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The maid's face was pale under the carriage lamp. Young, maybe nineteen. Her hands twisted in her apron.
"I saw her," the girl said. "Lady Eveline. At Quinn's shop. Three weeks ago."
Wantang's chest tightened. The contract sat unsigned on the bench between her and Rowan. One witness. That's all it takes.
Rowan didn't move. His voice came out flat. "Name."
"Nell Cray, my lord. I serve at the Rose dormitory. Royal household." She glanced at the guard behind her. He wore the queen's silver.
Wantang forced her breathing slow. Crisis negotiation, module two: let them talk first. People fill silence. People make mistakes.
"What did you see?" Wantang kept her tone neutral. Not aggressive. Not afraid.
Nell's eyes flicked to her, then away. "You were at the counter. Milo Quinn was there. You told him you needed something strong. Something that wouldn't wake the person up."
Wantang's pulse spiked. That's too specific. Either she's telling the truth or someone coached her very well.
"Did I say a name?" Wantang asked. "Who it was for?"
Nell hesitated. "No, ma'am. But you paid in Vey house coin. I saw the crest."
Rowan leaned forward. "And you're certain it was Lady Eveline."
"Yes, my lord." Nell's voice wavered, but she didn't break eye contact. "I'd seen her at court twice before. I remember the hair. And the ring. The Vey garnet."
Wantang looked down at her left hand. The ring sat heavy on her fourth finger. Deep red stone, gold band. She hadn't taken it off since waking up in this body.
The guard cleared his throat. "The Ash Court convenes at dawn. Miss Cray will testify. The tribunal requests Lady Eveline's presence." He held out a folded parchment, sealed in black wax.
Rowan took it. Didn't open it. His jaw was tight.
Wantang's mind raced. If the maid testifies and the court believes her, the thirty-day stay is gone. The marriage contract is void. I burn tomorrow.
She met Rowan's eyes. He looked back at her with something close to calculation.
"We'll be there," Rowan said.
The guard nodded. He stepped back. Nell followed, her apron still twisted in her hands. The carriage door shut.
Silence.
Wantang picked up the contract. Her hand didn't shake. Professionalism was muscle memory. "I assume this changes the terms."
Rowan's mouth curved. Not a smile. "No. It makes you more expensive. Sign it."
She stared at him. "You think I can beat this."
"I think you're smart enough to try." He pulled a pen from his coat. Held it out. "And I think if you don't sign, you'll be ash by noon."
She took the pen. The contract was short. Thirty days. Legal marriage. Separate households after the ceremony if she wanted. Annulment clause if either party requested it after the summer session.
She signed. Eveline Vey, in a hand that wasn't hers.
Rowan signed below. Rowan Vale. His handwriting was sharp, controlled. He folded the paper and slipped it inside his jacket.
"Now what?" Wantang asked.
"Now we go to the Ash Court," Rowan said. "And you do what you do best."
"Which is?"
"Talk your way out."
---
The Ash Court wasn't a court. It was a furnace.
Wantang stood in the center of a circular stone floor. Above her, the ceiling opened to the sky. No roof. Just smoke and stars. Around the edge of the circle, seven iron braziers burned. The flames were white, not orange. They didn't crackle. They hummed.
The gallery was packed. Nobles in silk. Servants in wool. Merchants. Soldiers. Everyone wanted to see if the Vey girl would burn.
Rowan sat in the front row, arms crossed. He'd changed into formal black. High collar. No house insignia. He looked like a man at a funeral.
Wantang wore the same gray dress from the dungeon. They'd given her a basin and a cloth to wash her face. That was it. She still smelled like stone and fear.
Sephra Morn stood at the edge of the circle. Royal tribunal envoy. Mid-forties, sharp cheekbones, silver chain of office. She held a brass rod in one hand.
"The Ash Court hears truth," Sephra said. Her voice carried without effort. "What a witness believes, the fire will show. What a witness doubts, the fire will take. Speak, and the flame will answer."
She turned to Nell. The maid stood on a raised platform opposite Wantang. Her hands were shaking now.
"State your testimony," Sephra said.
Nell swallowed. "Three weeks ago, I went to Quinn's apothecary. I needed valerian root for the housekeeper. Lady Eveline was there. She was at the counter. Milo Quinn was with her. She said she needed something strong. Something that wouldn't wake the person up. He gave her a vial. She paid with Vey coin. I saw the crest. I saw the ring."
The flames in the braziers flared. The hum grew louder. Wantang felt heat on her skin, but it didn't burn. Not yet.
Sephra watched the fire. "The flame accepts."
Wantang's throat was dry. The court believes her. Because she believes herself.
Sephra turned to Wantang. "Do you wish to question the witness?"
Wantang stepped forward. Module three: isolate the variable. Find the crack.
"Nell," she said. Softly. Like they were alone. "You said you'd seen me at court before."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Twice."
"Yes."
"When?"
Nell blinked. "I... the spring gala. And the treaty signing."
"What was I wearing?"
Nell hesitated. "I don't... a gown. Blue, I think."
The flames flickered. Sephra's eyes narrowed.
Wantang kept her voice calm. "At the apothecary. You said I told Milo I needed something strong."
"Yes."
"Did I say what for?"
"No."
"Did I say who it was for?"
"No, but—"
"Did Milo ask?"
Nell's face twisted. "I... I don't know. I don't think so."
The flames dipped. One of the braziers on the left guttered. Smoke curled up.
Wantang took another step. "You said he gave me a vial."
"Yes."
"What did it look like?"
Nell opened her mouth. Closed it. "It was... glass. Small."
"What color?"
Silence.
"Nell," Wantang said. Gentle. Relentless. "What color was the vial?"
"I... I don't..."
The brazier on the left went out. The flame snuffed like a candle. Smoke poured into the air, thick and black.
The crowd murmured. Sephra raised the brass rod. The murmurs stopped.
"The witness cannot recall," Sephra said. Her tone was neutral, but her gaze was fixed on Wantang. "The flame has taken that detail."
Wantang's heart hammered. The vial color. She doesn't know. She didn't see it clearly, or she's remembering wrong, or someone told her the story and left that part out.
She turned to Sephra. "I want to question Milo Quinn. If he gave me a vial, he'll remember what it looked like."
Sephra's expression didn't change. "Milo Quinn is not in custody. He has not been summoned."
"Then summon him."
"The tribunal does not summon on the accused's request."
Wantang's jaw tightened. Of course not. That would be fair.
Rowan stood. Every head in the gallery turned.
"I'll bring him," Rowan said. His voice cut through the smoke. "Quinn's shop is an hour's ride. I'll have him here by midday."
Sephra's eyes flicked to him. "The court does not delay for convenience, Lord Vale."
"The court delays for truth," Rowan said. "Or it's just theater."
The crowd stirred. Sephra's mouth thinned. She looked at Wantang, then at Rowan, then at the dead brazier.
"The court will reconvene at midday," Sephra said. "Milo Quinn will be summoned. Lady Eveline will remain in custody."
Two guards stepped forward. Wantang didn't resist. They took her arms, not rough, and led her toward the side door.
She glanced back. Rowan was already moving toward the exit. He didn't look at her.
But as the guards pulled her into the corridor, she heard his voice. Low. Close behind her.
"Stop digging."
She froze. The guards paused. Rowan stepped past them, into her line of sight. His face was unreadable.
"You got your delay," he said. "That's enough."
Wantang stared at him. "The vial color is the crack. If Quinn's story doesn't match—"
"I said stop." His voice dropped. Harder. "You want to live thirty days, you take the win and stay quiet."
Her chest went cold. "You don't want me to prove I'm innocent."
Rowan's eyes were flat. "I want you alive long enough to sign the register. What you are doesn't matter."
He turned and walked away. The guards pulled her forward. The corridor swallowed her.
Behind her, the smoke from the dead brazier curled toward the stars.