Chapter 47: The Blessing of Truth

The bishop’s gavel cracked three times in rapid succession, but even that wasn’t enough to fully quiet the gallery. Clara could feel the weight of every gaze in the room pressing down on her, especially Warren’s. He clearly wasn’t amused by her theory.

“Order! The Goddess demands order!” The bishop brought down the gavel twice more, and there was finally something resembling silence. He drew out a low hum before speaking. “For there to have been two separate events that night… I must admit that I am struggling to follow your theory, Counsel. Perhaps in my old age, I do not think as fast as I once did.”

“I assure you, Your Excellency, that it has nothing to do with age. I have also been left befuddled by the defense’s truly acrobatic leap of logic,” said Warren. “I wager it may be time for a recess. We’ve been here for some time now, and it seems the counsel has taken leave of her faculties.”

“My faculties remain in perfectly good standing, Prosecutor Righton.” I hope.

“Is that so? Shall I list the contradictions in your theory? Only the most glaring ones, since there are so many of them. One: if the accused thrust a sword into the victim’s neck at eight, how was the victim still alive at ten, when Duke von Rhenia heard the fight? Two: if the victim was murdered at eight, how was he still at the banquet long after that?” As the prosecutor spoke, he lifted a finger for each point he made. “Three: if Dame Rowena collapsed into unconsciousness shortly after eight, how could the duke have heard her voice two hours later?”

Yes, how could Clara explain those? Well, at least two of them could have been caused by the duke lying, but not only did she not think that was the case—it would be a foolish lie, since the von Rhenia guards who were called to break the door could easily disprove it—it also would not explain everything, anyway. Because Ricardo was seen at the banquet after eight by dozens of people, including Clara herself, and she knew he hadn’t left when Rowena did. It would be very difficult for a dead person to grab her a drink.

So what was the truth? Was it even possible to arrive at an answer that cleared up every contradiction?

Let’s take this step by step and eliminate the impossibilities one by one.

“Indeed, Prosecutor Righton. I agree with you that Major Ricardo could not have died at eight. There is plenty of evidence to support this: not only was he seen alive after that, but the blood in the room was still pooling under him when we went inside, consistent with a recent injury.”

“Then you admit your theory is—”

“Not so fast.” Clara shook her head, then met his gaze. “Haven’t you heard that gentlemen should let ladies finish first?” At that, he mumbled something and looked away, and she continued. “The question is, if he died at ten, what did Dame Rowena see at eight? Why did she confess to stabbing a man who wasn’t even there?”

Warren scoffed. “Because it was not eight. Because, for whatever reason, she failed to hear two chimes of the bell.”

“That is one possibility, with its own set of issues, as I’ve pointed out before. And it is not the only one.”

Duke von Rhenia raised his cane and struck it pointedly against the floor. “Then what other possibility is there, Counsel? Do enlighten us. After all, it is impolite to keep a duke waiting.” There was no trace of hostility or confusion on his face. Was he just that impassive, or was he somehow one step ahead?

No, surely not. Even for him, that’s too ridiculous. He’s a person, not some overpowered male lead from a novel.

Clara walked calmly back to the defense’s bench as her mind spun.

Ricardo died at ten. Rowena confessed to killing him at eight. Could her memory have been magically altered? No, the Blessing of Truth would have drawn forth her true memories, just like it had drawn out Stella’s. Which meant that what Rowena saw was real. But Ricardo was alive for another two hours.

Wait, real?

Clara’s memory went back to the field of flowers Helena had summoned at the Fundamentals of Magic exam. They were so vivid, so lifelike. Yes, with her knowing about the illusion, there were some things that were off—the images hadn’t been one hundred percent perfect, and the tactile sensation was a bit off from the real thing, but…

“Your Excellency, Your Grace,” she said, “allow me to make a small demonstration.”

The bishop nodded, and she reached into her satchel and pulled out her wooden wand. It hadn’t been used since the last time Professor Morris charged it, so there should be enough magical energy for what Clara wanted to do.

She looked at Iris and raised the wand.

“Flore, imago mea.”

Clara had done her own experiments with this spell while helping Iris prepare for her exam, so the visualization wasn’t difficult. The ruby shimmered, and then came the familiar pull of stored energy moving through her fingertips. A single crimson rose materialized in the air above her open left palm, its petals unfurling slowly. It wasn’t nearly as vivid as Iris’s had been—the color was slightly washed out, and there was a faint translucence on the edges—but it looked real enough.

“This is a minor example of illusion magic. A modification of a spell cast by Lady Iris von Rhenia during her Claves examinations.”

Warren’s eyes narrowed, and the harsh expression Iris had been wearing the whole day softened just a bit. Clara held the rose for as long as she could, keeping the image of each petal fixed in her mind. It felt like an extraordinarily long time, but after what must have been less than twenty seconds, the flower dissolved into motes of pale light.

“What you just witnessed was, of course, not a real flower,” said Clara. “And yet I ask Your Excellency to consider this: if you were asked to describe what you saw, what would you say?”

“An illusion, of course.”

“Right. But if you didn’t know it was one? And if you were drunk?”

The bishop thought for a moment. “I suppose I’d say I saw a flower, then. Oh!” His eyes lit up.

Clara set the wand down on the desk. “Your Excellency, what if what Dame Rowena saw was not Major Ricardo, but a magical projection of him, a manufactured illusion created two hours before he ever set foot in her room?”

Warren crossed his arms. “That is a preposterous claim. You have no proof of this.”

“Perhaps not directly. But if you’ll recall earlier testimony, you’ll see there’s plenty of circumstantial evidence.” Clara turned to Rowena. “Dame Rowena told us that when Major Ricardo entered her room, his eyes seemed emptier than usual. And she couldn’t describe his outfit, calling it ‘blurry’, despite being under the Blessing of Truth. Then there’s the fact that his face was ‘clear as day’, even during the night. And there’s more.”

She moved her eyes to the side, settling on the duke’s. “Duke von Rhenia—Major Ricardo’s liege lord, whom he’d served for nearly a decade—told us that Major Ricardo’s words to Dame Rowena were extremely out of character. The prosecution has failed to provide any semblance of a reason for Major Ricardo to act as described, but this would explain it.”

There was the barest trace of an upward tug at the corners of the duke’s lips.

“The defense proposes that a malicious third party conjured an illusion intentionally designed to provoke the accused into a violent response. Dame Rowena thought she attacked Major Ricardo, but in reality, she drove her sword into nothing. And the real Ricardo, who was very much alive and sitting at the banquet at that hour, was murdered later, at ten, by that same third party. After using magic to ensure witnesses would hear the two knights fighting, the culprit exited the scene by jumping out the window.”

Warren’s counter came immediately. “Another assertion with no evidence to back it up besides conjecture. Clearly, the defense intends to turn these proceedings into a kangaroo court.”

“A cangroo court? What is a cangroo, Prosecutor Righton?” The bishop looked genuinely confused, and Clara couldn’t help but chuckle.

Warren looked lost for a moment. “I… I am not sure, Your Excellency. My apologies.” He paused to recompose himself. “What I mean to say is this: the defense is making a mockery of this court, with a theory so outlandish it would better suit a penny dreadful than a holy trial. Not only is it highly convoluted, but creating such a convincing illusion is something only the most proficient spellcasters would be able to do.”

And yet, we know at least one person with that level of magical expertise.

“I’ll admit my assertions are unconventional,” said Clara. “But they are not impossible. And this is the only theory put forth today that resolves every contradiction and inconsistency this trial raised. Ricardo’s insulting words. The ease with which he was killed. The open window. The mismatched times. There is no other possibility that explains all of these at the same time.”

“Counsel Casewell.” Duke von Rhenia met her eyes, his gaze even more intense than usual. “Improbability and lack of evidence aside, there is one issue with your assertion.”

A witness shouldn’t be able to make that sort of statement, but there was no one in this courtroom who would say that to the duke.

“And what issue is that, Your Grace?”

“The Blessing of Truth, of course. After all, Dame Rowena’s words were that she attacked ‘Ricardo’, not ‘an illusion of Ricardo’. If your theory is to be believed, that would make Dame Rowena’s words strictly untrue.”

“That is an excellent point, Your Grace,” said Warren. “Everyone knows the Blessing of Truth cannot be fooled, for it comes from the Goddess herself. Not even alterations caused by memory magic can withstand its scrutiny.” He turned to Clara. “If we think back to our previous trial, the counsel will recall that the good professor never admitted, under the Blessing, to causing the Memory Void. He confessed only to using memory magic. Meanwhile, Dame Rowena has very specifically confessed to attacking Sir Ricardo.”

This was the moment Clara had been waiting for for over a month now. A chance to upend the very foundation of the Kingdom of Arcadia’s legal system.

Honestly, she hadn’t expected it to come so soon.

It was scary. She didn’t have the protection she had before, and she didn’t know what the consequences would be.

But it was also exhilarating. And more than that, it was the right thing to do.

Clara shook her head.

“I have proof. Proof that the Blessing of Truth is not as absolute as it seems.”

“What?” The disbelief was clear in Warren’s tone.

“Counsel Casewell!” The bishop brought down his gavel. “That is a very grave statement, bordering on heresy.”

“I am aware of the gravity, Your Excellency. And I would not make such a claim lightly. I ask that you give me the opportunity to explain myself before coming to conclusions.”

The bishop looked at her. He was upset, clearly, and angry. But the kindness never left his eyes—he was probably worried that he would have to condemn Clara for blasphemy if he let her keep talking.

The gallery had gone deathly quiet, waiting with bated breath for the bishop’s decision. And after a long, grave moment, he finally nodded.

Clara steadied her nerves.

“As Prosecutor Righton suggested, let us think back to the trial of Professor Morris. Viscount Reginald Vainglory was placed under the Blessing of Truth, and asked why he had falsely confessed to causing the Memory Void.” Clara paused, letting those who were at the trial, especially the bishop, Warren, and Iris, think back to that moment. “The viscount’s answer, compelled by the Blessing, was this: ‘Because I love her. And she loves me, too.’ That statement passed through Viscount Vainglory’s lips as smoothly as any other truth he spoke that day.”

She let the words hang. Warren’s eyes widened when the conclusion dawned on him, and Iris had her hands over her mouth.

“And yet, not a half hour later, Lady Marcella Skerrington, also under the Blessing, admitted her disdain for him, and said that she led him to believe she loved him to manipulate him into taking the fall for her crime.”

Duke von Rhenia stroked his chin.

“Both of them were under the Blessing of Truth. Both of them spoke with absolute sincerity. But their statements are mutually exclusive.” Clara faced the bishop directly. “Your Excellency, the Blessing compels a person to speak what they believe to be true, backed up by perfect recollection. It does not reveal objective reality, but merely subjective conviction. The viscount genuinely believed that Marcella loved him, because she had spent years convincing him of it. And so, the Blessing considered that the truth, despite her true feelings for him.”

The bishop’s mouth hung open.

“By the same principle,” Clara continued, “Dame Rowena genuinely believes she stabbed Major Ricardo. After all, she saw herself stabbing him in a way that felt perfectly real to her drunken self. But if what she experienced was a sufficiently convincing illusion, then her belief would be sincere, and the Blessing would consider it the truth.”

Bishop Dicton sat motionless behind his bench. His hand had frozen on the handle of the gavel, and the color had drained from his face in a way that made him look ten years older.

“Counsel Casewell. Do you understand what you have just said? Not merely within the context of this trial, but what it means for—”

“For every trial conducted under the Blessing of Truth.” Duke von Rhenia finished for him.

“I am not saying the Blessing does not work, or that every prior conviction should be called into question,” Clara said carefully. Though a lot of them probably should. “In the vast majority of cases, the facts uncovered by the Blessing should align perfectly with reality, and it remains an extraordinarily powerful way to uncover the truth. But it is not infallible, Your Excellency.”

“I have never once had cause to question the Blessing. It is the bedrock upon which the Goddess’s justice is built. Yet I cannot deny your example. But this is …” The bishop hesitated. “This is not a matter I can rule on. The Ecumenical Council must be consulted, and this trial must be put on hold.”

“Your Excellency, before we adjourn, I must note something for the record,” said Warren.

“Go ahead, Prosecutor Righton.”

“Even if one were to accept the defense’s argument about the Blessing’s limitation—a point on which I shall, of course, defer to the Ecumenical Council—that does not change the reality of this case.” Warren shrugged dramatically. “What the defense has presented is but a theory. An internally consistent one, I’ll grant her that much. But it is also undeniably convoluted, incomplete, and lacking evidence. The defense has no witness who saw an illusionist enter or leave the room, nor a motive for anyone other than the accused. The prosecution’s case can stand on the facts as they are, while the defense’s rebuttal stands only on a mountain of conjectures.”

Warren wasn’t wrong. Everything she’d presented was just inference and logic. She had no smoking gun—or maybe a smoking wand would be more appropriate. There was a lot more to unpack about this case, especially that nagging feeling that she kept pushing away: had Ricardo’s investigation into Stella’s past been the reason for his death?

“Your remarks are noted, Prosecutor Righton. I will write to the Ecumenical Council today and request guidance on the theological question the defense has raised regarding the Blessing of Truth. Given the gravity of the matter, I expect it will be handled with due urgency. I will notify all parties when I’m ready to resume the trial, and the accused will be held in custody until then.”

The bishop turned to Clara. “Counsel Casewell, you have presented a possibility that, if confirmed, would fundamentally alter the character of this case. I suggest you use that time to find something to substantiate your claims. If you cannot, I will have no choice but to render my verdict based on the testimony and the confession already presented before me, regardless of the question of the Blessing.”

He banged his gavel. “This court is adjourned until the Ecumenical Council’s decision. I pray the Goddess grants us all clarity in the interim.”