a duel to the death, there was no other option. But nonetheless, the thought kept her awake. Even more alarming was the thought of failure, that all of her dreams could end in an instant. Even Lucien had bested her in a fight, with no magic of his own.

Camille filled her tea with pixie powder the next morning, as Annette was wont to do. Instantly, the energy filled her, eyes perking up. But it was a false restfulness, one that would fade with time as the traces of magic harvested from the pixies made its way through her body.

Still, it was enough for her to arrive at Vetain Tower, at the north of the harbor, in time to meet Annette once more. She had asked Lucien to be on hand as well, in the hopes that a King’s presence might help in swaying opinions.

The two of them walked into the tower, climbing up until they reached the upper floor.

The most promising of an unpromising set, the meeting they had planned last night was more out of a desire to leave no stone unturned than any real belief in success. Still, if they succeeded, it could avert so much conflict in the way of everything more important.

Lucien had yet to arrive, but he would be better as a later addition anyway. A sort of backup.

Annette’s harbor guard opened the door he stood in front of, showing them the way in.

Inside was a girl of perhaps eighteen or nineteen, slender, with long dark hair and an appallingly bland brown leather tunic and trousers, ornamented only by a small collar flipped up at the top of her jerkin. This would be the retainer.

To her left was the sage, a boy of a similar age in similarly bland dress, distinguished only by his flaming green eyes and messy brown hair. Fernan Bougitte, Laura’s cousin, according to Annette. Not likely to be kindly disposed to Camille, but she at least had not angered him personally. It was worth a try, if nothing else.

“You must be wondering why I wanted to see you,” she began. “Please allow me to explain.”