Maya's POV
The laughing stops.
I press myself against the cold dungeon wall, heart hammering. The footsteps come closer. Slow. Deliberate. Like whoever it is wants me to hear them coming.
"Who's there?" My voice shakes.
A torch flares to life, blinding me. When my eyes adjust, I see a man standing outside my cell. Young, maybe thirty, with bronze hair and warm brown eyes that don't match his guard uniform.
Commander Theron.
"Relax," he says quietly. "I'm not here to hurt you."
"Then why were you laughing?" I snap, anger replacing fear. "Think it's funny that I'm going to burn tomorrow?"
"I wasn't laughing. That was the prisoner in the next cell—he's mad, been down here for years." Theron glances down the dark corridor. "I came because I need to know something. And you're going to tell me the truth."
"Why would I tell you anything? You arrested me!"
"Because I'm the only person in this entire palace who thinks you might be innocent." He crouches down to eye level. "And because I saw what you did in the slums before everything went wrong."
I freeze. "What did you see?"
"I saw you teach a woman to boil water and wash her hands. Watched you explain about invisible sickness-creatures to children who hung on your every word. Saw you draw plans for some kind of water-cleaning device." His eyes are sharp, intelligent. "That's not witchcraft. That's knowledge. The kind that could change everything."
Hope flickers in my chest. "You believe me?"
"I believe you know things you shouldn't know. Whether that makes you a witch or something else, I haven't decided." He pulls out a key. "But I know Seraphina and Damien are snakes. And I know planted evidence when I see it."
"Then help me prove it!"
"I can't. Not openly. Prince Kael trusts me, but he's convinced you're guilty. If I defend you, I lose all influence." Theron unlocks my cell door but doesn't open it. "But I can give you one chance. Answer my questions honestly, and maybe—maybe—I can plant enough doubt to delay your execution."
I scramble to the bars. "Ask anything."
"The boiling water. Why?"
"Because heat kills the invisible creatures that cause disease. They're called bacteria, and they're in dirty water, on unwashed hands, in infected wounds. Boiling water for ten minutes kills most of them."
"And washing hands?"
"Same reason. We touch contaminated things all day. If we don't wash, we spread sickness." I'm talking fast, desperate to make him understand. "It's not magic. It's cause and effect. Science."
"Science." He tests the word. "That's what you called it before. What does it mean?"
"It means understanding how the world works through observation and testing. Like... okay, you know that if you drop a rock, it falls down, right?"
"Obviously."
"That's science. Gravity. A force that pulls things toward the earth. We can't see it, but we can observe its effects and use that knowledge." I grip the bars tighter. "Medicine is the same. We can't see bacteria, but we can observe that boiled water prevents disease. So we use boiled water. It's not miracles. It's pattern recognition."
Theron stares at me for a long moment. "Where did you learn this?"
"From people much smarter than me." The lie tastes bitter, but I can't tell him the truth. "Scholars who studied the natural world."
"No scholar in Valoria teaches this."
"Because Valorian scholars are stuck in the past!" The frustration explodes out of me. "You have people dying from infected cuts, from dirty water, from simple breaks that turn septic. All preventable! But your doctors wave incense and pray instead of washing their hands!"
"And you think you can change that?"
"I KNOW I can change it! I already did!" Tears burn my eyes. "Finn was dying from sepsis—blood infection. I cleaned his wound properly, used antibacterial herbs, kept everything sterile. He lived. The pregnant woman's baby was breech—wrong position, death sentence. I manually turned the baby. They both lived. Every single person I treated survived because I used knowledge instead of superstition!"
"Until five of them died mysteriously."
"Because someone poisoned them!" I slam my hand against the bars. "Don't you see the pattern? I treat someone, they get better, then days later they die from Shadowthorn poison. The same poison used on Prince Kael. Someone is systematically murdering my patients to frame me!"
"Who?"
"Seraphina and Damien! They framed Elara for poisoning the prince to steal her title and lands. Now they're framing her again to take what's left!" I force myself to calm down. "Think about it, Commander. If they wanted me dead, why not just kill me in the slums? Why this elaborate setup?"
"The property transfer decree," Theron says slowly. "Damien gets everything when you're executed as a witch."
"Exactly! They need me legally condemned so the inheritance transfers to him. It's not about justice. It's about money."
Theron stands, pacing. "Even if I believe you—which is a big if—I have no proof. The poison was found in your supplies. The victims were your patients. And Prince Kael saw you working 'miracles' that look like dark magic to him."
"Then let me examine the bodies! I can prove they were poisoned separately, not by my treatments!"
"The bodies were burned yesterday. Protocol for suspected plague victims."
Of course they were. Evidence destroyed.
"What about the poison in my supplies?" I ask desperately. "When was it found? Who found it?"
"Lord Damien brought it to the prince this morning. Said he heard rumors you were a witch and searched your belongings out of concern."
"Convenient." I laugh bitterly. "So the man who wants my property just happened to find evidence that condemns me. And nobody questions that?"
"The prince is dying, Lady Elara. He's in pain constantly, sleeping three hours a night, watching his kingdom fall apart. He's not thinking clearly." Theron meets my eyes. "He wants someone to blame. And you're an easy target."
"So I burn tomorrow, and Seraphina and Damien win. Again."
"Unless..." Theron hesitates. "Unless you can cure the prince before dawn."
"From a dungeon cell? With no supplies?"
"I could bring you what you need. Secretly." He lowers his voice. "If you cure him—really cure him—he'll have to reconsider your guilt. A witch wouldn't save him. Would she?"
Hope surges. "I need access to the royal gardens. Specific herbs that grow there. And laboratory equipment—glass vials, heat source, distillation apparatus."
"That's impossible. I can't sneak you out—"
"Then bring me a complete list of everything growing in the garden. Detailed descriptions. I'll tell you what to harvest and how to prepare it."
Theron studies me. "If this is a trick—if you're trying to poison him again—"
"If I wanted him dead, I'd do nothing. The Shadowthorn will kill him in three months anyway." I meet his eyes. "I'm offering him life, Commander. The only question is whether you're brave enough to trust me."
He's quiet for so long I think he'll refuse.
Then he nods once. "I'll bring the garden catalog. You have until midnight to give me instructions. But Lady Elara?" His expression hardens. "If Prince Kael dies from this cure, I'll kill you myself before they light the pyre. Understood?"
"Understood."
He starts to leave, then turns back. "One more thing. The knowledge you have—the boiling water, the hand washing, the infection treatment. Could you teach others? Could this science of yours save more people?"
"It could save thousands," I say quietly. "Maybe millions, if given enough time."
"Then I hope you're innocent." He walks away, torch fading. "Because Valoria needs someone like you. Even if it terrifies us."
The dungeon goes dark again, but I'm not afraid anymore.
I have a chance. One chance to cure a dying prince, prove my innocence, and maybe—just maybe—start dragging this medieval kingdom into an age of real medicine.
I start mentally cataloging every herb I'll need, every step of the antidote preparation, every possible complication.
This is going to work. It has to work.
Then I hear it again. The mad prisoner in the next cell, laughing.
But this time, the laugh sounds different. Clearer. More deliberate.
"Clever girl," a woman's voice says from the darkness. Not mad. Not even close. "You think Theron will save you. But he's already made his choice."
I freeze. "Who are you?"
"Someone who's been watching you since you arrived in that alley." A face appears at the bars of the neighboring cell, illuminated by moonlight from a high window.
It's a woman about forty, with tangled dark hair and eyes that gleam with intelligence. And around her neck, she wears a necklace I recognize from my engineering days—a compass rose design that was popular in the 1800s.
Impossible.
"You're wondering how I know about compasses," she says softly. "How I know that Commander Theron is walking into a trap. How I know that the cure you're planning will kill Prince Kael instead of saving him."
My blood runs cold. "How do you know any of that?"
She smiles—sad and knowing.
"Because I'm Maya Chen too. And I've been stuck in this timeline for twenty years."