Falling Facades

First time you feel it, it might make you sad

Next time you feel it, it might make you mad

~ Huey Lewis

Chapter 1

Revenge, which, like envy, is an instinct of justice, does but take into its own hands the execution of that natural law which precedes the social. ~ Paul Chatfield

"I missed you so much." Hertrude had already welcomed her younger sister back to Castle Fanoss formally, but in their own apartments with the servants sent away she clung to Hertrauda as if afraid that she would be swept away from her. Or rather, dreading that inevitability.

The shorter of the sisters rested her head on Hertrude's shoulder. "So have I. It was exciting to visit so many different places, but the one thing I missed was that I couldn't share the experience with you."

"Perhaps we'll get the chance," the princess said hopefully. "But that may not be for a while with the war that's coming."

"Does it have to be war?" Hertrauda pulled away, just far enough that their matching crimson eyes could meet. "For everyone I met that would welcome war with Holfort, I met at least as many who dreaded the prospect of their homes being destroyed again in such a war."

Hertrude drew her sister aside to a couch and they sat together, resting their shoulders against each other in silent comfort at the familiarity of the contact.

"For myself I sympathise with the latter," she admitted, the words feeling like a betrayal. "The people I met in Holfort, they're not so very different from the people here. In the good ways… and in the bad ways. On both sides, there are people who want war. And unfortunately, on both sides they have momentum behind them."

"Can't you stop them? You're supposed to be our ruler. Our leader."

"And sometimes the only way to hold onto the lead is to get out in front, in whatever direction my people are already going." Hertrude reached out and pressed her sister's hands between hers. "To govern Fanoss, I need power. If I had the flutes, I could at least apply the direct threat of those against dissidents. But without them I have no real leverage against Count Garrett and his supporters. They want war, and if I don't give them that, then they'll have no use for me." She licked her lips. "The same way they had no use for our parents."

Hertrauda froze and the elder princess waited patiently for her sister to process that idea.

"There was," the bob-haired girl said at last, "Someone I met on my tour. While Sir Vandel wasn't watching over me. I won't name names. But he suggested that Roland Rafa Holfort gained nothing by our parents' deaths."

"That's my own opinion." Hertrude lowered her head. "It's still possible that someone from his kingdom was behind it… but as I said. There is good and bad on both sides of the border. And their deaths left Count Garrett and the rest of the regency council with the rule of Fanoss for years, free to erode our dynasty's influence in favour of their own."

"I was hoping," and Hertrauda was clearly trying not to cry, "That you would tell me that I was wrong."

"I wish that I could."

"We can't let this just happen, Hertrude."

"How do you suggest that we stop it? We're surrounded by guards selected by the regents, servants selected by the regents… and if they put a gun to your head, I'll give whatever orders they tell me to." She ran her thumb over the back of Hertrauda's hand. "The only freedom of action I'll have is if I appear to be endorsing their policies of my own free will."

"Sir Vandel could take us away!"

Hertrude shook her head slowly. "There's very little that he wouldn't do for us, Hertrauda. But there's one cause that he won't back us on. The same cause that turned him against mother and father. Peace with Holfort. That's something he won't forgive. I think sometimes that avenging his family is all that keeps him going - if we're an obstacle to that then I don't think he'll help us."

"Father trusted him!" Hertrauda pleaded.

"I know. That was probably his last mistake. In our position, we don't get to make many. At least, not without paying a heavy price."

Hertrauda rose to her feet and walked away. "I can't believe that you'd be alright with this! You know it's wrong!"

Her sister watched her for a moment and then she also stood. Going to the wall, she removed a largely ornamental dagger from where it was mounted on the wall and lifted it to her throat. "Imagine that it was Count Garrett holding it here," she said simply. "And the price of it being removed was ordering our knights to storm the castle of Marquis Field."

Her little sister's eyes went wide. "I…"

"Decide!"

"Hertrude!" the girl shrieked.

"Thank you." She lowered the dagger. "And I would also choose you. Come hell or high water. But that leaves us terribly vulnerable, unless, as I say, we appear to be complying with the wishes of my regents. Appear, I say." Hertrude began working the weapon back into the clips that it had been mounted on. "I can't let it happen, I have to make it happen. But I don't have to just let it happen. Just. Appear. Those are the words to keep in mind."

"You'll be causing a lot of people's deaths," Hertrauda joined her and helped her wrestle the dagger back into place. "Can you live with that? I know you're more gentle than you want anyone to know. Is staying in charge of Fanoss so important?"

"That's something I've had to think about." The long-haired princess rested one hand on the wall once the weapon was securely mounted again, and the other on her sister's shoulder. "King Roland is not a particularly strong monarch, although I suppose I'm in no place to criticise him for that. And yet, ironically, none of his likely successors seem keen on replacing him."

"Well, they are his sons and nephews," her sister pointed out.

She nodded. "That's part of it. But another is that, for all his evident faults, Prince Julius and his cousins all seem to see the throne as coming with a crushing burden of responsibility. Christophe Vor Garrett and his supporters only seem to see the power they wish to wield."

Hertrauda put an arm around her. "It sounds almost as if you're beginning to like Holfort."

"If you mean their king or his son, no. Well," she conceded with forced fairness, "His elder son. I hardly met Prince Layne. But I can respect that they don't seem intent on aggrandizing themselves at everyone's expense." Unlike Garrett, she left unspoken. "Someone has to rule Fanoss, and if I don't then who will - and will they be any better than me?"

Her sister paused and then shook her head. "So you'll go to war… and then what?"

Hertrude smiled slyly. "I will give Count Garrett this: Holfort is in more disarray than they wish to admit. If we strike hard and fast - which means not letting small warbands break away to loot and ravage, inflaming the old hatreds - then we might be able to force a quick settlement. In the best case, the Holforts might even collapse - and in that event, our old blood ties might be enough to swing the balance of the feudal lords to back me in taking the throne. That's unlikely though. But the key point is, the regents and the bulk of the war party will be with me."

"You're going to lead them personally?" Hertrauda asked warily.

"If there's a victory I have to be able to claim the credit," she pointed out. "But you will be staying here, and I can justify you selecting some guards. Preferably from lords who do not favour the war and will be glad to see their levies held back."

"What are you planning, sister?"

"I'm planning for failure, or at least for a chance that Garrett failing won't drag us down with him."

The trial was held in the throne room - although desks and seats had been carried in, leaving the red carpet leading to King Roland's throne as an aisle between the lords who would serve as jurors. There was no fixed number, but more than twenty had been assembled and Marquis Frampton sat amongst them - as did Marquis Field, Leon was pleased to see.

Leon - as the accused - stood to one side before the dais. Facing him was Baron Flegel, the crown prosecutor. A hereditary role, but he still favoured Frampton. They were cousins and the younger man was understood to have ambitions to be promoted to some other role. For some reason, the families holding titles such as his were unpopular - which led to turnover in the notionally hereditary positions at court.

King Roland seated himself, sceptre in hand. Viscount Marmoria was at his side and at a slight gesture, the green-haired noble declared: "The trial for treason of Lord Leon Fou Bartford now begins."

Flegel jumped in with both feet, at least metaphorically. "My liege, the young man before you stands accused by virtue of letters recovered from his chambers at the royal academy where he has been a student. These letters, from Princess Hertrude Sera Fanoss, speak of his willing conspiracy to seize power over his family's levies by imprisoning or murdering his own family, then leading them to conquer the lands of your loyal servant Duke Ades and sway the northern islands of our fair kingdom to side with Fanoss in war. I must therefore petition that he be found guilty and receive the traditional sentence of traitors." The thin man turned a sneer upon Leon. "As his own kin would also seem to have been targets for his vile ambitions, no attainder need be placed upon them at least."

Roland raised the sceptre slightly. "I hear your petition, Baron Flegel. Lord Bartford, it is less than a year since I last saw you before me. What defence do you offer?"

"I believe that I have reasonable grounds to dispute the claims that Baron Flegel is - as is his duty - presenting to you," Leon replied calmly. "May I ask first, how many people here have actually seen these letters I am alleged to have received?"

Baron Flegel frowned. "Myself, Marquis Frampton when he was sent to arrest you and the officers who recovered them."

"I see. So the majority of the lords gathered to pass judgement upon me have not been shown this evidence? I myself have not been allowed to read them, in fact. Your highness," Leon turned to the throne. "Can I really be condemned for evidence that the prosecution has not even been willing to present?"

"Do you imagine we would allow you the chance to destroy the evidence!" Flegel snapped.

The king frowned. "Moderate your tone, Baron. This is my court."

"Of course, I apologise."

Roland turned his head to the viscount at his side. "What do you say, Francis? Can we really expect this lad to mount a credible defence when he's not even allowed to see what he's being accused of?"

Viscount Marmoria gave Leon a vaguely scornful look. "More handicap than is required, I would say, my liege. Besides which, were he to attempt their destruction here we could only call that an admission of guilt."

"That's a very good point." The king waved his hand. "Have someone hold them where the lad can read them, Flegel. He doesn't need to put his hands on them to read them - and he can hardly destroy them with fire magic - or any magic, for that matter."

There was a ripple of laughter at the reminder of Leon's inability to cast magic.

One of the prosecution aides carried over a leather folder and produced three letters, the seals already broken. Dismissively, the man held each up in turn, simply holding them at the top and letting the weight of the wax seal unfold the paper for Leon to read them. It made the angle rather awkward for parts, but the king's demand had technically been met.

"Thank you," Leon said politely after the aide had closed up the third. "I believe I can construct a reasonable defence now, if the court will be so kind as to hear me out."

"That's what we're here for," snapped Marquis Tarquin Fou Field. Brad's father looked much like Leon's classmate, save that he wore his hair shorter.

Leon nodded. "Let us start with the letters being found in my dorm room. A dorm room which has, I am sorry to tell Baron Flegel, already been broken into once this year. The academy has full documentation of the complaint I lodged at the end of my first term, where a number of servants broke into the room and vandalised it. While it's clearly not the case that the letters were placed there then, since that predated Princess Hertrude's visit to Holfort, the room is hardly somewhere that only I have access to. Anyone at the academy could have forced the lock and put them away. I don't make a habit of pulling up the floorboards of my own room so it's rather hard to say how long they could have been there - but claiming only I could have put the letters there is rather a weak claim."

"It doesn't prove that you didn't," interjected Flegel.

"My point is that where the letters were found proves nothing either way, is that fair?"

"Is that your defence?" asked Viscount Marmoria.

"I'm just just getting started, sir. My next point is why would I have such letters at all. I escorted Princess Hertrude many times over the recent term at the academy, I was probably the member of the Student Council assigned the task more often than anyone else. So I've had many opportunities to have private conversations with her."

"Time to conspire," Marquis Frampton accused.

"If I was inclined to do so, Marquis, I absolutely had the chance. But that being the case, why would I need to exchange letters with the princess in the first place? Such correspondence would be unnecessary and would only provide incriminating documentation. Were I indeed betraying the crown, what possible reason would I have to firstly have such letters and secondly to keep them somewhere so obviously insecure."

Flegel chuckled. "Traitors may be assumed to have other defects, Bartford. Don't be too impressed with yourself."

Leon tilted his head. "That could cut both ways. My third point - out of four, just to reassure your highness that my defence won't take all day. My third point is you're citing letters addressed to me. Not anything in my own hand. We can hardly expect that Princess Hertrude of Fanoss is going to come here and testify she wrote letters to me, particularly when those letters could be a cause of war, but even if we accept that she wrote them, that doesn't prove I'd agreed to anything. I could sit down with ink and paper and write a letter in just a few minutes making all sorts of claims that I have a secret deal with Viscount Marmoria here, but that wouldn't make such a deal any less fictitious. I'm not a legal expert, but I believe that this would render the letters little more than hearsay, at best."

There was a ripple of agreement across the room.

"That is a rather good point," the viscount observed. "Do you have a rebuttal, Baron Flegel?"

Face colouring, the prosecutor stepped up. "Lord Bartford may cast shadows on the individual aspects of the case, but the fact is that he has the most access to where the letters were found, and claiming letters in his hand don't exist when they would by their nature be outside of the kingdom is similarly weak. As for retaining them, is it not logical that he would need them to ensure that Fanoss honoured their promises if his betrayal of us went ahead? His own word against the knights and sailors of Fanoss would be as nothing, but their Princess' written hand is another matter."

The gathered lords seemed divided, but at least half were still giving Leon accusatory looks. Probably because Frampton had asked them to, but there we go.

"You said that you had a fourth point?" asked Marmoria firmly.

Leon nodded. "If I may impose upon Marquis Field in a very small way. I understand as the principal lord whose domain borders Fanoss this is a matter of grave concern to you."

"So you're at least smart enough to read a map," the marquis grunted. "What do you ask?"

"If you would be so good as to read the letters? I understand that you've not seen them yourself so far. I'd greatly appreciate it if you could answer two small questions about them for me."

Field's eyes narrowed. "...I don't see where you're going, but we should all read them before making a decision." He snapped his fingers in a peremptory fashion towards the aide who still held the letters.

The man scurried over and handed over all three letters with a deferential bow.

They all watched as the Marquis read each letter. His face went a colour closer to his purple hair than was probably healthy.

"Marquis, my questions are these," Leon enquired before the man could explode. "Does my name appear anywhere in those letters? And do they actually match the description that Baron Flegel has provided to this court?"

Field slammed his fist down on the desk. "No to both!" he snarled and thrust the letters out at the lords sat next to him.

Frampton and Flegel looked astonished, particularly when the purple-haired Marquis turned a ferocious glare upon his fellow marquis. "The letters I just read discuss a peace treaty between Holfort and Fanoss that cedes my entire lands to the principality," he added, pushing himself to his feet. "And they're addressed to you, Frampton! Addressed to you, and accepting your assurances that my family won't be in a position to argue over it!"

"W-what?" Frampton pushed his own chair back and away from his enraged peer. "That's impossible!"

At a nod from the king, Viscount Marmoria descended the dais with a single stride that covered all three steps, then crossed to the peers and snatched up one of the letters. The others were being handed from one peer to another, startled expressions already confirming what Leon had seen when the letters were shown to him. Thank goodness the aide hadn't bothered to read them himself before handing them over.

Scanning the letter quickly, the viscount carried it back to the king, who read it himself and then gave Leon a searching look.

Leon shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, your highness. I'm at a loss. How can I defend myself against a case that seems to be built upon sand? There's no credible evidence for me to argue against. It might be said that there isn't any evidence at all."

"Put Frampton up there!" Marquis Field had been disarmed, as expected for such an occasion, but he was pushing lords aside as he tried to get his hands upon the retreating Frampton, who was backing away.

The retreating marquis managed to seize one of the letters as he fled and glanced at it. His eyes bulged in his head, presumably recognising a letter he had indeed received. Granted, he'd then burned it, but he could hardly claim that as a defence. The only option he had was obvious and he seized it. "Forgery!" he yelled out. "This is a forgery!"

"Thank you, marquis." King Roland slapped the sceptre against his open hand. "Thank you for making Lord Bartford's point for him." Then he used the butt of the sceptre to hammer against the arm of his throne. "Tarquin, sit down. No one is surrendering your lands to Fanoss."

"You're damned right they aren't, your highness!" But Brad's father ceased to advance upon the minister of magic.

"Baron Flegel," Viscount Marmoria said testily. "Do you actually have the letters you've described? Where you came by this letter -" He brandished the one he'd taken up, "- is a second question."

The prosecution team began frantically searching all their papers, but Leon relaxed. They didn't, and after showing themselves to be such idiots, he would be extremely surprised if the lords were willing to condemn anyone on the unsupported claims that such letters had existed. After all, how many of them would be willing to risk being accused of anything on the basis of 'I found a treasonous letter in your rooms but I can't prove it'?

"I have a bone to pick with you," King Roland muttered as he walked Leon down from the throne room to the palace's main entrance. By tradition, the king doing this was an affirmation of the innocence of the accused - and probably a chance for the vindicated person to be compensated by holding the king's ear for a few moments. Leon supposed that it might be a minor deterrent to bringing a frivolous case to the point that the crown directly oversaw the trial: the prospect that the accused might be able to badmouth you to the king if exonerated.

"...I'm sorry to hear that," he admitted. "Honestly, my life's been so busy this year that I'm hard pressed to say what it is I've done to offend you. There are so many possibilities. If it's about my words about her highness..."

Roland Rafa Holfort snorted dismissively. "I'm long past the point that any discretions with her matter," he told Leon in a low voice. "Discretions, you understand. Indiscretions are what I can't ignore. I trust I don't need to warn you off my concubines."

"Sir!" Leon did his best to sound appalled. "I've never even met them!"

"Mmmm. Anyway, no. It's this trial." Roland paused on a landing of the stairs and looked out the windows. "Demolishing the prosecution like that and denying me the chance to be cool and magnanimous in saving you?"

"Oh, that. Yes." The younger man shook his head. "I am terribly sorry, I thought I'd balanced things nicely with those first three arguments - leaving the whole thing in the balance so you could sweep in and be the wise and sagacious king setting all aright. But I never expected them to lose their evidence entirely."

That got a reluctant nod. "Nor did anyone else, I suppose. Frampton's not usually that careless."

"I rather panicked," Leon confessed. He didn't like or respect the king's reasoning, but it was what he had to work with. "At that point, all that suggested itself was to leave them so crushed that you could sweep in and save what was left of their dignity."

The king grunted irritably and then continued down the stairs to the main doors. Guards threw the great panels wide and Leon emerged blinking into the bright winter sunlight.

"Do better next time," King Roland muttered and gave him a little 'encouraging pat' on the back that sent Leon stumbling down the last steps beyond the doors.

Blinking back tears at the bright light, Leon turned and bowed deeply to the king. "My thanks for your generosity and justice, your highness."

Roland made a suitably regal gesture of dismissal and departed back into the castle, a ermine cape sweeping behind him.

"LEON!" A near half-dozen voices greeted him now that he was fair game and before he really knew who was there, he found himself hugged, kissed and swatted by presumably all those speaking.

"I almost died when I heard you'd been arrested," Ruth Fou Bartford exclaimed, kissing him for a second time, though on the other cheek.

Leon returned his mother's embrace. He'd preferred the kisses from Clarice Fia Atlee and Larna Smith (even if it now had his lover glaring irritably at the Director of the Magical Tools Laboratory) but family was good too.

"I won't kiss you," Dorothea Fou Roseblade declared. "My fiance here has a jealous streak." The look on her face suggested that she enjoyed that part of Nicks' character. "But congratulations on winning your trial."

Before the young man could answer, his father's large hand landed on his head, tousling his hair roughly. "You worried us, boy. You worried us a great deal. How did you get tangled up in such a mess?"

"I think I was a target of opportunity." Leon looked around. "Giving credit where it was due, Jenna did warn me that being appointed to escort Princess Hertrude might get me into trouble."

"Yes! I did!" his sister declared proudly. "And you should repay me by setting me up with Lord Ascart."

Leon blinked. "Sorry, what? I thought he was taken."

Jenna shook her head. "He's been taking tea with ladies every day since the term began. Some of them haven't even enrolled yet."

"Oh." What was that about? Wasn't Nicol hung up on Katarina like… oh, wait. He had done that in those books hadn't he? It hadn't gone anywhere, but he had tried marrying out of duty. "Well, I'll have a word with him. I can probably get you a meeting with Lord Ascart, but scaring him off is up to you."

"You're useless, little brother. But I'll take… wait, what do you mean scaring him off?"

"Jenna, I've met you. It's Nicol's decision whether or not he actually wants to marry you after he's met you. You might want to think about how to convince him you're the sort of girl he's looking for."

"It's boys' job to convince girls of that."

Clarice snorted. "In that case, Lady Bartford, why do you need your brother to set up taking tea with my cousin?"

Leon's elder sister fumed, but she at least had the self-preservation not to argue with Clarice.

A man with blue hair - from some angles he looked a bit like an older and taller Chris Fia Arclight - stepped forwards and offered Leon his hand. "I won't kiss you either."

"That's appreciated." He shook the man's hand. "Mr Smith, I believe?"

"Call me Sora." The man stepped back and snaked one arm around Larna Smith, who gave him an irritated jab of her elbow. He slithered around the move and her back, with one flowing gesture. "My congratulations on getting out of your predicament."

"I couldn't have done it without you." Sora Smith - or Rufus Brode, to use his previous alias - had been the one to swap Luxion's faked documents in place for those Frampton had prepared to frame Leon.

The roguish dark mage shrugged. "I was beginning to think I might not have gotten out on my own without your help, so I guess we're even. I must say, out of professional interest..."

Leon shifted very slightly to indicate those around them.

"Those papers," Sora said. "How?"

Ah. The papers Luxion had provided to Sora to use weren't normal documents - they'd been created to look like the original letters Frampton had prepared until almost the last minute. Only in the throne room had they switched to duplicates of other letters. Thus, even if Flegel had checked right before the trial, he would have seen nothing out of place. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Ah." The older man smirked. "That makes two of us, then."

"Perhaps one day we can trade."

"I look forward to it."

"Come on, you." Larna gave Sora a tug on the arm. "We've seen that Lord Bartford is fine. We both have work back at the ministry."

"Yes dear," the man said cheekily and followed her out.

Ruth looked after the two as they departed. "They're an odd couple. How long have they been married?"

"Ah… I thought that they were cousins. I've never actually asked." He'd better find out the cover story before he was questioned further.

"Now." Clarice secured Leon's arm. "I think you have something to say to me, but let's talk as we go. I've spent quite enough time in the royal court."

He pulled lightly on her arm, holding her closer. "There are two things I'd like to say, actually."

"Oh?"

"Back in the cell, I was out of line and I'm sorry." Leon leaned slightly further over and the side of her head brushed his. "And thank you, for telling me off when I needed it."