POV: Seraphina
The fire-scars had spread past her elbows now.
Every courtier who saw them whispered the same thing. The Flamebearer is burning herself alive. Let them whisper. She had bigger problems than gossip.
"You've been staring at those papers for hours." Thalion stood by the window, watching the courtyard below.
"And you've been watching the gardens for hours."
"Different objectives. Same lack of progress."
She almost smiled at that.
A knock came at the door. Liora entered with a sealed message, her expression carefully neutral. "From the D'Lorien estate, my lady. Jorin sent a fast rider."
Seraphina broke the seal. The wax crumbled under her thumbnail, still warm from the rider's pouch.
Woman at the gates. Former Vessant servant. Traveled far by the look of her. Says she has information about your former husband's family. Could be a trap. Could be genuine. She's scared but stubborn. Your call.
She read it twice. A former Vessant servant at her gates.
Elena. The thought came immediately. The maid who had confessed everything before vanishing. She had left a card with a false name and instructions. If you ever need help.
Maybe Elena had heard about the siege. Maybe she had finally decided to share what else she knew.
"What is it?" Thalion crossed to read over her shoulder.
"A former Vessant servant appeared at my family estate. Asking to speak with me."
"That's convenient." His voice was flat. "Vessant sends an agent posing as a servant. She kills you. Classic approach."
"Or she's genuine." Seraphina set the message down. "Elena gave me valuable information before she fled. If she's come back..."
"You're assuming it's this Elena. Anyone could claim that identity."
He was not wrong. Still, something in Jorin's description nagged at her. Traveled far. Scared but stubborn. That sounded like Elena.
"Bring her here," Seraphina said. "Under escort. Armed guard. She doesn't leave their sight until I've spoken with her."
"You're taking a risk."
"I'm always taking risks. This one might actually give me answers."
POV: Alaric
Afternoon light filled his chambers at the Vessant estate.
Comfortable. That was the word for house arrest under imperial watch. His rooms were spacious, his meals were hot, and the guards outside his door were unfailingly polite. They simply would not let him leave.
Some guards, however, were more accommodating than others.
Alaric stood at the window with his hands clasped behind his back. Servants crossed between buildings below. Guards patrolled the walls. Stable hands tended horses. The estate continued its rhythms while he remained frozen in place.
He had learned from his grandfather that the best lies were the ones you never had to tell. The ones that built themselves from the evidence left behind.
A soft knock came from the wall. Three taps, then two. The signal for the servants' passage.
He did not turn as Evelyne slipped through the hidden door. Her footsteps were light. Her presence warmed his back before her arms wrapped around him.
"News from the palace," she murmured against his shoulder.
"Tell me."
"Remember that burn on her arm? The one she claimed was a gardening accident?" Evelyne's voice carried a smile. "It's spread past her elbows now. The court is calling them fire-scars. Half of them think the soulfire is consuming her from within. The other half blames her for the curse itself."
Alaric let the satisfaction settle in his chest. Sharp and familiar. "And the investigation?"
"Stalled. No witnesses left to question. No evidence pointing anywhere useful." Her fingers traced patterns on his arm. "You activated an ancient relic in the heart of their palace, and they have nothing."
The Wound of Othren had done its work. The siege left witnesses dead and evidence scattered while his hands stayed clean.
The relic had not done everything he hoped. They stopped it before it could tear the palace apart completely. Still, it left guards dead, courtiers traumatized, and the emperor's halls violated by walking corpses.
That was what happened when you scorned a Vessant.
When the dead had walked through those palace halls, he had been safely confined here. Watched by guards who would swear to his presence. The perfect alibi.
"The guards have been cooperative?" he asked.
"The right ones have." Her fingers traced his collar. "Our allies know how to choose loyalists. Your movements remain unreported. Your conversations remain private. As far as official records show, you've been exactly where you're supposed to be."
He turned in her arms. Evelyne's eyes were bright with ambition, with hunger. She did not know about the whispers that grew louder each night. She did not know that powerful people had invested in his success for reasons he was only beginning to understand.
She thought they were partners in this arrangement.
He would let her keep believing that.
"Patience," Evelyne said, reading his expression. "She's isolated. Accused. Burning from the inside out. All we have to do is wait."
Alaric smiled. The hunger in it surprised even him.
POV: Seraphina
They brought her in flanked by four guards.
The woman was not Elena.
She was older, with gray-streaked hair escaping its braid and hands rough from years of labor. She looked like she had walked for days. A faint smell of woodsmoke clung to her clothes.
Elena had been young and sharp, a spy who confessed only because she owed a debt. This woman carried a different kind of weight. The kind that came from keeping secrets for most of a lifetime.
"You're not who I expected," Seraphina said.
The woman frowned. "Who did you expect?"
"Someone younger. Someone who left owing me a debt."
"I don't know who you mean. I haven't served House Vessant in a long time." The woman lifted her chin, meeting Seraphina's gaze without flinching. "I served Lady Calis. Before her son became what he is."
That was long before Alaric became Duke. Before the marriage. Before everything that had brought Seraphina to this moment.
This was not Elena returning a favor. This was something else entirely.
"You came a long way to find me," Seraphina said.
"I went to your family estate. They directed me here." The woman's voice was steady. "Under imperial protection, they said."
"You claim to have information."
"I have information about what happened. And why." She straightened. "My name is Maren. I served Lady Calis Vessant until the night she died."
Seraphina kept her expression neutral. Inside, her mind raced. The box. The obsessive markings around Calis's name. The servants who had vanished.
"Why come forward now? After all this time?"
"Because you fought back." Something fierce flickered in Maren's expression. "Not by accident. You looked at what they told you to believe and chose to find the truth instead." Her voice cracked. "All these years I waited for someone who wouldn't stop digging. You're the first."
"And the siege made you decide to act?"
"The siege made me certain I was right to come."
Seraphina studied her. The woman held herself like someone who had rehearsed this moment a thousand times. Years of silence, and now she stood here asking to be heard.
She crossed to her desk and retrieved the wooden box.
Maren's face went white. Her fingers twitched toward her collar, touching a spot where something might have once hung.
"My scouts found this in a cottage in the eastern provinces." Seraphina watched her reaction carefully. "Under a loose floorboard. The woman who lived there fled through a window before they could speak with her."
Maren stared at the box. Her hand reached for it, then stopped. "You have it."
"You compiled this." She did not frame it as a question.
"A lifetime of work." Maren's voice cracked. "I never thought I would see it again."
Seraphina tapped the edge of the box. "It has fragments I cannot connect. A name circled obsessively. Calis. Your former mistress."
"My lady." Maren stepped forward, urgency breaking through her composure. "I can explain everything, but you need to understand the full picture, not just pieces. If you give me time, I can tell you..."
The fire-scars ignited.
Pain shot up Seraphina's arms. She gasped, hand flying to her chest where the golden marks had been creeping closer to her heart. The room blurred at the edges.
"My lady?" Maren's voice came from far away.
Seraphina tried to speak. Tried to tell them she was fine and that this happened sometimes. She just needed a moment. Her knees buckled and the floor rushed up to meet her.
The last thing she heard was Thalion shouting for the healers.
POV: Seraphina
She woke to candlelight and the smell of healing herbs.
Yona sat at her bedside, hands folded in her lap. Her face was drawn with worry, but her voice was steady when she spoke.
"You collapsed. The fire-scars flared worse than before."
Seraphina tried to sit up. Pain radiated from her chest, duller now but persistent. "How long?"
"A few hours." Yona helped her upright, propping pillows behind her back. "The woman is being held in secure quarters. Prince Thalion insisted on guards at her door until you're well enough to continue."
Maren. The testimony. Everything she had been about to learn, stolen by her own failing body.
"The scars." Seraphina pulled back her sleeve. The golden marks had spread past her elbows. Branching veins now visible on her upper arms. Closer to her heart than they had been this morning.
Yona's expression confirmed what Seraphina already knew.
"The healing you did during the siege pushed you past your limits. Combined with the blood-lock damage from Whitehall..." Yona shook her head. "The progression has accelerated far beyond my original estimate."
"How long do I have?"
"Days. Maybe a week if you rest completely and use no fire at all." Yona met her eyes. "The Ember Sanctum is your only path forward now. Everything else has to wait."
A soft, polite knock came at the door.
Thalion opened it. His posture eased when he saw who stood there. "Lucien. Thank the gods."
The man who entered wore the ash-gray robes of the imperial archives. Tall, composed, dark hair pulled back simply. He carried a leather satchel heavy with documents. Everything about him suggested quiet competence. A scholar who lived among dusty records and understood their value.
"Your Highness." He bowed to Thalion, then turned to Seraphina. "My lady. I came as soon as I heard."
"Lucien Verenor," Thalion said. "Assistant to the imperial archivists. He helps with bloodline records. He's been researching Flamebearer trials since your petition."
Verenor. Something flickered at the edge of her memory. A conversation. A warning. She reached for it, but her thoughts scattered like ash in wind. The fire-scars throbbed, and whatever connection she had almost made slipped away.
She was too tired to chase it.
"You have information?" she asked.
Lucien withdrew documents from his satchel. "I found fragments in the restricted archives. Including references to fire-scar progression." He spread the papers on the table near her bed. "The original texts suggest it responds to emotional state and magical exertion. Certain stabilizing influences could extend your timeline."
"How much?"
"Weeks, potentially." He pulled out another document. "There are references to a preparatory ritual that could slow the progression. Give you time to approach the Sanctum properly."
More time. That meant time for Maren's testimony. Time for news from the border.
She watched him as he organized the documents. Lucien handled each page with care, smoothing creased corners with practiced fingers. He caught her watching and ducked his head with a self-conscious smile.
"Forgive me. I get particular about the old records."
"Where did you find this?" Yona leaned forward to examine the documents. "I've studied Flamebearer texts for years. I've never seen references to a preparatory ritual."
"The Verenor family maintains private archives. Documents that never entered the imperial collection." His expression stayed pleasant. "We believe in preserving knowledge."
Yona frowned at the pages, professional skepticism in her eyes. "These symbols are old. Older than the standard texts." She glanced at Seraphina. "I'd want to verify the translation before we attempt anything."
"Of course." Lucien nodded readily. "I welcome scrutiny. The last thing I want is to offer false hope based on misread passages."
He seemed genuine.
"Can you return tomorrow with the full translation?"
"I'll need a day to translate the older passages. I'll return tomorrow with full analysis." He looked at Yona. "Perhaps we could review them together? Your expertise would be invaluable."
Yona's expression softened slightly. "That would be acceptable."
Thalion nodded. "I trust Lucien's research."
That aligned with her own read.
"Tomorrow then," she said.
Lucien bowed. "Rest well, my lady. The Sanctum will wait."
He left with Thalion. Yona gathered her supplies, still frowning at the space where the documents had been.
"You're worried about the ritual," Seraphina said.
"I'm worried about unfamiliar magic when you're already weakened." Yona paused at the door. "But if his research holds up, this could be exactly what we need. Rest, my lady. We'll know more tomorrow."
She left.
Seraphina stared at the ceiling. Maren's testimony waited. The fire-scars spread. The Ember Sanctum loomed.
But for the first time in days, she felt something other than dread.
Tomorrow, she might finally have a path forward.