Chapter 51: Trial

Chapter 51: Chapter 51: Trial

Allan did not wait. He was gone before the first light touched the broken stones of the manor, while the air still smelled of smoke and damp mortar from the repairs.

The key and the folded cloth with the dragon sketch were tucked inside his jacket. He had checked for them twice in the dark, then made himself stop. He needed to confirm something, and it could not wait.

He left no note and told no one. There was only the scrape of his boots on the scorched path beyond the gates. By the time the household stirred, his tracks had gone cold.

The Viscount, who was sipping his tea and waiting for the lad, learned of it mid-morning. He was walking the damaged hall, watching the masons work, when a servant came to report that Lord Allan was missing. Right at that moment, his composure left him.

"He was just here a minute ago. How could he just vanish? Where the hell is he?" Arclight’s voice rang out, loud and sharp.

The servant stammered. "I am so sorry, my lord. Lord Allan was gone before dawn. Only the horsemen saw him leave, and he ordered them to stay silent, it seems."

"That ignorant..."

The escorts stiffened, and the servants found reasons to be elsewhere. The Viscount paced the length of the hall, turned, paced it again, then a third time. A ducal summons already hung over the household, and Allan’s disappearance was worse than inconvenient. It was reckless. It was exactly the kind of thing that could pull Amelia into the same scrutiny.

"Find him," he said. "Now!"

By the time Amelia came into the hall, all pretense of calm was gone. She did not raise her voice. She simply stepped between her father and the nearest escort.

"Father, this is not our house to shout in like that. He will return."

The Viscount stopped. "Huh, you defend him now? Even after everything? He could not protect his own house, and disobeyed orders. Do you think you will stay safe here?"

"I am safer with him than I would be behind any wall you could raise."

"Safer?" The word came out tight. "He vanishes without a word while a summons from the Duke hangs over this house. That is not safety, Amelia. That is arrogance. Plain and simple."

Her hands stayed steady at her sides. "He is not like what you think. He left because he had to. He will come back."

"And if he does not? If the Duke decides this household is part of whatever game that man is playing?"

"Then I will still stand with him. That is all."

It cost her to say it. She watched the words land in her father’s eyes and made herself keep looking. Loyalty had stopped being an abstract idea. It stood between them now, thin though it may be.

The anger in the Viscount’s face became deep disappointment with dread underneath. He said nothing more. He could not say it.

After a while, Allan walked back through the gates early that afternoon as though nothing had happened. Dust caked his boots, and his breathing was even. The Viscount met him in the courtyard, utterly furious, but in the quiet way, without raising his voice.

"You left."

Allan gave a short nod. "I am ready to leave for the capital."

"That is all you have to say?"

"Yes."

He offered no apology and no account of where he had been or what the dungeon had taken from him. Amelia’s shoulders dropped a little with relief, but the Viscount’s silence said more than any shouting could have, and the time left on the summons was running short.

Packing went ahead under that silence. Allan moved from room to room with deliberate care, every turn of his torso reminding him of the wound. He told Seris what to gather, his voice flat.

"Travel kit. Weapons. Nothing that slows us."

Seris nodded and went. Alone for a moment, Allan checked the bandage and forced down the wince before anyone could catch it, but Lira did.

After a while, he gathered the three women in a side chamber.

"We will have to continue our training another time."

Lira’s eyes went to his side. "That is okay, but you are already bleeding through the wrap."

"It is going to be alright. Do not worry. I am tougher than I look."

Seris spoke for the first time. "And if the wound opens in the middle of the road?"

"..." Allan did not say anything, just a smile, a soft smile.

Amelia said nothing as well, but her jaw tightened. The orders were practical enough. What bothered her was the arithmetic underneath them: how much more of himself Allan might have to spend before the capital was through with him.

The Viscount was waiting at the last threshold when the horses and carriages were ready. His voice had dropped even lower when he saw him arrive.

"Wait..." he said to him.

"You said we were moving late?"

"Yes, but let me ask one thing. Swear to me you are not using her. My precious daughter."

Allan met his eyes. There was no softness in his face, and no guilt either. "I am not. I love her."

"Says the man with two concubines. Very cheap words, Allan."

"No matter what, she is mine now, more than she is yours."

Amelia stepped up beside Allan, right there in front of her father. "Please stop. Father, I choose this. He did not force my hand into his house. I came here by my own choice."

She had said it in the open, and there was no taking it back. Again, something closed in the Viscount’s face. He nodded, turning to the carriage.

"Let us go then. The Duke must already be furious."

During the journey, there was only silence, but at one stop the Viscount finally spoke from the edge of his seat. "You are turning her into something else."

Allan did not look at him. "My lord, I know you love your daughter. I truly do, but do not let that love turn into a cage."

"Ha! You teach me about parenting. Let us see you say the same thing when you have a daughter."

In time, the capital’s walls loomed ahead, and the weight of the Duke’s presence pressed down the moment they passed the outer gates.

Allan got almost no time to prepare. In a side chamber off the main corridor he checked the bandage again, his fingers steady only because he forced them to be. Blood had begun to seep through at the edges. He remembered all three of them, Seris, Lira, and Amelia, and his last orders: to stay safe and keep training.

"All of you, stay close. And call me the moment you feel something is suspicious."

Amelia’s hand brushed his, just for a moment. "We will," she said, giving him a farewell kiss.

The Viscount saw it in that moment, his face going red. He was worried, yes, but they were not alone now. The imperial guards were there, each of them at one hundred levels. Allan took another sip of the healing potion Bela had sent.

"Let us go," the Viscount said.

Allan nodded.

The audience hall was vast, the ceiling high above. He had thought Amelia’s palace was big, but no, this castle of the Duke was like a labyrinth of its own, but more decorated and beautiful.

And at the throne, which looked like a king’s throne, there he stood. The Duke’s gaze fell upon him. He could feel it, cold and assessing, already weighing him. The Viscount had made up his mind long before. The formal greetings passed away quickly.

The Duke spoke first. "Lord Oakwood. You stand before me with your recent sufferings, but before that..." he said.

Allan’s sixth sense churned. He had thought this was a simple meeting to talk about the cult, but the moment he came inside, with all the eyes on him, it felt like court.

The Duke continued. "...and a household that has risen faster than any minor holding has a right to. Explain."

Allan’s breathing was tight, though you had to look closely to see it. "I am here to talk about the damage that was done to my house, how I survived."

"Survived?" the Duke repeated. "With three women who move as if they share a single will. With a Viscount’s daughter standing at your shoulder instead of her father’s. With methods that do not belong to ordinary men."

The Viscount cut in, sharper. "My daughter’s attachment is not the question. The speed of Oakwood’s rise is. The scent of power that does not match your bloodline."

Allan answered evenly. "Oakwood grows because the land is worked and the people are fed. Nothing more."

Pain crept up his side once more.

The Duke leaned forward. "How does a man with no great lineage defeat not one but two S-rank adventurers? What power sleeps beneath that new prosperity?"

Allan realized then and there. It was not his rise they were curious about. They were simply checking him, part by part, analyzing him, to determine whether he belonged to their side or the side of the cult.

Why in God’s name do they think I am part of the cult?

The nobles all around started to whisper, saying words which Allan admitted he did not like.

"Enough." The Duke’s word cut through the noise. "Further investigation. Restricted movement. Oversight until this court is satisfied. You will remain in the capital under watch. Is that clear?"

The provisional sentence settled over Allan like a collar being tightened one notch at a time. But the real damage was already done. The nobles now had their suspicion, and once they believed it to be true, only the emperor’s order could change their mind.

Outside, the corridor seemed to have shrunk. Allan’s breath came ragged.

The Viscount looked at him. "Do not think much about it. It had to be done. Let us go. The Duke calls you for a private meeting," he whispered.

Allan finally smiled, hearing it and putting two and two together. His ragged breathing eased slightly.

Clever indeed, he thought.