Chapter 84: The Question of Coercion
The silence in the Magistrate's office was so absolute that Callis could hear the wax dripping from the candles.
Callis’s brain completely short-circuited. He stared at the tired, earnest face of Magistrate Baelen, the sheer, staggering absurdity of the question hitting him like a blunt-force weapon. The man genuinely believed Callis was a helpless hostage, a soft aristocratic boy being violently utilized against his will by a coven of terrifying frontier witches.
Behind him, Yselle let out a sound that was half-cough, half-choke.
Cassia Vale, standing near the bookshelf, bit down so hard on her lower lip that it turned white. The spymaster’s shoulders began to vibrate with silent, hysterical laughter. She caught Callis’s panicked eye and subtly mouthed, Blink twice if you need a rescue.
Callis shot his sister a dark, withering glare before turning back to the Magistrate. He had to testify under Imperial oath that he was an independent, un-coerced man. But his body remembered the bruising grip of Yselle’s thighs, the crushing weight of Mara’s leather harness, and the absolute, helpless submission he offered them every single night.
"Magistrate," Callis rasped, desperately trying to sound like a man who wasn't completely owned. "I assure you, I am here on my own volition. My relationships in this town are strictly... collaborative."
Baelen looked unconvinced. He looked at Mara Vell.
"Mistress Vell," Baelen prompted. "You provide his room and board. Do you demand... unnatural compensation for his lodging?"
Mara did not flinch. Her face remained a mask of perfect, immovable stoicism. "He chops his own wood, Magistrate. He clears the bar, and he pays his tab. I merely ensure the boy does not freeze to death. It is a tavern, not a prison."
"I see," Baelen muttered, turning his nervous gaze to the soot-stained forge master. "And you, Mistress Harrow? Your forge provides his armor at heavily subsidized rates. Are you extracting physical favors from Lord Vale?"
Yselle crossed her heavy arms over her chest, a dangerous, feral smirk pulling at the corner of her scarred mouth. "I hammer his iron, Baelen. He brings me monster hides and raw ore. If he happens to hang around my shop after hours to learn how to properly handle a heavy tool, that is his own business."
Cassia let out a muffled snort, disguising it as a polite cough into her velvet sleeve.
Baelen rubbed his temples, a headache clearly forming behind his eyes. He looked at Mina, the young, bespectacled scholar who seemed like the only sensible, uncorrupted woman in the room.
"Miss Mina," Baelen sighed. "You are an academic. Surely you can attest to the nature of Lord Vale's integration into the ward?"
Mina pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up her nose. She stood perfectly straight, adopting her most professional, scholarly tone.
"Certainly, Magistrate," Mina stated clearly. "Lord Vale’s integration relies entirely on reciprocal kinetic exchange. Any transfer of bodily fluids or sustained friction occurring within the boundaries of the Lantern Ward is strictly consensual, highly regulated, and immensely beneficial to the town's local magical ecology."
Callis closed his eyes, dropping his chin to his chest as his soul left his body.
Baelen stared at the young scholar, his jaw hanging slightly open. "I... I do not even know how to begin logging that in the official record."
"Try to keep up, Baelen," Maeve purred, stepping forward to rest a manicured hand on the edge of the mahogany desk. "My husband and I utilize Callis for standard merchant protection. That is all. The boy simply has a very deep capacity for labor."
Before Baelen could question the sugar merchant's wife, a frantic knocking echoed from the corridor. The heavy door swung open, and Dalmir stumbled into the office.
The sugar merchant was sweating profusely, his velvet doublet looking entirely too tight. He had been summoned as a character witness for the defense, and the man looked terrified of breathing the wrong way.
"Magistrate Baelen," Dalmir blustered, dabbing his forehead with a silk handkerchief. He looked frantically at Maeve, waiting for her subtle nod of permission before speaking. "I assure you, Lord Vale is a vital, highly respected contractor for my... for my wife's business."
Baelen seized the opening, sensing a crack in the matriarchal armor. "Master Dalmir," Baelen pressed. "As a man of the district, tell me the truth. Is your wife using this boy? Does she hold leverage over him?"
Dalmir let out a high, nervous laugh. He looked at Callis, then looked at Maeve's sharp, unblinking glare.
"Leverage?" Dalmir squeaked, practically shrinking into his doublet. "Magistrate, my wife runs the ledgers, the supply lines, and the guild taxes. If she wants to hire a heavily-armed Vanguard to... to inspect the sugar inventory at midnight, I am absolutely not going to argue with her! Lord Vale is a terrifying killer, and my wife is a very demanding woman! They are a perfect business arrangement! Please do not make me question her!"
Dalmir’s sheer, pathetic cowardice hung in the air.
Baelen stared at the sweating merchant. Then he looked back at Callis, who was standing in the center of the room, flanked by women who clearly held the entire town in an iron grip. Dalmir's panic actually served as the perfect defense: Callis didn't look like a hostage anymore. He looked like the only man in Hartsgate brave enough to survive doing business with these women.
The Magistrate let out a long, defeated exhale. He picked up his heavy brass stamp.
"The paperwork is in order," Baelen muttered, pressing the stamp into the official Imperial response sheet with a heavy thud. He looked at Callis with a mixture of profound pity and baffled respect.
"I am officially declining the Duchess's petition for conservatorship," Baelen announced, signing his name. He handed the sealed document to Cassia. "I am formally ruling that Lord Vale is unusually entangled, but legally autonomous."
Cassia took the document, a brilliant, victorious smile lighting up her face. "Thank you, Magistrate. You have served the law flawlessly."
As the women turned to file out of the office, Baelen caught Callis’s eye one last time.
"Lord Vale," the Magistrate whispered, his voice full of genuine, tired solidarity. "If you ever need a safe place to sleep where no one is demanding your stamina... the jail cells are surprisingly quiet."
Callis offered the man a tight, thoroughly exhausted smile. "I will keep it in mind, Baelen."