"The lady must finish this embroidery," Madam Zhang pressed a hoop into my hands. A white rose motif was already outlined on the silk. "Her Majesty's work must be presented to the Church for inspection during her provincial retreat."
I stared at the dense rows of stitches and suddenly noticed the hidden letters within the pattern—BEWARE THE PURPLE. I looked up and caught a flicker in the old maid's eyes. Pretending to sort threads, she whispered, "Your mother is waiting in the spice pantry."
The hidden chamber behind the prayer room was lined with brittle parchment scrolls. When she lit the amethyst lamp, invisible ink bloomed across the pages—sketches of young girls, case files, medical notes.
"Since you were twelve," Mother ran her fingers over the oldest scroll, "I've been adding purple iris to your afternoon tea." Her tears shimmered like molten quartz under the lamplight. "It gave you rashes. Just enough to reject suitors..."
"So the rumors..." My fingers brushed the vial hidden in my sleeve. I finally understood why Lily had given it to me.
"I started them." Mother tore open her collar, revealing a scorched mark beneath her collarbone—the royal fleur-de-lis. "The late king branded me the same way. I swore my daughter would never share my fate."
Footsteps echoed beyond the window. Mother snuffed out the lamp, pressing a key into my palm. "Behind the third Bordeaux cask in the cellar. Hurry—"
The door burst open. Father's candelabrum caught our pale faces in its glow. Behind him stood Leonid, blood staining his guard uniform.
"By royal decree," his voice rasped like dull steel over silk, "we are to search the traitor's home."