Crisanta Knight: Midnight Law

CHAPTER 1-1

ou know what is always a good idea: trying to improve the world. You know what is always a terrible idea: thinking that other people will not fight you as you try to do it.

It was a late August afternoon. Timid sunlight streamed down from higher windows, freckling the gray walls with dots of summer. My twenty-three cohorts in our commons rebellion peace talks sat around me—twelve representatives from the rebels’ side and twelve representatives from their “opposition,” myself included. The latter group (per the contingency of the rebels) consisted of three Fairy Godmothers, three of our kingdom’s ambassadors, and six protagonists.

Because the peace talks were Crisa’s idea, and our crew of friends knew more about the inner workings of our realm than most, the Godmother Supreme let Crisa pick the six protagonists. With her and a good number of our core group away in Dreamland, that led this assembly to include me, our schoolmates Javier Marcos, Divya Patel, Princess Marie Sinclaire, and her brother Prince Gordon Sinclaire, as well as Crisa’s eldest brother Prince Pietro Knight.

Pietro, Gordon, Marie, and I brought a unique perspective to the assembly. We were all royals who did not have real protagonist books. Ours had been forged so, although we attended Lady Agnue’s and Lord Channing’s, we were technically common characters. Those factors made us as neutral in this conflict as anyone could be. Yet, neutrality seemed as irrelevant a concept within these walls as time sometimes seemed to be.

I glanced at the shockingly large clock at the back of the room—its ticking hands pressuring me to make my big move before the day’s end. That was the plan when I approached Gallant Castle this morning, the domain repurposed for our peace talks. However, I was a creature of tact and had been waiting for the right moment to present my ideas. Today had not been opportune for that. It could be a bit hard to get a strategic word in with so many aggressive people trying to constantly fit in their less agreeable ones.

“The very idea of a school for protagonists is absurd,” Elias Fray argued passionately. The naturally tan rebel leader in her late twenties said everything passionately. A less poised person may have described the quality as obnoxious. I was trying not to stoop to that level.

Elias’s moxie seemed to irritate the Godmother Supreme, as evidenced by the number of eye rolls the Fairy Godmother had performed after statements made by Elias today—twenty-nine thus far. The two women clashed more than most people on this panel.

“Protagonist schools have been a part of our land for centuries,” Lena Lenore replied calmly. Our realm’s Godmother Supreme always remained cool and never needed to raise her voice or fist to get people to listen. Her power was inherent. I wished I could be that way.

“You’ve also been a part of our land for ages and that’s not exactly doing the majority any favors,” Tim, another commons leader, replied snarkily, adjusting his ever-present scarf.

I did not know what was more surprising—Tim calling the Godmother Supreme out on the anti-aging spell that had kept her alive for over a century and a half, which everyone knew about but no one spoke of, or the fact that he literally wore a scarf every day. It was summer for goodness’ sake. If Blue were here, by now she would have made a joke about choking him herself if the scarf was not getting the job done. Blue was not great at diplomacy. Some of these adults were not that skilled at it either. Tim’s comment caused the other two Fairy Godmothers—Debbie Nightengale and Daisy Gate—to get snappish with Tim about his rude comment, which drew the ire of the other rebel leaders in turn.

Feeling a headache coming on, I massaged my temples and resisted the temptation to rest my forehead on the cool polished surface of the wooden desktop. The remarkable piece of furniture wrapped around the perimeter of the circular room. An apt shape given that oftentimes it felt like our conversation only went in circles, never progressing notably to the treaty we all hoped to sign. After more than three weeks we had only achieved a few moments of agreement.

The desk arrangement allowed all parties to glare at each other with ease. I glanced at my friends beside me, then back at the clock. We only had a few minutes left before everyone departed for the evening. It was now or not until tomorrow.

“With respect . . .” I raised my hand. The bickering continued unabated.

Javier, seated to my right, gave me an encouraging nod, egging me to try again. Gordon, seated beside him, provided a tired, but sympathetic smile. I could not help but think Gordon’s white-ish blond hair seemed almost gray in this light. Appropriate considering there were days that it felt like we were losing life in this room.

And yet . . . I had to say—despite the stubbornness of these adults, the drearily slow progress, and the number of times a session I felt a headache coming on, I still woke up each morning and entered this building with hope. I would not have been here if I did not have a fundamental faith that we could build a better world and people could be better too.

That was not naiveté; that was my logical belief that things in life were meant to run smoothly, and would do so if selfish vices did not clog the gears so often. The peace talks were our chance to get things back on track. We were going to accomplish something great here. I could feel it.

I glanced at the proposal I had written. I was quite proud of it. The stack of financial documents next to it was a testament to how thorough I had been. Were all parties to adhere to the guidelines I had come up with, several of our outstanding problems would be on the road to resolution. I just did not know if the parties could part with their egos. And I would never know if I did not make my voice heard.

I stood up, brought my fingers to my lips, and whistled loudly, just as Jason had taught me. Debbie—also Crisa’s personal Fairy Godmother—nearly fell from her chair in surprise as a sudden hush fell across the room. I did not care for making a scene, but drastic times called for drastic measures. I met the gaze of the twenty-three faces around me, trying to channel some of the Godmother Supreme’s naturally commanding stature—perfectly erect but not tense, steely and confident eyes, firm and tilted upward chin.

“Elias, your detailed list of problems with the protagonist schools was first discussed in this room on July 22. We have been bouncing around the topic a lot since then, but the most torrid point of your argument was the taxes that commons have to pay to support the schools. I have been looking at the numbers . . .” I picked up my notepad, though I knew the numbers by heart. “Across all categories, commons, protagonists, and royals are taxed the same percentage of their net annual income.”

“Which is a perfect example of fairness across the classes,” said Ambassador Zachary Shewd, one of the higher-ups selected by the Godmother Supreme to be present here. He was from my kingdom of Dobb. “Exactly, SJ.”

I shot him a stern look. “I was not finished.”

The Godmother Supreme caught my eye. Her luxurious black hair cascaded around her toned, dark-skinned arms and framed her unreadable expression. I found it fascinating and unnerving. I had no doubt she and I had the same aptitude for public speaking, grace, and so forth. I had been trained in proper princess ways my entire life. The difference between us was that she did not care what anyone thought. She made no apologies. In that way she was more similar to Crisa, and several of my other friends. I was still working on that.

“As I was saying,” I continued. “When it comes to roadwork, healthcare, and so on, we should all pay the same taxes because we share the same amenities. But if only protagonists go to protagonist schools, then commons have no business paying for them.” I reached for a neatly clipped stack of paper and handed the documents to Javier. “Will you please pass these dossiers around?”

I pivoted to address the room again as Javier distributed my work. “You will see in my fiscal breakdown on pages one through four of your packets how the last five years of taxes for protagonist-specific benefits have taken a toll on the average common’s income. On page six of the dossier is a chart I made to illustrate how this correlates with increased crime rate and decreased likelihood of commons taking on non-trade professions. On the last page is my proposal for how we revamp our tax system to benefit all parties. It is color coded so it should be easy to understand.”

I waited awkwardly as the others glanced between their packets and me. Their expressions ranged from surprise to disbelief. “That is all,” I said abruptly, sitting back down.

“SJ . . .” Susannah Marberg (the ambassador from Crisa’s kingdom of Midveil) marveled. “This is very impressive.”

“I have several questions,” Ariel Steinglass (the ambassador from Adelaide) commented. Not shocking. The small, but booming-voiced woman naturally distrusted any new ideas.

“And there will be time for those tomorrow,” Debbie said, brushing away red strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “As it is almost five o’clock, I recommend we adjourn for the evening and commit to studying this proposal tonight in preparation for tomorrow.”

The Godmother Supreme nodded. “Agreed.”

“Agreed,” Elias seconded.

With that, everyone began packing up eagerly like kids at the end of a school day.

“Great work, SJ,” said Javier. My curly-haired friend was fairly short, but he made up for it with the size of his smile, which he unleashed frequently. I loved that about him. There were plenty of heroes at Lord Channing’s who were stuffy. Javier Marcos was not like that. He was genuinely kind in addition to being honorable and selfless.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I believe the proposal will move things along. Nothing gets done when people are throwing words at each other like knives. Numbers, facts, and logic cannot be ignored when presented as clear as day.”

“Let’s hope so,” Pietro said. “Now come on. Dinner is on me tonight.”

I glanced up at Crisa’s dark-haired, dark-eyed adopted brother. I considered it a lucky thing that he looked nothing like Crisa. It may have caused me to miss, and worry about her more if he did.

“What do you mean?” Marie asked, popping up next to him. Her blonde hair was as fair as her brother’s, but while Gordon was extremely tall she was quite petite. “Is it not chicken parmesan night at Darling Castle?”

“I’m suggesting we find a restaurant in Gallant for dinner,” Pietro clarified. “Just because we’re staying at Darling Castle doesn’t mean we have to eat there every night. That place can get a little crowded sometimes. Couldn’t you use a break?”

I smiled as I pushed the last of my papers into my book bags. I knew exactly what Pietro meant. We had been staying at our friend Chance Darling’s family castle in Clevaunt since the start of the summer and his ten siblings were a lot to take. A night out could be rather enjoyable.

“That is a lovely idea,” I commented. “Gallant’s capital is only an hour away from Chance’s castle. Would you like to call Evette to join us? We could wait for her.”

“No, she left this morning to spend the week in Midveil with her mother,” replied Pietro. “They’re picking out a wedding dress.”

“I cannot believe Evette has waited until now to purchase her dress,” Marie commented, fastening the last buckle on her own book bag. “You two are getting married in November. It was my understanding that picking out a dress is one of the first things a bride-to-be should do.”

“Nope, no way. We’re not doing this again, Marie,” Gordon declared, holding up his hands. “No wedding talk. I’m allergic to conversations about dresses, floral arrangements, and silk napkins.”