Chapter 18

18

LECTURE NOTES FROM REALM RULES & METHODOLOGY:

The Troika was formed upon creation of our realm. It consists of our three Supremes, and it is their consolidated belief that will weave your fate. If you ever find yourself before them, I’d suggest you pray to the goddess for grace.

T he Trial Room was cast in tawny marble, lit with hundreds of candles, enchanted to float. Guards lined the oval-shaped space where several pews were set before a small podium. The far wall held three golden thrones, one for each Supreme.

Thessa noticed Leora seated on the opposite side she was being led to and shouted, “Leora!”

“Silence! Face forward!”

Thessa scrunched her upper lip.

As a soldier shoved her into her seat, she noticed two other prisoners, all the way in front. She couldn’t help but shift her eyes back and forth between them. She knew them .

A bell chimed, snapping her attention back.

A soldier took to the podium and raised his arms. “Rise for your Supremes.”

As Thessa stood, she supposed she was in an In-Between of her own, stumbling between what was really happening, and what had to be a long-standing nightmare.

There was a domed door behind the thrones with a wheel-shaped handle. A blast of air-magic from a nearby guard had it spinning. When it opened, the purest of all the realm strode through. The Supremes walked as if the floor shifted beneath their feet. Their thick, long gowns were bound by cords, wrapping around their breasts and knotting along each shoulder.

As they found their seats, Thessa examined each.

The Botanical Supreme’s tight, brown curls were trying to escape her hood, bouncing just above her shoulders. Her warm skin and emerald eyes were like mirrors of the land.

The Celestial Supreme's long, silver hair billowed down atop her opalescent gown.Her almond eyes were lined in stardust, complimenting her silver jewelry.

The Elemental Supreme, General Valstrom, had beady eyes and thin lips. Her short, copper hair was hiding beneath her hood, while her expression remained cruel.

Moments later, a guard ordered everyone to be seated as the Botanical Supreme rose, moving toward the podium. She removed her hood, releasing her hair with a shake, and dismissed her escort with a flick of her hand.

She reviewed the pages of parchment before her while humming like a bird. The sweet sound resonated off the walls, until she spoke. “Mr. Soren Whitfield, Mr. Emiel McPorter, Ms. Thessa Skiafer, and Ms. Leora Saint Jamith.”

Hearing her name roll off the Supreme’s tongue made her skin prickle. The males hadn’t known about her magic. She had no magic when she met them. She didn’t understand why they were here.

The Supreme looked Thessa in the eye, as if silencing her thoughts before continuing, “The charges are as follows: One, unorderly conduct at a public event. Two, reckless use of magic, including but not limited to forbidden charms and spells. Three, endangerment of townsfolk. And four, the cause of mass extinguishment.”

She shuffled the papers before saying, “The case is presented as follows: Several members of the Mabelton Society stated they witnessed Mr. Soren Whitfield, Mr. Emiel McPorter, Ms. Leora Saint Jamith, and Ms. Thessa Skiafer arrive together on festival grounds in Mabelton the evening of June twenty-first. Each male was carrying their own barrel, and the females shared one. Mr. Julian Athel, a Mabelton Society member, said he witnessed Mr. Soren Whitfield opening a barrel just after sundown, and out with it came a tangle of small serpents. Mr. Athel thought it was for amusement, initially, he stated here. But it goes on to say that was until Soren bolted.” She peered up and raised a brow at him before drifting her eyes back down to the parchment.

“The power of multiplicity is repeated here, ad nauseam, by the Mabelton Society members, as well as several townsfolk who were questioned after the event. To conclude, serpents were spelled illegally and released with the intention to bring harm, leading to public chaos and grounds incineration, resulting in the four charges today.”

This wasn’t about her—Thessa fumed in realization.

The Botanical Supreme looked up again, tightening the pile of papers. “Please rise when you’re addressed by the Troika.” She gestured briefly to her fellow Supremes. “Then you will state your status: at fault, or not at fault. We will begin with Ms. Leora Saint Jamith. ”

Thessa's heart dropped.

Leora stood with certainty in her stare. Neither of them had to lie. This was the males’ fault, let them have the blame. Thessa didn’t even want to think about what barrel she’d carried into that festival. She gagged at the thought of her mead being serpent-infused.

“Not at fault,” Leora said with spark.

“You may be seated. And Ms. Thessa Skiafer, please rise and state your status.”

Thessa stood and cleared her throat. “Not at fault.”

The Botanical Supreme nodded once, signaling her to sit. “Mr. Emiel McPorter, you’re next. Stand and state your stance.”

Emiel rose. “Not at fault, Madame Hearthling.”

The Supreme’s features hardened as she said, “And Mr. Soren Whitfield, what is your stance?”

Soren stood, slowly. “Not. At. Fault.” He’d sounded out each syllable.

Thessa was confused, this was his fault. There were witnesses.

The Botanical Supreme lifted her nose and said, “Then let the trial begin.”