LETTER 10

Miss March—

I may have finally seen the light.

It was an entirely unexpected stroke of luck, but we actually made it out of the Royal summons alive with some time to spare. All of us.

The starting kicker: we narrowly avoided a civil war.

The emergency summons went as predictably as I feared. Each marchion and marchioness was seated directly behind the duke or duchess of the dukedom that their respective marches belonged to. My dearest Leonie, dressed not in her pretty ball dress but a much simpler one that was even complimented by trousers instead of a long skirt—who was her dresser? They well deserve my song of praises—appeared strong and dashing. The sword she wore by her hip was traditionally part of the male attire, but it rested so naturally by her side that nobody even raised a whisper of objection. My redheaded protector bowed politely as she entered the Court with me, and she sat precisely behind me, as if to make sure no other marchion or marchioness would ever have the opportunity to stab me in the back.

My place was near the corner of the left side of the table, right next to the largest seat at its end. To my left side, other representatives of the Ducal Houses seated themselves. The table set upon the Court for the meeting was neither rounded nor elliptical, but was the shape of a stadium—with two opposite sides elongated and their two ends rounded—so there was a clear separation of seating. Those who sat on my side of the table were all dukes of indentured dukedoms.

Those who sat across us were all slaveowners.

Sitting closer to the door, on the far rounded end, were the Three Justices from the Magistratus.

Finally, sitting on the opposite rounded end, directly on my right side, was Rex Lenamontis.

My seat was apparently arranged in such a place because I was the Manus Dextra, but I understood that this raised some eyebrows. The slaveowning side of the table definitely didn’t seem particularly pleased to see me still alive. My maid, Maelys, put extra effort for my makeup today, with the very helpful insistence and support of Astrid and Miss Scarlet, who were way more used to having to look pretty to survive. I even put on my favorite deep blue dress, with the gold-laden flowery embossing along its seams, so that the silvery-white rose brooch that marked my position as the Manus Dextra Regis Lenamontis would pop even more to the eyes.

I learned that my beauty was an armor, so I decided to go in fully-fitted.

I wish those nobles would burn this pretty visage of a face into their memory, because I really needed them to know that I was not afraid.

No signs of insomnia. No signs of having to survive consecutive assassination attempts for weeks on end. No signs of my dukedom ready to start collapsing in two years’ time. Only the confident smile of a noble girl who had it all under control.

My legs were shaking, trembling nearly beyond control, but seeing the faces of each and every person in the room actually helped me calm my nerves. It helped me realize that my enemies weren’t invisible assassins, intangible murder plots, intricately-placed traps, or expert murderers—they’re very real people, they’re physical, and they’re right there, almost within my reach if I lean forward a little. Well, a lot, I’d have to get off the table, even, but my point stands.

They weren’t seeping miasma, they weren’t preying upon lifeforce or mana, they weren’t mindless monsters who wanted the largest destruction they could inflict. They had vested interests, sure, but they also had lives and dreams and families and everything.

They weren’t phantoms. They weren’t ghosts. They weren’t demons. They weren’t monsters.

They’re human.

I could stare them in the face and see exactly the form of my terror—and they weren’t terrifying at all.

With another deep breath, I could feel my footing growing more and more solid upon the floor.

I was ready.

Presided over by the King and the Three Justices, the Three Powers began to convene in earnest. The topic: slavery.

It instantly became clear why I was seated to the King’s left hand side.

The duke right across from me jumped.

And no, I don’t mean the surprised way, or the shifty uncomfortable way. I mean he jumped at me.

Literally.

Had I been anywhere further from the King, the Vindex Regis wouldn’t have been able to react in time.

Any threat within the King’s proximity was a threat to the King—I remember Father teaching me this, back when I was still an eight year-old babe, when he wanted to discuss the legacy of House Constantius, former soldiers for the Praetorium, and how we got the frontiers not because of a punishment, but because only House Constantius was trusted enough to define the borders of the Kingdom.

It was the Guard’s Creed that saved my life.

The noble that jumped at me was barehanded, but he weighed … easily a whole burdenbeast, judging from the size of his belly. He’d have easily swatted my head right off my neck with a single crushing blow.

Thankfully, the Guards were stronger than that.

With the butt of their spears, one quickly stopped him in his motion while another one swiftly dropped his momentum, forcing him to the floor in one smooth motion—

BLAM!

And everyone fell silent.

“She has to die!” the duke was screaming. I forgot which dukedom he was from … Aetius, maybe? It was a pretty large trading hub. Sales and auctions of slaves basically thrived there. I still don’t think I saw his face a lot—he was probably my father’s age, judging from the graying hair and lines on his face, although those lines could just be from the fat he accumulated there. Or maybe the frenzied frown he was giving me.

Oh, he was so red. Did he hate me that much?

“Nobody dies in My Court, Dux Aetii,” Rex Lenamontis said coldly. “Not under My watch, and especially not without the Justices’ proper judgment.”

Oh. He really was from Aetius. That reminds me, I heard from Amelie that she was the reason the previous family of the title was entirely ousted from nobility. She’d probably recoil in disgust if she saw who was granted the mantle afterwards.

With the duke escorted out by the Vindex Regis, we continued on. The Justices directed the King to recite the Oath of Impartiality, bound by the Miracle of Truth to prove His sincerity. Then, in turn, the Grand Justice directed each side of the table to bring forth their issues and why it must be discussed. Each march is allowed to pass a message but only to their dukedom, and each dukedom was given their turn to speak. Those who wished to provide a response must raise their arm, and maintain their silence until the Grand Justice calls upon their House to speak.

I thought the tension would pierce the skin—and I wasn’t precisely wrong, because there were very visible calculating scowls on the faces of literally everyone when somebody raises any point—but after the first outburst from the Duke of Aetius, it all just felt so surprisingly calm and orderly. The controlled atmosphere helped me collect my thoughts and maintain my breathing.

When the slaveowning dukes mentioned the vitality of slaves to their livelihoods, I mentioned the success of indenture and how the acknowledgment it granted didn’t only drive up productivity, it also increased general welfare for everyone involved. When the slaveowning dukes mentioned the importance of free labor, an ally duke mentioned the importance of all labor in general, and how every man deserves to have their work viewed with dignity, as even the lowest of maids matters in keeping the house running.

When the slaveowning dukes mentioned that the slaves were there because they were weak, I clenched my fists and told them that the only reason they themselves were still alive was because of Sir Tanaka, not because of their own strength. Then, after Leonie gave me a friendly pat in the back unnoticed by the other dukes, I relaxed my fists and recited the data Suzuki found—that most extant slaves were forced to be there against their will, not because they were weak, but because there were people who found that they could profit by treating innocents as livestock.

Seeing innocence as weakness was an affront to all our values as a Lenamontese, I said, because we defended the frontlines for a thousand years not because we were strong, but because we understood the value in standing up for what is right.

Not that they could ever argue against that. They weren’t Constantian. These nobles weren’t ever exposed to the War—they just sent their Crura Velocia to do the dirty work for them, lending them to Constantius along with some supplies when requested, and they considered their work done.

While it was undeniable that they contributed to the war efforts, they will never be in the position to speak about war or strength.

They’ve never witnessed it firsthand.

Apparently my mention of their weakness was precisely what pressed their buttons—oh, so typical of men, I swear—because the discussion nearly derailed from there to the various sorts of achievements they tried to boast to prove their strength, if not for the Grand Justice shutting them up and asking them to return to the topic at hand.

It was then that they raised the idea of natural hierarchies, and it was then that I could finally bring up Suzuki’s paper on the inessentialism of slaves: that slavery was not a system inbuilt into the human blood, as literally not a single other creature out there—not even the demons, of all species—practice systematic slavery like humans do. The system had a root cause, and as long as the root cause could be addressed, the system could be changed.

It was then that the more business-savvy dukes began to speak up in earnest, discussing how the change to the system by means of what I did—total abolition out of nowhere—would not only be costly for them, but could even risk lives. They changed their angle from that which defended slavery to that which drove sympathy for the people: with slavery gone, even when the abolition was well-intentioned, their dukedoms were already so dependent on slavery that it would crash their economy and break the livelihoods of the people already living there.

“Fair, normal people like you and me,” said the Duke of Aureus. “Or do you not care, as long as they are not from Constantius?”

If not for the stakes, I would’ve actually laughed. No, not out of ridicule, but out of respect. That was a brilliant play—first, frame your own position as sympathetic so that listeners would feel that you were kind enough to be listened to (“We’re doing this for the people, like you and me!”); second, frame your opponent’s position as that of less moral standing so that the listeners would feel like they had to side with you (“Do you only care about your own kind, but not us?”). It was textbook Heliodorian debate strategy, but he did it so naturally. I had nothing but respect for this man.

Unfortunately, it remained the case that I had to bring his case down, so I went for the throat: the fact remained that, in defending these people, they were also actively oppressing others. They weren’t defending the people, they were the ones defending only their kind. The passion to abolish slavery was not a simple passing passion of empathy—it was an active work, a real effort to dismantle a system that makes it so that only certain people stand to gain from the absolute loss of everybody else.

“In other words, Dux Aurei,” I said, “I do in fact care, even for those who were not Constantian. I worry for your people if they have been lulled into thinking that they only had slaves to depend upon. There are various workarounds for your so-called economy that you could’ve employed rather than maintaining your trampling of human dignity—I’m fairly sure your people would’ve liked to feel what it’s like to be proper human beings, too.”

I could almost see him grit his teeth, which probably meant that I managed to strike a sensitive point somewhere in there. I’m not sure where, but that’s a good sign. Emotional speakers tend to drop less structured arguments, making them easier to take down.

Then, the abolitionists spoke up about the economic workarounds I mentioned—that the increase of general satisfaction actually led them to doing more work voluntarily, because the way people interacted also changed. When people could freely do things, they would do things for other people, because people are kind. They would cultivate themselves, improve themselves, and when others wish to improve as well, they would find ways to connect and improve together.

“Every burden was shared amongst the citizens,” said the Duchess of Forestis. “The citizens became more sympathetic to each other’s problems. They lent each other their shoulders. Indentured slaves knew they could trust their masters, and their masters learned to trust them as humans, too. When you see each other as human beings, you connect. You become better. All humans do.”

I found it somewhat humorous that the Duchess accidentally implied that merchants weren’t human, especially since she said that to the merchant Duke of Aureus, but I kept that to myself.

What she said was actually one of the first things I noticed in Constantius after indenture, although as I mentioned, the changes weren’t that noticeable since the indenture back then only put into words what was already the case in Constantius. It did, however, make a lot of changes in Forestis, where the people were woodworkers, where they worked the forestry and later brought their work to a considerably developed city. It was a mesh of both rural work and urban living, where the people were constantly trying to figure out the proper lines between individuals and groups. It was such a fascinating place, and it was this constant search of identity that the indenture managed to fill: by tipping the balance towards communal living, the people there revealed their friendliest sides as consequence, and teamwork just straight-up blasted their roofs open.

Back then, slaves would only help their masters because they must. After the indenture, they helped their masters because they knew their masters would do the same should they ever come into trouble.

There was trust.

Where there was trust, there was teamwork.

Where there was teamwork, there was efficiency.

“But your dukedom was never reliant on slaves to begin with!” the Duke of Aureus replied. “Try and give us a visit sometime—see for yourself if you could implement a system without slaves to provide the labor we need!”

There were nods of agreement all over that side of the table.

In the end, the discussion actually went without a single mention of secession. There was a clear look of satisfaction in the Three Justices’ faces, although I noticed that Rex Lenamontis wasn’t quite as relaxed. When the Grand Justice finally asked for the King to speak, He was silent for three whole minutes.

Then, He shook His head.

That was when the first groan of dissatisfaction appeared. Then it was followed by another. Then another, and another, and before we knew it, everybody was making a noise, trying to drown out each other. The slaveowners weren’t happy that the King did not address the rapid change of situation in Lenamontis, and the abolitionists weren’t happy that the King seemed too afraid to address the problematic status quo.

I knew I was supposed to be representative of the abolitionists, but even I found myself dumbstruck. Everyone was shouting. The Justices asked for order, but chaos was unwilling to surrender.

Ring….

Leonie tapped me softly from the back.

The ringing in my ears stopped.

That was all I needed.

“Your Highness,” I said gently. He noticed. “The following is my suggestion as Your Right Hand: let’s take a week’s recess. You can announce Your decision then. You may assess for Yourself everything that everybody here said during that time to make Your considerations—but by the time we all reconvene, You must have an answer.”

To my surprise, He nodded. “Very well. Let’s go with that.”

I raised my hand while touching my white rose. The Grand Justice noticed, and gestured by raising both arms—the Executor Legis responded by thumping on the floor. All of them. Together. Rhythmically.

The noises were drowned by the thumping, and slowly, everyone quieted down.

“Please, Manus Dextra,” the Grand Justice announced. “The forum is yours.”

He had to announce me as Manus Dextra, because otherwise, everyone present would see me as Duca Constantii instead. He was clarifying the role under which I would speak—and Manus Dextra answers only and directly to the King.

I relayed my suggestion, to more groaning from across the table, but there was a lot less groaning than the first time. They bought it. I bought Maximillius Rex one week’s worth of time, but that’s it.

After this, He would be on His own.

As the meeting was adjourned, however, I made sure to tell Him that I would come visit the Castle later to discuss events of the day—and not as the Duchess of Constantius, but as His Right Hand.

He understood.

Miss March—I wrote this as soon as I got to the Mansion. We truly just avoided a civil war, but what I did was simply delay the inevitable. However, later tonight, I will have an audience with the King.

One week is not that long of a time, but it should be enough for us to come up with something.

I must go now. There are numerous things to prepare. However, at the end of all this, I shall write back to you—and I hope that day will come with all of us well and alive.

Goddess be with you,
Charlotte Valeria de Constantia,
Ducal House Constantius, Kingdom of Lenamontis.

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