Trinity of Magic

The heavy oak door closed behind Margret with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden stillness of the study. She had rehearsed her report a dozen times on the walk from the great hall, organizing every detail, every nuance of expression she'd witnessed. Yet now, standing before her lord's desk, the words caught in her throat.

Not because of Ezekiel, who sat behind his desk with fingers steepled, golden eyes sharp with interest. But because of the small figure perched on a cushioned chair in the corner, legs swinging idly as grey eyes tracked the movement of dust motes in a shaft of afternoon light.

Sheol Veylor, the King of the Dead.

Margret's gaze flicked to Zeke, a silent question in the slight arch of her eyebrow. Her lord's shoulders lifted in the barest of shrugs, his lips pressing together in a way that suggested he was no more comfortable with their observer than she was. The gesture was so uncharacteristic of him—Ezekiel von Hohenheim, who always seemed three steps ahead of everyone else—that it almost made her smile despite the circumstances.

Well. If the most powerful being on the continent chose to sit in on their meeting, there was precious little either of them could do about it.

"My lord," she began, forcing her voice to steadiness. "The hearing has concluded for the day."

"So I gathered." Zeke leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. "Tell me everything."

Margret drew in a breath, letting the familiar rhythm of reporting center her thoughts. "The Empire's delegation arrived with Otto Geistreich leading them, accompanied by the four Elders and Azra… von Hohenheim."

She watched Zeke's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly at the mention of the pretender's name, but he made no comment.

"Their argument rested on legal technicalities," she continued. "The Accord of Limitation applies only to signatory nations. Since the elves never signed, the Empire claims they were within their rights to deploy an Exarch in response to elven interference."

"Audacious," Zeke murmured, though his tone suggested admiration for the strategy rather than approval of the act.

Margret nodded. "Azra von Hohenheim proved particularly... effective. He presented their actions as defensive, emphasizing that warnings were given and that they sought to minimize casualties."

"Did he now?" A hint of something dark colored Zeke's voice.

"The Alliance representatives challenged them, naturally. Equinox was particularly vocal about the hidden Exarch, demanding to know their identity." Margret paused, remembering the tension that had gripped the hall at that moment. "The Empire deflected, claiming the rapid development of the situation prevented premeditation."

She continued through her report methodically: Lady Goldleaf's measured responses, the verbal sparring between delegations, the way Azra and Otto had worked in perfect synchronization to deflect every accusation while maintaining an air of reasonable cooperation. At last, she told him about the tension as the elves refused to join hands with the alliance.

"Midas remained largely silent throughout," she finished. "Only speaking at the end to observe that positions were clear and progress seemed unlikely. The delegations will reconvene tomorrow."

Silence settled over the study. In the corner, Sheol had produced a small book from somewhere and was turning pages with apparent fascination, though Margret suspected those grey eyes missed nothing.

Zeke remained still for a long moment, his gaze distant as he processed her report. Then his expression shifted, brows drawing together in a frown that made her straighten instinctively.

"The Empire is going to win this hearing," he said quietly.

Margret blinked, unable to hide her confusion. "How could that be? Despite their defense being admirable in its construction, they're still clearly in the wrong. Such injustice simply cannot go unanswered."

"…Justice," Zeke echoed, his fingers drumming once against the desk. "What good is the concept with nobody willing to enforce it?"

"The alliance—" she started, but Zeke was already shaking his head.

"Think about it, Margret, really think about it. What does the Alliance want in this situation?"

She opened her mouth to answer—justice, obviously, punishment for the Empire's transgression—but Zeke was already shaking his head again.

"They want—"

"We have listeners."

The childish voice cut through the room like a blade through silk. Sheol hadn't looked up from the book, but there was something in the casual way the words were delivered that made Margret's blood run cold.

Zeke went very still, and in that stillness, Margret saw something she rarely witnessed: genuine surprise on her lord's face. His golden eyes swept the seemingly empty study, and she could almost see the moment he expanded his awareness, that supernatural perception he wielded like a sixth sense.

"Impressive," he said after a moment, and Margret wasn't sure if he was addressing Sheol or their hidden observers. "I hadn't considered that possibility."

Stolen novel; please report.

The air in the study shifted, a subtle distortion that made Margret's inner ear protest. Two figures materialized as if stepping out of shadow itself: Lady Selvanna Goldleaf, still in her flowing robes from the hearing, and Lord Grimnar Stoneforge, his mithril-threaded beard catching the light.

Margret's hand had moved instinctively toward where her weapon would be if she were armed, but she caught herself. These were guests, technically. Even if they had been spying on a private conversation.

"Forgive the intrusion," Lady Goldleaf said, though her tone suggested she felt no real need for forgiveness. "When one finds doors closed to important discussions, sometimes one must... create alternatives."

Lord Stoneforge was less diplomatic. "Ye were about to explain somethin', lad. Why don't ye continue?"

Zeke studied them both for a moment, and Margret watched him make some internal calculation. When he spoke again, there was no hesitation in his voice.

"The Empire will win because their goals and the Alliance's goals align in this matter."

Confused silence greeted this pronouncement. Even Sheol glanced up from the book, though whether in interest or amusement, Margret couldn't tell.

"That makes no sense," she found herself saying. "They're at war with each other."

"So?" Zeke rose from his chair, moving to the window that overlooked his estate. "The Empire seeks an innocent verdict, obviously. They want their actions validated, the precedent established. But what does the Alliance truly want?"

When no one answered, he continued. "They don't necessarily want a guilty verdict. Oh, they'd take it if offered freely, but consider the cost. If the hearing condemns the Empire, who enforces that condemnation?"

Understanding began to dawn in Margret's mind, cold and unpleasant.

"The Alliance would have to deploy their Exarchs," Lady Goldleaf said slowly.

"Precisely." Zeke turned from the window. "They'd have to risk their strongest assets, their own lives, on behalf of people who still refuse to formally join their cause. The elves haven't declared for either side. Neither have the dwarves. Why should human Exarchs die for your grievances?"

Lord Stoneforge's face had darkened, but he said nothing.

"More importantly," Zeke continued, "if the verdict is innocent, if this slight goes unanswered through official channels, then the burden of response falls to you. The injured parties. And what better way to draw you into the conflict than to make it clear that only through alliance can you find justice?"

The silence that followed was profound. Margret felt as though she were watching master players reveal their hands in a game she'd barely understood she was witnessing.

"Clever bastards," Lord Stoneforge muttered finally.

Lady Goldleaf's expression remained serene, but Margret had spent enough time among elves to recognize the tightness around her eyes. "You believe the Alliance will approach us. Officially."

"I'd stake my fortune on it." Zeke returned to his desk. "Probably within the hour. They'll express regret at their inability to help, offer sympathy for your losses, and then present a simple proposition..."

"We have no interest in being drawn into this war," Lady Goldleaf said, though her voice lacked its earlier certainty.

"Nor do we," Lord Stoneforge added. "Let the humans slaughter each other. The mountains will endure regardless."

"Will they?" Zeke's question was soft, but it carried weight. "The Empire has shown they're able to ignore common sense. What makes you think they'll stop outside your mountains?"

Before either Exarch could respond, a knock came at the door. Margret watched Zeke's expression flicker—he'd known someone was approaching, of course, but the timing was too perfect to be a coincidence.

"Enter," he called.

One of the household servants stepped in, bowing low. "Forgive the interruption, my lord. Messengers have arrived seeking audience with Lady Goldleaf and Lord Stoneforge. They claim the matter is urgent."

The two Exarchs exchanged a glance that spoke volumes. In the corner, Sheol turned another page, a small smile playing at childish lips.

"Show them to the parlor," Zeke instructed. "Our guests will join them shortly."

As the servant departed, Margret watched the weight of Zeke's prediction settle on the room. The game was playing out exactly as he'd foreseen, the pieces moving with inevitable precision.

"It seems," Lady Goldleaf said quietly, "that your assessment was accurate."

"The Alliance wastes no time," Lord Stoneforge grumbled. "Probably had the messages written before the hearing even began."

"Undoubtedly," Zeke agreed. "The question now is how you'll respond."

Margret saw the trap clearly now. Refuse the Alliance's overture and stand alone, without any human support in seeking justice. Accept, and they'd be drawn into a conflict that could consume their peoples for generations. Either way, they would not be allowed to stay out of this conflict.

"We should hear what they have to say," Lady Goldleaf said finally, though she sounded as though the words tasted bitter.

Lord Stoneforge nodded reluctantly. "Aye. Though I suspect we already know the tune they'll be singin'."

As the two Exarchs moved toward the door, Zeke called out softly. "Whatever you decide, remember: the Emperor's ultimate goal likely isn't simple. It never was. He is reshaping the entire continental order, one calculated move at a time."

Lady Goldleaf paused at the threshold, looking back with those ageless eyes. "And what of you, young lord? Where do you stand in this reshaping?"

Zeke's smile was sharp as a blade. "Wherever I need to, to protect what's mine."

The Exarchs departed, leaving Margret alone with her lord and the entity that wore a child's face. The study felt smaller somehow, as if the weight of what had just transpired had compressed the very air.

"Excellently reported, Margret," Zeke said, returning his attention to her. "Your observations were invaluable."

She ducked her head, warmth spreading through her chest at the praise. But questions still burned in her mind. "My lord, if you knew this would happen, why not warn them earlier?"

Zeke shook his head as if the proposition were absurd. "And why would I do that?"

"To make sure they don't fall victim to the—"

"Margret," he interrupted gently. "Did you ever ask yourself what outcome I am hoping for?"

Margret opened her mouth to answer, wanting to claim that he was naturally aiming for the Empire to be punished. However, the words died in her throat before she could even utter the first syllable. She had been gone from his side too long, utterly unaware of her lord's plans and machinations.

Did he even support the Alliance anymore? The dwarfs? The elves? None of them?

"What side are we on, my lord?"

Zeke shook his head again, as if she had misunderstood something fundamental. "We are a small boat lost at sea, Margret. Around us, a storm rages. Tell me, is it even possible for a sailor to side with the waves?"

Margret blinked, not understanding what her lord was saying.

He gave her a fond smile. "We are on our side, Margret. As always."

From the corner, Sheol's voice drifted like smoke. "The child of blood grows ever more interesting. Tell me, did you predict my presence here as well?"

Zeke's smile turned rueful. "I've learned better than to try predicting anything where you're concerned."

The King of the Dead laughed, a sound far too old for the throat that produced it. "Wisdom beyond your years. How refreshing."

Margret shivered despite the warmth of the room. The game being played here had layers she couldn't begin to fathom, powers and purposes that stretched beyond her understanding. But she was here, in the center of it, serving a lord who seemed to see the shape of things others missed.

She could only hope his vision was clear enough to navigate the storm that was surely coming.