by Gage Lee
Hagar’s words stung like bees. I wanted to reject them, but there was too much truth in them. Abi was an honorable Titan, he’d never be friends with a thief. Eric was one of the Resplendent Suns, a clan obsessed with their reputation, so he’d never speak to me again. And Clem’s mother was an adjudicator. How would the child of a family involved in law enforcement ever justify friendship with a criminal?
My head drooped lower and my stomach tied itself into a tighter knot with every step I took toward the door. This was it. My whole life was about to be crushed under the heel of this tribunal. I’d never be known as the camper who’d almost won the Core Contest. My reputation would be very different.
Thief.
Cheater.
Outcast.
Like father like son, I thought, and hated myself for it. Whatever my father had done, my mother loved him to the end of his life. I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if she’d feel the same about her thief of a son.
The iron doors swung open to reveal a narrow room. Its walls, floor, and ceiling were solid slabs of polished black. Thin slits allowed sterile white light to pour from the ceiling, leaving most of the room in deep shadows. My eyes had adjusted by the time the door closed behind me, revealing the rest of the room’s details.
There was a tall dais opposite the door, and a wide black iron desk ran across its length. A trio of high-backed chairs sat behind the desk, empty and waiting for the tribunal’s members to arrive.
Hagar grabbed my arm and guided me toward a small circle that had been inscribed into the floor in front of the dais. The instant my feet were inside the circle, jinsei flooded around me. The scrivening flared to life and a milky curtain of pure sacred energy surrounded me.
“Don’t move outside the circle,” Hagar commanded. “You’ll regret it if you do.”
“I’m not sure how long I can stand here,” I confessed. My knees ached and the muscles in my thighs trembled. “I’m still not feeling my best after you beat me half to death last night.”
“And I’m still missing three teeth.” Hagar gave me an ugly grin that revealed the black gaps where her incisors and one canine tooth should have been. “You’re lucky I don’t finish the job right here.”
“You need this as much as I do,” I reminded her. “That’s the only reason I’m even here.”
“You got that right.” Hagar cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “If you hadn’t confessed to me, you wouldn’t be anywhere at all.”
“If you’d killed me, you’d be standing where I am right now,” I guessed. “Do you really think the clan would’ve appreciated your sacrifice?”
“I guess we’ll never know,” Hagar said. “We’ll all remember you, though. Take your punishment with honor, and who knows. Maybe with time the memory of your sacrifice might be polished into something other than the noose of dishonor you’ve tied around your throat.”
Sacrifice. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it made sense. The Shadow Phoenixes needed the rest of the clans to think they were weak. What I was doing today would reinforce that reputation and give the elders of my clan the chance they needed to complete their work. Whatever that was.
The lights in the room dimmed for a moment, then flared to brighter life. The white radiance stung my eyes, and I lowered my head to shield them from its angry glare. Footsteps echoed off the hard floor as the tribunal entered, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at my judges.
“Mr. Warin.” A woman’s crisp, clear voice rang through the chamber. I’d never heard it before, I was sure of that much, but there was something familiar about it. “I am Adjudicator Hark. I’ve come a very long way from Kyoto to be here today, and I would like to complete this unpleasantness as quickly as possible. You should know that you stand in a Circle of Verity. If you lie while you’re within that scrivening, you will be punished. Severely. Answer all of my questions truthfully, and the tribunal will decide your fate. This can be as quick and simple as you’d like to make it, or you can prolong your own suffering. The choice is yours.”
I nodded and raised my head to meet the eyes of my judges.
Grayson sat on the left side of the desk. He’d leaned back in his chair and tilted his head toward the ceiling so that the gray wedge of his beard stabbed at me like a blade. Tycho, his face flushed and eyes fixed on mine, had leaned forward from his seat to rest his elbows on the right side of the desk. He looked angrier than I’d ever seen him, and the weight of his regard crushed around my core like a fist.
Adjudicator Hark sat between the men. She was a sturdy woman in her early fifties who looked like she knew her way around a fight. There was something familiar about her, and when I realized what it was, I couldn’t believe it.
Adjudicator Hark was Clem’s mom.
“Did you understand me?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “My apologies, honored Adjudicator. I will answer any questions you have, honestly and with no delay.”
“When you lie, that scrivening that surrounds you will make you suffer in ways you can’t imagine.” Grayson stared at me as he spoke. He was trying to get under my skin, and it was working.
“Enough,” the adjudicator snapped. “Now, Mr. Warin, you stand accused of cheating on the School’s challenges. Is that true?”
“No,” I said.
Grayson watched me with cold eyes, a faint smirk on his lips. He clearly expected the Circle of Verity to zap me for lying.
But nothing happened.
“There’s something wrong with your circle,” Grayson snapped, obviously disappointed that I hadn’t been barbecued as soon as I’d answered. “The entire reason he stole the jinsei was to overcome the challenges he was incapable of conquering using his own core.”
“Forgive me, honored elder. I wasn’t aware there were restrictions on the use of boosters.” I kept my tone respectful and my words as straightforward and inoffensive as possible. Antagonizing the tribunal didn’t seem like a winning strategy. “I knew we weren’t allowed to use them in a duel unless our opponent agreed. Were we ever given rules explicitly forbidding the use of outside jinsei during the Core Contest?”
The adjudicator raised her eyebrows at my barb but didn’t so much as look at Grayson or Tycho.
“Very well, the circle supports your defense against this charge.” The adjudicator raised her right hand, and a series of symbols I couldn’t read appeared in the air above her head. “Charge dismissed.”
Grayson looked ready to jump out of his chair, but a simple glance from the adjudicator made him slump back and bite his tongue. I didn’t think she was technically above him in the hierarchy of the Empyreal Society, but in this room she acted as if she was the highest power that existed.
And Tycho and Grayson seemed to accept that.
“The next charge against you is attacking a warden during the rightful performance of her duties.” The adjudicator’s eyes filled with a golden light as she read the charge. That couldn’t be good. “Is this true?”
I didn’t believe it was within Hagar’s rights as a warden to try to kill me, and I certainly hadn’t attacked her. She’d come at me, and we’d fought. The answer to the adjudicator’s question in my mind at least was no.
I said as much and immediately regretted it.
A flash of fire spiraled from the circle and singed my aura. It was like suddenly having a third-degree sunburn over my entire body. The pain was agonizing, but something told me it could have been so much worse.
“I was following the orders of my elders when he attacked me,” Hagar offered. “You can see my injuries for yourself.”
“Charge sustained,” the adjudicator said and raised her left hand. A string of unidentifiable text blazed into their air above her head, forming a second column next to the first.
“She tried to—” I needed to explain that the orders of the clan elders had been to slaughter me. The adjudicator needed to know that I’d only fought to save my life.
“The charge has been u
pheld, Mr. Warin.” The adjudicator seemed almost sorry she had to interrupt me. “No further defense is required. Or allowed.”
Grayson leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands over his chest. He seemed satisfied with the way this tribunal was going. I’d only been absolved of the most minor charge, while the more serious ones would end up pinned to my chest. He’d won, and he knew it.
“Very well,” the adjudicator continued. “The final charge against you is theft of jinsei in the amount of three million, two hundred and twenty-seven thousand, four hundred oboli.”
Okay, then. That was a ridiculous amount of money. I wasn’t sure how I’d stolen that much, but everyone seemed to agree that I was a thief of the highest order. I’d thought each of the elixirs, serums, and pills I’d stolen might have been worth a few oboli. But this amount meant they’d been worth hundreds, if not thousands. My stomach tried to eat itself as the tension in my body ratcheted up. If I’d really stolen three million oboli, Grayson could ask for any punishment he wanted, and the adjudicator would likely give it to me.
“Please answer my question, Mr. Warin.” The adjudicator’s voice had dropped to a more conversational tone, and there was real concern in her eyes. Had she asked me a question? I hadn’t heard her through my shock. “Did you steal elixirs, pills, and serums totaling the aforementioned amount from the Reyes Alchemical Laboratory?”
There was no getting around the truth. I’d taken the jinsei, and it didn’t matter whether I had a good reason for what I’d done.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I needed it to make up for the deficiency in my abilities, honored Adjudicator. I beg you find mercy in your sentencing.”
“Mercy?” Grayson snorted. “I want this thief expelled. I want him sentenced to a lifetime in the deep sea mining platforms. It’s better than he deserves, but at least it will keep his foul nature from corrupting the rest of the students.”
“While I understand your justifiable anger at this incident, your suggested sentence seems extreme for a child.” The adjudicator stared at Grayson for a moment, and he stared right back at her.
“At the very least he should be expelled,” Grayson demanded. “His behavior is unbecoming of any member of Empyreal society, much less a student at its highest institution of learning. What will the rest of the clans say when they find out we harbored a thief in our midst?”
“And what will the rest of the clans say when they find out that you have pushed another student into a life of crime because of your own petty prejudices and long-nursed grudges?” Tycho asked in a pleasant, conversational tone. “I do not believe we can afford to lose a student. Especially one with Mr. Warin’s promise.”
“He must be punished,” the adjudicator said. “But you are the aggrieved party of this charge, Mr. Tycho. I am open to hearing your suggestions regarding Mr. Warin’s punishment.”
“I do not wish to deprive the Empyrean Flame of such a promising artist,” Tycho said. “I paid Mr. Warin’s tuition, and it was my decision to invite him here against Mr. Bishop’s wishes. I suggest he remain at the School, under my family’s guidance, to continue his studies in isolation from other students and proceed with his work study to repay the debt he owes to me, personally.”
“You can’t let him stay here,” Hagar shouted. “He shames the Shadow Phoenix clan with his weakness and thievery. We humbly request that he be banished from Empyreal society entirely.”
“Do you speak under the warrant of your clan’s elders, Warden Hagar?” The adjudicator leaned forward in her chair and her golden eyes burned like beacons. “Because if you do not, I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself. I understand that your altercation with Mr. Warin may have given you a rather low opinion of him, but it is just that: your opinion.”
“My most humble apologies, honored Adjudicator,” Hagar declared. She kneeled on the floor in front of the dais and bowed her head until her nose touched its floorboards. “My anger got the better of me. I spoke out of turn.”
“Anger seems to be going around these days,” the adjudicator said. She raised her right hand and another line of text appeared in the first column. “Mr. Warin, the most serious charge of theft against you has been upheld by this tribunal. In this time of trouble, the clans cannot afford to lose even a single student. Your punishment will be as novel as your position here.”
Grayson opened his mouth to protest, but the adjudicator rolled right over his unspoken protest in a calm and steady voice.
“You will remain at the School,” she said. “In isolation, as suggested by Mr. Reyes, to preserve the integrity of this institution and prevent your influence from affecting the other initiates. You will be allowed to complete the academic year, and if you pass the final challenges, we will revise your punishment at that time.”
Grayson’s face flushed red and he slammed his fists down on the desk. The weight of his rage hammered against my aura, and I nearly toppled out of the circle. If the headmaster had hated me before, his rage had evolved far beyond that.
I felt a moment of relief, but only a moment. If I was locked away from the other students for the rest of the year, I wouldn’t be able to compete in any of the challenges for the Core Contest. This punishment was practically the same as an expulsion.
“During this time, you will be allowed to continue your work for Mr. Reyes in his alchemical laboratory,” the adjudicator continued without missing a beat. “Part of your punishment will be to compensate the Reyes family for the jinsei that you stole from them. Until such time as you have repaid your significant debt to your patron, you are subject to further adjudication by this tribunal.”
Tycho seemed pleased with the result, but something troubled him. His eyes had narrowed to slits as the adjudicator recited my sentence, and I wondered if there was some hidden escape hatch built into it for me to figure out.
“You have made a grave misstep on your path to enlightenment within Empyreal society, Mr. Warin.” The adjudicator’s eyes burned with the golden light of condemnation. “I hope you see this punishment for the act of mercy it is and use this time wisely to rehabilitate yourself. Perhaps if you had a better grounding in the history of the Empyreal clans, you would have avoided this dangerous detour in your life’s journey. I suggest you remediate this gap in your knowledge.”
Adjudicator Hark stood from behind the desk and raised both of her hands. The text in the air above her flared with golden light.
“This tribunal is adjourned. Mr. Reyes, you will commend Mr. Warin to a suitable location to serve out his sentence here.” The adjudicator glanced at Tycho and Grayson. “I do not wish to be called back on this matter. I will reconvene this tribunal at the end of the year. Good luck, Mr. Warin. You’ll need it.”
The Stacks
TYCHO REMAINED IN HIS seat behind the wide desk until after the adjudicator and Grayson had both left the room. Only then did he incline his head toward Hagar, who stood next to me as still as a statue.
“Thank you for your assistance in uncovering the activities of this thief, Warden Hagar,” Tycho said. “Your services are no longer required here.”
Hagar’s eyes flicked from me to Tycho and then back.
“If it is all the same to you, honorable elder, I’d like to see the prisoner delivered to his cell,” she said.
“Yes, I see. Unfortunately, it is not at all the same to me. Leave us. Now.” The last word fell on Hagar with all the force of Tycho’s presence behind it. She staggered, and the backwash from the psychic swat he’d just given her buffeted my aura.
“As you wish, elder.” The warden backed away and bowed low at the waist, hands clasped behind her waist. A trickle of blood dribbled from her nose with every step.
“Well, Mr. Warin,” Tycho said from his seat once Hagar had left the room, “it seems you weren’t listening to me when last we spoke.”
“A thousand apologies, honorable sage,” I said and bowed as deeply as I could without stepping over the bounds of the containment scri
vening that surrounded me. “I did not mean to disobey you. I only sought to honor my family and bring glory to the clan who so kindly offered me a place in this institution.”
“Jace, I have a hundred projects in progress at any time. My every decision impacts tens of thousands of lives.” Tycho sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, then stood from his seat behind the desk. “When you distract me from my projects, people suffer. Real people with real lives and real jobs and real families that depend on them. Yes, this irritates me. But, more importantly, it should disturb you. Do you want people to suffer for your impetuous decisions?”
There was a dark undercurrent to the sage’s words, and I knew that his mentioning people was a pointed reminder that my mother was in his family’s care. I wasn’t going to bring up the subject, but Tycho clearly didn’t know I’d warned my mother. Or he did and was trying to give me a not very subtle hint that she was still his prisoner.
I desperately wanted to know if she’d escaped, but knew better than to take the bait the sage had offered.
“I certainly do not wish to cause suffering to anyone, honorable elder,” I said and bowed sharply again. “I wish only to protect the name of my family and show my devotion to you and your clan for their assistance. If I am sometimes overzealous in this, that is a failing I will work diligently to correct.”
Tycho stepped off the dais and studied me from just outside the jinsei boundary that held me in place.
“You’re a good liar, Jace,” he said at last. “I’m not sure which part of that last was a lie, and I’ve been a sage for a century. I knew there was something valuable about you, but I thought it was only your faulty core. This new facility with deceit is something we will have to discuss later.”
