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The guards didn't let Wantang leave the hall.
She'd barely taken three steps toward the iron side door when two of them moved in, blocking her path without a word. The tribunal was over. Nell had been dismissed. The truth fire had guttered out. But apparently nobody got to walk away until the crown said so.
"Problem?" Wantang kept her voice level.
The taller guard's jaw tightened. "Envoy Morn's orders. You wait."
Great. Wantang turned back toward the center of the hall. Rowan stood near the witness dais, arms crossed, watching her with that unreadable expression he seemed to specialize in. She'd shaken Nell's testimony enough to buy time, but time for what? The vial was the key. Nell couldn't describe it. That meant she'd never actually seen Eveline order it. Someone had fed her the story, and the Ash Court's fire only proved she believed it—not that it was true.
Wantang walked over to Rowan. "We need to talk."
"Do we." It wasn't a question.
"The vial. Where is it?"
Rowan's gaze flicked toward the high table, where Sephra Morn was conferring with two clerks in black robes. "Sealed as evidence. Royal custody."
"Before it's sealed, I need to see it."
"You can't."
Wantang stepped closer, dropping her voice. "If there were two vials, the real one and a fake, we need the trail. Who handled it, who delivered it, who switched it. That's the case. That's how we prove Eveline didn't send poison."
Rowan's mouth was a flat line. "And if the trail leads somewhere you don't like?"
She met his eyes. "Then we follow it anyway."
For a second she thought he might actually say something useful. Then his expression shuttered. "The crown won't let you near it."
"They will if you ask."
"I won't."
Wantang's patience cracked. "Why the hell not?"
"Because," Rowan said quietly, "I don't want you looking at that seal."
Before she could push further, Sephra Morn's voice cut across the hall. "Lady Eveline. Lord Vale. Approach."
Rowan turned and walked toward the high table. Wantang followed, her mind spinning. He doesn't want me looking at the seal. That meant the seal would tell her something. Something about him.
Sephra stood with her hands folded, her pale eyes fixed on Wantang. "Your performance today was… inventive, Lady Eveline. Crisis negotiation, was it?"
Wantang kept her face blank. "I asked questions."
"You dismantled a witness the crown vetted personally." Sephra's tone was silk over stone. "The tribunal is adjourned for three days while we investigate your claims. If you're wasting the court's time, the sentence will double."
"And if I'm right?"
Sephra smiled, thin and cold. "Then someone will burn in your place."
She gestured to one of the clerks, who set a small iron lockbox on the table. "The vial in question. Sealed. You'll have no access to it unless you produce a witness who can testify to its origins."
Wantang stared at the box. "I need to see it."
"Produce the witness first."
"How am I supposed to find a witness if I can't verify what I'm looking for?"
Sephra's smile didn't waver. "That's your problem, not mine."
Rowan's hand closed around Wantang's wrist, firm enough to pull her back a step. "We're done here."
Wantang yanked free but didn't argue. She turned and walked toward the side door, Rowan a half step behind her. The guards let them through this time.
The corridor outside was narrow and cold, the stone walls damp with something that wasn't quite water. Wantang didn't stop until they were out of earshot.
"You're hiding something," she said.
Rowan leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. "Of course I am."
"About the vial."
"About a lot of things."
Wantang resisted the urge to shake him. "If you want to keep your house, if you want this contract to mean anything, you need to tell me what you know."
"I know," Rowan said, "that if you dig into that vial's trail, you'll find my family's seal on something it shouldn't be on. And when the crown sees that, they'll have the excuse they've been waiting for."
Wantang went still. "Your seal. On what?"
"I don't know. That's the problem." Rowan's voice was rough. "Someone's setting us up. The poison, the testimony, the vial—it's all aimed at wiping out the frontier line. If we give them more ammunition, we're done."
"So your plan is to do nothing?"
"My plan," Rowan said, "is to keep you alive long enough to figure out who's actually pulling the strings."
Wantang stared at him. In her old life, this was the moment a hostage-taker would start justifying, bargaining, looking for an exit. Rowan wasn't doing any of that. He was just… tired. And scared, under the cold.
She made a decision.
"The apothecary," she said. "Milo Quinn. That's where Eveline supposedly ordered the vial. If there were two vials, he'd know."
Rowan shook his head. "He already testified. Said Eveline came in, ordered the draught, paid in coin. The crown has his statement."
"Statements lie. People don't, not when you ask the right way." Wantang turned toward the main corridor. "Where's his shop?"
"South quarter. But he won't talk. He's terrified."
"Good. Terrified people make mistakes."
Rowan caught her arm. "Wantang. If you push him and he breaks, the crown will know you're digging. They'll move faster."
"Then we move faster too." She pulled free. "You coming or not?"
Rowan looked at her for a long moment. Then he pushed off the wall. "Yeah. I'm coming."
They didn't talk on the way out.
---
Milo Quinn's shop was a narrow, cramped space wedged between a tailor and a boarded-up brothel. The sign above the door was faded: QUINN'S REMEDIES. The windows were dark.
Wantang pushed the door open anyway. A bell chimed, thin and off-key.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of dried herbs and something bitter—valerian, maybe, or wormwood. Rows of glass jars lined the shelves, each labeled in cramped handwriting. A counter ran along the back, cluttered with mortars, scales, and stacks of parchment.
No one was there.
"Quinn?" Rowan's voice was low.
A shuffling sound came from the back room. Then a man appeared, wiping his hands on a stained apron. Mid-forties, thinning hair, eyes that darted everywhere except at them.
"Lord Vale," Milo said. His voice cracked. "I—didn't expect—"
"We need to talk about the vial," Wantang said.
Milo went pale. "I gave my statement. I told the envoy everything."
"You told her what she wanted to hear." Wantang stepped closer. "Now tell me the truth."
"I don't—there's nothing—"
"There were two vials," Wantang said. "Weren't there."
Milo's hands shook. He looked at Rowan, desperate. "My lord, I can't—"
"You can," Wantang said. "Because if you don't, an innocent woman burns. And you'll have to live with that."
Milo's breath came fast and shallow. He looked like he might bolt. Then he sagged against the counter.
"Yes," he whispered. "Two vials."
Wantang's heart kicked. "Tell me."
"The lady—Lady Eveline—she came in. Ordered a sleeping draught. Valerian and poppy, standard dose. I made it. Sealed it with my mark." Milo's voice was barely audible. "She paid. She left."
"And the second vial?"
Milo closed his eyes. "A man came in an hour later. Said he was from the Vale household. Showed me a letter with Lord Vale's seal. Said the lady had changed her mind, wanted a stronger dose. He had a vial with him—same size, same color. He said to switch them. That the Vale house would handle it."
Rowan went very still.
Wantang kept her voice calm. "What did the seal look like?"
Milo opened a drawer with trembling hands and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. He set it on the counter.
Wantang unfolded it. The wax seal at the bottom was cracked but still visible. A raven over crossed blades.
Rowan's crest.
"Who was the man?" Wantang asked.
Milo shook his head. "I don't know. I'd never seen him before."
"Describe him."
"Tall. Dark cloak. He didn't give a name."
Wantang looked at Rowan. His face was carved stone.
"Did you keep the original vial?" she asked Milo.
"No. He took it." Milo's voice broke. "I'm sorry. I thought—I thought it was legitimate. The seal—"
"It was forged," Rowan said, his voice flat.
Milo looked up, eyes wide. "My lord—"
The door slammed open.
Three guards in royal black stepped inside, swords drawn. Behind them, Sephra Morn's pale face appeared, calm and cold.
"Milo Quinn," Sephra said. "You're under arrest for conspiracy and false testimony."
Milo made a strangled sound.
Sephra's gaze shifted to Rowan. "Lord Vale. By order of the crown, your estate and all holdings are hereby seized pending investigation into your role in the conspiracy to murder the queen's favorite."
Rowan didn't move. Didn't speak.
Wantang's mind raced. They'd been followed. Or Sephra had anticipated this exact move. Either way, they were out of time.
"You can't—" Wantang started.
Sephra's smile was razor-thin. "I can. And I have." She gestured to the guards. "Take them."
One of the guards stepped toward Rowan, hand on his sword hilt.
Rowan looked at Wantang. Something flickered in his eyes—regret, maybe. Or recognition.
Then he moved.
He grabbed the counter edge and flipped it forward, sending jars and scales crashing into the guards. Wantang didn't hesitate. She dove for the back door, Rowan right behind her.
Sephra's voice followed them, cold and clear. "Run if you like. The sentence is already written."