It was the fifth day of the tournament. In a smaller, sunlit hall, a narrow group of people had gathered for the second time. The agenda called for the second of Princess Belara’s challenges.

  Unlike the second day of the tournament, when the trial took place, the thirty-five-year-old Prince Malgorn did not stand here now. Instead, it was the seventeen-year-old Prince Kelen. On the bench sat three defendants—a apprentice, a servant, and a son. Off to the side stood the injured merchant alone. Princess Belara and the royal diplomat Jhalen were also present.

  “Prince Kelen, are you ready to take on the second task of my Tal Namaréu tournament?”

  “Yes, Princess.”

  “Excellent. You will play the role of judge. Here before you are three accused. You will conduct the questioning. Light physical pressure is permitted. To succeed, you must convict the true culprit. Whether you rely on intuition or base your decision strictly on the evidence is entirely up to you. Jhalen will read the initial information to you.”

  The royal diplomat stepped closer to the prince and read the same information that Prince Malgorn had received.

  When he finished, he introduced each defendant to the prince and explained why they were seated on the bench.

  “Now, Prince Kelen, are you prepared to assume the role of judge, conduct the questioning, and determine the guilty party?”

  “Yes.”

  Jhalen then folded the scroll, slipped it into his pocket, and moved to the corner of the room where the princess stood.

  Prince Kelen remained silent for a moment. His gaze swept over the defendants, hesitant and uncertain, until it finally rested on the merchant’s son.

  “We’ll start with you… please stand.”

  The young man smirked, slowly rose, and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “According to the initial report, a witness claims to have heard you say during an argument that one day you would rob your father.”

  “One day, properly,” the son said, emphasizing the word properly.

  “That’s irrelevant,” Kelen waved a hand. “And what else would you say about that?”

  “Arguments often include sharp words. Many of them never come to pass.”

  Kelen sensed that the son was not particularly forthcoming and tried a different approach. “Describe the warehouse to me.”

  The son spread his hands, slipping his right into his pocket while leaving the left free for gestures. “It’s a small wooden shed in the yard with a single entrance. During the day, it’s secured with one lock, and at night with three. The windows are small, narrow, and positioned just below the roof. Inside is mainly a large, sturdy wooden shelf. Many boxes of various sizes lie there, all attached to the shelf with chains. The boxes cannot be removed. Each is a separate puzzle, and one must know the method to open it.”

  “And do you know how to open any of them?”

  “All of them,” the son said proudly.

  Yet two boxes had been forcibly broken during the theft. Why would he do that if he knew the method? Kelen pondered briefly and then turned to the second defendant.

  “You are the personal servant of your master, the merchant of alabaster powder?” the prince asked.

  “I am,” the servant replied. “I have served him for many years.”

  “And how do you explain the blue pouch of alabaster powder found among your belongings?”

  “Someone must have placed it there as a very bad joke. I would never steal from my master.”

  “But having served him faithfully for so long, you surely know the warehouse well and perhaps even the combinations to some of the boxes, don’t you?”

  “I know the warehouse, yes. But not the method to open them. I’ve never opened any myself. The master does all that personally. I only know where the keys are kept. Occasionally, I’m sent to fetch a jug of wine. The warehouse doesn’t only contain pouches of powder…”

  “Ah…” Kelen’s eyes flashed. “So you do know where the keys are?”

  “Of course I know,” the son interrupted brazenly. “He runs around his father all day, every day. You’d know in a week of service…”

  “I didn’t ask you anything,” the prince stopped him, realizing the defendants did not perceive him as a natural authority.

  “Yes, I know where the keys are. But again, I do not know the opening mechanism for the boxes,” the old servant insisted.

  If he didn’t know how to open them, he would have to use force, as had happened during the theft. Kelen thought: he’s trying to defend himself, but it’s not going well, friend. He’s becoming suspicious.

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  “Something doesn’t add up,” Kelen said, stepping back to keep everyone in view—not just the three defendants but the merchant as well. “The merchant himself and his son must know the opening procedures. You have a servant and an apprentice. But who makes the alabaster powder? Is it you, merchant? Or is it simple enough that the apprentice can learn in a few weeks?”

  All the defendants were silent, and so was the merchant. His hands were in his pockets, and his gaze shifted side to side.

  As no answer came, Kelen said firmly, “I am waiting…” The single word carried the strength and will of his personality. Though still young, he was a prince, raised to command.

  “I have a master,” the merchant finally spoke reluctantly. “An old master who oversees the entire powder production. The apprentice assists him with simpler tasks.”

  “I see,” Kelen said with a slight smile.

  Jhalen’s voice suddenly rang out. “If you wish, Prince Kelen, I can call the master. He is not present, but if you wait a moment, you may verify your findings and question this additional witness.”

  “Of course I want to. I will wait gladly.”

  After a short pause, the old master of production arrived. Kelen immediately asked, “You oversee the production of alabaster powder?”

  “Yes. For many years.”

  “And do you know how to open the boxes in the warehouse?”

  “Yes. I personally store the powder in them. I know the method for each. Over the years, I’ve opened many myself. At the beginning, there were only four.”

  “But the chisel used to break two of the boxes came from your workshop, didn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And who could have taken it and used it in the warehouse? Normally, only you and the apprentice enter the workshop, right?”

  “Yes. Occasionally our master or his servant comes with a message.”

  “You, however, are not among the accused,” Kelen muttered to himself, pausing. “So the only one who could have used the chisel and hammer is the apprentice.”

  Turning to the third defendant, Kelen said, “Tell me you don’t know how to open the boxes.”

  The servant stared at Kelen in silence, refusing to answer.

  “Will I get an answer?” the prince asked, his voice cold and almost terrifying. Though young, the noble blood within him surfaced.

  “I know, I know,” the apprentice stammered. The old master and the merchant both raised eyebrows in surprise. This was unexpected.

  “Too bad I can’t verify your words. I’d only need you to open one box.”

  “He does not know the method. He cannot know it,” the old master shouted, no longer able to hear this lie. “I told him nothing.”

  “Then what is it? Are you lying?” Kelen asked, clenching his fists unconsciously.

  “You frighten me, Prince. Perhaps I said something I shouldn’t have.”

  “Do you know the method or not?” Kelen’s patience was running thin. He tried to remain calm, but sensing the apprentice’s deception, his noble instincts flared. The apprentice finally slumped, bowed his head slightly, and stepped back two paces.

  “No, sir. I do not know.”

  Thus, for the theft, he would have had to use the chisel and hammer to break open the boxes. Splinters! A thought struck him. “Show me your hands,” he ordered.

  The young man extended his palms. Kelen examined them carefully. There was a nearly healed scratch on the left hand and a fresher one on the right. That fit perfectly… he had done it!

  “Where did these scratches come from?” Kelen asked, curious for the answer.

  “While making the powder,” the apprentice said.

  Kelen turned to the old master: “Is it possible to get hurt while making the powder?”

  “Possible, yes, but it seldom happens.”

  “And these minor scratches? Look closely, master.” The old man leaned in, studying the apprentice’s hands. “Possible, Prince, but such injuries can also occur during production. Also, the boy is a bit clumsy; who knows what minor task caused this.”

  Kelen sighed. Not what he wanted to hear. Then a clever idea struck him. “Everyone, show me your hands.”

  The servant’s hands revealed nothing. Examining the merchant’s son, Kelen noticed the tips of his fingers glinting slightly and one pocket bulging faintly.

  “What do you have in your pocket?” Kelen asked, standing upright.

  “Nothing,” the son replied, clearly lying.

  “Empty your pockets!”

  “You have no right to search me like this.”

  “You are accused, fool,” Kelen hissed. “Empty those claws, or I will consider you guilty and assign punishment immediately.” The threat worked. The son reluctantly reached into his pocket, still keeping his palm clenched.

  “Show me what you hold,” Kelen ordered.

  The son opened his hand to reveal a small black cloth pouch. Kelen took it, pouring a pinch into his palm. Indeed, it matched the stolen second pouch of powder. He had him. He gestured for the old master and the merchant to come closer. “Is this alabaster powder?” Both nodded.

  This was getting complicated, Kelen thought.

  “Where did you get it?” he asked the son, who remained stubbornly silent. Kelen turned to the old master: “Do you recognize this pouch?”

  “No, Prince. We do not use such small black pouches.”

  “But the alabaster powder comes from your workshop, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, the fineness matches. But I cannot confirm it came from my workshop. We are the only producers in the city, but not the only ones in the kingdom. Who knows its true origin?”

  The merchant’s son, Kelen realized, had to be the source. Two pouches of powder had been stolen; the blue one was recovered, the red one missing. The scratches on the apprentice’s hands fit the violent opening of the boxes. But did the son have the red pouch? He had claimed ignorance.

  “Where did you hide the red pouch?” Kelen demanded sharply.

  “I didn’t hide any red pouch.”

  “Confess!” the prince snapped.

  “I have nothing to confess. I didn’t take any red pouch.”

  “Then explain the powder in your pocket.”

  The son stayed silent.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Were you in the warehouse that day?”

  “No, I was in the city all day.”

  “Is that true?” Kelen asked, confirming with the father and the servant, who both nodded.

  “Then you must have colluded!” Kelen shouted, frustrated. “One has scratches, the other has powder in his pocket. I cannot make sense of this.”

  “There is only one culprit, Prince Kelen,” Princess Belara said. “The verdict will be applied to only one accused. Such theft carries the death penalty by the executioner’s sword. Once you point the guilty party, the sentence will be carried out at noon within the next two days.”

  Kelen froze at the mention of the executioner and noon. A painful memory hit him—the day his mentor and friend Balzod of the Hviturns was executed at noon. Kelen knew Balzod was innocent, and it was Kelen’s own hand, albeit in self-defense, that had caused it. The mentor had taken the blame in good faith but did not survive beyond the second day.

  Kelen was at a loss. He had two suspects but could convict only one. The trial was a performance, he knew, but the memory paralyzed him. He could not point a finger.

  “I cannot do it. I simply cannot,” he whispered.

  “What troubles you, Prince Kelen?” Jhalen asked.

  “I cannot determine the guilty party.”

  “Just point, perhaps you’ll guess correctly and earn a point. You do not have to base it on all the information.”

  “I cannot… I will not point at anyone. I do not wish to question further.”

  “Do you wish to stop, Prince?” the diplomat asked, surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “Even if it costs you the chance to earn a point?”

  “Yes.”

  “Prince Kelen,” Belara said, “do you truly wish to quit without attempting to identify the culprit?”

  “Yes,” Kelen said a third time, tortured.

  “Very well. Then your task is concluded, but… unsuccessfully. You have lost the chance to earn a point over your rivals.”

  “May I leave now?” Kelen asked impatiently.

  “Yes. Nothing binds you here.”

  Kelen made no bow, no farewell—he simply strode from the room, clearly deeply unsettled.