Maya's POV
I don't sleep.
How can I, knowing someone out there is planning to poison people and blame me? The royal guard with the poison bag disappeared hours ago, but I keep seeing his shadow in every corner.
At dawn, the knocking starts.
Not one person. Twenty. Then fifty. Then so many that Nan has to open her door and shout for order.
"One at a time! The Miracle Lady can't help everyone at once!"
But they're desperate. Pushing. Shoving. A woman waves her feverish baby in the air, screaming. A man with a compound fracture—bone sticking through skin—is turning gray from blood loss.
I can't turn them away.
"Bring the baby inside!" I grab clean cloths and my crude medical supplies. "And the man with the broken leg—lay him down carefully!"
The next six hours are chaos.
I treat the baby's fever—probably viral, nothing I can really cure, but I bring down the temperature with cool water and willow bark. I set the man's leg—and oh god, resetting a compound fracture without anesthesia is horrific. He screams so loud I think the whole city hears. But I get the bone back in place, clean the wound, and wrap it tight.
"Keep it elevated," I tell his wife. "Change the bandage daily with boiled cloth. If it starts smelling rotten, come back immediately."
She kisses my hands, crying. "You're a saint. A blessed saint."
"I'm really not," I mutter, but she's already gone.
Next is a pregnant woman. Very pregnant. She's having contractions but something's wrong—I can tell from her breathing, her color, her panic.
"The baby's breech," I say after examining her. In Elara's memories, breech births kill mothers and babies all the time. But in Maya's memories, I assisted in a delivery during a college volunteer program.
I can do this.
"Nan, I need boiled water, clean sheets, and your steadiest hands."
What follows is the most terrifying hour of my life. The baby is completely turned around—feet first instead of head first. I have to manually turn the baby inside the womb, a procedure called external cephalic version that won't be standardized for centuries.
My hands shake. The mother screams. Nan prays.
But slowly, carefully, I feel the baby shift. Turn. Move into the correct position.
"Push!" I shout. "Now! Push!"
Ten minutes later, a baby girl slides into my hands, screaming and perfect and alive.
The mother sobs with joy. Nan stares at me like I'm actually magic.
"How did you know how to do that?" she whispers.
"I..." I look at the baby, at my blood-covered hands, at the miracle I just performed. "I just knew."
By noon, the line outside hasn't shrunk. It's grown. Word spreads faster than fire: the Miracle Lady can cure anything. Death itself fears her.
I treat infections, broken bones, fevers, wounds, burns. I teach everyone the same lessons: wash your hands, boil your water, keep wounds clean. Simple science that saves lives.
But I'm exhausted. My hands won't stop shaking. I've been awake for over thirty hours.
"You need rest," Nan says firmly.
"People need help—"
"And they won't get it if you collapse." She physically pushes me toward the back room. "Sleep. Two hours. I'll handle the line."
I want to argue, but my body is shutting down. I stumble to the mat and fall asleep instantly.
I wake to screaming.
Not medical screaming. Terror screaming.
I rush outside and find complete chaos. The crowd has doubled, but now they're not asking for help. They're running away.
"What happened?" I grab a woman's arm.
"The baker's son!" She's crying, pointing down the street. "He drank from the public well and collapsed! They're saying he's been poisoned!"
No. No no no no.
This is it. The trap I saw coming. Someone poisoned the well and now—
"The Miracle Lady treated him yesterday!" a man shouts. "What if she cursed him?"
"What if she's a witch, not a saint?"
"What if she's poisoning everyone she touches?"
The crowd turns hostile in seconds. Faces that looked at me with gratitude yesterday now show fear and anger.
"I didn't poison anyone!" I shout, but my voice is lost in the chaos.
Then I see them: royal guards pushing through the crowd. Six of them. Led by a tall man with bronze hair and a commander's insignia.
Commander Theron. Prince Kael's right-hand man.
"Lady Elara Thornwood," he announces loudly. "You are under arrest for witchcraft and suspected poisoning. By order of Prince Kael."
My heart stops. "I didn't—"
"Tell it to the prince." He grabs my arm. "You're coming to the palace. Now."
"Wait!" Nan pushes forward. "She saved my grandson! Saved dozens of people! She's no poisoner!"
"Then explain why everyone she treats dies within days," Theron says coldly. "The baker's son is the fifth victim this week."
Fifth? There have been others?
Someone's been systematically poisoning people I treated, making it look like I'm cursing them.
The perfect trap. And I walked right into it.
"Please," I beg Theron as he drags me toward his horse. "Give me one day. Let me examine the bodies. I can prove it's not my treatments killing them—"
"You had your chance." He lifts me onto the horse like I weigh nothing. "Prince Kael gave you three days of freedom. You used them to fool simple people with tricks and curses."
"They're not tricks! It's science! It's medicine!"
"It's witchcraft. And the penalty is burning."
The crowd parts as we ride through. Some people throw rotten fruit. Others just stare with betrayed eyes.
I saved their children. And now they think I'm killing them.
As we approach the palace gates, I see someone watching from a high window. A woman with golden hair and a smile I recognize from Elara's memories.
Seraphina.
She waves at me. A little, mocking wave.
She did this. Poisoned people I treated to frame me again. The same trick, a new timeline, and I fell for it exactly the same way.
The guards drag me off the horse and throw me into a courtyard. I land hard on stone, pain shooting through my knees.
When I look up, Prince Kael is standing there.
And he's furious.
"I gave you a chance," he says, voice like ice. "I let you live when you should have died. I allowed you to work your healing magic. And you repay me by murdering innocent people?"
"I didn't murder anyone!" I struggle to my feet. "Someone is framing me! Again! Can't you see the pattern?"
"The pattern I see is death following you like a shadow." He steps closer. "Five people dead. All treated by you. All showing signs of the same poison you used on me."
Wait. The same poison?
Shadowthorn. The rare Eastern poison. Someone used it on the people I treated.
"That proves I'm innocent!" I say desperately. "Why would I use the same poison twice? That's stupid! Someone is copying the crime to frame me!"
"Or you're arrogant enough to think you won't get caught." His ice-blue eyes burn with betrayal. "I trusted you. I believed you might be innocent."
"I AM innocent!"
"Then explain this." He pulls something from his pocket.
My breath catches.
It's a vial. Small, glass, filled with dark liquid.
"We found this in your medical supplies," Kael says coldly. "Hidden among your herbs. Pure Shadowthorn poison. Enough to kill fifty people."
"That's not mine!" But even as I say it, I know it doesn't matter. Evidence planted. Witnesses dead. The trap snapped shut.
Kael's face hardens. "I wanted to believe you. Wanted to think I'd finally found someone real in this nest of lies. But you're just another snake."
"Please. Please just listen—"
"Take her to the dungeons," he tells Theron. "And send word to prepare the pyre. Tomorrow at dawn, the witch burns."
As guards drag me away, I see Seraphina again. Still watching. Still smiling.
And beside her, another figure emerges from the shadows.
Lord Damien. Elara's treacherous ex-fiancé.
He holds up a piece of paper and shows it to me.
Even from this distance, I can read it. It's a royal decree, already signed:
Upon the witch Elara's execution, all her remaining family properties transfer to Lord Damien Blackwood as compensation for his damaged honor.
They didn't just frame me for murder.
They framed me to steal everything Elara had left.
And tomorrow morning, I burn.
Unless I can figure out how to prove my innocence from inside a dungeon with zero allies and a prince who now hates me.
The dungeon door slams shut, leaving me in darkness.
But in that darkness, I hear something that makes my blood freeze.
Footsteps. Coming closer.
Someone else is down here with me.
And they're laughing.