The Trial (1)
Count Abaro had recognized Chris's extraordinary talent from the time the boy was young. Mobilizing every connection he possessed, the Count assembled a vast merchant coalition to back him.
That was how the Ravenshade Trading Company was born.
The company grew at a dazzling pace. Mabel, the firstborn, cared for nothing beyond her crops, so every lucrative venture in the region fell into Ravenshade's lap. The only outfit worth calling a competitor was the Gray Trading Company, founded by a drifter named Lucian.
True to his lowly birth, Lucian had taken root in the back alleys and swelled there like a poisonous mushroom. But because his business was built in the shadows, its territory never overlapped with Ravenshade's, and the two houses coexisted in hostility for years. Things began to unravel five years ago, when Gray pushed out into the open market.
"The insolent whelp. He buys himself a title with money, and now there's nothing he doesn't set his eyes on."
Count Abaro hired mercenaries to intimidate the merchants under Gray's banner and greedily devoured the shadow businesses Lucian had abandoned. Ravenshade seemed to ride an unbroken wave of triumph—right up until Chris was banished to the north.
Where did it all start going wrong?
He couldn't say exactly when. At some point, Chris's succession—which had once felt all but assured—now seemed impossibly far away. His fall had dragged the business down with it, and now, depending on the verdict, the company might have to take down its signboard for good.
Pinpointing the moment was difficult. Pinpointing the culprit was not.
Eden.
It was Eden, the thirdborn, who had stolen Chris's seat—and he had snatched the acting lordship, Mabel's own position, on top of it.
...Impossible things are happening.
Hands clasped behind his back, Count Abaro paced the room with restless steps. The investors were already pulling out; even a victory at trial would not spare them staggering losses.
And yet he could not afford to retreat. If they lost, it would not be the company alone that burned. Eden's victory meant Chris's ruin, and with Chris's ruin would crumble the political foundation the Count had spent a decade and more building.
"What do we do now?"
Viscount Verden asked. He, too, was fated to sink or swim with Count Abaro.
"No need for hysterics."
The Count stopped pacing.
"Act clever all he likes, he's still nothing but a twelve-year-old brat. If Lucian weren't propping him up from behind, he'd be nothing at all."
"Isn't Lucian being behind him precisely the problem?"
"Even that man can do nothing this time. We've already bought every witness and every juror. No court can hand down a verdict in a trial this size while trampling its own witnesses and jury."
In the end, there was nothing money could not do. For this trial alone, Count Abaro had scattered a fortune vast enough to shake the pillars of his house. Even if Eden rammed through a verdict of his own choosing with the authority of acting lord, it would not matter—anyone who crushed witnesses and jurors to force a trial to its end would be the one owing the political reckoning.
"My lord!"
Commotion erupted outside. Members of the council came rushing in.
"What's all this racket? Have you no composure?"
Count Abaro scowled.
"It's a disaster, my lord—Eden's side is moving!"
"Disaster, my foot. The trial is a day away. What could they possibly do?"
"O-our constables are all being taken into custody."
Thick beads of sweat rolled down the councilman's greasy face.
"...What?"
Count Abaro's voice cracked.
"Tyranny, out of nowhere? On what grounds?"
"Bribery of the... witnesses and the jury."
The Count's heart began to pound.
"I'm afraid every connection we had in the courts has been severed. The jury has been reselected at random, and a considerable number of witnesses have withdrawn."
The constables were officials of the court. Their duty was to protect the witnesses and jurors until the trial was held. Had they done their jobs, the parties to the case should have had no idea who would testify or sit in judgment until the day itself—that was how it was meant to work. Instead, far from doing their duty, they had taken the Count's money and led the charge in buying off witnesses and jurors themselves.
"This is an outrage. Re-forming the jury a single day before the trial? Without a shred of evidence?"
Count Abaro's voice rose to a shriek. The councilman answered, drenched in sweat.
"A great many documents drawn up by the Gray Trading Company have been leaked. They say it's airtight proof the constables struck corrupt judicial deals."
"Why on earth would Gray do this? Are they trying to drag themselves down with us?"
"To be precise, it was a branch of the Gray Trading Company. It was dissolved five years ago, which makes it difficult to hold the main house accountable..."
"That damned Lucian bastard!"
Count Abaro flung out his hand and knocked a jar from its perch. It shattered across the floor, and dark shadows fell over the councilmen's faces.
When the Treasury's tax audit had come through, not a single record related to the branch had been found anywhere in the Gray Trading Company's files. For those records to surface only now—the intent behind it was glaringly obvious.
"If it has come to this, we should beg Lord Eden for leniency, even at this late hour..."
"Enough of that drivel, Viscount Verden."
The Count spoke through gritted teeth.
"What good comes of inflating that brat's ego? Are you proposing we all die together?"
"Do we have a choice? A crushing defeat at trial leaves us nothing to fall back on. Would it not be better to negotiate and find an amicable compromise?"
"What that brat wants is an example. He will not rest until he has severed us—Chris's own arms and legs—and strung us up along the top of the city walls."
Even as the words left his mouth, Count Abaro convinced himself of them and nodded. Yes—this was no mere trial; it was the succession war carried on by other means. The option of letting things slide existed for neither side, not his, and not theirs.
"But now there is truly nothing left to do. Unless we burn every document Lucian's side leaked..."
"Impossible."
The councilman who had brought the news spoke skeptically.
"From what I hear, the documents are being held not at the courthouse but at the ducal residence. And the residence is guarded by Lord Eden's personal knight order."
Then it happened. An idea flashed through Count Abaro's mind.
"...Leave this one to me."
"Is there a way?"
"You are aware my son Laszlo has been playing knight for Eden, I take it."
"Yes, of course."
"What a sly little bastard he is."
A faint smile crept across the Count's face.
"The non-Awoken selection exam, was it? He staged some spectacle no one had ever seen or heard of and plucked my boy right out of it. But I know Laszlo down to the bone. Weak-willed, without a fingernail's worth of talent. Choosing a creature like that as a knight—is that not enough to make a dog laugh?"
The councilmen could not decide how to respond to a father belittling his own son. The Count paid them no mind.
"His aim is probably to insult me. It makes no difference either way. That boy is desperate—desperate—for my approval. I had him thrown into the stable, and still he went on practicing his swordplay even while mired in filth. That should tell you everything you need to know."
"Ah—don't tell me...!"
Viscount Verden slapped his knee.
"You mean to have your son bring you the documents stored at the ducal residence?"
"Quick on the uptake, aren't you."
The Count smiled broadly.
"Let's see... I should open it something like this. 'My son, I am sorry. My greed to pass the family on to you ran excessive, and I wounded you without meaning to. Stop tending to other people's errands and come home. You are to succeed me, are you not?'"
"As expected of you, Chairman. How could your son possibly refuse an offer to carry on the Count's line?"
The councilmen marveled. Count Abaro snapped his fingers, and his attendant hurried over with pen and paper. The Count composed his letter, then gave strict orders that it be placed in Laszlo's hands personally.
"There. Now sit back and enjoy yourselves."
The councilmen clinked their cups together, and the mood turned considerably lighter than before.
The servant dispatched to the ducal residence returned before long. The Count questioned him the moment he stepped through the door.
"Did you place the letter in Laszlo's hands yourself?"
"Yes, my lord."
"And you saw him read it?"
"I did."
Yet no matter how long he waited, no sign of Laszlo appeared. As the sun sank, Count Abaro wrote out a second letter and sent it off. This one was rather more elaborate.
—I admit it. As your father, my manner of expression was clumsy.
—But know that beneath it lay a wish for none other than you to carry on our family line. It seems my heart ran ahead of me, so desperate was I to see your Awoken Ability manifest.
—We are family. Even should the world crumble, that alone will never change.
—Do not be deceived by Eden's kindness to you. He is laughing at you behind your back. Can you not see that your very presence at his side strips your father of his dignity?
—Come home now, Laszlo. Come home and succeed your father.
The letter was again placed in Laszlo's hands, and still no word came. The day wore on into evening. The councilmen, weary of waiting, slipped away one by one, and each time another pair of feet turned toward the door, Count Abaro felt his fury boil hotter.
"You're certain it was delivered properly?"
"Yes, I placed it in his hands mysel—"
"Then why in hell won't that bastard come!"
Count Abaro kicked the attendant with all his strength. The man crumpled where he stood without even a scream. The Count stood panting, breath heaving.
The day of the trial arrived. In the end, the Count had spent the night staring into the dark, sleepless—one way or another, waiting for Laszlo to come had been his only lifeline.
"My lord, the trial will begin shortly."
He stood blankly for a time, then left the count's residence with his breakfast barely touched.
The Merne High Court was buried under a sea of people, and the carriages parked outside numbered well past a hundred. Every noble in the duchy had trained their senses on today's trial.
Count Abaro stepped down from his carriage and scanned his surroundings.
"Chairman, you've arrived."
"Chairman Abaro."
The councilmen clustered around him as though they had been waiting. But not so many as yesterday—their number had thinned noticeably.
Count Abaro let their chatter flow in one ear and out the other, until suddenly he caught sight of something and began to move as though bewitched.
Horses beyond counting, carriages, knights, nobles, soldiers... and there, wedged in a gap in the crowd, stood a blue-haired boy.
Laszlo.
His son had changed so much in their time apart that he was nearly unrecognizable. The gaunt, skeletal frame was nowhere to be found; he had filled out all over, and there was even a dimple carved into his cheek.
"Laszlo."
Count Abaro shoved his way forward through the crowd.
"Laszlo!"
The blue-haired boy looked at him, and for an instant the Count wavered on his feet. His son's face felt like a stranger's. He could not even remember the last time the boy had met his eyes head-on.
"Why didn't you come yesterday?"
"Why would I go, just because you called?"
The Count faltered. It was an expression he had never once seen from him, a tone he had never heard. But the bewilderment lasted only a moment before the fury banked since last night came pouring out.
"You will come here this instant!"
Laszlo did not so much as flinch.
"Do you have any idea what disaster you alone have stirred up? It is all because of you! Must you truly stand there and watch the family be ruined?"
"Since when have I ever been that important to you?"
The instant Laszlo talked back, something in Count Abaro's head seemed to snap. He roared as if raking the words out of his own guts.
"You are my son!"
Laszlo laughed.
"You're the one who said I wasn't a person, but a horse."
"That was—!"
"So it seems a beast may carry on the Abaro line after all."
Count Abaro could find no answer. This was the son he had prided himself on knowing inside and out, on handling with ease—and now he had no sense at all of how to begin.
Laszlo strode off toward the courthouse, Eden's knights falling in beside him. Just before he reached the entrance, he glanced back at the dumbstruck Count and left him with one last remark.
"Still—watching the family fall to ruin."
Laszlo smiled faintly.
"...I find myself looking forward to it."