Episode 21
1034 Words
The Echoes That Scream
The white marwood flower on the sill dripped with red — not petals, not ink. Blood.
Hyacinth blinked once, twice, willing it to vanish like a cruel dream. But the metallic scent lingered. Her hand trembled as she reached to touch it. Fresh. Wet. Not even an hour old.
She turned sharply. “Patricia!”
No response.
“Patricia!”
She ran out into the hallway, hair still loose from sleep, and rushed to Patricia’s guest room just two doors down. She flung the door open—
Empty.
The sheets were ruffled, the window cracked slightly open, and a teacup lay on its side near the edge of the table — its contents dried to a sticky ring. A porcelain hairbrush sat broken across the vanity, bristles bent unnaturally. No sign of violence, no trace of a scream — just a silence too deep to be peaceful.
She turned slowly, heart pounding, mind racing.
“Patricia... please don’t do this to me.”
Hyacinth didn’t wait to think. She stormed through the halls, throwing open doors, calling her name. No guards. No noise. Only the sound of her bare feet hitting polished wood.
Where were the servants?
Where was Edger?
The air was too quiet. Too still.
She found him in the library, shirt half-buttoned, fingers stained with ink from the ledgers he’d been reviewing.
He looked up immediately. “Hyacinth?”
“She’s gone,” she breathed, stepping into the light. “Patricia. Her room is empty.”
“What?” He stood quickly, the heavy chair scraping behind him.
“She wouldn’t leave. Someone took her. And this—” she held up the marwood flower, its bloodstained petals trembling between her fingers “—was left on my windowsill.”
Edger stared at it, the color draining from his face. He snatched it from her hand and crushed it between his fingers. “I’ll summon every guard in this province.”
“No,” she snapped, grabbing his arm. “You said you would protect me. Now let me protect her.”
By morning, there was no trace of Patricia. One of the older maids claimed to have seen her descending the stairs late in the night, barefoot, headed toward the west wing. But no carriage had been taken, no horses disturbed, and no letter left behind.
Hyacinth stood in the marble foyer, fury and fear pulsing through her veins like wildfire. She barked orders at the guards. Demanded records. Searched every corner of the house herself.
Still nothing.
When dawn broke, she left the estate. Not for the market. Not for David’s pastry shop.
But for answers.
She found Felix trimming roses in his garden.
“She’s gone,” Hyacinth said coldly, gripping the iron gate. “Patricia. Vanished.”
Felix blinked slowly. “Then they’ve begun.”
“Who?”
“The same people who wanted your mother gone,” he replied. “Your mother exposed powerful enemies, Hyacinth. The kind who do not forgive — and never forget.”
“And now they want me silenced,” she said.
“No,” he whispered. “They want you dismantled — piece by piece.”
Her fists clenched. “Then they should have never left me alive.”
That evening, she returned to the palace — demanding a private audience with the Queen.
This time, the Queen did not hesitate.
“You knew my mother,” Hyacinth said without preamble. “And I want the truth.”
The Queen nodded slowly, waving her attendants away. “Sit.”
“She came to me before she vanished,” the Queen admitted. “Told me everything about the noble trade deals with southern arms smugglers. She begged me to speak out. But I... I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
The Queen’s voice cracked. “Because exposing them would have meant blood on every noble’s hands. A civil war. So I chose silence. I chose survival.”
Hyacinth’s throat tightened. “And now I’m paying for it.”
“No,” the Queen said. “Now you’re continuing what she started.”
Before she could leave the palace, a rider arrived at full gallop.
Harold.
He jumped from his horse, breathless.
“I have news,” he panted. “One of the old kitchen maids remembered something about Adelaide. She used to visit a ruined estate out east. Took people there. People no one saw again.”
Hyacinth didn’t blink. “Take me.”
“But—”
“Take. Me.”
The eastern estate was more ruin than home. Vines strangled the walls, the windows were broken, and the front steps were splintered.
Hyacinth entered first. No hesitation. Her voice rang through the silence.
“Patricia!”
No answer.
Then—
A soft laugh.
Adelaide stepped from the shadows.
“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” she purred.
Hyacinth’s heart was pounding, but her face was stone. “Where is she?”
“Safe,” Adelaide said. “Safer than you’ll be if you keep sniffing around places you don’t belong.”
“You never loved him. You only needed his name.”
Adelaide tilted her head. “And you think he loves you?”
Hyacinth stepped forward. “I know he doesn’t love you.”
Adelaide’s lips curled, but her eyes burned. “Enjoy your little duchess game, darling. But know this — you’re not the first woman Edger’s destroyed himself for. And you won’t be the last.”
When Hyacinth returned home, Edger was pacing the foyer, his hands clenched at his sides.
“Where have you been?” he barked.
“I found Adelaide,” she said, breathing hard. “She’s the one who took Patricia.”
He froze.
“She’s alive?”
“She was... she was unharmed. For now.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll have the guards storm that ruin—”
“No,” Hyacinth snapped. “Not yet. I want her to believe she’s safe.”
He stared at her. “You’ve changed.”
She stepped closer. “Good. The woman you married wanted escape. This one wants war.”
- Writer
