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The Palais Mermonia was just as she’d remembered it. She didn’t know whether she was supposed to be disturbed or comforted. Ivory walls, blue carpeting, gold framed windows and vases of Romaritime Flowers. She trembled as they walked up the stairs, but Neuvillette’s hand held her steady. Members of the Marachaussee Phantom and Maison Gardiennage on their shifts stood upstairs to greet them by the door to Furina’s old office, as always. Clorinde was the only one to give her a salute.
They’re watching me. I know it. I know it. I know they’re waiting for me to trip or say something embarrassing. They’re watching me.
Furina had all but memorized all of their shifts and their names and their faces. After 500 years of remembering, her memories began to mesh together, tangling as natural as seaweed. One flaw of Focalors’s plan, in all of her genius, was expecting Furina’s unaltered, fully mortal long-term memory, made to last no more than a century, to stay unscathed after five times that.
Blasphemy! Sacrilege! Heresy!
She had been diligent at first— she memorized everyone’s names— humans, Melusines, hell, even the names of some people’s dogs and cats. Both Neuvillette and Clorinde shot her concerned glances; was her nervousness that apparent? She smiled awkwardly, and they relented.
They entered the room, the door closing behind them, and to Furina's relief, her attendee was not, in fact, there yet. She collapsed to the floor and sighed. Over the previous month, there had been a not-so-subtle uproar in Fontainian politics. People were angry with her, especially those from Poisson, and some were confused about the trial and why Neuvillette was the Regent of Fontaine.
She wouldn’t ever be taking up her post again, so quite technically, the role of the Regnant of All Waters was simply passed onto him. She couldn’t ever lay her secrets bare for fear of Celestia, for fear of someone looking down on her , but she would do her best to clarify things.
So I don’t look like a fool. So I don’t appear crass. So people don’t blame their families and friends drowning and dissolving on me.
According to Neuvillette, several people, actually, had requested this meeting. The woman she was about to meet with was simply the only one high enough among Fontaine’s bureaucrats to make her eligible. This usually happened: though her very first meetings, back when she was a naive adolescent, were with normal civilians, she soon realized she was far in over her head, so she had her letters reviewed by the Gestion from that point onward.
She always double checked them anyway.
Her attendee was named Jeanne Dupuis. Her first name literally meant “God is gracious” and her last name “from the well.” She was an executive of the Maison Ordalie— she was someone who decided which cases could be passed to court and which could not based on the Fontaine Constitution due to the statute of limitations and complications and all that, based on the reports of her juniors and those from the Gestion.
Furina had a purely professional relationship with the woman, though Jeanne didn’t seem interested in her all that much; never, not once, did Furina see her in the crowd of one of her operas, but she was nonetheless faithful; Jeanne was interested in those alive moments in court where Furina would play the prosecution, where she would bring about true justice. It was only then (or when Egeria was mentioned) where her eyes would light up. Similar to Neuvillette, she was a stoic character. On days where the three happened to be working together, she saw the way she turned down her coworkers’ requests to get coffee and pastries on the weekend, and she saw the way on some days her hair was combed just enough to be presentable, but the knots were never gone.
She respected Furina (previously), for “her” work on the Oratrice and the stories about her, but it was clear she preferred Egeria, the stuff of legends. Egeria, with hair as indigo as the depths of the sea with bioluminescent Hydro energy running through it, seven feet tall and who was described by classic poets as “with the ability to lift a claymore more easily than I could lift a feather.” To the recent Fontaine, “Focalors” was just like a toddler who had been haphazardly handed a Gnosis, craving stimuli. But she was also the wielder of a rapier. Furina was the counterpart of Focalors; the same Goddess who had changed the future decided by a being who had destroyed a whole nation simply because they didn’t like it. And she would let it show. Justice didn’t apologize.
She wasn’t Justice. Justice was Neuvillette. Justice was Focalors.
Make no mistake; Furina was no saint. But she was a prophet and a messenger and a servant. How could a sinner be sacred? The Fifth Commandment of The Seven Commandments was “I have never done anything unjust,” including “I have not uttered an untruth,” and “I have not blasphemed,” so she had committed a terrible sin, and yet, and yet! Saints were respected and idolized because they followed the command of their God. And she did, no matter how many times she wanted to give in. What irony.
She looked up at the clock. 3:55. She rose and sat on the couch, next to Neuvillette; he was likely allowing her time to relax before the meeting, despite the fact she’d been doing the very opposite for the past five minutes. How did time pass so quickly, she wondered, when it used to pass so excruciatingly slow?
The coffee table had an assortment of desserts laid upon it, strawberries glistening like jewels and the macaron frosting threatening the summer afternoon sun to melt it. She smelled the distinct scent of Earl Grey from the teapot. Not her favorite, due to the bitterness of it, but it balanced out the sugary desserts supposed to be had with it. Thankfully, three small packets of sugar and a creamer with milk inside were propped up next to it.
Furina stared at the cake in the middle of the table. Slowly, the door creaked open, revealing Jeanne. She was wearing a crisp black suit and pants and a red tie clearly made for a man, and dress shoes, and her ebony hair was done up in two mid-length pigtails, tied with red ribbon on one side and black on the other; the hairstyle didn’t quite look unbefitting yet, given that she still hadn’t passed the stage where she was addressed as “Mademoiselle” in private. Furina had always found her pretty, the way her ribbons, usually golden silk, danced around her head like gilded laurels.
Furina remembered reading through her application with Neuvillette when she was just a fresh graduate of law school, and she had never felt so inferior in her whole life. Normally, she lacked for bijouterie, save for her usual strawberry shaped studs, but underneath the sleeves of her suit jacket were the faint iridescence of pearl bracelets. Jeanne sat down on the opposite couch, fingers interlaced, unimpressed. Jeanne’s eyes flicked to her Vision first— she couldn’t tell if she was jealous or bemused.
“Good afternoon, Miss Furina, Monsieur Neuvillette.” She emphasized the “Miss” before Furina’s name, the loss of “Lady”— it felt condescending, despite the fact Jeanne was 475 years her junior.
Well, two could play at that game.
“Good afternoon, Jeanne.”
Neuvillette poured their tea. He stirred sugar in all of theirs, and made sure Furina had a generous amount. He poured milk in all cups aside from his own. Dragons, as with many other reptiles, were not meant to consume dairy. He pushed their respective cups towards them.
“As you know, the reason I requested this meeting was to ask you your reasoning for committing interspecies fraud. I don’t intend to disclose all of the fine details to the public, but I believe that an explanation would greatly help the people of Fontaine, especially Poisson, as they mourn their deceased loved ones. Also, to be blunt… you aren’t quite loved by a majority of Fontainians right now.” Not that I would like to change that, Furina imagined her hypothetical words had not this been a professional setting.
Bait.
“I’m aware,” Furina said dryly to her last statement. “Before I answer, though, what reasoning did you assume I had for committing this crime?” She put on a smile, all artificial sweetness, then took a sip of her tea. Do it like Focalors. Do it like The Knave.
Jeanne was trapped in a corner now, clearly annoyed, but also intimidated. “I had assumed you, well, did it out of greed. The Archon of Fontaine received many privileges, such as access to the Archon’s box and a free place of residence and food,” she replied, sipping her tea promptly.
“You’re saying,” Furina said dryly, “that I wanted to manage a considerably large portion of the nation’s internal affairs, diplomacy, and be hated by my fellow citizens after fulfilling a prophesied public humiliation?”
“The pros outweigh the cons.”
“It really wasn’t as simple as you think.”
Furina took a plate and served herself a slice of cake, then a fork. She took a few bites.
Bark.
“Then, what, pray, do you believe the true Hydro Archon was doing these five centuries? Who do you believe was the real Hydro Archon? Do you think some random human could just waltz on the stage of the opera house and be believed?”
“The most logical conclusion is that no successor was chosen after Lady Egeria’s death, and you played their part. Had the true Archon been in power, the Poisson Incident would have been prevented. Because of your negligence, we lost many people to the flood.”
Furina rolled her eyes. My negligence? Deep down, she knew it wasn’t her fault in the slightest, but she was still sorry. She wouldn’t show it, though. Justice didn’t apologize. She ignored Jeanne’s first statement, which came off as her indirectly insulting the Maison. “Not necessarily, no. The prophecy was a curse from the Heavenly Principles, who is stronger than any Archon. How are you sure that she would’ve been in Poisson? How are you sure she would’ve received the news in time? Archons are not omniscient, and this comes off more as religious delusion than a feasible theory. The prophecy was only stopped because I acted in the place of the Hydro Archon so Celestia would’ve thought they won and stopped paying attention.”
“Even so, you had no right. You usurped the legal authority and political power the real Archon was supposed to have, Sinner.”
Neuvillette scoffed, but he coughed and hid his mouth with his sleeve to hide it. He finished off his tea.
Bite.
Then, Furina barked a laugh. Her Vision pulsed, as if affirming her. “So you’re saying you’d rather have Fontaine dead?”
“That’s not what I was—”
She crossed her arms over her chest. This was what she was best at. “Then speak. If the only purpose of this meeting was to insult me and my people, then I suggest you see yourself out, Madame.”
“The Iudex, although he declared you guilty, did not punish you for your crimes.”
“Calling the Iudex biased, of all things? You are quite the brazen one, Child.”
It was Neuvillette’s turn to speak. He ate a macaron and then cleared his throat. It was both relieving and annoying, having him break the heavy passive-aggressive atmosphere the two women had already managed to so easily fill the room with.
“If I may interject,” Neuvillette started, though he wasn’t truly asking for permission, “the Oratrice declared the Hydro Archon guilty, and Egeria was, for her sins. Focalors served her sentence, and following the logic that the Hydro Archon was there, after all, she was equally as guilty for her inaction in the face of the prophecy. It is written in the Fontaine Constitution that a matter decided cannot be brought to the court again.” His last sentence was filled with impatience, the type he’d use when a defendant just wouldn’t give up, or when he was exasperated with her.
“Thank you for your input, both of you,” Jeanne said flatly, professionally, swallowing. “I believe it is now that I should take my leave.”
“Indeed,” said Furina, pleased with herself. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”
Jeanne pushed her now empty teacup away, opened the door, and left.
“It’s strange,” started Furina as soon as she was out of earshot. “I don’t remember her being quite so irritating the last time we spoke. What a shame.”
“Likely, it is just the result of the Usurper’s influence. You handled yourself immensely well during that meeting; better than I would’ve, had I been the one speaking.” His voice was tinged with a strange pride, as if she was his own creation instead of Focalors’s.
“Thank you, but I really don’t think so. You aren’t the aggressive type.”
“You really are Focalors’s human,” he said, reaching his hand to pet the top of Furina’s head as if she were a cat.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Neuvillette ran his hand through her hair, stopping abruptly where she had cut it off. He still wasn't used to it. He stood up, running his thumb over Furina’s Vision, still glowing. He straightened it to fit better in her frame brooch, and smiled. “It’s nothing.”