The state of play after the incident at the museum was interesting.

  I asked Samantha to buy me a newspaper while I waited to be discharged from the hospital and caught up on the headlines. Jonas Rentree had been killed by the Horr that Sloan summoned, he was one of the first to be singled out and killed in retaliation for some unknown slight against him. The investigation ground on for some time without major changes in the status quo.

  But then the knives came out.

  Micah Greenblatt, Jerimiah Vincent and whoever else survived the attack by Sloan did everything they could to save their own skin. They wanted immunity and deferential sentencing in exchange for information and testimony. The only problem for them was that the police didn’t want to bite, nor did they need to. Only one or two plea bargains were taken by low-level members of the conspiracy, and that brought the entire creed of silence down on top of them.

  Soon enough the entire plot was laid out in clear detail. Their attempts to put Ekkehard on the throne, to secure backing from powerful nobles and subvert parliament, to the military development of superpowered secret police and the false flag attack on the border. They had them dead to rights. The demonic attack on the capital quickly turned a huge majority of the public against them, meaning that condemning the effort became the go-to response even from the parties that support restoring the monarchy.

  With a group of ‘villains’ to assign the blame to – the civil unrest that characterised the recent social climate was dashed to the wind. It was hard to place fault on the other citizens when they were being manipulated by a violent criminal conspiracy. Soon everyone responsible was rounded up and arrested, dragged into court so that they could offer their stories about what really happened.

  My closure would come at the trial of Landon Sloan.

  My arrival certainly caused a stir amongst the press. I hadn’t been seen for some time, and rumours about my stay in hospital were popular in gossip columns. I stepped out of my carriage and walked towards the gallery. All eyes were turned towards me, and specifically the large burn scar that now covered one side of my head. Cutting my hair short to even things out sadly made it more obvious at a glance. Was it possible for a doll-faced teenager to look badass? Probably not. I looked like a moron.

  My appearance at the courthouse would ensure that my new look would be reported on in all the papers, but it also served a more important utility in selling the story of me being a victim to his atrocities. King Thersyn Walser kept his word and kept our little secret between us, meaning I was in the clear in terms of legal consequences. Social consequences were more of a worry. A lot of people had seen me first-hand gunning down crooks and causing carnage.

  I had to get ahead of them. We were working an angle wherein I was unfortunately ‘injured’ by the demon in question after it destroyed a part of my hiding place and set it alight, which led to my various burns. Now I was appearing in court to see the man responsible put behind bars.

  As always, my life was nothing but theatre, although this time around it wasn’t because of Durandia. I had to accept that this was how things were now. I was Maria Walston-Carter for good or ill. Making the most of this second chance seemed like the right thing to do given my survival. I ducked my head down and kept my mouth shut as Franklin cleared the way for me to take a seat in the stands.

  This was an ornate courtroom, one of the oldest in the world that was still actively used by the justice system. It was varnished with expensive wood panels and pieces of artwork painted onto the walls and ceiling. It was grand in scope and frigid in temperature, meaning most of the guests were huddled up with their outside coats still wrapped around their shoulders.

  Max appeared soon after and took the seat to my left.

  “Good morning, Maria. You look well.”

  “You don’t need to compliment me. I know I don’t look my best with this new... haircut.”

  “It is a little strange to see you with short hair. You look even more like your mother.”

  I turned to face him. He winced at the scarred flesh and skin around my eye, forehead and ear.

  “Oh. I didn’t realize it was that severe.”

  “Hm. I wonder how bad it was before Samantha worked her magic on me. Didn’t you see it?”

  “No. Veronica told the rest of us to stay out of the building while they retrieved you, and by the time they got back she had already healed some of it and covered you with dressing.”

  “I’m just thankful that it’s only cosmetic. I hope your brother is recovering well.”

  “He is. Thank you.”

  There weren’t any more answers waiting for Max and his family now that the conspiracy was cracked wide open. He was an unfortunate bystander in Verner Welt’s original scheme to cleanse the city. Allegedly the assassin wasn’t even trying to target him – he was just standing behind the victim.

  Today was the sentencing. The trial itself was nothing more than a formality due to the weight of the evidence put against him. The state-appointed defence attorney couldn’t possibly hope to cut through the credibility of it, nor could he concoct an alternate narrative to counter the one put forth by the prosecution. I didn’t envy his job in this particular case, he had to make a fool of himself to give a truly terrible man an effective defence in court.

  The media circus was in a bloodthirsty frenzy, eagerly awaiting the moment wherein his final punishment would be delivered and his odious legacy cemented. For all of his aspirations he would be remembered as nothing more than a killer. I needed to pay attention and avoid suffering the same fate.

  The rafters were packed with willing spectators and victimized families. The judge entered the courtroom and approached the bench, taking his seat and slamming his gavel to quiet the murmuring noise crawling up from the audience.

  “I call this court to order! By the authority vested in me by the Walserian Parliament – I ask you to respect our procedure and remain silent from this moment on. Please show your respect to the court. Bailiff – bring out the accused.”

  The doors on the opposite side opened and Landon Sloan was marched through with his wrists chained together. He had a glum expression, which was a rarity from a man who exuded nothing but unearned confidence during every meeting we’d ever had. Now he was cowed, with clipped wings and the same dull grey prison fatigues that the rest of the prisoners were forced to wear.

  Everything he wanted was so close that he grazed it with the tips of his fingers, and now he was in the dirt. The gallery kept their silence, allowing each of the footsteps and the clanking of the chains to ring across the spacious courtroom. There was a moment where his eyes met mine, seeking me out amongst the crowd, but he remained calm. He sat at the table with his defence lawyer and kept his lips sealed.

  “Mister Sloan, you stand here before me today having been found guilty of numerous offences by a jury of your peers. A report on your behaviour has been submitted to my chambers for consideration. I am required to ask if you have anything to say in your own defence before I issue my sentence.”

  He nodded, “I do, your honour.”

  “Then please take the floor.”

  Sloan stood again and moved into the empty space before the bench so that he could address the judge directly. He wasn’t going to let this chance slip by. He wanted to have the last word while he had the window of opportunity. Nobody else could speak over him or interfere except for the judge, and I knew that he was going to let it play out no matter what he chose to say.

  “I will not belabour the point or waste your time. I have been found guilty of the crimes placed on my shoulders, of that there is no doubt. I was personally involved at every stage of the process as described. But the difference between me and the men who are written into the history books are the words written and nothing more. We both care about Walser more than we can ever say.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  He turned to the gallery and locked eyes with me again.

  “I have nothing to apologize for. Everything I’ve ever done has been for the sake of this country. When a forest burns, it creates more fertile soil for the next generation to grow from. There’ll come a day when I am vindicated, and there’ll be those who wisely recognize that our aims were noble and correct. We went far – but it wasn’t enough, and people are not ready to admit the utility of it.”

  Was he trying to speak directly to me? He was wasting his breath. Methods always affect outcomes. Only a fool would wash his hands of that fact to justify causing so much carnage and suffering. They had a choice to avoid harming anyone, they were the ones who forced Durandia’s hand, they were in entirely different positions.

  It was a perfect demonstration of just how complicated life could be. There was never a clear-cut answer to any problem. I could argue for what Durandia did – but not Verner Welt or Landon Sloan. They wanted to assert their dominance over everyone else, and assert their hold over a few pages of our collective history in the process.

  He would be remembered. His name would forever be tarred and feathered, and cursed for all of the lives he ended for zero benefit. They didn’t even see the full extent of his foolishness. How would they feel if they learnt that he was so close to ending the world?

  Unrepentant.

  The crowd started to become unsettled, whispering in astonishment that he was doubling down in front of the judge who now controlled his fate. It didn’t matter. He was going away for life or having his neck hung from the gallows. Nothing he said could change the outcome.

  “But I apologize to those who I’ve harmed. Their sacrifice is now wasted.”

  How I would have laughed if someone in the audience leapt the barricade and socked him in the mouth for that one. They had a lot of restraint, given that he was intentionally trying to rile them up. The judge slammed his gavel.

  “Order! Order in the court! Please remain quiet.”

  The judge took a moment to let the noise die down and collect his thoughts. Sloan’s last gambit had not modified his prepared speech in the slightest. He pulled out a piece of paper, adjusted his round spectacles, and started to read his notes out loud.

  “It is my discretion whether to levy the maximum possible punishment in this circumstance. The weight of these offences cannot be understated. Not in my thirty years as a judge have I ever witnessed personal involvement in so many capital crimes. At every step of this grand conspiracy you acted with intentionality and malice, in pursuit of your personal ambitions and at the expense of others.”

  I took a deep breath. This was it.

  “You have also demonstrated a clear lack of remorse for the individuals and families you have harmed, the mass-scale of the destruction to our cities, and the chilling effect on our nascent democracy. You have asserted many claims during this long trial, offering reasons and justifications, and none of them pass muster. If anything, your actions have only set back your preferred causes by decades.”

  He flipped the page.

  “For conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to interfere with the proper function of parliament, criminal conspiracy, violating the restrictions spelled out in the Occultism Control Act, high treason, fraud, drug smuggling, human experimentation and eight-thousand-three-hundred and twenty-two counts of murder, I hereby sentence you to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.”

  The courtroom exploded into hushed whispers. The judge banged the gavel and made the declaration official. Landon Sloan scowled, his wrists chained together and his ego stripped down to the bone. Many in the media had speculated that it would end with his execution – but that was on the way out with many in parliament, and judges had the final say. The prosecution had also requested life imprisonment at the start of the trial.

  “You will live without your freedoms, and you will live to reckon with the weight of what you have done. May the Goddess have mercy on your soul.”

  Sloan was pulled to his feet by a pair of guards and marched from the defence table, disappearing through the doors at the back of the courtroom so that he could be transported to a maximum-security prison. No victory lap, no hollering to me in defiance, nothing. He was there one second and gone the next. It was too real after all of the insane things that had happened to me.

  It was an ignoble and undignified ending to this story. He would not be made a martyr today – nor would he ever. His name would be regarded like the dogshit on a man’s heel. The judge quickly moved on to dealing with the final filings from both sides of the aisle. Many of the people who came to watch started filing out of the courtroom now that the main event was over.

  “That was quick,” Max muttered.

  “A lot of this was discussed at length in the last week of the trial. The only thing left to do was to hear his last statement and the delivery of the judgement. There’ll be appeals and other motions before it’s closed for good...”

  We remained seated until most of the crowd was already gone, before standing and following them through the doors and out onto the front steps of the courthouse. The damage to the city was still evident several weeks after the end of the crisis. Citizens were still working to repair buildings and streets, and remove the makeshift barricades that had been erected on the cusp of civil war.

  Max exhaled; “We got lucky. I thought for sure it was going to get nasty when they killed those people in the square. I assume that’s what they wanted. It’d be the perfect justification to crack down on dissent using their demonic thugs.”

  “Yes. It was too close for comfort. I cannot guarantee that things will be easy from here on out. There’s no guiding hand leading us through whatever troubles are coming our way this time.”

  Max waited a minute before mustering the bravery to ask his next question.

  “I’ve always wondered, what was your old home like?”

  I shrugged, “Very similar to this one. The names and places are different, as is the history, but this world isn’t too foreign despite that. No matter where you go people have the same problems and conflicts, and it drives them to act in the same ways. I suppose the most important difference is that I left some one-hundred years into the future from now.”

  “One-hundred years?” Max echoed, “That’s pretty... well, I can’t imagine that.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. Technology is going to accelerate very quickly. These factories and machines are going to be completely outdated in a few years. Population numbers are going to increase rapidly, and cities like these will seem quaint. Which reminds me, I have a proposal for you.”

  “A proposal?”

  “In my position it seems almost silly to try and use violence to make a difference. I’ve got a lot of money and influence at my fingertips, and I’ve been thinking about taking on responsibilities with my family and using that to avoid... future problems.”

  “Using what you know?”

  “Exactly. As amazing as some of those developments are going to be, many of them have downsides that will only be discovered long after they have proliferated. Those impacts can be devastating and difficult to resolve after the fact. I understand that you’re not sure of your place in the family business at the moment, but if you ever want to help – I’ll be happy to accept it.”

  Max gave my offer some thought, “Uh. I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this business stuff.”

  “We’ve got plenty of time ahead of us. There’s no need to answer now.”

  There were a few more years of schooling at the academy too. It was going to be a welcome break to go back to the boring daily routine instead of being shot at every other day. Maybe I could focus on learning as much as I could and leveraging my new position as Maria Walston-Carter, leaving a positive legacy behind without a trail of dead bodies to go with it.

  It would be a waste to have these tools and leave them unused. That was the one thing I’d taken away from the ordeal. I had the chance to make a positive difference, all I had to do was reach out and take a hold of my own destiny instead of falling back into old habits. It was time for a clean break. Maria didn’t need to have my baggage.

  “I’m not looking forward to going back.”

  “Why?”

  “Claude’s going to rub this in my face for the rest of time. I can’t believe that he was right about you from the first guess.”

  “That wasn’t because he had any evidence about me.”

  “Still – he’s going to pretend that he has the instinct of a master detective regardless.”

  “That does sound annoying. I’m going to slap him if he keeps doing that.”

  “Give him an extra one from me when you do.”

  Before I could walk down the steps and mount the carriage that was waiting for us, we were accosted by a journalist holding a notepad and pencil in her hands.

  “Lady Walston-Carter, would you mind if I asked you for a quote? Are you satisfied with the judge’s decision to hand Landon Sloan a life sentence?”

  I kept my reply brief; “I am. If he wants to be remembered like he claimed during the trial, then he’ll live to see Walser evaluate that sordid legacy.”

  She quickly jotted down my answer, but we were already pushing past with Franklin’s assistance before more of them could descend on us and ask more probing questions. They would happily pester me all day about my dramatic looking injuries and how I felt about the trial. My opinion was not important in the slightest, they only believed it was.

  Veronica was sitting inside, waiting for me.

  “I’ll see you back at the academy, Max.”

  “See you.”

  I stepped up and inside, taking the bench opposite my elusive mother with a stern furrow in my brow and a deep sigh on my lips.

  “I take it that you’re prepared for that ‘adult’ conversation I mentioned?”

  “I am,” she nodded, “I just came back from Frankfort’s funeral. It was a beautiful service. She’d be outraged at how much of a fuss is being made about her.”

  By coincidence the sentencing and Frankfort’s burial were on the same day.

  “I’m surprised they were willing to admit that she died in the line of duty considering how secretive her work was.”

  “There are going to be some major changes at WISA now. The politicians aren’t happy about how quickly it turned over into Welt’s hands, it’ll be turned into a fully civilian agency soon. A big staff purge. No more of that half-and-half stuff.”

  The carriage jolted into movement as the reins were cracked and the horses started to trot down the road. It was going to be a long trip back to the manor – but it wasn’t exactly the best place to have our important conversation about our strange relationship.

  “Father will be happy to see you.”

  She frowned, “Oh, come off of it. Slipping back into your role already?”

  “I’m afraid that you’re stuck with me. I can’t exactly turn it off now.”

  “Goddess help me.”

  It was too late to ask for Durandia’s help. She was washing her hands of it too.