Swirling mist greeted Jenny when she opened her eyes, she didn’t remember closing them. The blonde flexed her fingers, moved her neck, looked at the mists, the pillars, focused on the eerie feeling when she moved. It felt like when she used the tricks taught by her mother, but different.

“Biscuit?”

The critter didn’t answer.

Jenny looked around for her pet, trying to find the white bundle of fur between the mists. The only thing she found was the pillars with the strange symbols. She walked around, and into the mists, only to arrive again in the same empty room with the pillars.

None of this was real. Jenny willed the mists to change, the same as when she reviewed her memories, it didn’t. She couldn’t feel a connection to them. Jenny tried to dissolve the room and return to where she was but was unable to. She was trapped.

Jenny walked around the pillars examining the symbols. Each evoked a different emotion within her. The grasping hand made her think all her plans and dreams were within her grasp. In the eye she remembered the days cowering in fear Father would find her. The bandaged hand the many times she had to wrap those around her own body after the training sessions. Jenny spent long minutes watching the embracing couple, mind cast back at the nights spent reading dirty books under the covers with Gizelda, two children thinking themselves adults. The sword evoked different emotions, anger, and frustration. Father dearest’s blood spilled, and the detestable man put down like the rabid dog he was.

Each pillar had an indentation holding a key. Jenny’s hand was halfway toward the sword pillar when she wrenched her hand away and took a step back. She didn’t know what these pillars and keys represented, but she refused to make a choice influenced by him.

Jenny cast another brief glance at the couple, she wanted to pick that one, but what she really needed and wanted was power. If she was powerful enough, she didn’t need to worry about the consequences, she would be able to support Gizelda’s dreams, and pursue her own. She walked to the pillar with the golden hand and grabbed the key.

The mist swirled and changed.

Jenny observed the room in front of her. Enormous pillars like legs of ancient giants supported a vaulted ceiling cast in constant darkness. High, narrow windows framed by it allowed the barest slivers of sunlight inside. The room smelled of old wax. Beneath the polish, the rot of old wood and the iron scent of blood seeped through. The hall bore no tapestries, its walls instead decorated with spoils of conquests, weapons of vanquished foes, preserved skulls of beasts slain in combat.

The throne where she sat was not an elegant chair, but a massive, almost brutal construction of dark oak and hammered iron. The back rose like a grasping claw. There was no cushion to soften the seat. Standing in silence by the walls were her subjects. None were permitted to sit or talk in her presence unless ordered.

The petitioner walked the length of the room alone, head held high, gaze fixed on the throne and ignoring the house of lords who watched his every step like vultures waiting to feast.

The man knelt before the throne.

Jenny noted that his clothes looked new but lacked the same grandeur of established families. His skin was darker than most in the house of lords, his hair black with shades of burnt red. He was one of the new nobles, one who’d bought his title through bribes and coercion. Jenny watched the man in silence. With each tick of the unseen clock, a bead of sweat rolled down his brow, his fingers twisting his tunic's fabric. The petitioner did not dare to look up, as was proper, but he also lacked the patience of a true noble.

“Speak.” She commanded.

“Your Majesty,” the man began, his eyes still fixed to the floor. “I declare House Favious Oathbreakers.”

The court gasped, horrified at the accusation. Jenny stared at the man. She had already been informed by the spymaster of the situation. “On what grounds?”

The petitioner gulped. “We signed an alliance, and they went back on their word, going so far as to kill my servants.”

Jenny looked at the lords standing near the walls. A woman whose perfume Jenny could smell from the throne, the burly lord with scars barely concealed by his finery, eyes tracking Jenny with hunger. “Lord Favious, what say you about these accusations?”

An overweight man walked forward. His beady eyes glued to the petitioner. “Slander, Your Radiance! This upstart lies!”

“How so?” Jenny asked.

“By your law, Your Radiance, an alliance is only valid between noble houses. He’s houseless!” The overweight noble accused. Many of the lords present nodded in agreement.

Jenny turned to the petitioner again. “What is your claim?” She asked.

The kneeling man gulped again. “I ask Your Majesty to see justice done. My son and heir was among those killed. I demand weregild.”

Whatever this magic was, it wanted Jenny to act as justice, or her own version of justice. More information trickled into her mind. The petitioner had lied about the number of people killed, even going so far as killing some of his own people and blaming their deaths on the oath-breaker. Lord Favious on the other hand, signed the alliance fully intending to break it on the grounds that the petitioner wasn’t a real noble, since he didn’t have a house title.

Jenny didn’t know what the right choice was here, or if even there was a right choice. Both were greedy men trying to exploit each other, worse, both wanted to use her toward their own gain. Jenny never wanted this kind of authority. The whole thing made her sick. There was more to consider, however.

The petitioner was a wealthy merchant, one that was owed favors by most of the noble houses. He was also one of the lead figures within the faction of the new nobility, mostly formed by wealthy merchants who had bought their titles. The spymaster couldn’t find how the merchant would benefit by demanding weregild, but they agreed it was a plot of some sort. Perhaps to make her lose prestige with the house of lords.

Favious had a huge backing within the conservative faction, and this scheme was a way to force her into picking a side.

All of these choices were bad ones. If she picked a side, it would mean war, and like every war, the peasants would bear the brunt of it while nobles sought glory and fortune. Jenny drummed her fingers against the dark wood of the throne, surveying the increasingly nervous noble audience.

She raised her hand, and the hall fell silent. There were no good choices. “Liars and oath-breakers.” She declared to the court. There were no good choices. “Execute both and their families. Their assets now belong to the crown.”

The nobles exploded in protest.

Jenny flicked her hand, fire swirling in her grasp. The room once again fell silent. “Let that be a lesson to you all. I do not care for your petty squabbles, and I will not tolerate any of you trying to manipulate me into playing your insipid games.”

She rose from her throne, casting one last glare at the assembly. If she sided with one side or the other, a war would break. The only way was to cow both sides into submission. “Now get out of my sight.” She ordered.

Mists invaded the throne room, obscuring everything. When Jenny could see again, she was on the ground, burnt and injured with Biscuit by her side. In her hand she held an iron key crusted over with blood, the iron still warm to the touch.