The abbey was tense, but Aldous was all smiles. Looking at him, you’d think he was enjoying himself.

“My curiosity’s piqued, Your Grace,” Aldous said. “Tell me about this story’s protagonist.”

“... Well, you’ve probably managed to guess they’re a knight,” Ailn said. “But I think we can be a little more specific.”

Ailn took a look at Sophie who’d been silent for quite some time, herself. It was always going to come to light. But he felt sorry nonetheless.

“Oh really, Your Grace? You’ll give us a name, after all?” Aldous asked.

“No, no, nothing like that. That would just take out all the mystique.” Ailn shook his head, like he was really giving a lecture on narrative. “Instead, we’re gonna call this knight… Sophie’s father.”

Ailn averted his eyes from Sophie who stiffened in response.

“This knight, well… where do I even start? First off, the guy probably didn’t like me. He’s not different from most of you guys,” Ailn gestured to the audience. “He lived his life protecting the duchy, doing his tours of the northern wall and fighting shadow beasts. He would’ve seen me as a coward.”

Ailn shrugged and shook his head again, continuing: “But that’s a pretty common story, isn’t it?”

He gestured lightly in Sophie’s direction.

“The thing is, this knight had a daughter—a daughter who, if only her father had been high nobility, would’ve had the surname eum-Creid.” Then he pointed to himself. “And what does he hear? Every month… that daughter is meeting up with his least favorite coward: me.”

“He sounds like a petty man,” Aldous said, sounding amused.

“Oh, he’s petty,” Ailn said. “But there’s more to it. You see, this knight, to have had that daughter at all meant… Well, there’s no polite way to say this: my mother had an affair with this knight. And frankly, she probably loved that knight more than she loved my dad.”

“Don’t you think it’s poor storytelling for the ‘narrator’ to imagine themselves privy to the thoughts of the dead?” Aldous asked, his voice considerate and constructive. “The convenience of it strains credulity.”

“It’s just a bit of reading between the lines, Aldous. I’m not sure a Saintess of Varant could ever love a man who never saw the battlefield. I mean, she even sent her son away for being a weakling,” Ailn pointed out. “And if Celine didn’t care for her husband, how do you think the knight felt about him?”

“...Enlighten me.”

“I’d say that knight must have hated her husband. Hated that his noble station entitled him to a woman who didn’t love him, and to the dukedom he didn’t protect.”

Aldous snorted.

“And so the knight takes it out on the man’s children, long after the man is dead?” Aldous asked. “Even though they’re the children of the woman he loved? Do you truly believe that, Your Grace?”

“Now, hold on,” Ailn said. “Time heals all wounds—as long as they've been properly cleaned. But the ones left filled with filth… they fester.”

Ailn tried to assess the emotions in the abbey, without giving away his own anxiety.

The feelings in the air were clearly complicated. It was better than he hoped. By now, most everyone was catching on, and the fact that they weren’t screaming in indignation yet meant they were at least thinking.

He’d been given an unexpected opportunity. Aldous had calmed down the raging knights in a bid to take quiet control of the inquisition, but it was that very quiet that gave Ailn a chance.

Unfortunately, those who were on his side were also down for the count.

Kylian and Sophie both were shocked, for two very different reasons. Kylian’s presence of mind might be back momentarily. But he doubted Sophie’s would.

From this point on, it would have to be a balancing act.

“A wound, Your Grace?” Aldous asked, unimpressed. “You’re saying the knight was merely still fixated upon his lover? I’d wager that an individual with such fragility would never survive in the north.”

“Not quite, Aldous,” Ailn said, shaking his head. “This wasn’t fragility. It was obsession, to the point of disease.”

Aldous said nothing in response, and his expression remained unchanged.

“In this knight’s head, death was never going to be enough. Not for the person he truly hated. The hate he had for me was the common kind. So, why’d he choose such an elaborate manner of murder? Just to form an alibi? When he could’ve just picked the right rainy night to kill me in my own cottage?”

Ailn gestured toward the pews, indicating every knight in attendance. He refused to flinch despite their hostility.

“He needed it to be humiliating. He wanted an audience. If it wasn’t a death ironic and karmic at the same time, it wouldn’t suffice. He wanted to make sure people would see my pitiful corpse, hear about my pathetic death, and chant it like a litany: he was never a real eum-Creid.”

“I hardly think the knight needed to put forth such grueling effort, just to elicit what the people already thought,” Aldous said. “Surely you weren’t oblivious, Your Grace.”

“You’re right. My reputation already existed. And he knew how much it bothered the girl he was really trying to hurt,” Ailn said. “The knight wasn’t just killing the brother she loved. The knight wanted her to bear the insults of her brother’s failures. In the midst of her grief, she’d get a taste of contempt.”

Ailn’s voice turned particularly bitter.

“In the knight’s warped outlook, someone like her, so adored and cherished, had never been forced to eat dirt. Sorrow wasn’t enough for him. Because sorrow alone won’t always become misery.”

Renea, who’d been seemingly lost in her miserable world, looked up at Ailn, the irises of her eyes damp and flickering.

“... Do you mean to say, Your Grace,” Aldous chuckled, “the knight worked so tirelessly simply to hurt this girl’s feelings?”

“Yeah. When you put it like that, it sounds insane. Doesn’t it?”

“To the point of outlandishness.”

“There’s a word for this kind of resolve, Aldous.” Ailn’s voice was cold. “What this knight did was evil.”

The knights who’d been so openly hostile just moments before seemed to falter. Then, Ailn turned to Kylian.

“But the knight had never expected the existence of a secret passage,” Ailn said. “And it was when Kylian and I discovered it, that he realized he could get a fuller revenge than he’d ever imagined.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Kylian, still shaking, was now staring at Aldous.

“He realized he could use the trust of the knights, and the nuances of the Order’s procedures to have this girl tried and even executed. He could stain her name with the ultimate indignity, and protect himself at the same time,” Ailn said.

Then Ailn turned back to Aldous.

“The girl’s name was Renea eum-Creid. And he could never forgive her for failing to save the life of her mother, the late Saintess Celine. Our mother.” Ailn glared openly at Aldous.

“And the knight’s name… was Sir Aldous Ferme,” Ailn said. “Convinced that Renea let Celine die on purpose seven years ago, he turned his back on all of his principles, all for the puerile satisfaction of crushing her soul.”

Ailn gave his speech with the kind of confidence that made it ring true as it was spoken. Despite themselves, the knights mumbled amongst each other.

‘Is Aldous truly…?’

‘There was a bond only he and Celine shared…’

‘If it were Sophie…’

They seemed to be truly considering it.

The circumstances surrounding Saintess Celine’s death had always been painful and enigmatic for the knights. And those who had particularly strong bonds of friendship with Aldous knew just how deeply he was anguished by it.

Ailn had grabbed the momentum as best he could, given the circumstances. But his opponent’s demeanor was steadfast.

Through Ailn’s entire speech, Aldous’s gaze never faltered. His countenance unyielding and his presence ever reliable, Aldous looked tired of, rather than pressured by, Ailn’s unsubtle accusations.

It really did seem as if he’d just heard a story poorly told.

“Was that all you have to say, Your Grace?” Aldous said, “Given your earlier conviction, I find myself underwhelmed. I’m Sophie’s father? Have you seen me ever talk to that child?”

Sophie glared hatefully at the knight. It was a proud look, seemingly unscathed by his calloused words. But Ailn caught the hurt and rejection that had flashed across her face.

“...Unfortunately, Sophie isn’t much of a character in the story,” Ailn said with a grimace. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think she ever truly mattered to the knight.”

If Ailn could have avoided revealing Sophie’s tie to Aldous, he would have. But her existence was the most reliable proof he had of Aldous’s affair with Celine.

“Otherwise…” Ailn took a deep breath. “He wouldn’t have sent shadow beasts the maid’s way, when her only sure protection would’ve been what he thought was a corpse.”

At those words, Sophie’s mask slipped. Her proud posture faltered, her piercing eyes turned soft, as her hands began to tremble.

“There was only one woman in Aldous’s world,” Ailn said. “When Aldous saw Renea, he saw the girl who would carry on the legacy of Celine.” He kept his cadence. “And when Renea failed to save our mother—”

“Chose not to,” Aldous interjected gruffly.

“...When Renea failed to save our mother, he saw a fake. An insult to the woman he loved more than himself,” Ailn said.

“And what proof have you of this myopic love?” Aldous asked, very reasonably.

“I’d say an affair is proof enough. Wouldn’t you, Aldous?” Ailn asked sharply.

“...Tell me, Your Grace,” Aldous narrowed his eyes. “You seem insistent that maid is my child. If not affection, what else would tie me?”

“I have Ennieux’s sworn testimony,” Ailn said flatly. “Our aunt. Celine’s sister.”

“Lady Ennieux, who could not even be bothered to wake up for this inquisition?” Aldous asked, chuckling. “Who has done nothing for this duchy but gossip like a hen?”

Ailn’s hand clenched as the knights’ whispers turned judgmental.

‘Of what worth is the testimony of Lady Ennieux, truly?’

‘Is it not merely an attempt to discredit her sister, who unlike her fought bravely?’

Kylian had been unexpectedly thrust into the forefront, yet he appeared unfazed by it. The movement of his eyes, the flickers of realization across them suggested deep thought—a re-evaluation of the case from the angle that Aldous was the culprit.

A look of realization flickered in Kylian’s eyes.

“Sir Envont’s seal… The knights’ reports… You’re the one who forged them,” Kylian stared at Aldous with stricken disbelief.

“And what reason have you to believe that they were forged, Sir Kylian?” Aldous was unfazed. “Sir Envont was a drunkard who left the kennel unkempt, and found it beneath his station to feed dogs. It’s out of character for you to have your wits thrown about by proofless conjecture.”

“The guards’ movements! You moved Sir Reynard from his post so no one would be in view of the courtyard!” Kylian yelled.

“Of course. And I must have conjured the frost on the gates that necessitated his assistance.” Aldous arched an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re saying, Kylian?”

“You’ve been manipulating these procedures from the start. I’ve been dancing in your palm…” Kylian said, a second wave of shock seeming to hit him. “You poisoned the well so I’d clear Sophie’s name, and foolishly pursue Lady Renea.”

“I did no such thing,” Aldous said. His voice was harsh now. “Your actions as bailiff are yours. I’m disappointed to see you act so wretched. Have you no shame? Laying fault at my doorstep, just as you crumble from the stress of your duties?”

Kylian gritted his teeth, but made no response.

“The old knight’s craftier than I ever expected…” Ailn muttered.

He’d put all his eggs in one basket, hoping Aldous would crack under pressure. For a moment, it really did seem like the knights would believe him.

But Aldous’s confidence and indifference quickly assured them—in particular, the high marshall’s conduct toward his supposed daughter: he truly didn’t seem to care about Sophie. Even now, the apologetic look he gave her seemed to suggest he was sorry she was being so shamelessly deceived.

The fact that Aldous and Celine were known to cherish each other was what lent salience to Ailn’s ‘story.’ Yet here he was, treating their alleged child like an acquaintance he’d inadvertently inconvenienced.

“Your Grace, I’ve listened patiently to your tale,” Aldous said. “It’s only right you take a moment to indulge mine. Unless you or the bailiff can justify why I cannot speak?”

“I’d be hard pressed to interrupt,” Ailn said with a bitter smile, as he took in the mood of the abbey around him. There hadn’t been any goodwill there from the start. And unfortunately, just now he’d spent all of their patience.

If Kylian denied Aldous a chance to speak now, when he’d given Ailn so many, then the proceedings really would turn crooked. The knights might simply end everything in violent action at that point, and it wouldn’t be unreasonable for them to do so.

“Say your peace, Aldous,” Kylian said. His eyes were sharp and alive, even though he’d seemed so defeated earlier.

“It’s a fairy tale, Sir Kylian. About a monster that found a most serendipitous place to hide,” Aldous said. “Ah.”

Aldous looked at Ailn, with an expression that suggested he was digging through his memory. Then, he gave a snap of his fingers as it came to him.

“‘Once upon a time,’ was it, Your Grace?” Aldous asked.

“...That’s right. You’ve got a better memory than you pretend to, Aldous,” Ailn said. “Really makes me question all those times you acted like a witless old dog.”

“You never found the time to tell me that story about the scoundrel of a wolf, Your Grace,” Aldous said.

“I think I just told it,” Ailn said blithely, and Aldous just chuckled again.

“Whatever the case, I found it a striking device,” Aldous said. “Correct me if I use it wrong, Your Grace.”

Aldous’s derisive attitude ceased with unsettling swiftness. Dropping all pretenses, he let his contempt display free and unbridled.

“Once upon a time,” Aldous said, “...a monster was born in Varant.”

Ailn felt a knot in his stomach, and glanced at Renea out of the corner of his eye.

It was hard to read someone once they reached a certain level of despondency. It was even easier to miss further decline of their mental state. So, he kept an eye on it.

“This monster sought the greatest throne from which to enact its wicked devices,” Aldous said. “And in its cunning, it found refuge in silver hair, blue eyes, and a lineage most holy and noble.”

There was a flicker of emotion on Renea’s face.

For a while, she’d ceased overt expression. But now Ailn could see her cheeks had the subtle wrinkles of jaw clenching. The corners of her mouth were twitching downward when she couldn’t repress it. Her already shallow breath was slowly speeding up.

And despite the glassy and distant look in her eye, she’d gone from fixating on the floor to fixating on Aldous.

“You see, that monster… found the body of an infant that had lost its life in the process of childbirth,” Aldous said, his eyes closing with memory. “She was a stillborn I held with my own hands. I had finally taken the infant’s body from Celine, who was beside herself with grief, and I’d taken upon myself the grim and unhappy task of burying it.”

His eyes opened with a shudder.

“That bundle of arms I held had been cold with death for near an hour. Unbreathing. And its limbs had already stiffened. Then… all at once and without warning, that lifeless body began to wail.”

Aldous turned to Kylian, who stayed silent as his expression darkened.

“The infant opened its eyes, and looked into mine. Our Lady Renea eum-Creid was seemingly alive once more, staring at me with flashing red eyes.”