The Historian’s Novel

For every step Havoc took through the grand hall of the courthouse, Amelia needed three to keep pace. Together they traveled, not towards an open-trial assembly for judgment, but a private room, to seek judgment.

The secluded nature of their hearing encouraged Amelia, for she had no doubt if the Marquess of Rutherford were a hundred percent certain of their trial’s outcome, then he would have instead chosen to make a spectacle of the affair.

“Please, you mustn’t kill him,” Amelia whispered to her father, knowing it had to be said despite how afraid she was he might misconstrue her words as an order. “Whatever the Marquess of Rutherford says… I’m sure he’ll try to provoke us. Which might turn the king’s favor against us, which might—”

“Do not worry,” Havoc said, which worried Amelia greatly.

She could only wish upon every star in the heavens her father wouldn’t behead the Marquess out of anger. The whole point of befriending Grace was for their family to flourish. Not to create another tragic ending for The Historian to write about should her family find itself at odds with the King. It was why she was so glad her father hadn’t killed Gregory Rutherford. Since it meant the princess wouldn’t be forced to decide on their friendship or her royal father, who would surely remain impartial in levying punishment on a killer of nobles.

The notion of impartiality brought about another fear Amelia held.

“But what of the Duke of Winchester? What if this trial is nothing more than theatrics and smoke!”

Havoc furrowed his brow as if he hadn’t thought about it. “The Duke of Winchester, while quick to anger and prone to fixating is an honorable man. No matter my relationship with him, he will not allow for personal loathing to interfere with his verdict.”

This to Amelia, all but confirmed her grandfather might very well conspire with the Marquess. She began feeling sick. The mere idea of Grace staring at her as if she were an enemy… Amelia didn’t want that at all.

Distracted by her thoughts, she accidentally bumped into her father when he suddenly stopped. Peering around him, she found a group of knights blocking their route, wearing armor she couldn’t match with any noble house that she knew of.

“We’re to perform a search of your person before the hearing,” said the man at their front.

Amelia wondered whether he’d been picked to talk due to having the most scars on his face. Which seemed strange, when at the back of the knights, leaning against the wall as if bored, was the second largest man she had ever seen in her life. Nearly as tall as her own father, his face appeared fierce even with his eyes closed and at rest. And on his crossed arms intertwined an eye-catching inked image, of what Amelia discerned to be a serpent of some kind. A foreigner, whose features were commonly found amongst a certain far-away Kingdom spoken about in The Historian’s novel.

Could it be, the Leviathan? Amelia worriedly wondered, as she remembered the description of a Caneo warrior who would one day, ravage the Velvetican Kingdom with the powers of a god.

Shrinking behind Havoc, while assuring herself the future would be different this time, for the guardian Dragon had not yet vanished or died, Amelia tried to tell if her father might have noticed the Leviathan’s hidden strength.

If he did, he didn’t show it. Instead, the Baron in boredom held both his arms straight out to get the security check over and done with. Taking his time, the head knight smirked as he worked patted Havoc down. Finding nothing, the man grunted a “He’s clean”, only to then do something which took Amelia completely off guard. For the head knight tried to move past Havoc, with his hand outstretched for another. Placing Amelia in-between the threat of his touch, and an onslaught of memories that caused her to flinch back in a want to escape from his hands.

The knight never did manage to get close enough to touch her. Havoc, with an irate, jarring growl moved to grab him by the shoulder.

“Do you know who I am?” Havoc asked, in a tone that made it clear his words were a warning.

The knight tried to forcefully pull away. When that failed, he chose to glower. “Just doing my job,” he said, “I don’t care who you are, I’ve been told no exceptions.”

Havoc’s grip tightened. “Then you are beneath my notice,” he said, and the knight fell screaming; with a now shattered shoulder, and a very limp arm. Before anyone could react, Havoc kicked the downed knight, sending the man skipping to finish sliding against the Leviathan’s feet.

“You, are the Velvetican Dragon?” asked the Leviathan, who looked down at the groaning knight with a faint grin on his lips.

Smoke curled out the corner of Havoc’s mouth. One of the foreign knights whispered a word Amelia managed to translate as being a sort of supplication to God.

“That’s right, I am he,” said Havoc, taking a single step forward, “Now take your man, leave, and warn your prince to choose better allies. Least I decide compensation for offending my blood will be paid with your own.”

Amelia feared a fight between her father and the Leviathan might break out then and there. The tension between the two men was palpable enough for the air to begin smelling of ozone. And for the great stained-glass window featuring a balanced set of scales above them to all at once fragment with a spider-web’s worth of cracked lines.

“We’re leaving,” the Leviathan said at length. Which broke the stressful spell cast over the room, and caused the knights to scramble away. Practically dragging their injured man by his legs as they left to follow their tattooed leader who turned and walked slowly away.

Left alone with her father, Amelia struggled to decide on which of the bazillion questions she had should be asked first.

“No doubt they were hired by the Marquess,” Havoc said drily, before she could choose, “What an unpleasant man… How are you faring?”

Patting above her heart as it finished calming down, Amelia made sure her anxiety was back under control before answering. “I’m… I’m good… Are we going to lodge a complaint?”

Havoc gently placed a hand against Amelia’s back, letting her know to resume walking once more, “It would be no more than our word against his,” he said, “It is no coincidence we were not greeted at the gates. The Marquess means to humiliate us. Even his decision to involve the Caneo prince’s men was intentional… Should I have killed them, their status as foreign guests would only disadvantage our side when negotiating with their warmongering ruler. Who our king worries has secretly tasked that man I just talked to, with causing trouble while his brother the prince plays the role of a dutiful representative. Do you understand?”

His reply, was the longest sentence Amelia had ever heard Havoc bother to speak.

“I… I think so,” Amelia said, proud to have a father who was once again paying attention to the goings-on of the world. It was enough to heighten her resolve to thwart the Marquess.

And she knew just how to get started.

“Father, I have something to tell you,” Amelia said, trying to hide her excitement.

“What is it?” Havoc asked, as they turned a corner; where at the end of the hall a multitude of attendants stood on either side of a large, double-doored entrance.

“After this… There’s someone who I want you to meet.”

“Another friend you’ve brought home?” Havoc asked, though his tone indicated he didn’t mind.

“Actually… She’s closer to your age than mine,” Amelia said, to which Havoc’s eyebrows raised inquisitively, “Providence allowed us to meet. She’s the daughter of a fallen household who has been working around as an etiquette teacher.”

Havoc frowned. “Then, you see her as a source to learn… etiquette from?”

“Quite. I did a bit of searching, and she’s received glowing reviews from those who’ve hired her in the past.”

“Do what you will,” Havoc said, before adding under his breath, “though it ought to have been your mother who taught you such things.”

The fragile hope Amelia had been building, that she might make for herself a place in her father’s life, shattered to pieces. And a depressive weighing reminder returned to its habitual place on her shoulders, which hunched under the weight of her sin.

Of course, it remained. Had she really tricked herself into thinking it hadn’t? No matter how tepid their relationship grew, there would always remain between them an iron wall of a fact.

That she was the murderer who had caused her mom’s death.

No doubt the Marquess would soon hear from his attendants of the grief Amelia couldn’t quite manage to hide as she and her father arrived in front of the hearing room’s doors.

Fantastic. Now she’d ruined what her father had gone out of his way to prevent. Like a perpetual failure, who couldn’t stop messing up.

“Is everything alright?” Grace asked, stepping out from the crowd to join Amelia in a pre-arranged fashion.

“Not an issue I can fix I’m afraid,” Amelia responded, dabbing at the corner of her eyes with the handkerchief Grace gave her, as they entered the hearing room where several people were already waiting. Two among them stood out more than the rest. The Marquess of Rutherford, facing a window. And the Duke of Winchester, who sat at his desk between four heavily armored knights.

A sword by their side, a spear in their hand. The bright red colors of the duke’s livery commanded respect. And told of the knighthood’s reputation for having an absolute mastery over fire-based magic.

Having not seen her grandfather in over a decade, Amelia found in their time apart he had turned from a dapper looking middle-aged man, to a kind-eyed yet stern-faced elder. With an unkempt bushy beard denoting a lack of care in his own physical grooming. A rarity when it came to nobles who usually valued appearance a great deal. Point in case, the Marquess, whose clean-shaven face glared at Havoc from above his expensive, tailored suit.

In the presence of the Velvetican Kingdom’s oldest powerhouse, Amelia grew intimidated. The first to fight. The last to fall. The Duke of Winchester was a man who held the respect and command of a knighthood that had struggled to their utmost against the tragedy of the Historian’s novel.

A figure Amelia’s mother would in the past tell her stories of before bedtime.

And she couldn’t even call him ‘grand-father’ in public.

How fitting. That the closest she would ever get to her mother’s father in this life, would be with him acting as a judge. It hurt. To know the very person who had taught Ophelia Strightsworth how to command fire, might wish to turn the dancing magic Amelia loved into a weapon against her.

A horrible wave of darkness began to fall over Amelia’s vision. As she once more considered the Duke of Winchester’s position. What would she do if someone harmed her child? If by some miracle, she could even create one.

At the very least they would deserve death, without mercy.

Such were the words, which came to her mind. Such were the thoughts that made Amelia want to return home and lock herself away from the world in her dear mother’s garden. Shaken, Amelia sat down in her designated spot: a chair placed in front of the duke’s desk.

The Marquess of Rutherford, after a conspicuous display of checking his watch, said, “finally, I was getting tired of waiting,” before he moved away from the window to stand near a scribe who jotted his words down.

Amelia allowed the sliver of onion she had brought with her to fall into her left glove. Hoping the item might once more prove itself useful.

“It would seem we are ready,” spoke the Duke of Winchester, raising his head from his paperwork to assess the room. “Why is someone uninvolved present?” he asked, after his gaze fell on Grace.

Not wanting Grace to be dismissed, Amelia opened her mouth to explain the princess was a witness.

Havoc spoke quicker. “She is Amelia’s handmaiden. Here to comfort my daughter.”

“It’s a bit presumptuous for you to lead with such words,” said the Marquess of Rutherford.

Havoc’s neck cracked as he turned it towards the Marquess. “Then think of her secondary purpose, as being responsible for blocking my daughter’s line of sight when I rip your legs from your torso.”

Hearing her father’s words, Amelia felt herself swoon.

Grace moved in to help keep her steady. The Duke of Winchester’s knights drew their weapons, demonstrating their frightening mastery over fire when each spear in hand ignited at once. Along with the steel armor they wore that began glowing a yellowish red as they amped themselves up for the fight of a lifetime.

The Marquess of Rutherford, realising Havoc was closer to him then the knights were to Havoc, narrowed his eyes and took several steps back.

“Calm your tongue, Baron of Strightsworth,” spoke the Duke of Winchester, as he drew a scorching path of flame with his pen that travelled the length of his desk and beyond, burning into the floor a charred line, splitting the room. “Keep to your corners. This hearing is to determine who is at fault for the injuries of Gregory Rutherford. That’s it. Any acts of violence… Will be met with the edge of my sword.”

The duke looked between the Marquess and Havoc for a lingering second to drive home his threat. “Am I understood?” he asked calmly.

“Clearly,” the Marquess of Rutherford said.

“Crystal,” said Amelia, not liking how the Marquess had answered before her.

“…” Havoc grunted.

Their replies appeared good enough for the Duke, who stood to begin pacing between them with his cane noisily tapping with each step.

“Good. I will allow the handmaiden to stay. Now, regarding the reason why we are here…”

The duke readjusted his spectacles upon reaching the scribe. The scribe handed over a sheet for the duke who began reading slowly.

“Submitted by the most honorable Marquess of Rutherford, during the third week of the fourth month, Gregory Rutherford visited the Baronial grounds of the… right honorable Baron of Strightsworth, where he, on business for his father, suffered from several debilitating injuries which would have rendered him crippled for life had the Marquess not sent a mage skilled in the art of healing to meet him half-way on the return voyage home.”

“He wouldn’t have died,” Havoc murmured, and Amelia’s heart, which had only just started to calm itself, began beating madly at the notion her father might think himself too above worldly matters for their family to survive the trial.

The duke who had paused in his speech, ignored Havoc’s comment and continued.

“This is of course, one side of the story. The other being, the details presented to me by the right honorable Baron of Strightsworth. Which claim he acted to defend the honour of his daughter, Amelia’s Strightsworth, from the young lord Rutherford who saw the absence of a father as a chance to drug, molest, and… and have his way with a young, defenceless woman.”

“Darn right he did,” Grace whispered faintly, which made Amelia want to find a hole in the ground to crawl into.

Why oh why did the people she care for have to be so resolutely hot blooded? Amelia almost wished she could be as angry about the ordeal as Grace and her father. But her memories of Gregory’s actions remained for the most part, blurry.

“Hold on, your Grace,” the Marquess interjected, “Before you begin asking your questions… I was under impression this hearing disallowed weapons, or objects that could be mistaken as such.”

Amelia in fear, checked both her father and Grace, hoping to heaven they hadn’t accidentally, or intentionally, brought hidden armaments with them.

The Marquess jabbed his finger, at Amelia, who looked at it puzzled.

A puzzlement which broke out in angst upon hearing his next words.

“She’s been hiding something in her gloves since the very beginning. For my own piece of mind, I would know what it is.”