Episode 6
1055 Words
SHADOWS IN THE CLASS
The library’s air was thick with dust and secrets. Moonlight filtered through the tall, narrow windows, catching on the motes drifting lazily in the silence. Lira had always loved this room — not for its charm or peace, but because no one else ever came here. It was forgotten, like she once was, and tonight it would witness her next step.
She knelt beside the massive hearth, her fingers tracing the cracked sigils carved into the stonework. She had found the reference in an ancient bestiary tucked behind volumes of legal doctrine: “The Ember Sigil burns only when the truth is spoken to ash.” A riddle, yes. But Lira was beginning to learn that all the old things spoke in riddles, and all riddles held power.
Behind her, the book lay open on the floor, the incantation etched in faded ink. Not magic—yet—but close. The kind of old knowledge that the mages had tried to bury when the arcane arts were “purified” for court use. It was this kind of thing that got girls like her executed… or forgotten.
But Lira Vale had already died once. What more could they take?
She reached into her satchel and drew out a small pouch. Inside was a relic she’d stolen from the temple archives the week prior — a bone fragment from one of House Vale’s “blessed ancestors.” Blessed, indeed. According to the secret records, the woman had poisoned half a royal council to ensure her husband’s rise. Lira smiled faintly. Blood called to blood, didn’t it?
She pressed the fragment into the hearth’s central rune and whispered the words she’d memorized over sleepless nights.
“I name the lie. I offer truth in return.”
The hearth glowed red — a dull, throbbing pulse, like a heart beneath stone. The sigils shimmered, the air twisted, and the room grew cold.
Lira sat back on her heels, breathing shallowly.
It worked.
And now… the truth.
She had just begun scribing the translated glyphs into her hidden ledger when a voice cut the silence.
“You’re either very brave or very foolish, Lady Vale.”
Lira jerked to her feet, hiding the book behind her skirts as she turned. A figure stepped from the shadows between the shelves — tall, cloaked, and hooded. Male, from the voice. He didn’t move like a guard, and she would have heard if he’d entered the room.
“How long have you been watching me?” she demanded, keeping her tone steady.
“Long enough to know you’re not the helpless girl you pretend to be.”
His voice was smooth, cultured. Not a servant. Noble? No—his boots were worn. A traveler. A spy?
“Who are you?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Someone who also prefers the dark. I go where the truth rots beneath court perfume. And tonight, I found something… unexpected.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You found nothing.”
“Oh, I found you, Lady Lira. And that is something indeed.”
The stranger did not offer his name, nor did she ask again. In the days that followed, he appeared twice more. Once in the garden where she trained at dawn with the old blade she kept hidden under the rose trellis. Another in the hall of masks, just before the court’s autumn masquerade. Each time, he left her with a warning.
“Your enemies don’t sleep. Neither should you.”
And, “You think you’re hunting, but you’re being watched, too.”
She hated how easily his words slipped under her skin.
Worse, he left no trail. No footprint. No whisper in the servants' gossip. Whoever he was, he knew how to hide in plain sight. He saw her in ways no one else did—and that made him dangerous.
But it also made him valuable.
Later that week, she was summoned to her father’s study.
Lord Vale did not look up as she entered. He stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back, the glow of candlelight casting deep shadows on the aged walls.
“You’ve been... active, daughter,” he said without turning.
She froze. “Active, my lord?”
“Your sister says you’ve taken an interest in old family history. Grave visits. Late-night library sessions.”
Of course it was Serana. Always watching. Always reporting.
“I’ve been curious,” Lira replied. “About what kind of legacy I’m meant to inherit.”
He turned then, slowly. His eyes were sharp, too sharp. “Legacy is earned, not given. You should remember that.”
She bowed her head. “Of course, Father.”
“Still…” He approached, circling her like a hawk. “There’s something different in you lately. Fire in your eyes. Confidence. It doesn’t suit you.”
Lira kept her face blank.
“I wonder,” he said, voice low, “if I misjudged you.”
He left it at that. But the cold in his tone lingered even after she left the room. He was watching now. Just like Serana. Just like the hooded stranger.
The game had changed.
And she would have to sharpen her pieces.
That night, she made her move.
She entered the western archives — locked since the mage purge fifteen years ago — using a skeleton key she’d lifted from the steward’s belt. Inside, the air was stale, the shelves undisturbed. Here, beneath the layers of dust and silence, lay the court’s forgotten sins.
She wasn’t looking for spells or power. Not tonight.
She was looking for names.
Because revenge was not won through blades or fire — not yet. It was won with information. Blackmail. Secrets.
And tonight, she intended to find both.
By morning, she had the name of the apothecary who brewed the poison that killed her in her first life.
Not just any apothecary — one under the patronage of the Royal Chamberlain. Meaning Serana hadn’t acted alone. The entire court had a hand in her erasure.
And they would all bleed for it.
Lira Vale’s hands trembled as she closed the dossier.
Not from fear.
But from the thrill of a plan finally taking shape.
This time, she would not die in silence.
She would make them scream.
- Writer
