Liora's hand was already on the door before Seraphina stopped her.
"Did that girl just ward against you?" Liora's voice was low and hard. "Like you're cursed. Like you're something to be afraid of."
"I know what she did."
"My lady, she's a servant. In your own chambers. Making signs against evil while you're standing right there."
Seraphina caught her arm before she could follow the maid into the corridor. "Let it go."
"She should be dismissed. At minimum."
"And then what? I dismiss every servant who fears me?" Seraphina released her grip. "If I punish everyone who makes a warding sign, I become the monster they already think I am."
Liora's jaw tightened. Her hand stayed on the door handle before she finally let it drop.
"This is wrong."
"Yes." Seraphina turned back toward the window. Her body no longer burned from within, though everything else still did. "I cannot afford to give them more reasons to fear me. Not now."
The corridor outside had gone quiet. The maid was probably already whispering to the other servants about what she had seen.
She walked the corridors that evening because she refused to hide.
Liora followed two steps behind, one hand resting on her blade. The palace felt different now, and the patterns of behavior had shifted.
A cluster of maids fell silent as she passed, their conversation resuming in whispers the moment she turned the corner. Two guards who had once nodded in greeting now stared straight ahead, and a courtier she vaguely recognized from court functions crossed to the other side of the hall rather than acknowledge her.
The warding signs were harder to ignore. She caught three of them in the space of a single corridor, quick gestures when servants thought she wasn't looking. Ancient protections against evil, directed at her.
By the time she returned to her chambers, Yona was waiting in the chair by the window, a stack of documents in her lap.
"You should be resting," Seraphina said.
"So should you." Yona set the documents aside. "How bad was it?"
"Three warding signs. Two servants who wouldn't meet my eyes. One courtier who crossed the hall to avoid me." Seraphina lowered herself into the chair across from Yona. "The usual."
"It's getting worse."
"Every day."
Liora closed the door and took her position beside it.
A sharp, precise knock interrupted the silence. Liora opened the door with her hand still on her blade.
Thalion entered wearing formal attire. The imperial crest gleamed at his collar, his face carrying controlled neutrality.
He didn't waste time on greetings. He reached into his coat and withdrew a folded paper.
"Liora found one near the servants' quarters. I found three more in the east wing."
Seraphina took the paper and unfolded it.
A crude woodcut stared back at her. A woman chained in a dungeon cell, wrists bound to the wall, head bowed in defeat. The artistic quality was poor, but the message was clear. The paper felt damp at the edges, cheap ink already smudging where someone had handled it carelessly.
Text beneath the image read: THE FLAMEBEARER'S CURSE.
Claims that she had summoned the undead. That her fire fed on innocent blood. That the curse had been her doing from the start.
The paper shook in her grip. She set it down.
"Who printed these?"
"We're trying to find out." Thalion's voice was carefully even. "But whoever did this has resources. Multiple woodcuts, different designs, all carrying the same accusations. This isn't one angry servant with a grudge. This is coordinated."
"These were inside the palace."
"Which means someone brought them in. Or someone is printing them here." He pulled out two more pamphlets, different designs but identical messages. "They had the woodcuts ready. They knew exactly when to deploy them."
"The servants are not the council," Thalion continued. "Their fear doesn't change your legal standing or the Empress's support. But servants talk. They carry messages, deliver meals, clean chambers where private conversations happen. If they believe you're dangerous, that belief spreads through the city and the trade routes and every corner of the empire that depends on palace gossip for news."
"Harwick and Delmonte went quiet after the curse. I thought that meant it was over."
"The formal accusations stopped. This is something else." Something flickered in his eyes. "The Empress wants to see you. Tonight, if you're able."
Seraphina glanced at Yona, who nodded slightly.
"I'm able."
Eleanor received her in the Empress's private study.
The Empress wore no crown tonight and no formal robes, just a simple gown of deep blue with her silver hair pulled back. She stood by the window, watching the courtyard below, and did not turn when Seraphina entered.
"Close the door."
Seraphina did. Liora and Yona remained outside, stationed in the corridor with Thalion.
"You've seen the pamphlets." It was not a question.
"Yes."
"Then you understand the position we're in." Eleanor finally turned. Her eyes were tired in a way that made her look older than Seraphina had ever seen her. "You cannot fight whispers with fire, Duchess. The more you burn, the more they believe you're dangerous."
"Which is why I haven't burned anything since the siege ended."
"If you stay in the capital, you become a target. Every day the rumors grow bolder. Every day someone new decides you're the monster the pamphlets describe." Eleanor moved to the small table where a carafe of wine waited. She poured two glasses with her own hands. "The accusations have no legal weight. Harwick and Delmonte retreated the moment public opinion turned against them. But public opinion is turning again."
She held out a glass. Seraphina took it.
"And if I leave for the Sanctum?"
"Then you abandon the narrative." Eleanor's voice was flat. "They will say you fled because you're guilty. The pamphlets will multiply. By the time you return, assuming you survive the Sanctum, you'll be coming back to an empire that has already decided what you are."
Seraphina stared at the wine in her glass, dark red and catching the candlelight.
"There is no winning move here, Your Majesty."
"No." Eleanor drank from her own glass. "There is only the move you can live with."
"The seventh moon," Seraphina said. "Less than three weeks. The Ember Sanctum is a day's hard ride through D'Lorien territory. I need time to prepare, time for whatever the ritual requires." She set the untouched wine on the table. "Every day I spend here fighting rumors is a day stolen from what actually matters. The realm doesn't care about my reputation. It needs the awakening completed."
"And you? What do you need?"
"I need to survive long enough to matter." Seraphina met the Empress's eyes. "The realm is more important than my reputation. If I have to choose between being hated and being dead, I choose hated."
Eleanor studied her for a long moment, then nodded.
"Then we plan your departure. Quietly. No announcements, no formal procession. You slip away before dawn, and by the time anyone notices you're gone, you're already days ahead of anyone who might follow."
"And the narrative?"
"I'll handle the narrative." Eleanor's mouth curved. "Let them think you fled. When you return with the Sanctum's blessing burning in your blood, the story will change."
Neither of them mentioned the possibility that she might not return.
Seraphina left the study to find Liora and Yona waiting in the corridor outside.
"The Empress?" Yona fell into step beside her as they walked.
"We leave before dawn. As soon as preparations allow." Seraphina kept her voice low. The palace walls had ears, and after tonight she trusted none of them. "I need supply lists. Medical provisions. Anything that might be required for the journey."
"I'll have them ready by midnight." Yona's pace matched hers. "Liora should coordinate the guard detail. Small numbers, fast travel. Anyone we bring needs to be someone we trust completely."
"Agreed."
She had written back to Caelan after reading his letter, telling him the fire-scars had stabilized. That she had months now instead of days. That he did not need to race back. She had sent her reply with the military courier who brought the dispatch from Thornwall, and had been waiting for word ever since. Messengers from the eastern front had slowed to a trickle.
She worried anyway.
Liora walked ahead, one hand resting on her blade. The corridors felt emptier than usual at this hour, servants having retreated to wherever servants went when they wanted to avoid the Flamebearer.
They turned the corner toward her chambers.
Liora stopped.
"My lady." Her voice had gone flat. Controlled in that way that meant something was very wrong. "Don't look."
Seraphina looked.
A pamphlet had been nailed to her chamber door. The cheap paper was still damp, the ink smudged at one corner where nervous fingers had gripped too hard.
A woman tied to a stake, flames climbing her body, face contorted in agony. Someone had drawn a noose around the figure's neck, and beneath the stake they had added a crowd watching and cheering.
Beneath it, in crude handwriting:
Burn in your own fire, witch.
The paper dropped from Seraphina's fingers before she realized she had crossed the distance and torn it down.
She couldn't breathe. The corridor tilted. For a terrible moment she was back on the pyre, feeling flames climb her legs, hearing only the crackle of kindling and the crowd's terrible silence, seeing Alaric's nod as the executioner dropped the torch.
It's going to happen again.
The thought hit her with sudden certainty. They were going to drag her to a stake and burn her alive, and this time there would be no regression spell, no second chance, no mother's voice pulling her back through death.
"My lady?"
The voice came from somewhere far away. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The smoke was in her lungs and the flames were climbing and Alaric was watching and she was going to die again, she was going to burn again.
Her knees buckled. The floor rushed up to meet her.
Hands caught her before she hit the ground. Someone was shouting her name. The sound warped and stretched, drowning beneath the roar of flames that existed only in her memory.
She could smell the smoke. Could feel the heat blistering her skin. Could hear the crowd's silence as they watched her burn.
No. No. No.
The word repeated in her mind, but her mouth wouldn't form it. Her lungs wouldn't draw air. Her body had forgotten how to exist in a world that wasn't on fire.
Somewhere beyond the flames, someone was still calling her name.
She couldn't answer.
She was burning.