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The guard outside Wantang's door changed shifts at dawn. She'd counted the footsteps, memorized the routine. When the new one yawned and muttered something about needing coffee, she was already at the window.
The drop was twelve feet. She landed in the herb bed, dirt under her nails, and kept low. The sky was still that pre-morning gray, the kind that made everything look like a stage set. Three days until the pyre. Seventy-two hours to prove Sephra was the liar, not her.
She needed Milo. And she needed him scared enough to talk.
The apothecary shop on the east side of the estate had been shuttered, boards nailed across the door, but Wantang had seen the way Milo's eyes flicked toward the old grain cellar during their first meeting. People always looked at their escape routes. She crossed the courtyard in a crouch, skirted the burnt-out shell of the west wing—still smoking, still stinking of scorched parchment—and found the cellar door half-hidden under a tangle of dead vines.
It wasn't locked. Stupid or arrogant, she wasn't sure which.
She slipped inside. The air was thick, medicinal, sharp enough to sting. Rows of glass bottles lined makeshift shelves, labels in a cramped hand. A single lantern burned on a workbench, and there, hunched over a mortar, was Milo Quinn.
He didn't notice her until she was three steps away. When he did, he jerked back so hard the pestle clattered to the floor.
"Jesus—" He pressed a hand to his chest. "You're supposed to be locked up."
"So are you." Wantang moved to block the door. "Funny how that worked out."
Milo's gaze darted past her, searching for guards, for witnesses, for any excuse to bolt. He was pale, thinner than a week ago, and his hands were shaking. Good. Fear made people honest.
"I don't know what you want," he said quickly, "but I can't help you. I told the tribunal everything I know."
"You told them what Sephra told you to say." Wantang stepped closer. "And now Rowan's on the pyre with me. So let's try again."
Milo shook his head, backing toward the shelves. "I didn't lie. The vial I tested had hemlock. That's a fact."
"I'm not saying you lied about what was in the vial." Wantang kept her voice calm, the same tone she'd used on jumpers and hostage-takers. "I'm saying someone swapped it before it got to you. You're smart enough to know that. So why didn't you say it?"
His jaw tightened. "Because I don't know that."
"Bullshit." She pulled the folded parchment from her sleeve—the delivery manifest Rowan had saved from the fire, the one that listed a sleeping draught, not poison. She laid it on the workbench between them. "This is what Eveline ordered. You filled it. So either you're the one who swapped it, or someone did it after it left your shop. Which is it?"
Milo stared at the manifest like it might bite him. His throat worked. "I don't remember every order."
"You remember this one." Wantang leaned in. "Because the crown came asking about it three days before the queen's favorite died. They scared you, didn't they? Told you what would happen if you said the wrong thing."
His silence was answer enough.
Wantang pulled the second item from her pocket—the vial Rowan had retrieved from the evidence locker, the one with the red wax seal. She set it down hard enough to make Milo flinch. "Test it."
"I already—"
"Test it again. In front of me. With your own reagents. Because if this vial really came from your shop, the wax should match your sealing compound. And if it doesn't, we both know what that means."
Milo looked at the vial like it was a live snake. "They'll kill me."
"They'll kill you anyway." Wantang's voice dropped. "You think Sephra leaves loose ends? The moment the trial's over, you're a liability. Your only chance is to tell the truth loud enough that she can't silence you."
For a long moment, Milo didn't move. Then, slowly, he reached for the vial.
He worked in silence, scraping a sliver of wax onto a glass slide, adding a drop of solvent, holding it up to the lantern light. Wantang watched his face. Watched the color drain out of it.
"Well?" she said.
Milo set the slide down carefully, like it might shatter. "It's not mine."
"Say that again."
"The wax." His voice cracked. "It's not my sealing compound. The color's close, but the melting point's wrong. And the residue—" He gestured at the slide. "This has beeswax and pine resin. I use tallow and linseed. It's cheaper. This is… higher quality."
Wantang's pulse kicked up. "Where does wax like that come from?"
Milo hesitated, then pointed at the manifest. "Noble houses. Military supply chains. Rowan's family used it for export documents."
"Rowan's stores." Wantang felt the pieces click into place. "Someone took his wax to seal a fake vial. They wanted it to look like he was part of it."
Milo nodded slowly. "And the hemlock inside—I tested the vial, but I didn't test the delivery chain. If someone swapped the contents after I sealed the original, I'd never know."
"But you suspected." Wantang kept her eyes on him. "When did you figure it out?"
He looked away. "Four days ago. I ran the test again after the crown arrested me the first time. I thought if I could prove the vial was tampered with, they'd let me go. But when I brought it to the tribunal, Sephra told me to keep my mouth shut. She said the case was already decided. If I contradicted the evidence, I'd burn with you."
Wantang felt a cold, bright fury settle in her chest. "So you hid the record."
"I hid it to stay alive." Milo's voice shook. "You don't know what she's capable of. She doesn't just kill people. She erases them. Their families, their names, everything. I have a sister in the capital. If I talk—"
"If you don't talk, your sister watches you burn." Wantang picked up the vial. "And Sephra wins. Is that what you want?"
Milo covered his face with his hands. For a moment, Wantang thought he'd break. Then he lowered them, and his eyes were red but steady.
"What do you need me to do?"
"Testify. In open court. With this." She held up the vial. "You tell them the wax doesn't match. You tell them someone used Rowan's supply to frame him. And you tell them Sephra knew."
"She'll call me a liar."
"Let her." Wantang's smile was sharp. "The Ash Court tests what a witness believes, not what's true. You believe this wax isn't yours. You believe the vial was swapped. Sephra can't burn that out of you."
Milo stared at her, then at the vial, then back. Slowly, he nodded.
Wantang turned to leave, then stopped. "One more thing. Where did the hemlock come from? You said you didn't stock it."
Milo swallowed. "I didn't. But I checked the residue again last night. There's a trace compound in it—calanthis root. It's a preservative. Only one place in the kingdom uses it."
"Where?"
"The royal infirmary." His voice was barely a whisper. "The poison came from the crown's own supply."
Wantang felt the floor tilt under her. The vial had been sealed with Rowan's wax. The poison had come from the royal infirmary. Sephra hadn't just framed Eveline. She'd framed Rowan and the crown in the same stroke, a perfect mirror that would let her burn them all.
"Get somewhere safe," Wantang said. "And don't let anyone see that slide."
She climbed back out into the pre-dawn light, the vial cold against her palm. Two days left. She had the wax, the testimony, and the source of the poison. But she still didn't know who had access to both Rowan's stores and the royal infirmary. Someone close enough to move between them without question. Someone Sephra trusted.
Or someone Sephra was protecting.
Wantang was halfway across the courtyard when she heard the voice behind her.
"Going somewhere, Lady Vale?"
She turned. Sephra stood in the shadow of the burnt wing, her cloak pooling around her like oil. And in her hand, gleaming in the early light, was a ring of keys.
Rowan's keys. The ones that opened his private store.
"You know," Sephra said softly, "I was wondering when you'd find Milo. I'm impressed. Most people would've spent their last days praying."
Wantang's hand tightened around the vial. "You knew he'd talk."
"I knew you'd make him." Sephra stepped closer. "That's why I like you, Eveline. You don't quit. Even when you should."
"Then you know what he told me." Wantang held up the vial. "The wax isn't his. It's Rowan's. And the poison came from your infirmary."
Sephra's smile didn't falter. "And you think that helps you? All it proves is that Rowan had the means. The wax, the access, the motive. You just handed me the last piece of the case."
Wantang felt her pulse hammer in her throat. "You set him up."
"I set everyone up." Sephra tilted her head. "That's the job. The queen wanted the frontier bloodline erased. I gave her a trial that would do it legally. Rowan, his house, his allies—all of it burned clean. And you, poor Eveline, you're just the match."
She turned, her cloak sweeping the ash-dusted ground. "Two days, Lady Vale. Spend them wisely."
Wantang stood frozen, the vial burning cold in her hand. The poison came from the royal infirmary. The wax came from Rowan's stores. And Sephra had just told her it was all part of the plan.
Someone had access to both. Someone who could move between crown and frontier without suspicion. Someone who could carry a vial sealed with Rowan's wax and filled with the queen's poison.
And Sephra had just shown her the keys.