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They were still three streets out when Wantang saw the smoke.
Not the chimney kind. The wrong kind. Black and thick, rolling up from the direction of Vale House like a fist punching through the sky.
Rowan saw it too. He didn't slow down. He sped up.
"Wait—" Wantang grabbed his sleeve, but he was already gone, boots hammering the cobblestones. She swore and ran after him. Her borrowed dress snagged on a cart corner. She yanked it free and kept going.
By the time they hit the manor gate, the scene was chaos. Crown troops everywhere. At least two dozen, maybe more, all wearing the queen's white and gold. They'd broken the front doors clean off the hinges. Servants were being dragged out into the courtyard—some crying, some silent, all of them scared.
Rowan stopped so fast Wantang almost slammed into his back.
"Stay here," he said.
"Like hell."
He turned, and the look on his face was nothing like the cold, controlled negotiator she'd been dealing with for the past two days. This was raw. This was rage.
"They're burning the west wing," he said. "That's where the house records are. The ledgers. Everything."
Wantang's stomach dropped. "The originals? The ones that prove the letter was forged?"
"All of it."
She looked past him at the smoke. The fire wasn't an accident. It was efficient. Targeted. Someone knew exactly what they were doing.
"We need those ledgers," she said.
Rowan's jaw tightened. "We need to get my people out first."
A sergeant in crown livery spotted them. He shouted something, and three soldiers broke off from the main group, heading straight for them.
"Rowan Vale," the sergeant called. "By order of the Ash Court and the crown, you are to surrender yourself for questioning."
Rowan didn't move.
Wantang did. She stepped in front of him, hands up, voice level. "We're cooperating. What's the charge?"
The sergeant's smile was thin. "Conspiracy to commit regicide. Forgery of royal correspondence. Aiding a condemned criminal."
That last one was her.
"Funny," Wantang said, keeping her tone light. "We just found proof that someone else forged the correspondence. You're burning it right now."
The sergeant's smile didn't budge. "The Tribunal envoy anticipated your claim. The evidence has been reviewed and deemed inadmissible."
"Reviewed by who? Sephra?"
"Envoy Morn, yes."
Of course. Sephra had been one step ahead the whole time. She'd sent them to the apothecary knowing they'd find the letter. And then she'd shown up just in time to seize it and torch everything else that could back it up.
Wantang's mind raced. Negotiation tactic number one: when the other side controls the room, don't fight the room. Change the stakes.
"All right," she said. "Take us in. But your men need to stop the fire first. There are servants still inside."
The sergeant glanced back at the manor. "The structure is being cleared."
"By soldiers who don't know the layout. Rowan does. Let him get his people out, and then he'll come quietly. You already have the house. You don't need corpses."
The sergeant hesitated. That was good. Hesitation meant he wasn't sure of his orders. Meant Sephra hadn't scripted this part.
"Five minutes," Wantang pressed. "That's all he needs. You keep me here as collateral. He runs, you burn me at the stake early. Deal?"
Rowan turned on her. "Don't—"
"Shut up," she said, not looking at him. "You said you needed to get your people out. So go."
The sergeant looked between them. Then he nodded. "Five minutes. She stays. You run, we add her execution to your charges."
Rowan's expression was murderous, but he moved. He shoved past the line of soldiers and sprinted toward the manor. Two guards moved to follow him, but the sergeant waved them off.
"Let him," the man said. "We have the bride."
Wantang's pulse hammered in her ears, but she kept her face blank. She counted seconds. Watched the smoke. The fire was spreading, but slowly. Controlled. They weren't trying to burn the whole estate. Just the one wing.
Just the records.
She needed to get in there.
"Your envoy's smart," Wantang said, conversational. "Sephra, I mean. She set this up beautifully. Find the forged letter, then seize it before we can use it. Burn the ledgers so no one can check the wax seal or the handwriting. Clean."
The sergeant didn't bite.
Wantang tried again. "But here's the thing. If Rowan really conspired with me, why'd he run from Milo's shop? Why not just let Sephra arrest us both right there?"
"Guilt makes people stupid," the sergeant said.
"Or," Wantang said, "someone needed him to run. Because a man who runs looks guilty. A man who stands trial and proves forgery looks innocent."
The sergeant's face didn't change, but his hand drifted toward his belt. Not his sword. A rolled parchment tucked into a leather tube.
That was new.
Wantang nodded toward it. "Let me guess. The seizure order?"
He pulled it out, unrolled it halfway. Just enough for her to see the wax seal. Black, not red. Ash Court, not crown.
And below the seal, two names.
Eveline Vey.
Rowan Vale.
"Joint trial," the sergeant said. "Three days. Tribunal's already scheduled the pyre."
Wantang's stomach went cold. Joint trial meant joint sentence. If she burned, Rowan burned. If he burned, she burned. They'd tied them together legally, financially, socially. And now criminally.
Sephra hadn't just framed Eveline. She'd framed the whole bloodline.
Wantang's throat was dry. "When did you get that order?"
"This morning."
Before they'd even reached Milo. Before the apothecary confession. Sephra had written them both into the charges in advance.
That meant she knew they'd go looking for proof. Knew they'd find it. And knew it wouldn't matter.
A crash inside the manor snapped Wantang's attention back. Rowan reappeared in the doorway, hauling an older woman in house livery. Two more servants stumbled out behind him, coughing. He passed them off to a soldier and turned back toward the flames.
"That's five minutes," the sergeant called.
Rowan ignored him. He went back inside.
The sergeant swore and nodded to his men. "Get him out."
Three soldiers moved toward the door. Wantang stepped sideways, blocking the sergeant's line of sight for half a second, and then she was moving too. She didn't run for the front door. She ran for the side entrance, the one the servants had been using to haul out crates and furniture before the crown troops stopped them.
Someone shouted behind her. She didn't stop.
The side hall was full of smoke, but it wasn't burning yet. She pulled her sleeve over her mouth and pushed through. The west wing. Rowan had said west wing. That was the back of the house, past the kitchens, past the—
She nearly ran into him.
Rowan was standing in the middle of a wood-paneled study, surrounded by shelves of ledgers and record books. The fire was eating through the far wall, close enough that Wantang could feel the heat from the doorway.
He was holding a torch in one hand.
In the other hand, he held a thick leather ledger.
"Don't," Wantang said.
Rowan didn't look at her. He looked at the ledger. "If they take this, they'll find every contract my family ever signed. Every deal. Every ally. They'll dismantle all of it."
"If you burn it, we can't prove the seal was forged."
"We can't prove it anyway. Sephra already has the letter. Milo's in custody. The apothecary's shop is probably torched by now too."
Wantang stepped closer. The smoke was thicker here. Her eyes stung. "So your plan is what? Burn the evidence and hope they let your people go?"
"My plan," Rowan said, voice flat, "is to make sure my family's network doesn't end up as kindling for the crown's next purge."
"Your family's already burning. You're named in the seizure order. Joint trial. Three days. You torch that ledger, and we've got nothing."
Rowan finally looked at her. His face was smudged with ash, his eyes hard. "We've already got nothing."
"We've got testimony. We've got the swap. We've got motive."
"We've got a story," Rowan said. "The Ash Court doesn't care about stories. It cares about what witnesses believe is true. And right now, every witness we had is either arrested or dead."
Wantang moved fast. She snatched the torch out of his hand and threw it into the fireplace. Then she grabbed the ledger.
Rowan's hand clamped down on her wrist. Hard.
"Let go," Wantang said.
"You don't know what you're doing."
"I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm calling your bluff."
His grip tightened. "This isn't a bluff."
"Yes it is. Because if you really wanted to burn it, you'd have done it already. But you didn't. You stood here holding it, waiting for someone to stop you."
Rowan's jaw worked. For a second, Wantang thought he might actually shove her into the fire.
Then his hand opened.
Wantang pulled the ledger free and tucked it under her arm. "We're leaving. Now."
Rowan didn't move. "They'll take it the second we walk out."
"Maybe. Or maybe I can buy us seventy-two hours."
"How?"
Wantang turned toward the door. "By telling them exactly what they want to hear."
They didn't make it to the courtyard.
The sergeant was waiting in the main hall, flanked by six soldiers. He looked at the ledger under Wantang's arm, then at Rowan, then back at Wantang.
"That's crown property now," he said.
Wantang held it out. "It's evidence. For the joint trial."
The sergeant took it. He flipped it open, scanned a page, then closed it and handed it to one of his men. "You'll get a copy of anything relevant. After the Tribunal reviews it."
"Of course," Wantang said. She kept her voice steady. Cooperative. "When's the trial?"
"Three days. Dawn. Ash Court main chamber."
Wantang nodded. "And until then?"
The sergeant smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "House arrest. Both of you. Separate quarters. No contact. Tribunal's orders."
So they couldn't coordinate a defense. Couldn't compare notes. Couldn't build a unified story.
Sephra really had thought of everything.
"Understood," Wantang said.
Rowan said nothing.
The soldiers moved in. One of them clapped iron cuffs on Rowan's wrists. Another did the same to Wantang. The metal was cold and too tight.
As they were led out into the courtyard, Wantang caught a last glimpse of Vale House. The west wing was fully engulfed now, black smoke pouring into the sky. Servants stood in a silent cluster near the gate, watching their home burn.
Rowan's face was stone.
The sergeant pulled out the seizure order again and held it up for the crowd. His voice carried.
"By decree of the Ash Court and her majesty's Tribunal, Rowan Vale is charged as co-conspirator in the attempted murder of the queen's favorite. He will stand trial alongside Eveline Vey in three days' time. Sentence upon conviction: purification by fire."
The crowd didn't react. They just stared.
Wantang looked at Rowan. His expression hadn't changed, but his hands were shaking.
She leaned in, just close enough to whisper. "We've still got three days."
Rowan's voice was barely audible. "Three days to do what?"
Wantang watched the smoke rise. Watched Sephra step out from the shadow of the gate, her face calm and satisfied.
"Three days to prove she's lying," Wantang said. "And make her burn instead."