Chapter 8
Carrot and Stick
"What happened?" Kirika asked.
"It was Breffort, all right," Mireille said with an annoyed tone as she sat at the pool table, letting out a sigh, her handbag falling to the floor. "Bastard's had us under surveillance practically since we got back from the Manor."
Kirika shrugged. "It was to be expected."
"He made the offer again," Mireille said. "He asked me to side with them, again."
"And you said no?"
"That's right. Although..." Mireille paused. "Breffort told me that some Soldats have an interest in killing us, and that he's managed to keep them at bay so far. Could be true; could be a bluff, to try to keep us from doing anything drastic."
"An incentive? We become safe if we join the Soldats?"
"He didn't say anything about you specifically, but I'm guessing that he wouldn't rule it out. If I come, he'll probably take you, too."
"And... that was it?"
"Uh-huh."
"And the other woman, from the cafe?"
"I didn't mention her," Mireille replied. "Could be another faction of Soldats. Maybe there's a civil war brewing; no need for us to get involved in that." She went silent for a second, and then her face lit up slightly, as if she just remembered something. "Oh, but this time, besides the not-so-subtle threat, he threw in some bait. Dangled a carrot in my face."
Kirika hesitated for a few seconds. She wasn't immediately familiar with that particular idiom, but she took Mireille's meaning well enough. "Which was?"
Mireille turned to look at Kirika. "He says... the Soldats know who your real family is."
Kirika's eyes widened. "My... family..."
"Yeah."
Kirika was speechless. She turned to the window, looking past the nearby church's spire.
She had often wondered what her real family was like, and she wanted to know the circumstances that had compelled them to give her up to Altena. Was she given up willingly, or did her parents put up a fight, like Mireille's?
Did she have brothers? Sisters? What was her real name, the name her parents had given her? She severely doubted it was Kirika Yuumura, the lie that she had been provisioned with when she woke up in that bedroom last year; she only used that name because it was all she had.
In a way, she envied Mireille. At least Mireille had had a real family, and had known them. All Kirika had were fragments, scraps of memories of training in the Manor and killing on behalf of the Soldats. The Soldats had been her life, yet Kirika found it very hard to believe that was all there was. She found it hard to believe that she had been born into servitude. There had to be something before that, and she wanted to know what it was.
Kirika turned back to face Mireille.
"Mireille," Kirika said with determination in her soft voice, "I have to know. I want to know about my family."
"You know, it could just be a lie, some bait to try and tempt us to join up with them. These people tried to kill us; they wouldn't be above lying to get what they wanted."
She knew Mireille was right, but she didn't want to give up so easily. "I don't care," she finally replied softly, glancing away for a second. With more conviction, she added, "They're the only ones who know."
"I'm sorry, Kirika, but I'm not joining the Soldats. Not even for this."
Kirika paused. She knew Mireille hated the Soldats, and that joining them would be simply unacceptable in her view. She already knew she couldn't win this one, but at the same time she had to say what she was thinking.
And yet, she couldn't form any other words. "But…"
Mireille gave a soft sigh, and remained silent; Kirika knew she was thinking. "All right. I know what you mean. But Breffort and these Soldats running around are all we have. We have no leads. We need to find another way."
Generally, Caroline Lambert preferred contacting him by phone or email, but a development of this gravity demanded she appear in person. There had been a sense of urgency ever since that slaughter at the Manor, with what seemed like more frequent phone calls and emails, and even a previous meeting in person.
And now, here she was again, in a large study in a villa on the outskirts of Paris.
This was far from the first time she had made this trip, and certainly not the first time she had seen him, but still... she was far from comfortable making the trip and seeing him this time.
He sat behind the large oak table, wearing a brown cloak with gold trim over what looked like a business suit. She couldn't be sure, since the gap in the cloak was small.
"Good evening," he said, with a smile. "How are you?" That smooth, deep voice. His demeanour was calming enough, almost paternal, but she was still far from at ease.
"I'm fine," she replied nervously.
"Thanks for coming. Please, sit down." He gestured to a chair at the opposite end of the desk. She nervously took the seat.
"So, did you get to contact her?"
"Yes, I did."
"And?" He raised an eyebrow.
"She refused."
"Really?" He hardly seemed surprised. If anything, he seemed a bit amused.
"Yes."
He sighed, as if tired. He gave her a faint smile. "I told you, didn't I? Noir is not the answer."
Caroline hesitated. He was right, of course – she had believed Altena, believed in her goals – but the events of the past few days had shaken her. She saw how sick and twisted society had become, and she had come to believe, as Altena herself did, that Noir was the answer, but the Black Ones had turned on them, killing not only Chloe, but nearly all the priestesses at the Manor. Of Altena herself, there was no sign. She could only assume that Altena herself was also dead, killed by Noir.
Distraught at the loss of her leader, she went to the only other one she knew would help, even though he had had philosophical disagreements with Altena. She had known of him for some time, now, and had gone straight to him after the slaughter at the Manor.
"I... well..."
She stopped.
"Tell me... Where does her loyalty lie?"
"I... I can't say. It would seem that the Council had a hand in it – why else would they let them go?"
"Why, indeed?" He turned away for a second, as if bored or distracted. He looked up to his right, at a painted canvas hanging on the wall.
Caroline knew the icon on the canvas well: the two robed women, kneeling, facing each other, bearing swords. Standing over them, a third woman, clad in brown robes.
"Not that it matters. We've already set everything in motion. We will proceed with our plan, then. The Grand Retour will take place, just not in the way Altena envisioned."
The plan. She knew that they needed to take action – it was the will of the Soldats, after all – and yet this plan disturbed her, and she had been far too afraid to speak out.
Still... she had to say something. "Well, yes... but..."
He raised an eyebrow, having turned back to face her again. "Yes?"
She hesitated. He demanded obedience: betrayal was punishable by death. But it wasn't right...
"What about Noir?" she finally asked.
He did not take long to respond. "Their loyalty is with the false Soldats. Kill them."
"They are the chosen ones," she insisted. She, too, revered Noir. As much as she hated the fact they had killed many of the priestesses, not to mention Chloe and possibly even Altena, she was still awed by them and their abilities. No matter what he said, they were still the chosen two, blessed by the high priest of the Soldats himself. Even he couldn't deny that.
Caroline hesitated again, glancing down at the large wooden desk while she considered what to say next.
"Perhaps they can be... persuaded to see our point of view. Many of the Soldats revere them; even the Council knows that. That's why they went along with Altena's plans as long as they did. You would... It would be best to have their respect with them on our side. The respect of the Soldats, I mean."
He paused for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. "I agreed with you before – they are, after all, the chosen two. Having them with us would have been advantageous, not to mention... fulfilling their destiny. But she refused. Why would another chance be... warranted?"
"But..."
He gave her another gentle smile. "You're tired, and worried. Don't worry. I'll leave this task to others."