“All rise for the Honourable Judge Ironfang.”
The dragon who entered was in human form, mostly. Scales rippled along her jaw, and her pupils were vertical slits that dilated as she surveyed the courtroom. She carried herself with the weight of a species that had been adjudicating disputes when humans were still sorting out fire.
“We are here in the matter of The People versus Blackwood.” Her voice carried the hint of smoke and the promise of worse. “Thirty-eight counts of murder in the first degree. Conspiracy. Racketeering. Kidnapping. Attempted murder of a protected witness. Obstruction of justice. Deployment of prohibiteddimensional entities against a civilian population.” She let that last charge hang. “How does the defendant plead?”
Viktor’s lead counsel, a thin man with the hollow look of someone who’d been arguing impossible positions for too long, stood. “Not guilty on all counts, Your Honour.”
“Very well.” Judge Ironfang settled back. “Prosecution, call your first witness.”
The prosecutor’s voice was already calling Hazel’s name when she rose. The witness stand was carved from a single piece of moonstone that warmed beneath Hazel’s palm. Above it, suspended in a silver cage, the Truth Stone pulsed with neutral white light. Every word spoken on this stand would be verified or denied by a piece of magic older than the court itself.
“State your full name for the record.”
“Hazel Briar Wickwood.” The Truth Stone flared white. “Licensed hedge witch of Willowbrook, Maine.”
“Ms. Wickwood, please tell the court what you witnessed on the night of October 10th.”
She’d practised this. Marcus had drilled her in the cabin, standing in the kitchen with a wooden spoon as a pretend microphone.State facts. Control emotions. Don’t editorialize.She’d been terrible at it then. She was better now. Her voice still cracked on Tobias’s name, but only the once.
“I was gathering moonbell flowers in the forest near Blackwood territory. I didn’t have a Class Seven permit.” She let that land. No point hiding it, the defence would bring it up anyway. “I heard voices and concealed myself behind an oak tree. I observed Viktor Blackwood in conversation with a fae male I recognised as Tobias Ashford.”
“How did you recognise Mr. Ashford?”
“Professionally. He kept an apothecary in the next county, specialising in fae remedies. We’d worked the same supplier circuits for over a decade — wholesale markets, supply auctions.I knew his face the way you know any colleague’s. We’d exchanged business cards once.”
“What happened next?”
She gripped the moonstone. “Mr. Blackwood accused Mr. Ashford of providing information to the Inter-Dimensional Court. He used the word ‘singing.’ Then he drew a blade, obsidian, black glass, approximately eight inches, and drove it through Mr. Ashford’s chest.”
The Truth Stone blazed so bright that the front row shielded their eyes.
“What happened immediately after?”
“Mr. Ashford’s death created a magical discharge. I ran. I returned to my shop and activated my protective wards. The following morning, I was served with a witness subpoena.”
“And since receiving that subpoena, what has happened to you?”
Hazel looked at Viktor. He looked back, expression neutral, as if they were discussing the weather.
“My shop was burned to the ground. My clients were terrorised with nightmare demons. My supplier routes were blockaded by the Shadow Council. I was attacked by Blackwood enforcers with obsidian blades. The man assigned to protect me was poisoned with enchanted obsidian. And the town I’ve served for twenty years was subjected to a sustained campaign of intimidation designed to ensure that no one would stand beside me in this courtroom.”
The Truth Stone didn’t just flare. Itsang, a clear, sustained note that rang through the courtroom like a bell. Absolute, verified truth.
“Thank you, Ms. Wickwood.” The prosecutor, a severe vampire in navy, sat down. “Your witness.”
The lead defence counsel approached the stand. He’d recovered some composure, though his hands were still shaking.
“Ms. Wickwood, you’ve admitted you were trespassing when you allegedly witnessed this crime. Gathering moonbell flowers without a Class Seven permit is itself a violation of supernatural resource law.”
“Yes.”
“So you were committing a crime when you claim to have seen another crime.”
“I was picking flowers illegally. Your client was murdering a person. I don’t think those are equivalent.”
A ripple went through the gallery. Judge Ironfang’s lips twitched.
The counsel pressed. “Ms. Wickwood, isn’t it true that you are romantically involved with Marcus Hawthorne, the attorney who coordinated your witness protection?”
