Hope

The dawn of the trial came and Irwyn found himself being escorted with great fanfare. Overnight the wall of token men in black stopped surrounding the property and were instead replaced by the five observers who had been hiding beneath Irwyn’s floor for the past several days. Now he stood face to face with them as they surrounded him and led him out of the guest mansion. In the back of his mind, Irwyn worried it might be some last-minute assassination attempt where he would be brought to some shaded side street and executed… but he had trust in Elizabeth that if such a thing was being planned he would have at least received an early warning.

And looking at the mages themselves, Irwyn was surer by the moment there would be no such initiative on their part. Looking at their expressions they were… far from enthusiastic. And it made perfect sense in Irwyn’s mind now that he thought about it: There was a Lich war brewing out there, the ideal period of time for any carrier-driven mage to make a name for themselves, especially those that had attained conception like them could attain great accolades with limited danger. Instead, they had been stuck with days upon days of basically boring guard duty which ran the risk of sabotaging their career instead of helping it - as politics could.

The place they dragged him through was… fascinating. When Irwyn had been confined to the 'guest' mansion he had been simply teleported there straight from the care of a physician who he had been brought to right after Abonisle. He had assumed that the building was in a small neighborhood with other similar estates he could see from the window beyond the expansive yards. A minute of walking down the street proved him wrong. There was no such thing as a 'neighborhood'. It had all been a facade of a ghost town, with only a singular road leading away from the empty mansions - perhaps each meant for people like him. And in the middle of that road stood a giant metal gate.

It slowly slid open as they approached and beyond it Irwyn saw a hallway so long he could not see the end in the distances and so tall it seemed to rival Abonisle’s inner city buildings in height when he looked up to - until the ceiling and the walls blurred together from sheer distance. And that made him take a second look around the gate itself. And from this close Irwyn realized that even the skyline and scenery were fake. All of it just a mirage. But how perfect it was. The ‘sun’ traveled across the sky with seemingly perfect precision and the light felt no different than actual daylight. The clouds moved in seemingly haphazard patterns but in it Irwyn thought he might be seeing…

They stepped through into the hall before he could take any more of it in. Irwyn nearly began to choke as the first breath beyond entered his lungs. He did not need to guess to realize that it was because of the Void magic saturating the air. It was intense, filling every nook and cranny of the hall as far as Irwyn could feel - which was far less than usual given that the very air suppressed him. He realized his skin was tingling, slowly corroding under the sheer quantity. It was suddenly harder to see as Irwyn felt chest pain and lightheaded. He had never been sick in his life but in this moment grasped somewhat what that felt like.

He nearly stumbled on the first few steps in. His escorts seemed silently annoyed at the suddenly slower pace but did not actually voice any complaint. Irwyn got his footing and breathed in a few more times before he dared walk faster again. He was… not fine in all honesty. He thought he would get used to the effect but it was not getting better. Everything was still dark, his chest still hurt while his lungs actually began to feel like they were burning with each breath. His skin got progressively more irritated too which did not help. His eyes watered and ears felt pressured.

Nonetheless, he was silently urged forward by his escort and so he moved. Sped up actually. He was not supposed to use any magic lest it was used as an excuse to stop an ‘attempted escape’ and so he would have to bear with it. Feeling like he was walking through tar, Irwyn focused and refocused on putting one leg in front of the other. Step. Step. Step. He realized he was sweating quite hard and that his legs were burning from more than just surface corrosion. And that was actually his biggest proof that something was really wrong with the hallway - even if his perception was dulled he should not have begun feeling physically tired so quickly. Yet he did. The air still burned as if saturated with acid. He barely noticed when they finally took a turn and left the seemingly endless hallway. Then suddenly he could breathe again. Irwyn felt like he was stepping from an overcrowded room into the cold night. A whiplash of perceptions that was not at all unpleasant. It was, however, confusing, which is why it took him several moments to orient himself.

The first thing he noticed was the throne. A majestic thing of impossible proportions reaching from its elevated platform all the way to the ceiling forming a tapestry of shapes that Irwyn could barely catch the slightest glimpse off as the umbral patterns seemed to swallow light around them, leaving the seat itself shaded inside the fully lit room. It was incredible… and Irwyn immediately realized he would not be able to appreciate even a fraction of it. He was a Light mage after all, at least in part, and Light was anathema to Void. He simply did not have the innate potential to even begin deciphering the seemingly infinite wonder contained within that throne - he could barely even notice them by the bare edges he felt and the instinctual repulsion it evoked.

Then he realized he was standing next to Elizabeth and Nilly. His escort squad had at some point left and were no longer anywhere in sight. What he did see was another gate open before he could so much as exchange a word. From there stepped out three people: A tall man in a cloak woven as if from night itself; a severe seeming mage whose eyes darted around looking for any threats; and a thin man with a clipboard whose wardrobe was identical to Nilly’s - though unlike her he felt like a weak mage.

“Your young Ladyship, a pleasure to meet you even under these circumstances,” the tall man in the cloak immediately approached and greeted Elizabeth, grimacing slightly as he glanced over Irwyn and Nilly. “And how… courageous of you to bring another woman who is not even a mage to assist you in today’s matter.”

“It would be a lie to say the pleasure is mine, Lord Astacio,” Elizabeth half-hissed with a pleasant smile. “But I hope you don’t expect me to be happy to see you given your blatant attempts to undermine me.”

“I have only the most reasonable expectations of you, Young Ladyship,” the man smiled. “Please try not to misunderstand matters of principle and reputation as personal attacks. I understand the need for pawns but you have chosen poorly. I hope you will abandon your sunk cost fallacy so that we may part amicably.”

“That will be up to my father to determine,” Elizabeth stared the taller man down.

“Yes, indeed,” he nodded, though his smile did not slip. “I am pleased with the Duke’s adherence to the rule of law rather than nepotism in this case.”

“If your Lordships, Ladyships, and retinues would please take your designated seats!” a voice sounded from the side of the room, interrupting the bickering. There in an alcove stood a man in a perfectly ironed suit. A conception mage, though an old one. A downright ancient with last traces of white hair so wizened he had to be on the last leg of his life. And yet he did not appear any less energetic for it.

“The Crier,” Elizabeth whispered as Nilly guided them to their table. It was a relatively simple desk with three seats on the left side of the room while their opposition sat at an identical one to the right of them. “A ceremonial announcer if you will. Follow what they say to avoid any faux pas. He is also the Truthseeker we have talked about.”

“Where are we?” Irwyn whispered as they took seats. He was in the middle as was apparently customary.

“The throne room,” Elizabeth stated the obvious. “Careful about looking at it too hard.”

“I can see the throne,” Irwyn said, both whispering. “But is this the actual seat of power? I thought this would be held in a court room of some kind.”

“The Duke adjudicates today,” Elizabeth shrugged. “Everything will by done at his convenience and under his aegis. Where else would he decide matters of state?”

Then the gate at the back of the throne room shot open and everyone was overtaken by a hush. Irwyn had not noticed the large doorway until that moment as most of it was hidden behind the throne itself but there was only one person it could have been meant for.

“All rise for his Dukeship!” the crier shouted and the room fell silent for everything but their voice and the dragging of chairs as no one dared remain sitting. “The medium to the Mother in Black, a Monarch of the outer depths, the ruler to all he beholds! His Lordship, Ezax von Blackbrurg!”

And Irwyn stood and waited with bated breath, stiffly trying to catch a glance - though the throne itself obscured sight of the entrance almost completely. So he stood there, expecting the Duke to walk through… except he never did.

There was an awkward lull as everyone stood upright to greet the Duke who did not enter. After half a dozen seconds instead a maid in an absurd dress gingerly walked by the wall and approach the crier. And it was definitely an eye-catching attire - A dress seemingly literally made from spatulas. Yes, spatulas, the kitchen implements. Layer upon layer of spatulas of various sizes, makes, and metals combined into the maid’s strange ankle-long dress, somehow managing to look graceful and good. At least as good as something so strange could.

The maid whispered to the crier who seemed either outraged or horrified by her words. They changed a few very low hushed whispers Irwyn couldn’t make out before the maid finally returned to where she had come from. Murmurs were already travelling across the room as Irwyn shot Elizabeth a glance. She was either maintaining a poker face or petrified. Nilly on the other hand seemed on the verge of laughter, at least from this up close.

“Ehm,” the crier loudly cleared his throat attracting everyone’s attention. “It would appear that an unavoidable emergency has stolen his Lordship’s time. Therefore, in his stead, everyone stand for the First Wife, her Ladyship Avys von Blackburg!”

Irwyn thought he heard an outraged yell be cut off in its first second from the other table on their right side. Then the Duchess wandered out from behind the throne and Irwyn stared at her. And for all that Elizabeth had said… the Duchess really did not seem impressive. First of all, he could not feel any concepts from her. Not even the slightest hint of one – marking her as a mage at best slightly better than Elizabeth or him. Of course, those might have just been hidden by enchantments but the more intently Irwyn stared the more… mortal she looked. Her steps were trained and elegant but only that. Her eyes did not dart around to access the room - nor did she twitch with perceptions or thoughts coursing at speeds far beyond the mundane. She genuinely looked like an entitled young beauty swaggering into a den of wolves, unaware of the Wrath and danger aimed her way.

Yes, young. And that was one immediately strange thing about her appearance. The Duchess appeared to be barely in her early twenties at most with all the youthful beauty and vitality that entailed. And yet she must have been… at least in her late 50s since she supposedly married something about 40 years prior, possibly more. Yet none of that was apparent or even hinted at in her visage. All that Irwyn saw was the apparent disinterest and boredom so blatantly plastered across her face they had to be an act with what he had been told of Elizabeth's mother.

“Your Ladyship Avys,” the Lord… Astacio von Fathomsight, Irwyn managed to remember if barely, mostly because the name had been in the dossier as Alira’s uncle from the father’s side. “Although your presence graces us all, we have been expecting the Duke.”

“Yes, I am no more pleased at needing to be here than you are,” Avys nodded, though she didn’t look at the noble she was speaking to, instead gesturing for the spatula-dressed maid to approach. “Unfortunately, neither of us have any say in the matter.”

“This dispute is to be adjudicated personally by the Duke,” Astacio spoke again while Avys vaguely gestured something at the maid who seemed to understand as she nodded and quickly left.

“And if they are unavailable due to an unforeseen emergency as the First Wife I am required by tradition to take his place,” Avys sighed, so weary it sounded almost exaggerated. “Of course, if you want to break this custom, I would be more than happy to postpone until Ezax is available.”

“That is,” the man muttered and Irwyn had to gape. Clearly, the Fathomsight noble did not want the Duchess to adjudicate and the offer to just postpone seemed like something they would take… but Irwyn was clearly missing something because the man grit his teeth and seemed to be struggling with coming to a decision for a moment. “If the Duke’s time is indeed occupied with an emergency more important than his duty of adjudication in Matters of Dispute then there is no reason to divert from tradition.”

“Less than an hour ago the nine Dukes of the Federation have convened,” Avys stared down at the man like he was an idiot for not knowing. Irwyn almost felt second-hand insult. “They have agreed upon a Declaration. The Duchy Federation is officially in a Lich war now. As his foremost duties demand, Ezax has gone to awaken the Vex-Irikka.”

There was a moment of surprised silence at that. Irwyn glanced at Elizabeth who seemed just as surprised as everyone else to hear those words, whatever they meant. He glanced at Nilly who seemed completely unperturbed, though his ‘lawyer’ seemed to misinterpret Irwyn’s curious glance.

“Vex-Irikka, the Beacon of Fear,” Nilly whispered a quick explanation. “First of the three Beacons. It’s a lighthouse equivalent in the Void that tells anything and anyone that we have an acute undead infestation. Stops demons from raiding and might even get some travelling by to help, though rarely,” Irwyn wasn’t sure how to react for a moment and then was interrupted from the thought by a raised voice.

“Yes, no one could possibly argue that the Vex duty is second to adjudication,” the Astacio admitted through gritted teeth. Irwyn was not sure why exactly they were acting the way they were but it did seem like a good sign. “In which case we shall proceed with the trial as was scheduled.”

“Go on then,” Avys shrugged and deflated. “Crier, take over.”

“Of course, Your Ladyship,” the man bowed politely before turning towards the hall. “As is tradition, the accusing party may state their claims and the compensation they seek first.”

“Thank you, Your Ladyship,” the opposing presumed lawyer stood up, bowing towards Avys as if it was her who had spoken. The Duchess seemed to barely be listening. “With their permission and blessing, I shall speak on behalf of his Lordship Astacio von Blackburg. His Lordship seeks reparations on behalf of his niece, Young Ladyship Alira von Blackburg, who has been gravely injured by a perpetrator under the protection of her Young Ladyship Elizabeth von Blackburg. As he and his other relatives see it, the only appropriate sentence would be death to the wrongdoer and punitive monetary compensation from the Young Ladyship for sheltering them.”

“The accused side may speak,” the Crier acknowledged as the lawyer sat down.

“Thank you, your Ladyship,” Nilly stood up. Irwyn had thought she would keep speaking a bit strange as she had the day prior… instead she perfectly replicated the mannerisms of the other lawyer. And since they also wore the exact same clothes the great similarity in body language was almost uncanny. “With her permissions and blessing, I shall speak on the behalf of her Young Ladyship Elizabeth von Blackburg. Her Young Ladyship sincerely believes that all claims of malice are baseless as Young Ladyship Alira has been under the direct and active protection of a Shadow of House Blackburg at the time of her injury, making the accused mage, Irwyn of no House, fundamentally incapable of injuring her. These accusations are an insult and a direct attack on the Young Ladyship’s station with the sole purpose of preventing her from officially adding a talented mage she has personally nurtured for months into her retinue.”

“Very well, I feel no deceit from either side. Both sides believe they are in the right and therefore require adjudication,” the Crier nodded, turning towards Avys. “If you would, your Ladyship, you may now summon anyone in the room to speak or request them to put forward their witnesses or evidence.”

“I may,” Avys repeated. “Do I have to? I have the ultimate right to decide anyway, do I not?”

“It would be… highly irregular,” the Crier frowned slightly. “I have no knowledge of any past cases in all of House Blackburg’s history where no evidence or witnesses were put forward before a verdict.”

“Ah, very well,” Avys sighed and deflated again. “Do you have a dice?”

“No, I do not, your Ladyship,” the Crier shook his head without skipping a beat.

“Then I will make one,” Avys nodded and outstretched the palm of her hand. On it, magic began to coalesce… rather slowly as Irwyn reckoned such things. In a bit over a second it formed into a simple six-sided die which Avys immediately proceeded to throw onto the ground in front of the throne. “Two, let’s see,” she announced the results then theatrically counted from their side. And it just so happened that Irwyn sat in the middle of their trio. “You child… step forward?” she glanced at the Crier.

“Yes, into the middle of the room, onto the mark on the floor,” the Crier nodded and Irwyn followed the instruction. He had not spotted the subtle pattern before as it was the same color as the rest of the floor but looking for it, it was obvious. The moment he stepped onto the marked section a podium rose, giving him a half step of height as well as a small circular railing between himself and the throne on which Avys said.

“And he is?” Avys glance at the Crier. He was about to answer when quickly approaching steps interrupted him. It was the maid returning with… a bowl of salad. Irwyn gaped at it as it was handed to Avys who immediately took a small gleeful bite. The maid stepped down from the throne’s elevation though remained standing close by the Duchess, quite close to Irwyn actually which by sheer proximity attracted his attention to her strange dress again.

He was still baffled at the strangeness of it. Why spatulas? It was an absurd choice of material for a dress and he was really not getting the symbolism. But it was so incredibly well done it still looked as good as it reasonably could. Despite using utensils of various make it was all symmetrical and well-arranged. Except maybe for the very prominent position in the middle of the maid’s chest where one spatula was particularly pronounced. For some reason though it had the letter ‘N’ carved into the handle breaking the syme…

Irwyn froze and stared at the spatula again, stirring memories from several months ago. And indeed, now that he thought of it, the design was so very familiar. N for Narcinia, or so Irwyn had assumed when the Tears had stolen one exactly like it from a restaurant that most likely hid something of the kind cook’s past. A small thing, just a heist they did as a favour to one of their own and he had long put it out of his mind, focused on the disasters that followed.

But somehow it was here. And it was no coincidence, it couldn’t be. Whoever had prepared the dress knew how to send Irwyn a message without speaking a single word or making a single gesture. Something so specific no one in the room would have the slightest chance of noticing. Then, of course, Irwyn remembered hearing that the Duchess was insistent on dressing the maids that waited for her by herself in exotic or strange cloth.

And like that the illusion of the bored temptress contently eating salad shattered in his mind. He had… doubts seeing the Duchess act as she had so far. First impressions were powerful despite all the warnings. He glimpsed a bit of why Elizabeth seemed always so terrified when she spoke of her mother. In that moment of realization, the Duchess also ‘just so happened’ to lift a piece of her meal and trace it with her eyes in such a way that their gazes just happened to meet for a split second. Irwyn did not react and give anything away but the message was certainly received.

“Ehm,” the Crier cleared his throat, gathering back the limelight. For all Irwyn’s thought had spiraled, his mind moved fast. Merely a few seconds have passed. “The young man would be the accused.”

In reaction to those words Avys froze. She put down the piece of salad she had been lifting and stared Irwyn down with sudden intensity. There was no magic in it but the difference in elevation as well as the imposing throne behind her had the effect of unnerving Irwyn. It did not help that the room had gone completely silent.

“How old are you, child,” she asked. Irwyn realized she had stopped blinking. Her former bored laxness was gone, replaced by utter rigidness.

“I am not completely certain of my age,” Irwyn remembered Nilly’s advice to absolutely not lie give the Truthseeker not far away from him.

“Then estimate,” Avys immediately demanded.

“I would always celebrate my Birthday on Lumen’s Solstice,” Irwyn said, sweating slightly. “If the way we tracked it was correct, I could be almost 17.”

“You came here to murder a child,” Avys turned towards where his accusers sat.

“A dangerous fugitive, Your Ladyship,” Astocio replied before their lawyer could.

“A child,” Avys repeated. “And made sure I would not hear about it so I would not try to dissuade Ezax from being fooled by you.”

“To beg your pardon Duchess, emotions should be dissociated from matters of state,” Astocio argued back.

“It is not emotion but principle,” Avys stared at Irwyn again. “I will not have any children harmed. Not under my watch. Not now. Not ever. You know this and that I will not allow it until I am reduced to shreds of lifeless meat. Don’t you?”

“Yes, Your Ladyship…” Astocio said slowly, unwillingly. “You have made your position clear many times in the past.”

“Good,” Avys nodded, staring back down at Irwyn. “The Long Solstice is in a few weeks time if I recall. Until then and for four years hence the child will not be harmed,” her eyes finally left him. “After that murder an adult at your leisure for all I care. That is everything I have to say,” and then she stood up and left, only stopping for a moment to hand the maid her salad to carry for her, leaving everyone gaping for a few seconds.

“Such is the wisdom of the First Wife,” the Crier was the first to recover. “And she has offered her sentence: The deference of judgement for a period of just under 1600 days and a temporary acquittal for this duration. Thereafter the matter shall either result in revocation of all protections or the opportunity for a retrial as tradition states. All rise for the First Wife, Avys von Blackburg. The trial has concluded.”