It was the stale creak of old doors as the gaslamps flickered to life that first snapped Ren out of his stupor of shock, grief, and frustration. Though he'd managed to stop his tears, it didn't mean that he didn't feel it deep in his gut, that it felt like that image of Erin in the alley was burned into his eyes, a permanent memory that he'd never be able to let go of. That gnawing ache of loss that he couldn't quite patch.
Just yesterday she'd been so eager to see the caravan performers. What had they called themselves? The Garden of Roses? Ren wasn't sure, anymore, and he wasn't sure it even mattered. He was going to die, after all.
When he looked up at the entrance doors, the unit of guards stepped away in perfect sync, finally giving way to their only superior: Lord Jeremiah Winter. Ren's father. Supreme Arbiter. He was a tall man, with a sturdy build and iconic violet eyes that Ren had inevitably inherited. Though his skin was far more pale than Ren's and his hair a brown that almost bordered on yellow. His eyes, much like Ren's, had a sharpness to them that was hard to pinpoint.
There was a pause, and their gazes met. Ren's breath caught to see the light in his father's eyes. It wasn't the hardened gaze he'd seen when dealing with the guilty. Instead, it was… Regret. The same kind of regret that had haunted his gaze when he'd heard of the lost daughter of the Songstress, only days before arresting her.
Jeremiah turned, then motioned to his men. "Everyone out."
The six men filtered out of the front door, which clicked behind them as they left. Another long pause, a light gently glowing along Jeremiah's hands. Seemingly satisfied, he turned, then knelt before Ren and placed his hands on his shoulders. "Tell me what happened."
Ren's voice caught in his throat, hot pain radiating beneath his eyes as tears welled. "I… It was only a couple of minutes. I went to get some pastries from the caravan and when I found her again–"
Jeremiah nodded, his grip tightening slightly. "The dagger?"
Ren's tears began to run down his cheeks. "Obsidian."
Ren's father gave the barest hint of a comforting smile, clearly masking his own terrible grief. "Good man. Location?"
"Punctured between the ribcage from the back. Likely punctured a lung."
Another pause. Jeremiah's shoulders shook with each increasingly labored breath. "When you found her… When you saw her… Was there anything…" His voice was barely holding together, each word strung tightly together as he forced his voice to remain steady, "By her. Near her? Anything that might would show us who–"
Ren choked out a sob. "I don't know–" And suddenly, he was crying. Not just crying. Shuddering, heaving with each breath as his panic and pain rose in each heaving sob. "I don't know…"
Jeremiah cracked, tears falling silently from his cheeks as he pulled his son into a hug. And for a moment, just a brief moment punctuated only by shuddering breath, Ren was a mere child again, crying after he and Erin had fallen from the tree outside their home. Somehow that made it worse. Somehow… It made it better.
But the moment couldn't last. Jeremiah had little time. He pushed away, eyes flicking over Ren, checking for wounds, blood, any sign that his son had been in a struggle, too. Then, he spoke the words that nobody else had. "I believe you," He whispered, his voice hoarse with grief he was still holding back, "You are innocent."
And Ren choked out another sob. Here he was. Eighteen years of age, blubbering like a child. Like a withering child. "Father– I– I'm sorry."
When Jeremiah stood, his posture turned resolute. "Our situation is dire, but I believe we can stave off the inevitable for a few days. You'll have to stay in the prisons, but we'll scour the city to bring the true killer to justice. But our timeframe is short. A few days at most before the public starts calling for our heads." He closed his eyes bitterly, turning away. "You were always a strong boy. Hold on for a day while we catch the real culprit."
Ren could sense the nervous tension in his voice, anyway. And despite the act Jeremiah put on, Ren knew his father well enough to understand that it was, indeed, an act.
That was the moment Ren knew that there was no saving him.
The revelation sat like ice in his veins, a stone in his chest. Slowly, Ren nodded, then forced himself to his feet, trying to collect himself as his father looked him up and down again. "The Houses… They've been wanting this for a while, haven't they?"
Jeremiah didn't answer Ren's question as he walked toward the entrance. "...The men will likely be rough with you. Forgive them. They're under as much pressure as you are." His hand wrapped around the handle, his expression softening one last time as he looked at his son. "...But as a noble of House Winter who supposedly committed a capital offense… If we can't find the killer in time…"
Ren swallowed. He didn't need the reminder. "Right."
Jeremiah sighed, collecting himself before turning to the door once more. As he turned the handle, Ren could see his posture change to that of the stoic Supreme Arbiter. Then, a moment later, the six men of House Winter stepped into the room with the decorum of trained soldiers. There was a pause, longer than his father would usually take during sentencing. "...Take him to the prisons."
Holding up trembling wrists as he turned away, Ren sucked in another shuddering breath, trying to steady himself. Trying to make it so he seemed stronger than he was. That he could submit to justice with dignity. He'd trust his father. Even if the only way forward was death.
Gentry eyed Ren with mournful suspicion. "That's it, then?"
Jeremiah didn't turn to face them. Ren knew he was crying. "That's it."
Each of the six men seemed to visibly deflate, as if hope itself was evaporating from their skin, leaving only the cruelty of reality. Jeremiah left, walking into the cold night outside the building. Inside, however, the men turned to Ren.
Gentry, ever the loyal arbiter, sighed. "I'm sorry, son."
Ren's shoulders slumped, eyes cast downward. "It wasn't me."
A wave of silence fell through them, and Winston spoke next, "We… Want to believe you, child. We do."
Biting back his tongue, Ren held up his wrists once again. "Get on with it."
The six men paused, looking between each other, hesitation written in their expressions. Then, it was Seth, a younger man, only a few years older than Ren, who hardened his expression and approached. "With clear heart and mind," He whispered to himself, pulling off his wrist wraps to tie Ren's together, "Under the Lilac Sky."
Resigned, the six men guided Ren from the reception hall, further into the bowels of the Justiciary, down a stone staircase that had been cut from the mountainside itself. Down and down, until they came a door made of wood and iron. There was no ceremony as they opened it, no ceremony as Ren was untied, and only silence when the door closed.
The room had only one window; a thin slit in the stone of the mountainside that gave Ren enough of a view to know that it was carved into a cliffside. Even if he managed to break open that wall through some miracle, it would be a long way down. But the window served another purpose. With no glass between it and the outside, the cold spring winds found their way through, whistling in the entrance as it ensured the stone inside could never truly warm.
Ren was tired. He knew he'd be getting no sleep that night. How could he sleep as his world crumbled around him? But he walked to the back of the prison, anyway, and slid down the wall, laying uncomfortably on his side.
A long night awaited.