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Chapter 13
Shadows in the Water
Part II: The Weight of Water
By the time Amethyst returned to the palace, the sun had already surrendered to dusk. The Northern Wing was wrapped in quiet, the corridors empty except for the soft echo of her boots against the marble. She walked swiftly, her cloak damp from the slums' mist and her satchel heavy with vials.
Ana was waiting just beyond her door, wringing her hands. "Your Highness, where—"
Amethyst lifted a hand to stop her. "Later, Ana. I need privacy and light."
Ana obeyed without question, fetching candles and a basin of clean water. The golden flames flickered to life, casting restless shadows across the desk where Amethyst began to work. The vials clinked softly as she arranged them in a line.
When she poured the first drop into the bowl, the water shimmered faintly silver, reflecting her face in liquid distortion.
Her throat tightened. The same gleam she had seen in the lilies. The same metallic tang that haunted her dreams.
Her mother's death, the Queen's poisons, the tainted wells, all connected. All part of a quiet, deliberate rot spreading through the kingdom's veins.
"A disease hidden as divine order," she whispered. "Mother, was this how they silenced you, too?"
Ana, watching from the corner, hesitated. "Your Highness, if the Queen learns you're investigating again—"
"She will," Amethyst interrupted softly, "but not before I find proof strong enough that she cannot burn it away."
She sealed the last vial and marked it with wax, her handwriting precise.
Evidence: Compound identical to the purified residues used in palace tonics. Source traced to House Mercier. Distribution through royal channels sanctioned by the Church of Rosaire.
Her pulse raced. If she could present this to the King, he might listen... if not as a ruler, then as a man haunted by what he once loved.
But before she could hide the notes, a soft knock broke the silence.
Ana froze. "Your Highness, no one should be here at this hour."
Amethyst's eyes met hers. "Hide the samples. Now."
Ana hurried to tuck them into the false drawer beneath the writing desk as Amethyst crossed the room. She smoothed her gown, steadying her breath.
When she opened the door, the faint scent of incense hit her first — the cloying sweetness of sanctity that always carried deceit.
A woman in pale robes stood there, her face calm, her eyes glacial. The silver pendant of the Church gleamed at her throat.
"Her Grace, Queen Isadora, sends her blessings," the woman said, her tone reverent and sharp all at once. "And her concern. She wishes to know why the Princess of Rosaire spends her days among the sick and unwashed."
Ana bowed deeply, but Amethyst did not.
"Tell Her Grace," Amethyst replied evenly, "that a ruler's worth is measured not by the perfume of her halls, but by the stench she ignores."
The woman's polite smile did not falter, though her eyes hardened. "Your compassion borders on rebellion, Princess. You trespass into the Church's domain. Healing is divine. It is not for you to question how illness is permitted to spread."
Amethyst stepped closer, her violet eyes cutting through the incense fog. "Then the Goddess must be merciful indeed, to use poisons and lead in Her blessings."
A flicker of alarm crossed the woman's expression. "You speak dangerously."
"Truth always sounds dangerous to liars," Amethyst said softly. "Now tell your Queen that if she wishes to silence me, she will have to do more than send a messenger."
For a heartbeat, silence filled the air, thick, charged, electric.
Then the priestess inclined her head slightly. "As you wish, Your Highness. But remember this — the eyes of the Church are patient. They see everything."
The door closed, leaving behind the faint scent of burning lilies.
Ana exhaled shakily. "Your Highness... that was—"
"Necessary," Amethyst said. "She's testing how much I know."
"But if she reports to the Queen—"
"She will," Amethyst said again, a tired smile touching her lips. "But I want her to. I want the Queen to watch me. The more she watches, the more desperate she'll become."
Ana looked at her uncertainly. "You're not afraid?"
Amethyst turned toward the window. The moonlight caught her face, pale and resolute. "Fear wastes time. And time is something she can no longer control."
Later that night, the palace slept under the heavy silence of rain. Amethyst worked by candlelight, her notes scattered around her. Each line she wrote was a defiance, each observation a blade drawn quietly in the dark.
But in another wing of the palace, the southern wing, rich with incense and gold, Queen Isadora stood before her mirror, her reflection a study in control.
The priestess knelt beside her, head bowed. "It is true, Your Majesty. The princess collects water samples. She speaks of poison, of contamination. She defies the divine order openly."
Isadora's hand tightened around the golden vial she held, its surface engraved with roses. "And she dares use the name of healing?"
"She called it science, Your Majesty."
A pause. Then, very softly, "Her mother's disease."
The Queen set the vial down, her face composed, though her voice carried the faint edge of old jealousy. "Celestine's daughter grows bold. She thinks she can resurrect a heretic's legacy with mortal hands."
She looked up, her reflection smiling back, cold and immaculate. "Then we remind her that the divine flame consumes what does not bow."
The priestess bowed lower. "Shall I inform the Synod?"
"Not yet," Isadora said. "Let her burn herself first. Then the people will beg me to douse the flame."
She turned toward the rain-streaked window. "Prepare the summons. The princess will soon face a trial of purity."
In the Northern Wing, Amethyst stood at her balcony, unaware that the Queen's eyes had already turned toward her. The rain washed the city's glow into streaks of silver across the night.
Somewhere beyond the palace walls, Lucas walked through the drenched streets, his hood drawn low. He paused under the eaves of a closed chapel, gazing up at the glowing windows of the royal palace.
"She's walking into their fire," his lieutenant murmured behind him.
Lucas's gray eyes lingered on the Northern Wing. "Then we'll make sure she walks out of it."
He turned away, his voice low and sure. "No flame touches her without going through me first."
———
Far above, in her chamber, Amethyst traced the rim of a glass vial, its contents glinting like liquid moonlight.
Her reflection stared back at her from the water's surface, not the fragile girl they called forgotten, but the woman her mother might have become had she lived.
"The truth runs in our blood," she whispered. "And if they call it sin, then I will show them how a heretic heals."
The candle flickered, and the storm rolled on, a promise of trials, fire, and reckoning.