"All rise," came the snide, amplified voice of [Wizard] Pleasant.

  Dalliance wondered what the purpose was of performing such obvious snobbery. The man was perfectly capable of being charming when he wanted to be; Dalliance had seen it himself. To choose not to be meant he wanted something that charm wouldn't get him. The riddle solved itself. He wanted them intimidated, and upset. How obvious the man was: which, in itself, was upsetting through the implied disrespect.

  Mister Best was wearing his third-best suit. Dalliance knew this because his teacher had made a point of wearing different levels of formal suits throughout the first months of the year before settling upon his favorite. One, he'd explained, was his second-best: comfortable enough to be worn often, yet not so fine as to be reserved for duty like one's primary suit, but could do the first suit’s duty while it was being seen to by the laundress.

  The third-best suit meant this was serious, but not, in Mister Best's estimation, a catastrophe. A third-best suit was for an occasion where you must dress with respect, but for when you wished to save your finest attire for events that mattered more, held with those whose opinions actually mattered.

  For all that, the fabric was of a superlative quality by Dalliance's standards, this was a snub. From both sides.

  Dalliance had one acceptable outfit, so first-best and third-best was academic in his case.

  Dalliance stood, one of the two dozen crammed into the tent that had been set up to host the proceedings. It didn’t *feel* dignified, like an inquest ought to, to him. Just a bunch of serious-looking men, plus the red-robed ones whose faces were hidden, a chalked-off square in the middle of the canvas floor, and the looming form of Father Idles.

  Pleasant stalked across the floor to the podium which, Dalliance noted, sat slightly crookedly atop a slanted bit of floor. “On this day, the One-Hundred Eightieth of Anno Muri 433, we meet in Inquest over the matter of Judiciary Best and his pupils of Talbotton Class of the same year. You may be seated.”

  Dalliance fell back to his spot on the bench immediately next to Mister Best. He sat with a rigid, uncomfortably upright posture and tried not to fidget.

  It was strange, the waiting.

  He would have thought he'd be used to it by now, but there was something different about waiting for the Law. It was vast and abstract, bigger than you. It was like hiding when Da was stomping around the house, looking for someone to give work to.

  Father Idles settled in, followed closely by Earnest, who flicked Dalliance a dark and greasy thumbs-up before his hand vanished back into the folds of his robes.

  Ecclesiastical robes looked strange on Earnest. But hopefully, the shoe black would work.

  If It wasn’t going to work, he thought, better to find out before things got serious.

  Dalliance engaged his [Prediction], and stared hard at Father Idles.

  The pendant didn’t shine.

  Nobody else in the tent had one, either, and none of the futures he scanned showed an uproar.

  He was safe.

  Now to figure out what the Auditor was up to.

  Parsimony Pleasant, not appearing to understand his role in Dalliance’s scheme, was going to go talk to the red robed figures for a while. Unhelpful.

  Dalliance watched the ghostly futures of the inquest for a while, but it was one thing to be bored, and another thing to watch yourself being bored in the future. He quickly hit his limit.

  "So, what are we doing?" Dalliance whispered, leaning toward his teacher.

  "We aren't doing anything, Dalliance." Mister Best didn't turn his head, his voice a low reprimand. "If I recall, I gave you specific instructions."

  Dalliance didn’t see how he was going to get around this one. “I figured, if I started early it would be youthful high spirits,” he said brightly, though in a whisper. “It worked—" Dalliance began, but his teacher's voice cut him off, even sharper this time.

  "Dalliance," Mister Best said, then lowered his voice to the barest whisper, "If you look toward—if you react to what you're seeing, they don't need the pendant to know what you're doing. We shall discuss the risk you are taking on my behalf later."

  Dalliance nodded, understanding. He had to handle his prediction without looking at what he was doing. It would be harder, but he had to try.

  He closed his eyes, feigning a moment of prayer, and pushed his will outward. His thoughts still tried to follow the familiar patterns of the future, but it was harder this way. So much harder. The visions were . . . empty. There was less noise, fewer overlapping movements and intentions. He wasn't entirely sure, but it seemed . . . nobody had any plans of going into the Zone of Truth.

  "This is a farce," he muttered under his breath.

  "I thought you were praying, Master Rather?" Mister Best asked, his voice laced with dry irony.

  Dalliance finished his prayer. It was a simple one, but real: Make it possible to win. It wasn't quite how the prayer was normally said, but it was his understanding of what he was allowed to ask. He made the sign of the Maiden, and of the Gremantle.

  "That girl has been some kind of influence on you," Mister Best said quietly.

  The Red Robes walked to the front, discussing things with an increasingly irritated looking Parsimony Pleasant. After a moment’s observation, Mister Best leaned sideways and asked, “Does it seem to change anything?"

  "Yes," Dalliance said shortly. He didn't elaborate, and Mister Best didn't ask.

  Across the tent, a quiet but pointed conversation was taking place between Wizard Pleasant and one of the men in red robes. The wizard was doing almost all of the talking. “. . . too young! Won’t know what he’s saying . . . “

  The newcomer's hood, deep and shadowed, covered his face completely. Dalliance wondered how he moved without tripping.

  "That," said Mister Best dryly, "is an Inquisitor."

  Dalliance's eyebrows shot up without his intending for them to.

  "He will be giving him his marching orders," Mister Best added, his tone grim. “And is the reason for this whole event’s happening in the first place.”

  There was a pause as Mister Best considered which words to use, before finally settling on, “Generally, these amount to: 'fear the gods and pay your taxes', A boy such as you should have nothing to fear."

  The red-robed Inquisitors swept past them on his way out the door. One hand brushed lightly on Dalliance's shoulder in what could almost have been a companionable squeeze. Parsimony Pleasant, who was left looking as if he had just eaten something sour, was left alone.

  “In accordance with Imperial law,” Pleasant read out, "I call this Inquest to order." He then set the scroll aside, his gaze landing directly on Dalliance.

  "Though it is not traditional for one so light in years to be brought as a witness—lest he, in his foolish youth, spread some idle rumor believing it to be true—nevertheless, the witness list shall stand as already composed."

  Mister Best afforded him a thin smile with no trace of apology behind it. "Doubtless it shall be quite painless," he said smoothly. "With your expert guidance to smooth the way for the young lad."

  He thinks I’m going to tell everyone about Mom, Dalliance realized. And I could.

  Well, that was a strange feeling: having one up on someone, especially someone like him. Someone to whom, he suspected, he could attribute a number of the deaths of his classmates. Though perhaps that wasn't entirely true. When he thought about it, two of the six hunts had been completed with no loss of life.

  Peering behind the curtain into the halls of power was a profoundly unsettling experience. These weren’t wiser men than anyone else. Dalliance had even seen an elder picking his nose. Or wanting to. And considering the results like an interesting find.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  His musings were broken as the first witness was called.

  "The Imperial Government calls Father Idles," Pleasant announced.

  The priest walked to the lectern. As he did, Dalliance saw the faintest of faint glints along the edge of the pendant intended for detecting the use of magic or skills—it was, he knew, now active and glowing its warning, but the shoe black was doing its job admirably.

  "This is all very unfortunate," Mister Idles began, his voice smooth and placating. "Before we begin, I would like to request this business be taken care of as quickly and decorously as possible. After such a rousing series of hunts," he added, looking directly at the Auditor, "the villagers are restive, and preparations for a time of mourning are underway."

  Parsimony Pleasant waved a dismissive hand.

  "As for the children," the priest continued, "I note that several have failed to attain their second Tier. However, an exemption was made in the matter of Civility Matters, on the grounds of his . . . incompetence."

  "Call him forth," the Auditor commanded. "I will examine him myself."

  "Would that I could," Father Idles said, and the heavy statement landed in the silent tent, raising puzzled looks from nearly everyone.

  Dalliance tried not to gasp in advance of the revelation.

  "Sadly," Pleasant announced, his voice cutting through the tension, "the parents of Master Civility Matters were found murdered in their beds. Master Matters himself is nowhere to be found."

  He let the horror of that sink in before delivering the final, damning detail. "As both were missing long bones and ribs, we must presume the lad has built a shrine to Gnosis."

  The court was in a brief uproar, though there were few enough people that the sound remained a manageable murmur of shock. Still, Parsimony Pleasant looked flummoxed and frustrated in equal measure. This was clearly not part of his plan.

  "The other three, then," he said, brushing the inconvenient murders aside to regain control of the proceeding. "Explain them to me."

  The priest, Mister Idles, stepped forward. "The farm girl," he began, referring to Zenith, "is quite simply ill-suited to combat. I am told she has failed nearly every strike she has ever attempted. It is my recommendation she be put in for next year’s crop, after further seasoning."

  He paused, waiting for a nod from Pleasant before continuing.

  "As for Master Lackey," the priest continued, his tone dripping with disdain, "he is already on the record as a coward, having hidden himself not once, but twice. He even went so far as to attack—and be defeated by—his classmate Master Rather here." Mister Idles allowed himself a small, cruel smile. "A result which, given the name, was to no one's great surprise."

  Dalliance scowled. He was nothing like his Da.

  "Thus, the System did not see fit to grant him any rewards," the priest concluded, "which I believe places this matter squarely upon the shoulders of his remaining parent, Missus Lackey, Auditor. However, as the boy has sustained significant injuries resistant to magical healing, it is not my recommendation that he be further subjected to the hunts."

  "As for Fallowfield," Idles continued, "the boy has the best will in the world, but is quite slow. Nevertheless, I feel convinced that supplemental exercise would likely get him over the lip. Perhaps a goblin hunt?"

  "There are no more goblins," the Auditor said flatly.

  All eyes turned to him.

  "There was a migration," Pleasant clarified, a flicker of annoyance on his face. "We will think of something."

  "Yes, quite," the priest said. "Was that everything, Auditor?"

  Pleasant dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Clearly, this was not going as he had hoped. He’s only going through the motions now, Dalliance suspected. Something about the conversation with the red-robed man.

  "Very well," Pleasant announced, moving to his next point of business. "Our next concern is the complete loss of the Crow Estate to fire. An avoidable disaster which has cost this county a great asset."

  Mister Best blew out his lips in a silent, derisive guffaw.

  Pleasant's eyes narrowed. "This was done deliberately, directly countermanding my own orders, and through the use of alchemical fire-lighters purchased by, and, I believe, at the instigation of one Judiciary Best."

  Mister Best raised a hand in a casual, ‘present and accounted for’ gesture.

  "His teacher, having already called him," Pleasant said, his voice dripping with false formality, "young Master Rather must now approach the square, as even myself, and the defendant."

  Mister Best reached the side of the Zone of Truth first, his strides confident, almost arrogant—not a side Dalliance was used to seeing from his teacher.

  "Well, as the accused," Mister Best said, appearing to be speaking for Dalliance's benefit, although somehow Dalliance felt this was not the case, "I have come to answer for myself to the Imperium. I, of course, maintain my innocence. Your misgivings, while natural, shall be proven unfounded."

  No one was planning on moving forward toward the Zone of Truth. Neither Parsimony nor Mister Best had any intention of entering that marked square. But why?

  "And so you’ve seen fit to bring . . . ."

  "I have, of course," said Mister Best, cutting in. "A witness, central to the question of my interference."

  Parsimony looked sour.

  "Dalliance Rather," he said formally, "your teacher stands accused of having instructed you, in contravention of the imperial mandates, to set fire to the Crow Estate, resulting in the loss of experience for your classmates."

  "My classmates, who didn't die," Dalliance said promptly. “But he didn’t do anything like that.”

  Parsimony rolled his eyes.

  No one present thought Dalliance was going to say anything else. It was all a farce. Why had he expected better?

  “I can step inside if you like,” He volunteered. If I’m inside, what would I be able to tell them? I could tell them what Dad did. I could tell them who my real father is. . . .

  His musings were cut short by the sour-faced Parsimony. "That will not be necessary."

  This was to be followed by a reluctant Parsimony going on at length, the long and short of which was that Mister Best, having been entrusted with the growth of these youth, made it incumbent upon him as auditor to ensure to the satisfaction of the imperial government, yada yada yada. He would produce proofs of acquisition of alchemicals by Mister Best, for the purpose of starting fires.

  Mister Best would still be arguing that point in ten minutes, when the thread went beyond the bounds of Dalliance’s prediction.

  Dalliance stood there as if in a daze. What if, he thought, what if I don’t let it get to that point?

  He might hold a hand out, the magic of the Zone of Truth sinking into his exposed fingers like a live current, rattling his teeth.

  Mister Best would tug him back him sharply, "Away. It won’t do you any good.”

  Dalliance would look at him askance.

  "Anything volunteered to the Zone of Truth with the intent of harming someone’s reputation," he’d be told, "—and they’ll ask, you’ll look worse for it—will simply be ignored. You won’t be able to hide that intention."

  "What if it's justice? What if it's just?"

  "Revenge and justice, Mister Best might tell him, "can often be confused with one another due to the simple fact that they are often the same thing. Which, of course, means an act of justice could, and would, be misconstrued as revenge. Your name as a teller of truth would be sullied, your freedom of speech neutered, and your father made stronger by the official disbelief of the Imperial Delegate in his perfidy."

  But what if Mister Best was wrong?

  “Your witness,” Mister Best was saying.

  “I have no need of the boy,” Parsimony said dismissively. “His belief, however sincere, in your malfeasance or lack thereof has little bearing. The facts are these: You instructed your students to set up and maintain constant illumination throughout the dwelling, which was tinder-dry. You provided your students with alchemical torches, so as to resist them going out, ensure they burned hotter, and provide a pretext for the fire’s start. You provided them ten to a student, knowing that one dropped torch would itself suffice for a fire, in contravention of the marching orders, to whit: there was to be no damage to the structure. These facts together can support only one conclusion: you deliberately circumvented the rules of engagement, resulting in an uneven distribution of experience amongst the students and the failure to make tier by three of them. You have failed in your duty as educator and contraveined the purpose of the Imperial Hunts.”

  “I believe you will find that, among my students, there was an [Aeromancer]. Imperial practice mandates the use of alchemical torches when working alongside wind magic.”

  Nobody was going to mention that the fire was started by Sterling’s sword. It was torches or nothing.

  Why was that?

  The Auditor, not willing to offend his liege lord? His teacher, likewise unwilling to have the same scrutiny now turned on him turned onto Sterling’s father?

  Dalliance remembered his own conclusions, in the house: Sterling as he was at the year’s beginning would have burned down the house by accident. It was a sure thing.

  So. Perhaps Mister Best did intend for a fire to start accidentally. Perhaps Lord Worth had as well. Clearly nobody was willing to admit to the sword existing, so Dalliance wasn’t going to be punished for using it to start the fires—that was to the good. But Mister Best . . . seemed to be losing.

  “He’s a new-tiered Aeromancer, without mentorship or spell tutor. He won’t have any spells worthy of the name,” scoffed Pleasant. Mister Best’s hand tightened on Dalliance’s shoulder, but the boy’s stomach had dropped out in any case.

  Topaz.

  Now he had his own reason for wanting to stay out of the square.

  But. There was a way.