They did not arrest him.
Not at first.
They invited him.
With courtesy.
With smiles.
With guards.
The summons came at dawn.
"By order of the High Council," it read, "Aren Valewood will answer questions of loyalty."
Questions.
Not charges.
Yet.
The council chamber was full.
Harland sat at the center.
Morn beside him.
Edric watched from the side.
Rowan stood near the throne.
Silent.
Unreadable.
"Valewood," Harland began, "serious accusations have arisen."
Scrolls were unrolled.
The forged letters.
The false seals.
Witness names.
Carefully chosen lies.
"Do you deny this?" Harland asked.
Aren lifted his chin.
"I do."
Murmurs spread.
Morn rose.
"God demands truth," he intoned. "Swear on the Sacred Flame."
A brazier was brought forward.
Aren placed his hand above it.
"I swear," he said, "I never wrote those orders."
The flame did not waver.
Some shifted uneasily.
A witness stepped forward.
A servant.
Trembling.
"He paid me," the man whispered. "To carry messages."
Aren stared.
He had never seen him before.
"Liar," Lysa muttered.
Too quietly.
Rowan finally spoke.
"Where did you meet Valewood?"
"In the east corridor," the servant replied.
Aren smiled slightly.
"There is no east corridor," he said.
Silence struck.
Architects stirred.
Guards frowned.
Harland's face tightened.
"Enough games," he snapped. "We vote."
Edric raised his hand.
Morn hesitated.
Others followed.
Guilty.
Rowan stood.
"Wait."
All eyes turned.
"I request time," he said. "For further inquiry."
Harland protested.
Rowan did not yield.
"The realm cannot afford mistakes."
Reluctantly, they agreed.
Aren was escorted away.
Not to prison.
To guarded rooms.
A cage made of silk.
That night, Lysa whispered through the window.
"You're alive. For now."
Aren nodded.
"For now is all power ever gives."