Arinel was told Dineira's trial would open Lady Jaise's court today. From her seat on the plaintiff's pew, her eyes swept over the court as she awaited the arrival of her nemesis.

To her left, at the back of the hall, Lady Jaise sat ramrod straight on her highbacked wooden chair, her lips a grim line under her half-mask of black glass. Her freefalling hair was shrouded under a black lace veil trailing from her toque. A shimmering robe of purple-black silk cascaded down her shoulders and flowed from her armrests to the floor. She was flanked by six jurors to each side, all masked and draped in black.

On another pew before the opposite wall, sat the alchemist Diamat Sameri and his wife, a plump woman whose fidgeting tendency further likened her to her daughter.

As his wife huddled against his arm and grasped his hand for reassurance, Diamat's shrouded eyes stared at Arinel across the room. Though she couldn't see his face, he seemed more fearful and confused rather than hostile. Arinel suspected Winterwen hadn't told them the reason they were here.

At long last, from the crowd of shadows flitting pass the entrance, one reached its way towards the depths of the hall. At the end of the shadow was Dineira Sameri.

Being an alchemist, Dineira was no doubt called to court on occasion to provide insight on cases. She breezed down the hall as if stepping into old footprints worn into the stone. Her brisk gait stalled when she spotted her parents on the bench normally occupied by relatives of the accused. Her gaze lingered on them as she mouthed wordlessly, then she lurched to a halt just short of the chair and table set at the center of the room.

Dineira gawked at the chair, then turned to Lady Jaise and offered her a shaky smile.

"My Lady, y-you've summoned me for my opinion on a case?"

"No, Dineira. Today, you are here to testify on your own behalf."

Winterwen's melodic voice was calm and pleasant. Yet, there was a weight to it Arinel hadn't felt before, an icy front masking a heavy heart. Dineira shuddered. Winterwen raised her decorated hand and indicated the empty chair.

"Have a seat. We'd be here for some time."

Dineira shot the chair a swift glance, then simpered weakly.

"Oh, I-I-I'd rather stand." She stammered. Her feeble attempt at a laugh trailed off to a pathetic end in her throat as she ebbed away from the chair. She clutched her cloak close to her sides, as if she feared she would be cursed if it touched the seat which had condemned countless men.

Winterwen's tight smile stretched tauter.

"If you insist." She accepted tonelessly, then turned to the clerk,

"Bring out the evidence."

Dineira jolted as if stung by a scorpion. The clerk made his way around the row of jurors. He laid the wooden tray he carried on the table before her. Dineira hobbled forth to read the heading of the papers in the tray, then staggered back, scrabbling at the chair to keep herself on her feet.

"This treatise was written by the late alchemist Lucis Tyberne and his maid, Erina Chatrise." Winterwen's resounding voice drowned out the echoes of Dineira's frantic panting. Arinel clenched her fists as the surreal spectacle unfolded, anticipating yet dreading the outcome. "It should have been destroyed in the fire that killed them seventeen years ago. Can you explain how it came to be in your lab?"

Dineira stared transfixed at the unearthed treatise, one hand gouging at the chest of her alchemist's robe.

"H—How?" She gasped, hyperventilating, glancing wildly around the hall, "Who? How in the—"

She broke off as she caught sight of movement in the audience—Arinel had stood up. As Dineira stared, confused, she slid off her mask.

Dineira shrieked. She scrambled back, tripped over her cloak and landed on her behind on the flagstones.

"Erina—" She breathed, then shook her head sharply as her senses returned, "—No. Oh no. Oh Freda."

Her hands flew to cover her face. Tears dripped from under her mask. Arinel dragged her leaden feet one in front of the other. She was numb, winded, as if walloped in the middle by a battering ram. Despite her blue Crosset eyes and snowy Icemeet skin, she still resembled Mother.

"You asked Sir Bayne if Arinel takes after her mother." She forced her strangled voice through teeth gritted against grief, "I hope you still remember her face. Because I've never seen it, thanks to you."

Dineira flinched, then fell on her face, cowering at Arinel's feet.

"I didn't mean it. I didn't. I really didn't." She sobbed. Arinel snatched her foot away on instinct when she reached out with trembling hands, "Mercy. Please. Have mercy..."

"Dineira. What have you done?" Diamat's voice, hoarse with disbelief, rang from across the room. He shook his head as Dineira trembled, "You took their work for yourself and murdered them?"

"No!" Dineira screamed, scattering tears as she threw her head from side to side, then pressed her forehead against the flagstones, "Not murder them. I never meant to. Please. Mercy!"

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After a piercing wail, Dineira flattened herself to the floor. Arinel's hands were trembling. She dug her fingernails into the fabric of her dress. She might gouge into Dineira's neck otherwise.

"Your testimony will decide your sentence." Lady Jaise's cool voice echoed across the hall. Arinel spun around. Dineira jolted. "Tell us what happened."

Arinel turned back to the whimpering, piteous black puddle before her. Dineira lay trembling as the room waited. At last, she heaved up her head, her nose an inch from the tiles, her voice nasal and whispery,

"Research on anesthesia and surgery are banned. We had to carry out experiments after sundown."

Apart from Dineira's dead voice, the silence in the court was absolute. Arinel calmed her breathing so as not to disturb it.

"We couldn't find test subjects. Erina was pregnant. Dad would never allow me to volunteer. So, that night, Tyberne administered the anesthesia to himself."

"I was in charge of holding the mask—the usual brainless work." Dineira spat, betraying her lingering bitterness, "While Erina recorded Tyberne's condition."

"Our apparatuses were made entirely of glass. Except for the hose connecting the mask to the glass globe holding the anesthesia. Those were parts I designed and molded from Jaise Gum specifically for this experiment."

Arinel raised an impatient eyebrow at that seemingly useless segue.

"Once Tyberne was asleep. I forced the mask on Erina. I was larger than her—she couldn't fight me off—"

A tortured scream from Gretella rent the air—a manifestation of the fire of hatred and grief roaring inside Arinel. Her fists were clenched so hard they had gone numb. Dineira took no heed. Her eyes wide and empty, she continued in that same lifeless manner,

"After she went under, I snatched her notes and the treatise. Cut a leak in the hose for good measure. Then hightailed it onto a wagon headed for home."

"There were no burning fires—Tyberne didn't even dare light the fireplace. All we had was an oil lamp. There wasn't that much sweet oil left in the globe. The room was well ventilated. They should have been awake in a quarter-hour and remember nothing."

Dineira shook her head slowly. Tears resumed trickling out the corners of her eyes.

"I've no idea how the fire had broken out. I've only heard the news from Dad once I reached home a fortnight later. I hid the treatise. I don't know what to do with it. I didn't dare publish it as my own. I didn't even dare read it. I've forgotten it. Almost..."

Gasping for breath, Dineira sank into a quivering heap once more. It was all Arinel could do to stay on her feet. Instead of a peaceful, blessedly ignorant slumber, her mother died fighting for both their lives, sinking into a sleep only Arinel would wake from.

The mere thought was excruciating. Had Mother known what Dineira had meant to do? Did she realize she was going to die? Was she scared? Was she prepared? Or was she just worried about the treatise? Which was worse?

Footsteps echoed in the silence. Arinel turned to find Jerald on his feet. He trusted Gretella, who looked faint, with Agnes, then stepped down the platform towards them.

"The lamp was likely the source of the fire." He said gravely. Dineira perked up in alarm. "The yeomen who rescued Erina recounted they found the lamp's metal frame surrounded by shards of glass, fallen under the table beside her hand."

"After you left, Erina must have slipped from the table and knocked it down with her. It ignited the vapors from the leaking hose."

Dineira trembled. She clutched at her shaking head, blubbering,

"I didn't mean to hurt her! Never hurt her!" She moaned, "All I wanted was some fairness. I just wanted to do more than hold stuff or stir stuff or clean stuff for him while she gets to follow him around and discuss theories with him and gets all the credit. But never kill her. No. No!"

She fell forward, pummeling her forehead onto the stone.

"Mercy. Mercy!"

Arinel shook her head, trying her utmost to confine the trembling to her fists, but it was in vain.

"There's no use asking mercy from me. The law will decide." She spat through gritted teeth.

"No, Lady Arinel. You will."

Lady Jaise interrupted. Arinel whirled around, eyes wide in utter confusion behind her mask. Winterwen dipped her head,

"In Jaise, for heinous crimes—murder and rape, for instance, we invoke the Right of the Bereft." She elaborated,

"The court would not weigh in on these cases. We would decide only the highest sentence possible, drawing from precedence. The remaining family members, or the family member designated by the victim in their will—the Bereft, would decide the final sentence."

It was as if a boulder had walloped her in the middle. So she was to decide the sentence? Up until the trial, Arinel was sure she would be gratified to see Dineira hang for her crimes. Even once she had heard her story, of how it was not meant to be, her resolve had wavered but yet did not crumble. But now that the decision to execute was to be made by herself, why did it repulse and scare her so much? As if it was murder, not justice. Perhaps now that it was her choice to make, rather than the court, its weight was much heavier to bear.

She was Lady Crosset. She was an alchemist. All she had known was protect and provide and innovate. To give life and support life. Taking lives was not in her nature.

"In this case, Lucis Tyberne has no wife nor children. His parents are also deceased. You and Madam Gretella are the Bereft for Erina Chatrise."

As Winterwen explained, the clerk flitted about collecting the jurors' written verdicts, then swept back to Winterwen's side and served them to her,

"The jury has decided, my Lady."

Winterwen accepted the pile of parchment. Her gaze lingered on Dineira, who jolted at the announcement, then left to peruse the verdicts. After a few minutes which seemed to drag on for eternity, she lowered the papers with a heavy sigh. Dineira perked up to watch, fearful yet still with one last flicker of hope peeking from the line of her pursed lips. Her mother buried her face into Diamat's arm, sobbing silently, steeling for the worst.

"For two counts of murder, unintended it may be, the abrupt loss of two lives whose dreams and potential would never be realized, whose absence would forever torture those who remain, the consequences are all too real."

Winterwen gave a foreboding speech. The Sameris trembled harder. Arinel held her breath as Jerald embraced her. For once, his fatherly warmth and strength couldn't penetrate the numb fear enveloping her.

"The highest sentence possible—" The Lady projected her voice to the far reaches of the hall, "—is death by hemlock."

"No—NO! Mercy! Mercy!"

Dineira screeched in despair then fell to a shivering heap before Arinel's rooted feet. A chorus of gasps rang from across the room. Arinel turned around to find Dineira's mother a limp, dead weight hanging from old Diamat's trembling arms. Muffled sobs blew into her ears from Gretella. She buried her face in Jerald's handkerchief as Agnes rested her head on her shoulder.

Jerald tightened his embrace. Arinel glanced up to catch his reaction. Instead of vengeful gratification as justice was finally served for his beloved Erina, the line of his pursed lips conveyed just as much conflict as Arinel herself.

"Lady Arinel," Winterwen called. Arinel turned numbly back to her.

"You don't have to make the decision now. Take all the time you need."

Without waiting for her nod, the Lady turned away and picked up her gavel,

"Court is adjourned."

The sharp rap of wood on wood reverberated in the silence, interspersed only by Dineira's sobs. The jury rose to send off Lady Jaise in a wave of clothes rustling and chairs scraping on stone, then filed out the side door after her. In no time, Arinel was left standing amid the cries of the condemned and the vindicated.