Renea couldn’t concentrate or rein in her emotions when the time came to arbitrate the inquest. All of her joy had turned back into sorrow so suddenly and forcefully. She kept losing track of the proceedings and lashing out at the knights, making slip-ups that created questions about her lucidity.

Since the attack, she'd still never gotten a chance to rest.

Her already eroding self-control was crumbling. Her anger, fear, and sorrow were all in stiff competition to dominate her thoughts. The only consistent feeling was her exhaustion.

When the knights turned on her, Renea was so tired she could barely comprehend, much less react. She was flabbergasted. It was like they’d been planning her demise the entire time she was away from the castle.

How could the knights think she killed her brother? Why would they ambush her like that?

She was still reeling from their betrayal when Sophie put on her performance. And even though Renea saw through it, it stung. Sophie’s spite felt so real in the heat of the moment.

A small part of Renea had always been afraid that Sophie didn’t actually see her as family—that she’d been forced by the complications of her birth to pretend to care about Renea, the same way she had to pretend to be a maid.

What if Renea was the only one who really saw them as sisters?

They were close enough with their feelings, and open enough with their thoughts that Renea should have known better. But her eroding state of mind couldn’t handle it. Sophie had carelessly stomped through all of her sore spots to embellish her act.

Then, when Sophie spit on her—it actually took Renea a few minutes to grasp just how mad she felt about this dumb, crass little flourish—she was convinced she was done with it all.

She didn’t care anymore. Let them hang her. Why not? No one wanted her here, anyway.

Why not roll the dice again? She’d died once, so what was there to be afraid of? She didn’t belong here, anyway. Maybe next time she really could lead a life without lies.

Maybe next time she wouldn’t have hideous eyes that made everyone want to kill her. Maybe she’d be born somewhere nice, without the evil monsters.

Maybe she deserved this, since she really had let her brother die. Maybe this was God’s way of punishing her.

She couldn’t understand why the fake in her brother’s body was working so hard to defend her, but it was a cold consolation when the entire castle seemed content to pick at her wounds and bleed her out.

She thought it would make her feel better to finally get a chance to act so snide. It didn’t, actually, but her whole body felt like it had been pricked with needles, and she desperately wanted it to stop stinging.

There was a pain in her chest that was squeezing so terribly, and screaming at the knights who’d plotted against her, and lashing out at her insensitive older sister almost made it go away. Some stupid part of her thought she could push the pain out of her chest so long as she let all her breath out.

Renea knew she was being pigheaded, but she couldn’t help herself.

It wasn’t until she was dragged in front of the altar, with swords shoved against her neck, that she started to remember what death actually felt like.

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

To Ailn, it felt like something had started swirling around in the abbey’s air. But he genuinely had no idea what.

Something just felt wrong.

“This inquisition will continue, but it shall continue by the same procedures as any other. There will be no preferential treatment given to Lady Renea,” Aldous said. “She is a defendant. She will be treated like one.”

Kylian warily eyed Aldous, but didn’t object. He evidently had no legitimate reason to oppose.

“Very well, then.” Kylian gave a nod toward Ailn. “The floor is yours, Your Grace.”

“... Right.” Ailn fiddled anxiously with the watch not on his wrist.

He thought of just going with the last resort, but the antipathy and resistance in the abbey had reached the point that they might not even believe the truth. Watching Sophie’s act made him realize something.

That specific truth would technically be impossible to prove.

Frankly, now wasn’t the best moment to rely on the knights’ faith and good will. He’d just have to wing it, even if all it did was stall for time and a better mood.

Wincing at the thought that his next move could turn out badly, he took a deep breath. He was certain, but nothing in life was certain. Nothing in death either.

“I wasn’t attacked during the ceremony,” Ailn said. “I was attacked before.”

Kylian looked at Ailn dubiously.

“Are you saying this from memory? Or…”

It was this morning that Ailn had realized one specific piece of testimony fatally contradicted his explanation of the crime—at least, the way that knight’s testimony had been interpreted.

The knight in question had worded his testimony ambiguously enough that Ailn was sure the contradiction in question was actually a lie of omission.

“I’m saying this because that’s the only way it could have happened,” Ailn searched the abbey’s seats trying to find a certain knight. “We’ve been operating under false testimony.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Sir Tristan. Tristan!” Ailn called his name out, realizing he was actually pretty pissed at him. “I hate to throw you under the horse, but can you please correct your testimony?”

A hiccup came from the pews.

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

Sir Tristan was a coward.

He’d heard so his entire life. Still, he’d joined the Azure Knights because he knew it secured the prosperity of his family. This, in a sense, was its own form of bravery—or so his kind mother would always tell him.

But when he thought of going up to the northern wall, and trying to fight those terrible shadow beasts, he fell into spiraling pessimism—his mood going ever more south the more he realized he could not control his mood.

He knew the two things that could inhibit holy aura the most were fear and doubt. What did that mean for him who, as a result, feared being afraid and doubted he’d ever get over it?

It could be said he was a bit of a follower.

That wasn’t an awful thing. Knights by their nature had to be followers. At the end of the day, they were all vassals who knelt before their liege.

Or that’s what he told himself. Just a few days into becoming a page, he recognized he lacked the brute individuality most of the other boys had come in with. The knights were wont to let their pages roam free, so they could toughen up their disposition.

Hierarchy was decided by fist fights, and Tristan simply didn’t enjoy using his fists.

The great irony was that he’d survived into squireship and knighthood despite always being at esteem’s bottom rung. The older one got in the Order, the more necessary it was to be disciplined.

Sir Tristan flourished by simple compliance. He was nothing if not a boring square.

On the night of the attack, he’d been positioned right outside the mess hall. As the knight nearest the courtyard, he was the one who’d heard those loud blasts.

He’d been frozen in place.

They were like explosions. Was an army crashing upon the castle? Were the guards enough to hold them off until the rest of the knights could cross the distance from the bestowal chamber?

He looked around, afraid that any moment one of his superiors—or even peers—would come gallivanting over from their positions and heed him go inspect.

But what good would that do? He realized the sounds were coming from the courtyard. Surely, then an enemy must have circumvented the gates altogether. They may be pouring in already from the ramparts, having scaled the wall unnoticed on ladders.

Why, he’d just be running to his death, pierced right through by an arrow before he could even call for help.

And who would protect all the poor servants in the mess hall?

So, he stayed in place. It would be ghastly if enemies were to swarm in right as he left his post, and went on to massacre all those good people who prepared all their awful food. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. Enough time passed that he was able to fool himself into thinking he’d heard nothing at all.

And then from the west of the bailey, a shadow beast came galloping toward him.

Then, the rest of the attack went just as he’d told His Grace and Sir Kylian. He retreated into the hall, and held the door fast. He waited for help to arrive, and for the beasts to be slaughtered, and upon checking the welfare of the servants in the kitchen, he heard a mournful wail from the walls of the kitchen.

It wasn’t until after he talked with them he realized he hadn’t made a certain point of clarification.

He had heard the blasts before the shadow beasts came. But really, the two things happened so close together, was it meaningful to consider them separate?

He worried that he’d be reprimanded for staying at his post, instead of trying to see what was going on.

Was it not true that everything had turned out fine because he’d stayed at the mess hall? He’d protected the good citizens from the shadow beasts, so was there really any need to go and seek his own censure?

So he fretted, and forgot, and before he knew it he’d been caught up in all the hysteria of the inquisition. The fact that he’d poisoned the well of facts had not occurred to him until well after the knights’ tempers had turned strange.

A life of fearfulness had made him keen to all things dangerous, and that included people’s moods.

Their shift in emotions had not just been swift. It had been unnatural in the way it seemed to reverse. It was as if all the affection and adoration they had for Lady Renea had been inverted into disgust of equivalent proportion.

This was not normal.

He’d often noticed, when Lady Renea was charming crowds, that the air tasted sweet. It was such an absurd thing, he’d thought it was his imagination.

But now the air in the abbey was suffocating him, and he was certain it was not just his own panic.

Cold sweat ran down his neck. He looked all around, and realized that none of the other knights could feel this negative energy so palpably as he.

No. There was something even stranger.

They were not even acting madly. The anger and scorn they expressed seemed normal, but it was almost as if he could see a red energy in the air agitating their souls. And that felt infinitely more dangerous.

A man who’s gone raving mad draws attention like fire needing extinguishment. But what about men impelled by forces so imperceptible that they fail to discern them, even with the full faculty of their reason?

“Sir Tristan. Tristan! I hate to throw you under the horse, but can you please correct your testimony?”

At the sound of his name he instinctively hiccupped. And though it was a flinching and painful hiccup, it seemed to free him of the shackles cast by the oppressive energies in the room.

This, of course, meant he simply had to contend with his usual cowardice.

All eyes turned toward Tristan, and the knight stood up, unable to stop himself from shaking as he walked to the center of the processional aisle. The darkness that had built in the abbey could no longer bind his feet, but the animosity was enough to make them tremble terribly.

“... Is His Grace speaking truthfully, Sir Tristan?” Kylian asked.

“A-about what, Sir Kylian?” His throat parched and his voice rasped.

“Did you provide false testimony in the course of our investigation?”

“Could—” The blood was rapidly leaving his face. “—could you be more specific?”

“Tristan, when did you hear the blasts?” Ailn asked.

“Around the t-time of the shadow beast attack.”

“When specifically Tristan?” There was an edge in Ailn’s voice. “Remember, a lie of omission is still a lie.”

“I don’t know exactly, Your Grace! It might have… I guess it was…”

“Sir Tristan,” Kylian’s voice was cold. “No matter how forgetful you are, this isn’t a difficult question. When you heard the blasts, were you or were you not being attacked by shadow beasts?!”

“I- I might have heard them before,” Tristan admitted. “No, I… I definitely heard them before. I’m sorry.”

“...Are you serious?” Kylian’s voice was quiet and cold.

“Y-yes. It was a gross failure of communication,” Tristan said. His head was still bowed shamefully.

“Why did you mislead us?”

“I never said I heard them during the attack!” Tristan flinched.

“Did you not think to investigate?”

“That area was not in my jurisdiction, sir! I t-thought that I should not leave my post undefended!” Tristan stammered and blabbered on. “I would be remiss t-to let them fight for themselves!”

“You stayed quiet this entire inquisition?!” Kylian yelled.

“T-that’s…” Tristan had no answer.

The cowardly knight hung his head in shame.