This is meant to be a prison?

The room took up more than half the floor of the tower, with enough furniture to put Jerome’s sitting room to shame. And two hearths!

Fernan had needed to focus his vision clearly to make sure he wasn’t misreading the flames. Big mistakes like that weren’t quite so common anymore, but misreading the room still seemed more likely than that. Even in a room of this size, that sort of decadence was absurd.

You could fit thirty people in here without it feeling crowded.

Instead, there were two.

“Fernan!” Annette Debray pulsed red. “You really came, didn’t you? I can’t believe it.”

“Here I am.” He dipped his head in respect. “I’m sorry for your loss, Lady Debray.”

She took a deep breath. “You are kind to say that. It’s been difficult.”

“He was a titan among men, always taking the wiser course over the rash,” the Fox-King added. “I’m sorry, and you are?”

“We’ve met, actually.” Fernan stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. I don’t exactly blend into the background with eyes like these. “On the beach, just before Lady Leclaire’s duel.”

“Oh… Please accept my apologies.” He took a deep breath. “That day… I hope you’ll understand if other concerns took the forefront.”

That’s right.

In so short a time, he would have lost his fiancée and his people’s home. The chaos and fighting of that day, the aftermath of that duel, had all been horrifying enough to even witness, let alone participate in.

“Of course, Your Grace. I am Fernan, alderman of Villechart.”

“Where?” The King’s head tilted to the side.

“A mining village in the mountains,” Debray supplied. She sounded a bit dismissive, but it was hard to be sure. Maybe Guy just put me on guard. “One of the coal towns that belong to my grandfath— To my family. His patron spirit hails from there as well.”

“I see.” The Fox-King tugged at his wrists, pulling on faintly lit drapes of cloth over his hands. Strange sleeves, perhaps, though it could have been something else. “I appreciate your coming here, Fernan.”

“How did you know to find us?” Lady Debray asked gently, a fatigue noticeable in her voice. “I passed your name to one of my guards, but Aurelian took her away from my post the next day. I thought he had her killed.”

She didn’t send for me herself? “It was Guy Valvert. I think he’s your cousin? He rode up to my village and told me you had been falsely accused of murder.”

“Him?” Her aura fashed so pale it was practically white. “Are you sure it wasn’t someone else pretending to be him?”

Am I? If the promises had been made by a charlatan, Fernan’s position here was even more tenuous than he’d thought. But there had been signs. “He rode a magnificent horse, and had the, um, ‘refined’ preferences that aristocrats seem to.”

She rubbed her chin. “Did he have all the charm of a dead rat lying on your forehead?”

“He was asking for help. It’s a time to be polite, if ever there is one.”

The lady laughed. “You can be honest with me, Fernan. The Guy Valvert I know is a first-class shitheel who’s been friends for years with Aurelian Lumière. There’s no love lost between us.”

Fernan cracked the slightest hint of a smile. “He called me a skulking mountain peasant.”

“That’s him, then.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“He seemed assured of your innocence, my lady. He offered me much in exchange for standing to defend you in your trial.”

“Khali’s curse. Maybe he hit his head or something.”

“Maybe he just really believes you.” The King shrugged his shoulders. “He can hate you and still realize you would never hurt Fouchand.”

“Maybe… I worry something more sinister is afoot. This whole trial is a farce.”

“How so? I’m not really familiar with how this works. I tried to ask Guy, but he told me it wouldn’t matter because I’d just be reading from a script.”

“There’s that famous warmth of his.” The lady took a sip from the cup in front of her, instantly lighting up. “Matters of justice have been enshrined by principles put into law by the first Fox-Queen: if guilt is in question, solicitors for the Empire do battle with solicitors for the defense before the ruler of the dominion, or their appointed magistrate, until the truth emerges. Then the sage with the vested authority passes the sentence.”

“Battle? Valvert said I’d be reading a statement!”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to fight anyone. The duel of the solicitors is just ceremonial these days. Usually there isn’t even a sage for the defense. Few sages are interested in pettier matters, and it keeps things moving smoothly. For something like this, my grandfather would make the determination. He never wanted someone else to do what he thought was his own duty. Or… I suppose I would be the one passing judgement, now. But Lumière is soliciting for the Empire and standing in for the magistrate. It’s making a mockery of administrative procedure!”’

She sounds angrier about that than the murder accusation.

“That’s so unfair.” How does Guy think I could possibly clear her?

The King nodded, clearing his throat with a brief cough. “But Lumière and his temple acolytes control the city. With Emile fled to Soleil-know-where, you’re the only sage in Guerron that wouldn’t roll over for him.”

“And a good thing, too. We’re lucky Guy even decided to get you instead of just closing the loop.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Get you out of the way,” the Fox-King clarifying without providing much reassurance. “You’re practically the last person we had even a chance of getting to defend Annette. Guy went and got you, but...”

Fernan’s eyes blazed brighter. “He might just as easily have tried to kill me instead.” I’m so glad I came all this way to help you, then. But she hadn’t told Valvert herself, hadn’t known she’d be endangering him like this... “Should I be worried?”

Annette snorted. “Guy’s had entire plays written about what an asshole he is, but he never seemed much one for murder. Not with his own hands, anyway. I would have thought he’d pay you off though, at the very least. Whatever he offered you to come, he could just as easily have offered you to stay. It’s bizarre.”

Fernan shook his head. “It’s irrelevant. I’m here to help, now.” Even aside from his people, allowing an innocent person to die when he was here to defend her would be utterly unthinkable. “And for what it’s worth, I think Valvert was being honest. He didn’t exactly leap to defend your character, just said that what you’re accused of is beyond you.”

“There’s a big difference between saying that and securing a sage to defend me.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Fernan turned to the King. “Are you being implicated as well?”

“No.” Lucien Renart slammed his fist against the table, wincing in pain the instant after. “That bastard Aurelian reinstituted the regency. He’s claiming I’m unfit to rule because of the fighting after the duel! It’s absurd.”

Annette clicked her tongue. “It’s devious. No need for a trial that way, nor even publicly defying you. Just keep you locked up and out of the way while he rules in your name. No such luck for me, though.”

“Camille would know how to get out of this.” He took a long, deep breath. “Maybe I’m not fit to rule, not without her. She was always the mastermind.” He rubbed the back of his hands, still draped in that strange draped cloth. “As it is, I can barely hold a sword. I challenged Aurelian to a duel and he simply laughed in my face. And locked up in this castle, I’ve no way to shame him for his cowardice.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“She isn’t back?” Fernan slumped slightly. “I’d thought… That’s terrible news.”

“No news,” Annette corrected. “It’s still too early for condolences.”

“Of course,” Fernan replied hurriedly, not wanting to upset them. “Would you mind a change of subject?”

≋

More questions than answers, for all of that.

Annette had come through on food, at least. Several vendors for the Festival of the Sun had brought their animals and supplies after being paid in advance by her Bureau of the Sea, and had sat idle ever since. A simple signature would see his people fed through the trial, at least.

Assuming it was actually a contact in his hands, and not a blank sheet of paper. It wasn’t as if he could tell the difference.

But Annette had seemed too grateful for that, honest in her dealings. Even the day he’d left Guerron with the sundial, she had insisted on him keeping the extra funds as proof of good faith. She wouldn’t cheat him now, not like that.

Still, there had to be a more permanent solution. Depending on Guy’s largesse would be nothing but foolish, and Annette could only do so much from within her palatial ‘cell’.

The King was no better, given a few more rooms to roam and allowed to visit Annette on occasion, but otherwise entirely hamstrung.

Not that he seemed to do much in the first place.

An unkind thought, maybe, but Fernan still remembered the fire and chaos of that day after the duel. Grief could excuse some of it, but Lucien Renart still bore no small share of responsibility for that horrific conflagration, trying to kill Magnifico then and there.

Nor were their recollections of the Duke’s passing illuminating.

Lucien had been on the other side of the city, penned up as his settlement burned around him, soon to be apprehended by Lord Lumière, and was being kept apart from the trial besides.

Annette only remembered entering the castle as normal, then making her way into Duke Fouchand’s chambers only to find them empty. She’d said that the door had locked behind her, leaving her trapped inside until guards had broken it down.

By that point Duke Fouchand’s body had already been discovered in the courtyard, directly beneath his balcony. Annette had barely had a moment to think before being apprehended and confined to that floor of the tower.

Apparently someone had seen her push him, but she had only heard that second hand.

It didn’t sound right.

That’s why I’ve got to see the room for myself, ground the months-old recollections in something physical.

Speaking with the various food vendors was the first priority, but none of them would be reachable until tomorrow morning. Fernan was here now, and he had to try to understand what had happened. There was no guarantee of finding anything useful, but failing to even look would be a dereliction of his defense.

Unfortunately, the Duke’s chambers seemed to be firmly inaccessible, bolted shut with no less than seven planks of wood nailed to the front, each varnished and smooth to the touch. Probably more around the back, too.

It wasn’t an insurmountable barrier, and it would probably be possible to get in from the back using one of the other balconies, but that wasn’t exactly the tone he was trying to set.

I’ve managed not to anger anyone yet. Breaking into a restricted area seemed like a poor way to maintain that streak.

He could come back tomorrow maybe, if there was time after dealing with the food, but that was hardly a sure thing. And the trial was only inching closer. Although, maybe I could—

“Fernan! I heard you were back in Guerron, but I didn’t realize you were still in the castle. Welcome back!”

He turned his head to find the familiar form of Magnifico, standing confidently despite the slight darkness to his aura. “It’s good to see you again.”

Magnifico wrapped his arm around Fernan’s shoulder. “Tell me everything! Is your village safe? Was the evil spirit defeated?”

“It’s… We resolved the situation. It’s done.”

“Well that’s great, then!” His glow grew warmer, the traces of black dissipating. “Are you back in town for Aurelian? I know he offered you a job before you left.”

“Umm…” This had to happen eventually. “Actually, I’m here for Annette. She has no one else to speak in her defense.” He watched the bard closely, trying to read an expression from the light of his face.

Magnifico removed his arm. “That’s unexpected. Do you really think she’s innocent? The maid saw her push the Duke off the balcony, and they found her there minutes later, barricaded inside.”

So someone did see it.

“She… I don’t believe she would do something like that to family, even if it looks like it. And there’s no one else behind her. It doesn’t seem fair that she lose by default.”

“Hmm.” The bard scratched his bare chin. “Spoken like a true attorney.”

“A what?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Solicitor, sorry. Language differences.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Anyway, I respect it. You’re a good kid, Fernan.” He leaned back casually against the wall of the corridor. “I take it that’s why you’re here? Looking into the scene of the crime?”

Fernan nodded. “I wasn’t going to break in or anything, I just thought I should take a look.”

“Smart.” He rapped his knuckles against the wooden boards. “How about I talk to Aurelian? I’m sure once he knows your rationale, he wouldn’t mind a quick peek inside. Meet you here tomorrow?”

“Really?”

A smile flashed across his face. “I want to know what happened too, honestly. Lady Debray didn’t seem the type for parricide to me, either. Something’s suspicious about all of this.”

You have no idea.

“Thank you! I’m… I’m glad you understand. I was worried this would be a problem between us.”

He shook his head. “Really, it isn’t. Let me talk to Aurelian first, though. I’d like to think he’ll see it your way, but it’s better if it comes from me.”

“Again, thank you.”

“Again, there’s no need to thank me. I want all doubts settled just as much as you do, and I’d be happy to do anything to help you while you look into it.”

Fernan inhaled, considering whether to ask. “Forgive me, but why do you care? What does it matter to you?”

“What, aside from the principles of liberty and justice for everyone?” Magnifico chuckled. “To be honest, in the interest of full disclosure, I wasn’t only here as a bard, nor simply a token of goodwill. My purpose here was more of a diplomatic nature. I was negotiating a deal with Fouchand to ensure peace between us.”

That explains so much. Fernan blinked as it all settled into place. The guards, the place of honor, secretive discussion with aristocrats, and remaining behind even after the festival was canceled. “Was he open to it?”

“He was.” Magnifico clenched his fists. “We were working out the details when he was found dead in the courtyard.”

“That’s awful.” From what Florette had told him, Fouchand was a coward, willing to sulk instead of mounting any effort to retake the homeland. But that was Florette, never much one for nuance. It meant something that Guerron had seen seventeen years without war.

What was one more capitulation to Avalon, in the name of peace? And now it would all be ruined.

The bard shook his head sadly. “Not everyone is so eager for peace. But you can see why I would want to know who truly killed him, if not the girl. They’re an existential threat to diplomacy between Avalon and Guerron. To Guerron’s well-being, most of all. The uplift of cultural exchange demands good faith.”

Uplift? “Have you talked to Annette? If the Duke was open to the deal, she might—”

“Fernan, I don’t wish to dampen your enthusiasm, but I already tried to speak to her, and she pushed me away.”

“Let me see what I can do. No harm in a conversation.”

“You might be surprised. Still, it’s appreciated.”

Fernan nodded. “I’ll see you back here tomorrow, then. Thank you.”

“See you then!”

Magnifico turned to walk back the way he came, while Fernan made his way back out to the front of the castle.

That had gone considerably better than he could have hoped for. Lord Lumière and Magnifico had their issues, the former especially, but it was always good to maintain goodwill, and now it seemed like he wouldn’t be poisoning any wells in speaking for Annette. Now it was just a matter of—

What’s that?

A billowing black cloak disappeared around the corner in front him before he could get a good look at it, so dark it contrasted with the air around it, yet somehow faint, blurry at the edges. Fernan ran to catch it, but by the time he had rounded the curve, whoever it was was gone.

They dropped something, though. On the floor was a small note, folded in half. The letter F was embossed on the top, thickly enough that he could feel the letter with his fingers.

His eyes condensed to burning points.

Is this for me? How am I supposed to read it?

Who could he trust to read it for him?

He flipped the note open, futilely feeling for another clue. The inside had the strangest texture, as if the whole thing had been coated in wax, but it was messy, ridges and lines criss crossing through it.

Lines…

He rubbed his thumb slowly over what was either the very top or the very bottom, trying to visualize the letters as he did, but his mind’s eye couldn’t place it.

Still…

He turned the paper around, feeling at the other side and reaching for meaning.

And he found it.

It took almost an hour to parse, with far, far too many words to look over and over as he walked back to the harbor, but by the time he made it the message was clear enough to understand.

To Fernan,

I hope you had a pleasant journey. I know you not, but I have done my best to work around your condition, in the hopes that this message reaches you. For similar reasons, I have elected to employ more brevity than is my wont.

If you truly wish to understand what happened the night the Duke died, take care to consider binders. Sages are not the only ones with the magic of the spirits at their fingertips.

Do not trust Magnifico. He tried to have his son killed, and would think nothing of doing the same to you if it suited him. There is no greater monster in all the world.

Burn this letter as soon as you can. It’s the only way to be sure it’s truly destroyed. Darkness leaves traces but the light blots out all else.

-Jethro