“An interesting perspective.” The Pope’s amber eyes studied Clara with an intensity that made her want to shrink back. “Are you suggesting that the Church’s methods are flawed?”

  It was a dangerous question. But the fact that the Pope had not silenced her yet could only be a good thing; Clara felt so close to accomplishing something. She had to walk a fine line here—argue her case, get a fair trial, without alienating the Church or the Pope.

  “Divinity cannot be flawed, Your Holiness,” said Clara without really believing it, “yet a painting can hold a myriad of truths within a single brush stroke. I am simply suggesting we take care to accurately interpret the Goddess’s revelations.”

  A flicker of something crossed the Pope’s eyes. Amusement, perhaps?

  “Mmm. Very well. Inquisitor Aldric, rephrase your question.”

  I cannot believe that worked. Clara held back a grin.

  “Ah?” the Inquisitor stammered, eyes widened. “O-of course, Your Holiness.” He turned back to Iris, his voice clipped. “Lady Iris, following Lady Helena’s continued contact with the Crown Prince—your fiancé—did you or did you not add a substance to Lady Helena’s morning tea?”

  “I did,” Iris answered.

  Clara clicked her tongue. There was no getting out of this part.

  “And did you know that substance would cause her harm?”

  “Yes, but—”

  Inquisitor Aldric turned to the Pope. “The truth reveals itself, Your Holiness. The accused intentionally caused grievous harm to the victim by slipping a harmful substance into her tea. What can this be if not poisoning?”

  “That is cherrypick—” Clara stopped immediately when the Pope raised her hand. She couldn’t afford to be silenced here.

  “I have to agree with the inquisition. It is clear that the accused—Lady Iris von Rhenia—conspired to inflict harm upon Lady Helena Rosewood. A most sinful course of action, against the teachings of the Goddess,” said the Pope.

  No, no, no. Clara clenched her fists.

  The Pope continued. “Inquisitor Aldric, do you have any further questions?”

  “Only one, Your Holiness. Accused, how did you acquire the aforementioned harmful substance?” He smiled at Clara as the last two words slid off his tongue.

  Iris turned to look at Clara. Her amethyst eyes, previously so confident, were clouded with a mixture of pity and guilt that made Clara’s chest tighten. It was the look of someone about to do something she’d hate herself for.

  ‘It’s okay’, Clara mouthed. She had known this was coming.

  “I asked my maid, Clara Casewell, to procure it for me,” Iris whispered.

  “And there we have it,” Inquisitor Aldric announced, his earlier embarrassment replaced with triumphant glee. “The plot is laid bare. Lady Iris von Rhenia, jealous of Lady Helena’s closeness to His Highness Prince Lochlann, conceived of a most sinful scheme against her rival. Her maid, Clara Casewell, acquired poison, and Lady Iris herself carried out the deed. Both are guilty of attempted murder.”

  The Pope nodded. “I believe we have reached the regrettable end of this matter. We shall now proceed to senten—”

  “Hold it.” Clara slammed the podium in front of her, and the sharp crack of palm against wood echoed around the courtroom. It was a massive risk, but one she had to take.

  This was far too quick for a judgement. Iris hadn’t finished telling her side of the story. And why had the inquisitor not asked to question Clara? This, coupled with his initial reaction when seeing her, and the threatening letter from yesterday… Clara felt the pieces of a conspiracy coming together in her mind. It was a stretch, but it was the only thing she had to hold on to.

  The Pope turned to her. “Accused.” This time, her voice was stern. “As you are at risk of the death penalty, I granted your previous request. It would not be wise to push any further than this.”

  “I apologize, Your Holiness. I merely wish to ask some further questions of Lady Iris before we finalize the proceedings.”

  “Questions?” repeated Inquisitor Aldric. “Who do you think you are?! I am the inquisitor here! You are the accused! It is not your place to ask anything!”

  “I do not intend to usurp the role of the honorable inquisition,” said Clara, “yet the Elysian Codex allows the accused’s side the opportunity to ask questions of any witness.”

  “The Elysian Codex? That ancient text is hardly relevant today,” said Inquisitor Aldric. “It is a relic of a less civilized time.”

  “Be that as it may, many Elysian laws remain in force in the Holy Kingdom of Arcadia today. They are even taught at Claves Academy, are they not?”

  “You wish to make a mockery of this court, to taint the holy testimony with twisted manipulations!”

  Pot, meet kettle. Clara turned to the Pope. “Your Holiness, Lady Iris is under the effect of the Blessing of Truth. No one can make her speak falsehoods. What harm could there be in asking her a few more questions?”

  The Pope closed her eyes, as if deep in thought. Iris smiled gently at Clara. On the upper gallery, Prince Lochlann held Helena’s hand, now directing his scorn to Clara. And on the other side, Duke von Rhenia was standing, holding tightly to the gallery’s railing.

  Then the Pope spoke. “The Blessing of Truth cannot be fooled. Therefore, I see no harm in allowing some additional questions, regardless of who they come from. The truth is a virtue, so to see it further revealed can only be in accordance with the Goddess’s will.”

  “Your Holiness, you cannot be serious?” said Inquisitor Aldric.

  The Pope narrowed her eyes at him. “You forget yourself, Inquisitor.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Clara saw fear in the inquisitor’s eyes, and he immediately bowed. “My apologies, Your Holiness. Of course, your decision is correct.”

  “Miss Casewell.” The Pope turned to Clara. “You may ask your questions. But know that you will be humored no further than this.”

  “Thank you, Your Holiness.”

  With the Pope’s permission, Clara stepped away from her podium and walked towards the center of the room, on the opposite side of Inquisitor Aldric.

  It’s time for Arcadia’s very first cross-examination. Make it one for the ages, Senior Counsel Casewell.

  Clara took a long breath. The sun had moved to the middle of the sky, and the stained-glass now painted the marble much more vividly than before.

  She stepped next to Iris. The golden light still pulsed softly from her chest, warm and steady as a second heartbeat.

  “Pay attention now, my lady, and follow my lead,” Clara whispered. Then she walked back, leaving a purposeful gap between them.

  “Lady Iris.” Clara kept her voice calm and measured—she imagined she was in a boardroom, surrounded by stubborn executives who really needed to shut up and listen. “When you asked me for herbs to put in Lady Helena’s tea, what specifically did you intend for those herbs to do?”

  Iris watched Clara with curiosity, the morbid resignation from earlier replaced by something sharper. She tilted her head, silver drills swaying softly. “I wanted to give her a stomachache. A rather unpleasant one—enough to make sure she would not embarrass the Crown Prince during their group presentation.”

  Murmurs rippled through the gallery. The first step to a solid case was a solid foundation, and for that, Clara needed to reframe their perception of Iris. That was the prerequisite for everything else she had planned.

  She pressed on before Inquisitor Aldric could interrupt her momentum.

  “Did you intend for Lady Helena to become seriously ill? Did you at all expect her to be bedridden for weeks?”

  “No.” Iris’s voice rang clear. “I only wanted her to miss a single day. Maybe two.”

  “Lady Iris—” Clara paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough. “Did you intend to kill Lady Helena Rosewood?”

  “Absolutely not.” The golden light pulsed. “I have no desire to see Lady Helena dead.”

  Clara turned slightly, addressing both the Pope and the gallery. She could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes—most hostile, some curious. “Your Holiness, as you can see, the Blessing of Truth has confirmed that Lady Iris had no intent to kill. She intended only a minor, temporary inconvenience. Her desires may not have been noble,” she allowed a hint of dryness into her tone, “but they were not murder.”

  “Intent does not absolve action,” Inquisitor Aldric cut in.

  Well, it’s not that simple. Culpability and intent were very often tied. But arguing that point clearly wasn’t going to do her any favors in this world.

  The inquisitor continued. “The fact remains that Lady Helena nearly died after drinking the tea the accused tampered with. Whatever Lady Iris intended is irrelevant.”

  “Is it?” Clara raised an eyebrow. Compared to the senior partners at Caine, Polis & Smith, who could make junior associates weep with a single glance, the inquisitor’s bluster was almost quaint. “In that case, Inquisitor, allow me to continue.”

  She turned back to Iris, noting with satisfaction that the young lady’s posture had shifted—straighter now, her usual pride returning.

  “Lady Iris, what specifically did you ask me to procure?”

  “I merely asked you to fetch an assortment of purgative herbs. Any apothecary would be able to provide that.”

  Clara nodded. That matched what she remembered from the last chapter she’d read of the original story. But now things were about to get trickier. The next question would help Clara understand precisely how the truth spell worked—whether it merely prevented lies, or whether it could do something more.

  “And how much of this herbal assortment did you use in Lady Helena’s tea?”

  “A pinch. Half a teaspoon, at most,” answered Iris.

  An answer that was both helpful and dangerous. But at least for now, I can use this. Clara allowed herself a small smile.

  “Do you have any reason to believe that amount would be dangerous?”

  “It shouldn’t be. I’ve had it administered to me before when I was younger, during a bout of—” Iris’s cheeks flushed slightly. “—digestive difficulties. It merely caused discomfort for an afternoon.”

  “Were you surprised when Lady Helena became deathly ill?”

  “I was shocked,” Iris admitted. “It made no sense. When I heard she’d been bedridden, I almost didn’t believe it.”

  More noises from the crowd—but not murmurs this time. They were rowdier, louder, enough to overwhelm the room.

  “—was Lady Helena lying—”

  “It doesn’t sound like the von Rhenia girl wanted to kill—”

  “—poisoning is still poisoning.”

  “Sileant omnes,” came the voice from the altar, and the chatter died completely. Clara felt an oppressive weight inside her lungs. She tried to speak, and nothing came out. She grasped her throat with her hand in a flurry of panic.

  “We are under the gaze of the Goddess,” said the Pope. “You will behave yourselves.”

  And then, all at once, the pressure vanished. Clara gasped, a visceral reaction to how easily the Pope’s magic had overwhelmed her senses—and everyone else’s. She would be impressed, if it weren’t so fucking horrifying.

  Clara took a deep breath to compose herself. Focus. This was the moment her gamble would either pay off or collapse entirely. “Did you consider the possibility that you might have made a mistake? That perhaps you misremembered, used more than you planned to?”

  Inquisitor Aldric stepped forward. “This is nonsense! The accused is leading the witness to speculate—”

  “I am asking Lady Iris, who is under the Blessing of Truth, whether she may have made a mistake when dosing the herbs,” Clara met his glare. “That is not speculation—it is her truthful assessment of her own actions.”

  The Pope raised her hand. It was a slight, almost lazy gesture, but after what had just happened, that simple wave was enough to make Clara flinch. “The question is permitted. The accused shall answer.”

  Iris was quiet for a moment. The golden light at her chest pulsed once, twice—and then there was a brightness in her eyes. “Yes, I did think I made a mistake. Honestly, as I told you yesterday, my first reaction was to blame myself, to think I might have accidentally used too much.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “But I remember it clearly now, as if it had just happened. I definitely used less than a teaspoon.”

  Clara’s heart surged. There it is. For once, Clara was thankful for the truth magic: it had allowed her to sharpen foggy memories into crystal certainty. And that certainty was now evidence of Iris’s innocence.

  Iris continued, and Clara noted with admiration that her lady had caught on to the game. “It is a great relief to me that, thanks to the Goddess’s light, I am able to reconfirm my own actions. I am grateful to Her Holiness and the honorable inquisitor for this opportunity to ease my conscience.”

  Well played, my lady.

  “The Goddess shines Her light even in the darkest of circumstances,” said the Pope. Was she… smiling?

  Clara seized the moment. “As you can see, Lady Iris placed only a small amount of common purgative herbs onto Lady Helena’s tea. An amount that any apothecary could confirm is insufficient to cause a brush with death. Therefore, there must be some other explanation for what happened to Lady Helena.”

  There were dozens of gasps from the gallery as spectators looked at each other confusedly. Yet there was nary a murmur. It seemed Clara wasn’t the only one who wasn’t quite keen on subjecting herself to another bout of forced silence.

  Clara’s mind was already racing ahead. If she were the prosecutor now, there would be an obvious theory to posit: the herbs weren’t purgatives at all, because Iris had unwittingly used something far more deadly. Something provided by her maid.

  Which then begged the question: I am the person who handed her the herbs. So why has the inquisitor not called me to testify? Why doesn't he just ask me if I gave Iris poison instead of purgatives?

  He’d had every opportunity. Every reason. And yet he’d tried to rush to judgement before Clara could even open her mouth. The same man who had looked so rattled when he first saw her enter the courtroom.

  She turned to face the altar.

  “Your Holiness, I formally request an additional interrogation.”

  The Pope raised an eyebrow. “And whose interrogation are you requesting?”

  Inquisitor Aldric’s panicked eyes turned to the upper gallery. To Helena. Nice guess, Mister Inquisitor. Alas, it was incorrect—for now.

  Stella, I’m choosing to trust you. Don’t let me down.

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