Episode 23
926 Words
Allies in Ashes
The candle burned low in Edger’s study, casting its orange glow over piles of correspondence, sealed letters, and warbled maps of the estate and surrounding noble territories. Hyacinth sat in the corner chair, legs tucked beneath her, the fire reflecting in her eyes.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
For once, the silence wasn’t awkward — it was planning.
“Your mother had a journal,” Edger finally said, voice low. “I didn’t tell you before because I wasn’t sure you were ready.”
Hyacinth slowly turned to him. “Where is it?”
He reached beneath his desk drawer and pulled out a small, weathered book wrapped in silk. The corners were singed, the ribbon bookmark half torn. “I found it at your family’s manor years ago... after the wreck. I kept it. Couldn’t explain why.”
Her fingers brushed his as she took it.
The moment she opened it, the scent of old lavender and ink hit her. Her mother’s words were sprawled in long, fluid script:
“They want the eastern ports. Branford wants control of the route to the Americas. But I won’t let them sell this nation’s future for private greed. I’ve already made too many enemies…”
Hyacinth closed it, her throat tight. “She knew. She knew what they were planning, and they silenced her.”
“Branford, Adelaide’s family, maybe even some on the Queen’s council,” Edger said. “They’re all woven into this. Adelaide didn’t just show up by coincidence.”
“She wants something,” Hyacinth said bitterly. “And it’s not love.”
“Control,” he agreed. “Or territory.”
Hyacinth looked up. “Then we bring her down.”
Edger walked over slowly and knelt beside her. “We do it together. No more secrets between us.”
She studied his face. For the first time, the usual guard in his eyes had softened. There was something honest there. Vulnerable.
“You kept the journal,” she whispered.
He nodded.
“And you never married her,” she added.
“No. I waited.”
“For what?”
He reached up, gently cupping her cheek. “For someone I wouldn’t have to survive. Someone I could trust with everything... even my ruin.”
Her breath caught. Their foreheads touched. The fire crackled louder. And for that quiet moment, the war outside the walls didn’t exist.
The next morning came with swift movement. Harold rode out early to summon a royal informant his late father had once trusted — a man named Everett, now exiled to the countryside for “political insubordination.” Rumors claimed he’d been the one to leak the Queen’s maritime corruption scandal years ago.
Hyacinth, cloaked in a simple grey gown, prepared her own list of names from the journal. Many were crossed out. Dead. Missing. One remained: Lady Violetta Marwood.
Her mother’s old friend.
“She disappeared after the wreck,” Hyacinth told Edger. “But I remember her perfume. Lilac and smoke. She wore silver rings with no stones.”
“She’s alive,” Edger said confidently. “And if she’s hiding, she knows something.”
“I’ll find her,” Hyacinth swore.
That afternoon, the Queen summoned them both.
Hyacinth wore a sea-blue gown that shimmered as she moved. Edger stood beside her like a wall of calm, his dark hair tied back, his expression unreadable.
They entered the marbled hall of the royal court. Gold trim. Velvet drapes. Eyes watched them from every corner.
The Queen sat tall on her throne, guarded by her ever-watchful hawks in ceremonial black. She was dressed in indigo and pearls, her face lined but still sharp with power.
“You were summoned, not for pleasantries,” she said coldly, “but because this estate scandal touches the crown’s name.”
Edger bowed slightly. “Your Majesty, if I may—”
“You may not.” The Queen stood. “I’ve heard rumors of attempted poisonings, a disgraced noble’s widow arrested at your request, and a duchess wandering about in a disguise through bars and bakeries.”
Gasps from the court.
Hyacinth stepped forward. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, it’s because of the crown’s name that I risked everything. My parents were loyal to this nation. Their deaths were not an accident. And those responsible now sit in rooms like these.”
The Queen’s sharp gaze softened slightly.
“I won’t stand still while they try to erase what little I have left,” Hyacinth finished.
Silence.
Then, slowly, the Queen sat again.
“I once danced with your mother in this very hall,” she said. “She had more courage than half the men who served under me.”
Hyacinth said nothing. Her throat ached with memory.
“I will allow a private investigation,” the Queen continued. “Quietly. You may begin. But if this brings scandal to the court... I will wash my hands of it.”
Hyacinth curtsied. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
As they exited, Edger whispered, “You didn’t just win her approval. You earned her respect.”
“Then we’d better not fail.”
That evening, alone in her room, Hyacinth ran her fingers over the journal again.
Her mother's voice echoed in her head. The sea, the storm, the sudden silence.
It hadn’t been fate.
It had been a message.
And now, the daughter they underestimated had begun to write her reply — in truth, in fire, and in vengeance.
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