She wakes up to girls screaming.

The courtyard has become a battlefield. Drakonian soldiers cut down acolytes and priestesses alike, a blur of robes and blood. The bullet tears through her thigh first. Then a blade through her back. The world turns to mist.

It happens again—

*

The next morning, Valerie awoke with a renewed sense of purpose. She ignored the nightmares, the stress, the creeping sense that everything and everyone was conspiring against her, and focused instead on the one thing that felt achievable: finding out who had stolen that letter.

While Priska and the other ladies-in-waiting prepped Valerie and Ophelia for breakfast, she considered her options. Who had both the motive and the means to steal the letter?

The name that popped into her head was the most obvious suspect: Lady Juliana.

“Oh, no!” Ophelia gasped when she brought it up. “You can’t possibly accuse Mother—”

“She’s a Gideon. She has reason to want revenge, and she’s living right here with us. Avon kept the letter in his bedchamber. The last time he saw it was the night we arrived, so it was probably stolen while we were at Gideon’s funeral.”

“But Mother was at the funeral too,” Ophelia pointed out.

“She doesn’t seem like the type to get her hands dirty. I bet she got one of the servants to do it.”

Avon had told her one thing before he’d departed for the day. The guards hadn’t reported an intruder, which meant either they were in on it or the thief hadn’t broken in. Which of the servants had access to their chambers? That was what she needed to know.

She met Priska’s eyes through the mirror. The other girl had almost finished braiding her hair. “Priska, when we were at the funeral, did anyone come into Avon’s quarters?”

Priska hesitated. “I don’t know, ma’am.”

“What about you?” Ophelia addressed her ladies-in-waiting. “Did you see anything?”

They were a mother-daughter pair, Valerie had learned. Cilla was training in the art of being a lady’s maid under the supervision of her mother Edith. But neither had any useful information.

“I’ll ask the other servants,” she decided. “Ophelia, can you distract Lady Juliana for the day? I don't want to be interrupted.”

Ophelia readily agreed. And so after breakfast, Ophelia vanished arm-in-arm with Juliana to enjoy a stroll around the garden with Edrick. That left Valerie free to move about the villa.

Where to start? There was Avon’s manservant, whose name Valerie had never learned, but whom Avon trusted implicitly. She quickly realised why: his stolid silence was no accident. The man had no tongue. When she asked him about who had entered the chamber, she got only a shake of the head.

Valerie wondered briefly how the man had lost his tongue. But that wasn’t today’s mystery.

She moved on to the guards, starting with Captain Doryn.

“I’ve already inquired,” said Doryn when she approached him, “and no one saw anything out of the ordinary. Lord Avon ordered that only his staff were to be allowed in his quarters. No one visited, and I found no sign of a break-in.”

“But that means there’s a spy. A traitor.”

“Lord Avon handpicked his most loyal men to accompany us,” said Doryn. “I trust all of them with my life. But I fear you are right.”

She bit her lip. Doryn could be the traitor. Any of them could be.

“Right,” she said. “We’re getting to the bottom of this. Fetch all the servants, now. I want them in the drawing room.”

Doryn bowed. “As you wish, my lady.”

She paced around the drawing room while she waited, thinking.

Could the thief have gotten in and out undetected? A secret door, perhaps? But no, this was Avon’s family home. Surely he would know of any such entrances. It had to be one of their own people. Or perhaps… Her heart sank. Perhaps Juliana had gotten what she wanted through trickery rather than betrayal. If Juliana had ordered one of the servants to fetch a letter from Avon’s quarters, made it sound as if the letter belonged to her… They might not have questioned it.

Presently, the door opened, and one by one the servants shuffled in. They lined up in front of Valerie: four ladies-in-waiting, including Priska, Edith and Cilla; three valets, including Avon’s manservant; two house maids, the butler, the cook, the housekeeper, the matron, the gardener, the groom, and eight guards. The room that had seemed so spacious, with its gilded fireplace, lounge seats and grand piano standing on a fine-weaved rug, now began to feel quite stuffy.

Doryn came to stand beside her, a stern, reassuring presence.

Silence.

Valerie looked over each of them in turn. Some met her eyes, others bowed their heads. Several looked nervous, but she saw irritation and confusion among the retinue too.

“A theft took place here two days ago,” she began. “A letter was stolen from Lord Avon’s bedchamber. No break-in was reported. Either you all failed to notice the thief, or one of you is the thief. So, I’m giving you all the chance to talk. Did anyone see anything? Did one of you take the letter, even by mistake? If you speak up now, Lord Avon and I will be lenient.”

Again, silence. No one spoke.

If only she had her magic. She could have demanded the truth from any of them.

Valerie pursed her lips. “Anyone?”

“Answer the lady,” said Doryn. “If you don’t speak up now, you will regret it.”

“We were guarding his Lordship’s quarters, my lady,” said one of the guards, indicating himself and the guard to his right. “We already told the captain: nothing happened.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Edith spoke up. “We didn’t go near Lord Avon’s chambers, my lady. Me and Cilla were busy attending to her Ladyship.”

“Is that true?”

Nods from the guards. She went down the line and eliminated them one by one: not the house maids, not the housekeeper, not the cook… Most of them had not ventured into Avon’s quarters, and the guards confirmed it.

“What about Lord Falconer? Where was he?”

She didn’t think Rufus had done it since he’d been at the funeral and would have had little opportunity to steal the letter after that, but she wanted to rule out all the possibilities. His valet confirmed that he had spent the evening in his guest room. The guards corroborated his story.

“All right,” said Valerie. “You can leave.”

The eliminated suspects shuffled out. That left Doryn, Priska, Lord Avon’s manservant, and three guards, including the two who had been on duty. All of them had gone in and out of Avon’s quarters.

“What about you?” she asked, pointing at the third guard.

He was pale, thin and sweaty. Looked a bit ferrety for her liking. “I did a sweep of the rooms before Lord Avon’s return like I always do, my lady. That’s my job.”

“And you saw nothing out of place? You didn’t notice anything missing?”

“No, my lady. His Lordship keeps lots of documents. I don’t look at ‘em.”

“She went off in the middle of the day.” Another guard pointed at Priska. “I saw her leave.”

Valerie frowned. “Priska?”

The girl flushed, shifting from foot to foot. “I—I was running an errand for you, my lady.”

Valerie was about to open her mouth and ask some very confused and annoyed questions when the desperate look in Priska’s eyes suddenly made sense.

That was the day she’d gone looking for her brother Titus.

But she couldn’t say that in front of the others. It was a secret between the two of them.

“Right,” said Valerie, covering her surprise. “And you were in Lord Avon’s quarters because…?”

“Moving your things, my lady.”

Since she’d switched rooms from Avon to Ophelia. She didn’t particularly want to dwell on that either.

“Are you all sure you didn’t see anyone else?”

She questioned the other guards, but they had little to say. They confirmed only that Priska had gone out during the middle of the day and that Avon’s manservant had not left the house. But there were no accusations and no confessions. Whoever had done it, they’d left no trail.

Valerie waved her hand in frustration. “Go.”

The servants departed. Doryn looked at her, expression serious. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

“I’ll kill whoever it is,” she fumed. “If I had my magic…”

“Perhaps that’s what they’re afraid of. That letter was damaging to both you and his Lordship. Whoever took it knew that.”

She frowned. He was right. And the letter had been secret anyway… She’d left it in her chambers at the palace in Jairah for Lord Avon’s eyes only. She supposed it was possible that one of the palace servants had peeked at it before he’d found it, but otherwise no one should have known about it. Had the thief searched the room for incriminating evidence and happened to stumble upon it?

“Whoever took it wanted to damage us,” she murmured. “Or they accepted a bribe from Lady Juliana. But they couldn’t have been ignorant. Juliana wouldn’t have known about the letter.”

Her earlier theory of Juliana tricking someone into taking it couldn’t be true, then. Which made things worse. Whoever had done it had chosen to betray them.

“Doryn,” she said. “It would break my heart if it was you, you know that, right?”

“I wouldn’t dare, my lady.”

She searched his face. “Do you think I bewitched Lord Avon?”

He’d been witness to her possession by Queen Shikra. Seen her kill. Seen her manipulate. But he’d also said that he’d mourned her.

A troubled expression flickered in his eyes. “I cannot answer such a question, my lady. Forgive me.”

“But you defended us at the Senate.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you. I won’t forget that.”

He nodded, and Valerie stepped back, letting him go. Alone, she let out a deep breath. A knot had formed in her stomach. She’d narrowed down their options to six suspects, which was something, if not a definitive answer.

It worried her that Priska remained among those suspects. They spent every day together, and right now Priska’s connections were her only possible escape route outside of Avon. But then, she thought, it would be equally devastating to learn that Avon’s most trusted men had betrayed him. Unless they’d missed something, there were no good outcomes here. No wonder she felt paranoid.

There was one more avenue left to explore. Valerie steeled herself before searching for Lady Juliana.

*

She didn’t have to look too far. Outside, Ophelia and Edrick were running barefoot across the lawn. They were both in high spirits, Ophelia giggling as she tried to catch the little boy and the patchwork blanket that flew aloft like a cape behind him. Nearby, the matron bent down to clear up the scattered remains of their picnic.

Seated in a wicker chair, Lady Juliana had chosen a rather more sedate activity: knitting a pair of baby boots propped up on her pregnant belly.

Quietly, Valerie came over and took one of the empty wicker seats.

“They look like they’re having fun,” she said after a moment.

Edrick had the pure, uncaring energy of a child at play. She remembered playing like that with the village children, oblivious to the world. She’d pretend to be a great sorcerer and strike down anyone who moved, and then when one of her playmates caught her, they would split into teams, boys versus girls, to rescue her. Most of the time the boys played the rescuers and the girls the captors. Occasionally they’d reverse it, but that never worked as well because the boys were faster and always caught the girls too quickly…

She glanced at Juliana. “Your Grace… I just wanted to say… I didn’t know that you were related to Lord Gideon. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Your sympathy isn’t necessary.”

Juliana’s words were as cold as her eyes, the knitting needles like knives in her hands.

A few moments passed in awkward silence. Ophelia and Edrick flopped down in the grass.

She tried again: “I made a pair of boots like that for my cousin Lavinia’s baby. She had colic. So I weaved a spell into the boots to calm her down. She put them on her little feet, and it was an instant transformation—”

“I’m sorry,” Juliana interrupted her. “I’d ask that you don’t speak of witchcraft in my household.”

Valerie clasped her hands in her lap. Right. Forget the niceties. She wasn’t about to befriend this woman.

“Did you hear what happened at the Senate?” she asked instead.

“Yes. Will you be leaving soon?”

Well, she clearly didn’t want Valerie here any longer than necessary. On that point they agreed.

“I don’t know,” said Valerie. “That depends on Lord Avon.”

“Why are my servants telling me that you’ve been accusing them of theft?”

“Because there’s been a theft. Didn’t Lord Avon tell you?”

Juliana looked up at her, then down again. “That’s for his guards to investigate, not you.”

“Actually, he…”

She was interrupted by Ophelia and Edrick dashing over to greet them. Ophelia collapsed in the last empty chair. “Mother! Valerie! I’m parched. Shall we have a drink? Edrick, would you like some lemonade?”

The little boy’s eyes shone. “Yeah!”

“Matron!” Ophelia called. “Bring us some lemonade!” She smoothed over the folds of her skirt. “So, what are we talking about?”

“Lord Avon’s stolen letter,” said Valerie. “Your Grace, do you know anything?”

Juliana’s mouth thinned. “Why would I know anything?”

“Well, it was stolen by someone in this house…”

She had thought Juliana’s expression cold before. This look was pure winter: deep, dark and unforgiving.

“What exactly are you implying?”

“Nothing!” said Ophelia hurriedly. “Your Grace, I’m sorry—”

“You don’t have to apologise,” said Valerie, and then had to pause when the matron came over with the promised lemonade.

“Say thank you,” said Juliana.

Edrick bowed before taking the offered drink. “Thank you.”

He seemed oblivious to the tension between the three ladies. Ophelia tugged at the matron’s sleeve. “You know what, can you take Edrick back to his room? I think he’s had enough fresh air for today.”

No one except the little boy protested. Once the two of them had gone, Ophelia looked between Valerie and Juliana.

“Would you like to try some lemonade, Mother? It’s delicious.”

Juliana ignored her. “I heard about your wild accusations.” She was looking at Valerie. “Your arrogance is astonishing. I’ve been mourning my uncle, the man that you murdered. And you have the gall to sit at my table, eat my food, and accuse me of being a common thief. What are you hoping to achieve?”

Ophelia’s mouth fell open. But Valerie much preferred this, a direct challenge. She was equal to that.

“I’m looking for the truth, Your Grace,” she said.

“Ladies?”

Valerie turned around, startled. Moss, the butler with the handlebar moustache, approached them across the lawn. He bowed.

“Lady Valerie, the Emperor would speak with you.”

Her heart leapt into her mouth. “Now?”

“Yes. If you would come this way, my lady…”

Numbly, she stood up. As the butler led her back towards the villa, Valerie glanced behind her. Ophelia’s brow creased in worry. But Lady Juliana…

The Empress was smiling.