Emmaline’s hand tightened on Deyric, her other arm folding around her own waist, grounding herself in the feel of the smooth spider silk.
This was real. This was the Goddess’s plan all along.
One of the Patrol officers glanced up, eyes widening slightly as he took in Emmaline’s gown.
“Our apologies, my Lady.” He gave a quick, awkward bow. “But I believe the Greymane Ball is ending early tonight.”
Deyric leaned close, his breath stirring the hair at the curve of her ear. “They think you’re a Lady. But I know exactly what you are.”
Her stomach flipped, heat flashing low and fast. “Behave!” She coughed, shoving him lightly in the chest. Maybe coming here wouldn’t be so bad. Seeing Isolde arrested was the icing on the cake. Maybe they could still have a nice Solstice…
“Lady?!” Isolde’s head whipped up, her eyes locking on Emmaline, her entire body stiffening as recognition slammed into her like a physical blow.
“That’s no Lady!” Spittle flew as her voice pitched higher. “That’s just some servant! The one I told you about, the slut who seduced my son!”
Emmaline’s nails bit into Deyric’s arm, but her smile held steady, watching as understanding dawned—slow, crawling, and terrible—across Isolde’s face.
“She… she’s the one who orchestrated this! All of it!” Isolde’s struggles doubled, heels scraping uselessly against the stone steps as the officers hauled her toward the waiting glider. “You have to find my son! She’s done something to him! You have to save him!”
The original investigator—the older, grizzled officer who’d been called after Lady Allistair’s disappearance—elbowed his way through the crowd, grabbing Isolde’s arm with a grimace. “Enough.” He forced her down the stairs. “You’re done. It’s over.”
“It was her! All of it! You have to arrest her! I’ll see you all exiled! You pathetic, half-breed excuses for a—”
The officer shoved her into the glider, slamming the door once, twice, before she forced her head past his grip, sticking it out like a demented puppet.
“Just question her! It was her! I’ll kill you myself—” She sputtered, eyes darting frantically. “Whoever you are!”
The door slammed shut, cutting off the rest of her rant as the glider lurched forward.
Emmaline huffed, leaning into Deyric’s side. “She still doesn’t know my name.”
Deyric shook his head, biting back a grin.
“Let’s go.” She tugged him back toward the private road. “I’d bet my last gold piece Ursula’s still holding court at that tavern near the glider stop.”
Deyric raised a brow.
“There was a pretty barmaid…” Emmaline laughed, waving a hand. “Don’t start.”
She took a step forward, and the weight in her chest shifted—the kind of weight you don’t notice until it’s gone. And for the first time since this whole nightmare began, her shoulders didn’t feel braced for the next blow. It was over.
She exhaled, turning to leave, when footsteps scuffed behind her.
“A moment,please. Lady—”
She turned, pulse kicking up again as the older Patrol officer stepped closer. The same one who’d dragged Isolde into the glider.
“Oh, I’m not a noble.” Her smile stayed easy, even as her fingers fidgeted against the folds of her dress. “Lady Isolde was correct, at least about that.” She paused, squinting slightly. “And you are? I remember you from last week, I think, but I never caught your name.”
“Tharan.” He pulled a glowing tablet from his coat and tapped the screen with a stylus. “And you are?”
“Emmaline.” She shrugged. “A clerk for Lord Greymane.”
Tharan’s eyes looked down, taking in the sweep of her dress. “Really? That’s spider silk.” His brow lifted. “It’s been centuries since I’ve seen anyone wearing the real thing.”
Emmaline’s smile brightened, genuine this time. “You like it? It was my mother’s.” A pause. “From before… well, before everything changed.”
His mouth flattened slightly, but he nodded. “I see.” He slid the stylus back into a narrow pocket. “Now, about those accusations from Lady Isolde…”
