“I’m requesting the interrogation of Clara Casewell.”

  “W-what!?” Inquisitor Aldric recoiled at her words. “You… you want to be interrogated? What kind of trick are you trying to pull here?”

  Clara shook her head. “How would I pull any tricks when under the Blessing of Truth, Inquisitor?” She turned to the Pope. “Your Holiness, it has been established that Lady Iris used a tiny amount of the herbal mixture. If that herbal mixture was indeed a purgative remedy, as Lady Iris believed it to be, then that couldn’t possibly have caused Lady Helena’s illness.”

  The Pope nodded.

  “Therefore!” Clara slammed the podium for effect. “We must examine where the herbs that Lady Iris used came from, and verify whether they were what she thought they were. Only by eliminating every other possibility can we make sure that whatever is left is the full truth!”

  Inquisitor Aldric laughed sharply. “Your Holiness, this—this servant cannot be allowed to continue to dictate the flow of these proceedings! It is a holy ritual, to be guided by the inquisition, not the accused. For an accused to wish to put herself under interrogation, it must surely be some sort of inappropriate jest.”

  “The honorable Inquisitor raises a valid point, Your Holiness. This is an inappropriate jest.” She raised her left arm slowly. If she said the words, there would be no taking them back. Then she outstretched it, pointing straight at the inquisitor.

  “We are faced with an inquisitor who presents an incomplete case, then neglects to call one of the accused to testify when all logic would point to doing so. The only conclusion I can draw from that is that the Inquisitor Aldric has a reason not to interrogate me! That he is afraid of what the Blessing of Truth would reveal! If that is not an inappropriate jest, I don’t know what is!”

  Aldric gritted his teeth. “There was simply no reason to hear from a servant when we could obtain the full truth from Lady Iris.”

  “Perhaps there wasn’t. Yet now there is,” said Clara.

  “But the proper order of the proceedings—”

  “The proper order,” the Pope interrupted, cutting through Inquisitor Aldric’s stammering, “is whatever I deem it to be.” Clara felt the Pope’s eyes were almost glowing as the woman studied her. “And though it certainly isn’t required, it would be unusual to end a trial without interrogating all who are being accused. Clara Casewell!” The Pope’s voice kept the same eerie stillness, yet it thundered inside Clara’s head.

  “Yes, Your Holiness?”

  The Pope was silent for a long moment. The brazier flames flickered intensely, as if they were tied to the woman’s deep thoughts. In the upper gallery, Duke von Rhenia had his hand on his chin, and his eyes were fixed on Clara.

  “You understand what you are requesting, yes? The penalty for a commoner who inflicts grievous harm on a noble is execution. Yet, not all executions are created equal. If you are put under the Blessing of Truth, and we discover that you handed Iris von Rhenia anything other than common purgatives, it will be clear that your antics have done naught but waste the High Court’s time. That will be considered when deciding your punishment.”

  The Pope’s message was clear, and Clara felt a chill run down her spine. Despite her success up to this point, this was a grim reminder that this wasn’t a modern court of law, and that ‘justice’ here hung on magic and whims.

  But what choice did she have? She might have planted some doubt in the Pope’s mind when it came to Lady Iris, but that was hardly enough to save her own skin. And Clara was not ready to die again, and much less so without a fight.

  “I understand, Your Holiness. I am prepared to accept the consequences of my testimony, whatever they may be.”

  “Very well.” The Pope faced Iris. “Lady Iris von Rhenia, you are now released from the Blessing of Truth.” At the Pope’s words, the particles of golden light coalesced around Iris’s chest, and then dispersed like fireflies. Then the Pope gestured to Inquisitor Aldric. “Perform the Blessing on the second accused.”

  Aldric approached Clara with obvious reluctance, his eyes darting between her, the upper gallery, and the side door he’d retreated through earlier. His hands trembled as he lifted the golden chalice.

  What’s your game, Aldric? What do you hope will happen here?

  “In vino veritas,” he intoned. The clipped words were a far cry from how he’d chanted them last time.

  The wine glowed with the same soft, ethereal light. Clara couldn’t stop her hands from trembling as she accepted the chalice from his hands. She had no idea what was about to happen, what she was about to experience, and her potentially very painful demise hung solely on the effects of a magic she didn’t understand and the actions and memories of Stella, a woman she’d never met.

  The metal was warm against Clara’s palms, and the liquid inside smelled of—who am I kidding, it just smells like wine. It’s not like I could ever tell one variety apart from another.

  She closed her eyes and drank.

  For a moment, nothing happened. The wine was sweet and not unpleasant, yet it tasted just like every other wine she’d tried in her own world. She’d expected some kind of… magical finish? Fantastical pizzazz? Clara had just enough time to wonder if perhaps the magic wouldn’t work on her; as far as clichés went, maybe her circumstances somehow made her immune—

  And then she felt it.

  A warmth spread from her chest like a ripple. It wasn’t uncomfortable per se, just present in a way that was impossible to ignore. She looked down and saw the golden light blooming out of her apron, pulsing in tune with her heartbeat.

  “The Blessing has taken hold,” said the Pope. “Clara Casewell, you are now bound to speak only the truth until the interrogation concludes. Inquisitor, you shall begin the interrogation.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to think of the past, to draw from Stella’s memories. She waited for a breath, then two, then three, and still nothing came. No memories of Claves academy, or the von Rhenia estate, or any of the scenes Clara had read about in the novel. Does this mean it didn’t work, after all? She gulped. If so, I could just make something up, but… If anyone here knows the truth, they’d be able to tell the Blessing didn’t work, and that there’s something wrong with me.

  Inquisitor Aldric straightened his robes. When he spoke, his voice had regained some of its earlier confidence, though Clara could still see the tension in his jaw. “Accused. You are the personal maid of Lady Iris von Rhenia, correct?”

  “I am.” The words came automatically, like an impulse that was impossible to resist.

  “And Lady Iris asked you to procure herbs to put in Lady Helena’s tea?”

  Clara’s vision went dark.

  She saw a bedroom—a lavish suite, though not quite up to the standard of the von Rhenia estate. In front of her, she saw Lady Iris wearing a uniform.

  This is a memory. Stella’s memory.

  “Clara,” said Iris. It seemed Clara’s existence had overwritten Stella even here. “This situation with Helena has gotten more and more infuriating. I’ve rarely seen a specimen quite so foolish—whatever His Highness sees in her is entirely vexing to me.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Indeed, my lady.” Even the voice was Clara’s. She remembered this scene perfectly from the original story; it was one of the last ones she’d read.

  “My father worked very hard to secure an engagement with the royal family. Yet His Highness’s actions risk damaging that fragile political alliance. Surely there must be something I can do. Some way to scare her away from the Crown Prince.”

  “What are you considering, my lady?”

  “Hmm.” Iris took a sip of the tea in front of her. The immersion was so complete that Clara could smell the bergamot. “Won’t you gather some herbs for me? Laxatives, specifically. I believe Lady Helena should spend some restful moments inside her quarters.”

  Then Clara was back in the courtroom.

  “Yes, Lady Iris asked me to gather laxatives.” The reply felt just as impulsive as the last one.

  So it did work, but it only shows me the answer to a specific question. What if I ask myself something?

  She tried to think of a question. ‘Clara, what led you to attempt suicide?’ But there was nothing.

  “So you admit to being complicit in poisoning Lady Helena?”

  Again, he’s trying the same misleading technicality as before! That’s so brazen. Clara opened her mouth to disagree, but what came out was different.

  “Yes.” Fuck. No. No. No. She tried to stop herself, but the words kept coming. “I did buy herbs for—”

  “Objection!”

  What?

  Clara’s head snapped towards the voice. Iris’s voice. She had stepped forward from the podium, her eyes blazing with an intensity Clara had never seen before.

  “Lady Iris,” said Inquisitor Aldric, his tone dripping with condescension. “You are no longer under interrogation. Refrain from interrupting the—”

  But Iris ignored him. “Your Holiness, the inquisitor’s question is misleading.” Her clear voice rang through the chamber. “Once again, he asked whether the accused was complicit in ‘poisoning’ Lady Helena. He’s forcing Clara to accept the implication, when he really should be asking what kind of herbs Clara procured!”

  She remembered. I almost can’t believe it. You’re amazing, Iris.

  “Should? You dare tell an inquisitor how to do his duty? Your Holiness, please, Iris is just a child—”

  But Iris cut through. “It’s Lady Iris to you, honorable Inquisitor. And I wouldn’t need to remind you of your duty if you stopped acting like the truth is only worth pursuing when it serves your preferred narrative!”

  For someone who didn’t even know what a lawyer was yesterday, this girl’s a natural-born Cicero. She could use a bit of refinement, but Clara couldn’t help but nod.

  “Enough,” said the Pope. “Inquisitor Aldric. Why have you not asked the accused about the herbs? Is that not the whole point of this interrogation?”

  Aldric’s face went through several shades of red before settling on something approaching purple. “Your Holiness, I was simply establishing a foundation of—”

  “The foundation was established during Lady Iris’s interrogation.” The Pope’s voice remained that unsettling monotone, but Clara could feel the impatience beneath it. “Inquisitor, you have been gifted a rare opportunity. An accused who wishes to be interrogated. If I find you are the one wasting the court’s time, I may have to reconsider your position.”

  Aldric swallowed hard. When he turned to Clara, she could see the sweat on his brow. He’d been given a clear order from the Pope, yet he didn’t seem willing to execute it. What was the truth that lay behind the question? How was that truth connected to Stella’s suicide attempt, and Helena’s condition? Whatever the answer was, the inquisitor did not want the court to hear it. But now he might not have a choice in the matter.

  “Wait! Please wait!”

  The soft, quivering voice came from the upper gallery. Every head in the chamber turned toward it.

  Helena had risen from her seat, her delicate hands grasping her chest. Her blue eyes were wide with distress.

  What does she want? Is she going to save the inquisitor’s skin?

  “Your Holiness,” she called out. It was barely loud enough to reach the lower part of the courtroom. “I—I wish to speak!”

  The Pope regarded her with that unreadable expression. “Lady Helena. As you are the victim in these proceedings, I will allow you to address the court.”

  Helena nodded rapidly. Then she opened her mouth and seemed to realize she didn’t know what to say. She clutched at the railing, then released it, then clutched it again. If this naivety is acting, this girl needs to go work in Hollywood.

  “I’ve… I’ve been listening to all of this, and I just…” She bit her lip, looking like a confused fawn. “I don’t understand why everyone is being so mean to each other!”

  Clara heard Iris make a small, strangled sound beside her.

  “Lady Helena,” the Pope said slowly, “could you clarify your meaning?”

  “Well, it’s just—” Helena gestured vaguely at the chamber below. “Lady Iris gave me a tummy ache. That wasn’t very nice of her, and I was quite cross about it! But it’s clear she didn’t mean for anything else, and I never wanted anyone to die over it!”

  Crown Prince Lochlann motioned angrily beside her, yet his words still didn’t come out. I wonder how long that silence spell lasts, pondered Clara, half scared and half amused.

  “The doctors said I was poisoned,” Helena continued. “And that sounded very serious and scary, so I told Father and His Highness, and then there were all these important people involved, and everything got so complicated.” She wrung her hands together. “But if it was just laxatives, then… That isn’t really poison at all, is it? It was just a mean prank! An accident! I don’t want all of this fighting!”

  “Lady Helena.” The Pope narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying you wish to drop your family’s accusations? This is highly irregular,” the Pope paused. “But not without precedent.”

  “I’m the one who got sick!” Helena stamped her foot, a petulant gesture that was ameliorated by her look of earnest confusion. “Shouldn’t I get to decide if I’m still angry about it? And I’ve decided I’m not! Everyone’s been fighting and saying awful things for hours now, and my head hurts, and I just want it to stop! Lady Iris didn’t mean it, so we can forget about this and go back to school.”

  “Such compassion!” A noblewoman in the front row pressed a handkerchief to her eyes. “Such grace!”

  “Truly, Lady Helena has the heart of a saint,” said another, and the sentiment rippled through the spectators. “To forgive so readily, in the face of such suffering, is truly virtuous.”

  “That child has the Goddess’s own mercy.”

  Clara watched the display with growing unease. The crowd was practically weeping over Helena’s magnanimity.

  This is too convenient.

  She glanced at Inquisitor Aldric. The man who’d almost backed them into a corner, fought tooth and nail to convict them. Now, he stood silent, his shoulders relaxed, the sweat on his brow already drying.

  He’s relieved. Was whatever truth was hidden under Stella’s memory so grave that it was worth ending the trial for? Was Helena helping him on purpose? Was she even a victim at all?

  “Your Holiness,” Clara said, her voice cutting through the chorus of praise. “I would still like to complete my interrogation. This court deserves the truth.”

  The gallery fell silent. Helena’s eyes went wide.

  “The victim wishes to withdraw her complaint,” the Pope said, studying Clara with renewed interest. “Yet the accused wishes to continue the trial. This is most unusual, to say the least.”

  “Clara.” Iris’s voice was soft but urgent. “What are you doing? Isn’t this good for us?”

  I don’t know, Clara wanted to say. Something doesn’t add up, and I need to figure out what.

  But before she could respond, the Pope raised her hand.

  “The accused’s dedication to the truth is noted.” Was that a hint of approval in her monotone? “However, the victim’s wishes carry more weight here. The purpose of this trial was to seek justice for Lady Helena Rosewood. If the lady herself declares that justice has been served, then this court finds little basis for further inquiry.”

  She paused, her gaze sweeping across the chamber until it stopped on Inquisitor Aldric.

  “Inquisitor. You shall appear before me tomorrow. This trial has raised questions for me, and I will have your answers.”

  Aldric’s brief relief evaporated. His face turned pale.

  “The charges against Lady Iris von Rhenia and Clara Casewell are hereby annulled,” the Pope declared. “These proceedings have reached an end.” At her words, there was a ticklish sensation in Clara’s chest, and the golden light around her dispersed. The white flames rose from the braziers to the ceiling, then vanished as if they’d been absorbed into the air. The Pope, too, disappeared into the back door.

  It’s really over. I didn’t find the truth behind Stella’s actions, but… I’ll live to see another day. Every moment since the plane started rocking had felt like a whirlwind, and now the storm had finally passed. A rush of exhaustion hit her—she’d died, then reappeared, then almost died again, and now all that messy mix of leftover emotions hit her all at once: relief, apprehension, fatigue, guilt, happiness. Clara felt as if she were about to collapse.

  Before Clara could even begin to process all of it, Iris collided with her.

  “We did it!” Iris’s arms wrapped around Clara’s shoulders, and suddenly Clara found herself supporting the full weight of a noble lady who had apparently decided decorum was no longer a concern. “Clara, we did it! We’re free!”

  The embrace was tight enough to squeeze the air from Clara’s lungs, and it was highly improper to boot. Yet she couldn’t help but laugh.

  “My lady,” Clara managed, patting Iris’s back awkwardly. “Everyone’s watching.”

  “So let them.” Iris pulled back just enough to look Clara in the eyes. “You saved us. You saved me. I didn’t… I didn’t want to be expelled!”

  “We saved each other,” Clara said softly. “Your objection was perfectly timed.”

  Iris finally released Clara, though she kept one hand on her arm. “I just followed your lead.” She winked—it was unbearably cute. “Now, come along. Papa will be waiting for us.” Iris tugged at her arm.

  From the corner of her eye, Clara saw Inquisitor Aldric standing in a daze, exactly where he'd been when the Pope ended the proceedings.