“You’re ready, I trust?” Guy Valvert stood with his head tilted to look down at everything before him, nervous vibrations bouncing through his aura nonetheless. “If you’ve failed to take my tutelage in the necessary procedures to heart, it won’t be only Annette that pays the price.”

Fernan exhaled, as quietly as he could manage. “Is threatening your own counsel part of the procedure as well? I ask only to ensure that I have all the knowledge I need for these proceedings.”

Maybe it was a risk, provoking him like this, but it was important to be sure that Valvert would honor the deal. Especially if things went poorly…

And the villagers were growing less dependent on those fruits of negotiation more each day. Ice was only a more and more valuable commodity as the heat worsened, and the funds from the initial sales had helped ensure that the community could breathe easy for a little while. Annette’s food still came, and they still took it, but now resources were being built up in the background.

Now, finally, people were preparing for the future instead of desperately trying to survive the present moment.

Mother was negotiating ever more contracts, establishing relationships for future trade… The ice from this winter was limited with the mountain snow mostly melted already, but next year would be a bounty beyond compare.

Better still, they finally seemed to be warming to the geckos. Especially for people from villages closer to the pass, where the danger from them was lower than from dried-up veins, flooding, or bandits.

Someone from Florette’s old village had even devised a design for an improved wagon to transport the large blocks, catching them from the hillside and better insulating them for the trip back.

All without me.

It was good, really, even as it sent a pang through him every time he saw them celebrating by the water’s edge. They should be self-sufficient. Fernan had been so busy with all of this that if he’d needed to maintain the same attentiveness to the smallest level of activity, as he’d had to on the journey here, he would have come apart at the seams.

He was at risk enough for that as it was.

Guy sputtered. “You’re not my counsel, Fernan of the mountains. You are the instrument through which I can best protect my cousin. You would do well to remember that, if you wish for things to go well for the peasants under your care. If you can’t save Annette, you’ve been worse than useless to me.”

“So yes, then. Got it.” Fernan placed a hand on Valvert’s shoulder. “Yes, I’ve memorized everything you gave me. I know how the trial is meant to go, in broad strokes anyway.” Embarrassingly, he’d had to ask Mother to read everything to him, since Guy hadn’t had any interest in doing the same. Honestly, Fernan wasn’t even sure the aristocrat knew he was blind. The closest he’d come was asking if a blind man had dressed him, several days back. “I’ve also thoroughly reviewed the script you gave me.”

“Good.” Valvert breathed a sigh of relief. “See that you do not deviate from it. A trial of a Duchess is a delicate thing, likely to be more political than factual in the end. Impressions matter. That’s why I sent you to my tailor.”

Right. Hours and hours of measurements and fussing, all for a set of robes that felt marginally more comfortable than pants and didn’t look any different. “You might want to remember that yourself, my lord.” Fernan’s grip tightened. “The impression of threatening to renege on our deal if your little script for me fails to win hearts and minds, for example, shows you to be a fair and honest man. One whom I’d be delighted to work with again.”

Guy flared red. “You dare? If Annette—”

“I’m doing everything I can for Annette.” Fernan removed his hand, turning to face the large double doors in front of him, slightly ajar. “Do the same yourself please, and leave me to do my job.”

“Fine.” The nobleman skulked off, muttering under his breath about ungrateful peasants as he slipped through the doors before them into the main audience hall of the late Duke Fouchand.

Mercifully, the better part of every wall was covered with windows, allowing vast streams of sunlight to illuminate the chamber and keep it warm. At the back stood a massive golden throne Guy had told him was painted blue and white in the colors of House Debray, Annette’s family.

In this heat, it looked monstrously uncomfortable to sit on, but Lord Lumière appeared unbothered. Although, as a sage of light, he could probably do something about it. The geckos had managed similar with the ice, after all, though it wasn’t certain Lumière would know the trick.

Fernan was certainly grateful for it, drawing the heat out of the air inside himself. Normally finding the right balance to avoid leaving himself completely blind might be difficult, but the hideous summer heat was so intense that Fernan probably couldn’t have managed it if he tried.

If anything, that was worse in the chamber itself. The massive glass windows were certainly impressive, even with Fernan’s limited range of vision, but simple openings would probably have been more practical in the heat. As it was, it let the light in without doing anything to let the hot air out. The gradually swelling crowds of sweating onlookers made it worse too, each breath adding to the stale sweltering feeling in the air.

The solstice is approaching. That longest day of the year when the sun’s strength was at its strongest was so often its hottest as well, followed only by the days surrounding it. And it had been Gézarde’s original deadline as well. Strange, to think of all that had happened since then, to imagine himself groping blindly on Jerome’s manipulative orders…

He’d mentioned it to Mara this morning by the harbor, before she went out to retrieve Jethro’s note from the place she’d buried it. Just in case.

“I’m so glad Gézarde picked me to scout the bridge that day!” she’d said, causing Fernan to put his hand on his face. “Not the burning you part, I mean, but… The humans were about to get to all of it. If we hadn’t acted, we would have starved.”

“I know.” He’d taken a deep breath, then. “I’m glad you were there too. You showed me what was possible between us. None of this could have happened without you.” He waved his hand around at the hive of activity flowing through the harbor. “However this trial today goes, I want you to know that.”

Mara had tilted her head. “All of this is because of you though! Especially with how Gézarde treated you, and what happened to your face… The fact that you could call your humans to stand down, to cast out that alderman who started all of this… We’d be dead without you!”

And my village would still be standing. Not to mention the fact that they would be thriving if humans had never ventured into their domain.

“Yeah…” He’d frowned at that, but Mara hadn’t noticed. “It was the right thing to do.”

All of this was a chance at something new, a better way. But still so terribly precarious…

“Are you coming?” Guy called over his shoulder as he approached his seat in the gallery, jolting Fernan out of his thoughts. “We don’t have long before noon.”

“In a second.” Fernan drew more of the heat into his eyes, flaring them slightly as he cooled down. “I want to look over the evidence one more time.”

“Ugh.” Guy shook his head sadly, not willing to argue the point.

That had been contentious, in the time building up to this, despite how simple it was.

“She’s innocent, and the facts will show that,” Fernan had said. “Truth weakens every argument against her. We want to introduce as much doubt as we can.”

“Idiot,” Guy had responded, or perhaps it had been something ruder. “They have a witness who saw her push Fouchand, and the guards found her in his chamber. The facts kill us. Your goal is to convince Aurelian, and that’s all about feelings. Drive at the sentiment, stir the conflict in his heart, and he might see the truth. Dumping a bag of your ‘evidence’ before him will only harden his resolve.”

Well, injustice hardens mine.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to work with. On Malin and Empire, by Jehanne Corelle, the book Fouchand had last been reading, had turned out to be much as Magnifico had said it would be, a multi-century history of the city from the time of the Three Cubs to the sealing of Khali. Commentary on buildings, population, laws, with running commentary on each.

Baffling, really, that it would have so caught his interest, but given the deal that Magnifico had put before the late Duke, it seemed relevant somehow, if only there were a way to find it.

Then there was the scrap of cloth snagged on the balcony, buried under ivy that had grown over it in the weeks since. It had potential in that Lumière’s investigation had missed it, but the black fabric didn’t match the clothing of anyone known to be in the castle that night.

The most promising object was the door locking mechanism, destroyed from the inside by what other temple sages said was probably magic, but nothing they’d seen before. If only ‘probably’ were good enough. As it was, Lumiére could tear it to shreds. The guards had forced the door after all, and the dark residue was invisible to anyone with normal eyesight.

Still, it was the best he had. Guy’s script certainly wasn’t going to turn things around. Although he knows this place better than you, navigating the whims of high lords and ladies as they maneuver for dominance. The chance Guy was right was worth trying his approach, but Fernan didn’t intend to rely on it.

Fernan steeled himself to enter the sweltering chamber, inhaling deeply of the slightly fresher hallway air.

Only someone was tapping on his shoulder.

He spun around to see a familiar shaded aura in thick, draped robes, probably his formal garments. “Jethro. I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.” What the mysterious man had said about Avalon’s prince being kidnapped by pirates had turned out to be true, which lent him a shred of credibility, but he was still highly suspicious. Especially since that raised questions about how he’d known so much earlier than everyone else. “Going to tell me to act again without actually helping?”

He sucked in air through his teeth. “Sorry. I didn’t really think about how it would look to you.”

Something seems off about him.

“Of course,” Fernan said, not even sarcastic. “Honestly, I’m used to it at this point.”

“Good.” Jethro breathed deep, closer to the panting of an animal than any human ought to have been capable of. “This should help, then.” He pulled out something from within his robes, some kind of wreath wrapped in black, sucking light out of the air even in the awful heat. Dark metal, styled in the fashion of branches, but shaped in just the manner to…

“That’s a crown.” Fernan blinked. “Why do you have a crown?”

“Seemed like it might be useful.” Jethro handed it to Fernan, sweeping his cloak to hide the motion. “And I had to do something here anyway, before the trial starts.”

‘Seems like it might be useful’? “What possible use would a crown have at a trial? What could it do?”

Jethro shrugged. “Not sure. I don’t really have time to get into it.”

“Wh—” That’s it! The words died on Fernan’s lips as he realized what had changed. “You’re talking differently from when we met before. Very differently,” Fernan noted. “Stressed?”

Jethro shook his head rapidly, as if vibrating the malaise from his body. “Quite to the contrary, my good fellow. It’s simply this dreadful climate. I feel as if my very bones are undergoing calefaction.” Back to verbosity, then. It painted a puzzling portrait, that perhaps he was only pretending. And if so, why?

The spy took another deep breath. “The disguise doesn’t help, either.”

“What disguise?”

“I—” Jethro’s mouth remained open. “Right, your condition. I suppose you can’t tell, but I’m wearing easily three times more layers than any gentleman ought to in such sweltering conditions. Magnifico is afoot, and if he sees me all is lost.”

Who are you?

“Well, thank you,” Fernan said instead, tucking the crown into his bag with the other evidence. “Good luck with whatever you’re here to do.”

“I’ll need it,” Jethro responded through what was probably a grimace, based on the movement of his jaw. “But I’m afraid there’s no way around this. Good luck to you as well.”

“I hope it helps.” And that what you want aligns with justice.

“Trust me.” Jethro winked, the light of one eye flickering. “You handle the trial, and I’ll handle the lords. That’s what’s always worked out.”

“Handle them? Just what are you planning anyway? Are people in danger, here?”

But, of course, Jethro had vanished in an instant. None of the other people passing through the hall even seemed to have noticed, which was almost stranger. A heavily-bundled man vanishing into thin air like that certainly ought to have garnered some kind of response.

That, though, was ultimately a mystery for another time. Right now he had an innocent person to defend from cruel injustice.

“Took your time,” Guy muttered as Fernan passed him, making his way to the table where he would stand for the defense. Unfortunately, while only a sage could act as an official solicitor, Guy was allowed to stand at his side and ‘aid’ him, which of course he had insisted upon.

Fernan emptied his bag on the table in front of him, so that everything could be in view: the cloth, the book, the lock, and now the crown. Guy’s script fluttered out too, although it was utterly useless, being completely unreadable.

Across the room, where the representative of the Empire would stand, a familiar glow caught his eye, bright aura standing out even against the warm air. Behind the podium that would shield them from human eyes, he could see the representative punching at the air, weight on the balls of her feet.

“Oh…” The disappoint was thick in Guy’s voice.

Laura.

“Hi Fernan!” She called out, breaking her boxer’s stance to give him a wave. “Told you we’d end up dueling, right? Course, I figured it’d be more of a spar and less of a… this.”

“It’s good to see you,” Fernan responded neutrally, not sure whether he was lying or not.

Why isn’t it empty? Lumière was supposed to stand for both, as ridiculously unfair as that was. No doubt this was some way to stack the circumstances even more firmly in his favor. This was the man who had planned every last detail of a chaotic duel to assure his victory, who now ruled Guerron in effect and would soon in law as well.

Nothing would be left up to chance.

“You too!” She flicked her finger towards him, letting out a tiny red puff of fire that dissipated into the air before it was even halfway across the room. “Is Mara coming? Aurelian didn’t want me bring my familiar in, but I thought maybe—”

She interrupted herself as Lord Lumière cleared his throat and the room fell silent.

Fernan gave Laura a quick shake of his head in answer before anyone spoke again.

“Welcome all,” Lumière called out to the room, sitting straight on his throne. “As House Debray cannot stand in judgement itself, I have no choice but to oversee this battle myself. As Lord Regent for the boy Fox-King Lucien Renart, I do open this forum to the grievances of his subjects. Who shall issue the challenge?”

“The Empire is the aggrieved party, my lord. And so the counsel for the Empire shall issue the challenge.” Laura’s face pulled back in a smile.

Lumière had chosen a crony to speak in his stead, representing his interests while maintaining the pretense of impartiality. The way she literally beamed at his approval only made it clearer.

“What is your grievance, my lady Bougitte?”

She flipped her hair back, gleaming red in the heat. “On the eighteenth day of the third month, Lady Annette Debray did murder most cruelly her grandfather, Duke Fouchand Debray. As a representative for the Empire, I demand redress for her crime.”

“Then issue your challenge.”

Laura bounced as she stepped out from behind the podium, pointing her finger across the room towards where Annette sat under careful guard. “For your crimes against Duke Fouchand, I challenge you to a duel for justice, with Lord Aurelian Lumière to bear witness.”

Annette looked better than she had any right to. Her head was drooping with fatigue, her eyes blinking rapidly, but still she held her head high as she responded. “I accept your challenge, Lady Bougitte.”

“As the challenged party, you may name the terms of the duel.” Lumière leaned back on his throne.

“Then I name the truth as my weapon, the law as my battlefield.” According to Guy, this had once been a radical trick, a clever way to twist the usual conventions for trial by battle into something fairer for some long-dead noble with no hope of winning the duel himself. But it had caught on so rapidly that within two generations, practically every trial was decided this way.

It still seemed more than a bit ridiculous though, honestly.

“Will you stand and fight?” Laura asked, still reciting the standard language.

“Not myself, for I am not a sage. I name Fernan Montaigne as my champion. He fights with my sword, his words carry my breath.”

“I accept your terms, Lady Annette.”

Lumière nodded. “Then let the battle begin.”