“I’ll speak to the heart of the matter,” Kylian said. “The Azure Knights will move to progress this inquest to the stage of inquisition.”

He didn’t slouch, and his shoulders were square, but the slightest downward tilt of his head showed his deference to his liege.

“An inquisition?! Have you lost your mind? That authority belongs to the acting lord!” Renea raised her voice again in a fluster.

“The Azure Knights have the sovereign right to inquisition so long as we have a quorum, Lady Renea.” Kylian pulled out a piece of parchment from his scroll case. “This is a precise transcription from the Azure Knights’ founding chivalric charter, authorized by Neifflor eum-Creid… this city’s founding ancestor.”

“But—that’s—there’s not enough knights here for a quorum!” she stammered.

“In times of crisis, the highest ranking knights of the order are sufficient to act as quorum. And as you know, Varant is considered to be in a perpetual state of crisis,” Kylian retrieved another parchment yet from his scroll case. “Before I take a vote of confidence, I shall present the three key pieces of evidence.”

He gestured at the parchment he just brought out: “This is an affidavit from Physician Cairn, regarding Ailn eum-Creid’s injuries on the knight of the attack. It is his scholarly opinion that lesions present on his head, neck, and shoulder, combined with trauma to his head, could only have been produced by holy aura.”

Kylian turned his head, glancing to the back corner of the room, where a restless squire was sitting. He was, in fact, the only squire in attendance, and at Kylian’s glance he nervously came up, placing two pieces of wood on the desk.

One was a freshly sawn block, unblemished. The other was half-destroyed, burn marks permeating it, the entire piece in a state of mild rot.

Kylian unhooked a knife from his belt and grasped the clean block. Summoning his holy aura, he slashed at it with as much might as the awkward action would let him muster.

A knight in the room gasped, and all stared in shock.

With the exception of the difference in rot, the two pieces of wood now looked nearly the same.

“The rotten wood serves as my second piece of evidence. It comes from the shed in the courtyard, which looks to have been destroyed in one powerful blow—with holy aura.”

“S-so what?! This is absurd!” Renea flinched. She had watched the demonstration in silence and shock like the rest, but the implication hit her swift and hard. “I was at the bestowal ceremony! It must have been one of the guards!”

“Every guard on duty that day has an alibi, by testimony given from their colleagues.” Kylian shook his head. “The last person seen with Ailn eum-Creid on the day of his death was wearing a maid uniform.”

It was an odd wording. Not simply ‘a maid.’ But someone who was ‘wearing a maid uniform.’

“Then why would you… how would …?” Renea stuttered in broken sentences, her voice gradually weakening until it was almost a whisper. “They didn’t have any holy aura. None.”

Her shrinking behavior was strange to the knights. Frankly, Kylian seemed to be suggesting a paradox. Puzzling, but hardly decisive. And yet their lady looked completely at a loss.

“This brings me to the third piece of decisive evidence, also within Cairn’s affidavit. It has gone unquestioned that the maid in question was Sophie, Lady Renea’s lady-in-waiting,” Kylian said.

Kylian looked at that very lady-in-waiting, trying to read her eyes. At first he thought them stoic as usual, but he noticed a tinge of anger in the tightness of her lips.

He continued: “If she lacked holy aura, hidden passage or not, then neither she nor Lady Renea could have any relation to the attack. However—”

“How dare you?” Sophie, who had been silent the entire inquest, had stepped forward to the front of the platform. She was hardly taller than Renea, but at this moment she seemed infinitely fiercer. “Stop speaking, Sir Kylian. Don’t say another word.”

She looked like she wanted to kill him. Somehow, there was something compelling in her stance and demeanor, an air of confidence that suggested that she could.

But rather than respond to her provocation, Kylian simply kept speaking. He didn’t feel threatened, because he wasn’t acting in impudence. Rather, this whole time he’d been forced by his sense of justice to do something he desperately didn’t want to.

“However, by the testimony of Physician Cairn… Sophie is the child of Celine eum-Creid.” Kylian braced for the uproar that would follow.

But it never came. Instead, a dreadful silence remained.

The knights were still. The natural fidgeting of the crowd had ceased entirely, and many of the knights held their breath.

The natural reaction was to object, even in blustering denial. The Saintess was truly beloved in Varant, and by the Order of the Azure Knights most of all. Nearly flawless in life, she had become immaculate in death—beatified the way only a memory can be.

And that was exactly why they couldn’t deny Sophie. In stark contrast to her typical quietness in the shadows, she was now staring fiercely down upon Kylian, her gaze imbued with noble dignity. They recognized that pride. Her irises were gray, and her attitude was immature and bellicose. But in that moment, Sophie resembled her mother.

Perhaps even more than Renea.

“Both could have performed the bestowal ceremony. Both could have met Ailn eum-Creid the night of the attack. And both could produce the holy aura that nearly killed him.” Kylian said dryly. “Only one of them, dressed as a maid, had the opportunity to do so—when no one else in the castle could have attacked him. Therefore…”

He looked up at the two girls on the dais. One looked stunned, and the other hateful. Something in his chest ached at the sight.

“Therefore the Azure Knights will now take a vote of confidence to formally progress to the inquisition of Lady Renea eum-Creid, and Sophie, her lady-in-waiting, to determine which of the two attacked and tried to kill Ailn eum-Creid. What say you, high marshal Sir Aldous?”

“Aye.”

“What say you, master-at-arms Sir Dartune?”

“...Aye,” a heavier set knight with a sloppy beard nodded in resignation.

“And what say you, sergeant-prior Sir Fontaine?”

After a moment’s silence, all eyes turned toward Sir Fontaine, the most elderly knight in the room. His hands trembled, and the look on his face was pained.

“I’m sorry, Lady Renea,” Fontaine said in a croaking voice. “Permit us foolish knights to pursue the truth. And if we are wrong, punish us in proportion to our impudence.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Sir Fontaine… please,” Renea pleaded. But he looked away.

“Aye.” He said it with anguish, but it was the deciding vote nonetheless, and Renea fell to her knees.

Thus, the inquisition was formalized, due to take part in an hour as it was a matter of existential importance. It had all happened so fast, no one saw it coming—including Ailn.

The throng of knights slowly rose, and began to prepare for the inquisition. The defendants were escorted away. Kylian was already out of sight.

Stepping off the dais mindlessly, Ailn watched the knights leave, still stunned.

“Shit.”

----------------------------------------

Ailn was more than a little dazed as he walked out of the Great Hall.

The inquest went horribly.

He’d assumed as the literal victim, he’d naturally have a chance to speak, but unfortunately that didn’t happen. Both sides were so intent on forcing the direction of the inquest, they’d left no room for his involvement.

Really, who was he to talk? He was just the victim. Kind of.

The inquest had been a matter of state. The inquisition, apparently, was considered a matter of justice and holiness.

Hence, its proper location was the abbey, where inquisitions had always been performed—though it was ages ago that the castle had last seen one. Given the extraordinary nature of putting the should-be future Saintess to trial, the godly setting was especially paramount.

Ailn had a gut feeling the set change to abbey would be less of a boon and more of an obstacle.

More importantly, he hadn’t expected Kylian’s sudden appointment as bailiff—he was essentially acting as the knights’ prosecutor. That wasn’t a wholly bad thing. This could be used to their advantage, so long as the two of them touched base before the start of proceedings.

He still could, probably. He wouldn’t have a chance to explain all of his reasoning, but Kylian was quick on the uptake. As long as he could—

“No one is to enter the abbey until the beginning of the inquisition,” a knight said gruffly. “Right now, only the bailiff and defendants are in there.”

“Are you serious?” Ailn asked. About three other knights blocked his way. “I’m the victim. The guy who got conked on the head.”

“Your Grace suffers from amnesia, does he not?” the knight asked. It was a seemingly reasonable question. “What influence do you hope to bear on the case?”

“I just want to talk to the bailiff.”

“...As you are both the sibling of the two defendants, and your friendship with the bailiff is well-known, it’s been determined that letting you in on internal proceedings is a conflict of interest.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Your Grace. I do not wish to be this blunt with you,” the knight smirked, “but as you’ve been recently injured, we have strong questions about your fitness of mind. I’m sorry.”

“So you’re saying,” Ailn sighed, “that the Order of the Azure Knights is treating me as a legal incompetent.”

“I have not heard the term. As a word of advice, your consistent usage of bizarre and seemingly meaningless phrases was a factor in our consideration.”

“...Okay, that one’s actually my fault.”

Ailn kept himself in check, but made sure to memorize the knight’s face.

----------------------------------------

Upstairs in the lord’s chamber, Ennieux hid under her covers shivering.

Inquests weren’t supposed to sound like that. This wasn’t the first time she’d slept through a meeting in the Great Hall; living right above it, she couldn’t escape it. So many early mornings, she’d found herself tortured by the rumbling of people that often accompanies tedious, bureaucratic work.

That was not what she’d just heard.

“Just w-what in the world is going on down there?” she murmured. “Surely not another attack…?”

Ennieux tried to will herself out of the covers, to at least check what was going on. It had quieted down now; she heard the sounds of boots thudding away. She was deathly curious—yet even more deathly afraid.

“Is t-this perchance what Ailn spoke of?” Ennieux’s quiet trembling intensified. “No…”

Her nephew’s words came back to her from the night prior.

‘I’m saying our family’s in danger, Ennieux.’

Actually, she had intended to attend the inquest. It was the kind of half-hearted intention that was more aspirational than it was sincere, but it was still more consideration than she’d hitherto given Ailn.

Unfortunately, she had too much difficulty getting up in the morning.

She’d already gotten up excruciatingly early the day prior, to greet Renea. Two days in a row was a bit much to ask for, wasn’t it? Especially for a proceeding that shouldn’t have been much more than a formality.

The inquest had started before she’d even been half-awake. And Ennieux, realizing that lateness would be more indecorous than absence, did the sensible thing and covered her ears with her pillow, annoyed that she couldn’t lazily enjoy the warmth of her bed on a cold morning.

Then there was a horrendous clamor downstairs. Though she couldn’t discern the words, the fact that the knights were yelling so fiercely at all was terrifying. And why ever would they unleash holy aura within the Great Hall? The great crack and boom of a knight’s aura had nearly thrown her from her bed.

“If it truly is something important, then I really must…” Ennieux murmured to bolster her courage. “I-I’ll venture forth in a few moments.”

The tension stayed with her for the better half of an hour, and left her drowsy when it finally subsided.

So, she fell asleep again.

----------------------------------------

The abbey was grand but dusty.

With its vaulted ceiling and interior of rich gray slate, it looked dignified even in its disuse. Both a site for inquisition, and a place of worship, it had been built with that dual purpose in mind.

The front of the abbey became the front of the court, and the lectern became a witness stand. The chancel—the elevated platform with the altar—was populated with desks and tables to make it the center of proceedings, while the pews were re-utilized as a court gallery.

Kylian was laying out evidence and parchment atop the bailiff’s table—including the writ of appointment that had made him bailiff temporarily.

He consciously ignored the two sisters sitting in the choir box, which had been repurposed as a space for the defendants.

Renea looked devastated. And Sophie was trying to console her, intermittently stealing glares at Kylian all the while.

He didn’t exactly blame her. But in actuality, as the subjects of an inquisition, they were receiving rather lenient treatment.

Traditionally, a kneeler was brought in front of the altar and called the sinner’s spot. Anyone under inquisition would be forced to their knees, with swords at their neck, for the entire duration of the procedures.

This custom was actually outlined in the dictums of the Order.

That said, Kylian had no desire to enforce it. He was not so naive to believe that justice could always be performed with clemency, but he felt strongly that physical coercion was a tool to be used judiciously.

If the subjects of inquisition were cooperative, he was perfectly content to let them sit. To say nothing of the fact that the subjects in question were Miss Sophie and Lady Renea.

Having prepared himself as best he could, and with time to spare, Kylian took a moment to simply sit and close his eyes.

To outside observers—especially the knights who knew his fastidious personality—he might’ve been presumed deep in thought. Meditating on the case, perhaps.

Surely he wouldn’t sleep at such a bizarre moment.

He wasn’t, of course. But he wasn’t contemplating anything of importance either. He closed his eyes, because he was resting. He’d learned a long time ago to rest when he could, when worry and paralytic thought spirals would do him no good.

It took practice to remain vigilant on the brink of somnolence. The growing din of the abbey kept him rightly tethered to consciousness, even as he relaxed his thoughts and let himself drift into memory.

He’d always been even-keeled. Moderate in all things, he lived a life that was sensible but never fully considered.

And one day, that sensible lifestyle led him to the gates of the west, marching through a city of people who had never known fear, slashing through knights who had scarcely faced battle.

When he was finally pushed to his moral limits, standing outside that palace where his fellow knights would slaughter the Blancs without trial, moderation finally sheathed his sword. But what good did it do? It was a meaningless form of dissent.

He turned back alone, and the hollowness of the action made him wonder what he believed at all.

He didn’t know what he wished to fight for, because he’d always been willing to lay down his life as a matter of course.

He didn’t know what he’d be willing to sacrifice, because he didn’t even know what he treasured in the first place.

So many years later, Kylian’s time as a peacekeeper had inculcated just one powerful conviction: if nothing else, pursue the truth. Justice may not be possible. It may not even exist. But truth would never be its enemy.

He opened his eyes.

The abbey was beginning to quiet as every spectator had finally seated. The desolate look on Lady Renea’s face gave him pause, but he had to keep moving forward.

“Let us begin the proceedings,” Kylian said, rising to his feet.