Chapter 3 - The Seamstress Who Knew Too Much
Arden placed his cup down carefully.
“Elena Dunlap worked in the royal textile rooms,” he said.
Carmel shook her head.
“My mother made curtains.”
“She also restored ceremonial garments.”
“She never mentioned the palace.”
“There may have been a reason.”
Draven released her wrist.
Carmel immediately pulled the bracelet close.
“My father said she died in a carriage accident.”
Arden and Draven exchanged a glance.
Carmel stood.
“No. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Draven asked.
“Look at each other like everyone knows something about my life except me.”
He accepted the rebuke.
“Your mother died after leaving the palace during an investigation,” he said. “The official report called it an accident.”
“What investigation?”
“Missing public funds.”
Carmel almost laughed.
Seventeen years of grief, and suddenly her mother belonged to a story about royal money.
“She could barely afford winter coal.”
“We did not suspect her of stealing,” Arden said quickly. “She was helping us identify altered seals on financial documents.”
“My mother was a seamstress.”
“She understood thread,” he replied. “The royal treasury used silk security ties. She could tell when a seal had been removed and replaced.”
Carmel sank back into her chair.
A memory stirred.
Her mother at the kitchen table, holding a ribbon toward the light.
Little hands must never pull a loose thread, sweetheart. First, you find out what it’s holding together.
“What happened to the investigation?”
“The witness died,” Draven said. “The original documents disappeared. The treasury official responsible was dismissed for poor supervision.”
“Who?”
“Severin Dupont.”
Isabella’s father.
The current royal chancellor.
Carmel looked toward the closed door.
“You promoted him?”
Draven’s expression tightened.
“He returned years later after an independent review found no evidence of wrongdoing. I accepted that review.”
“And now?”
“Now I intend to examine who conducted it.”
He did not defend himself further.
That mattered.
Carmel removed the bracelet and studied its inner surface.
Her mother had worn it every day. After the funeral, Carmel had found it beneath her pillow, wrapped in a scrap of blue cloth.
She had always assumed her father left it there.
“My mother said it was broken,” she murmured.
Arden leaned closer.
“Broken?”
“She would turn the branch toward her wrist and say the clasp didn’t hold.”
But there was no clasp.
There had never been one.
Carmel ran a fingernail along the engraved branch.
Something clicked.
A narrow section of silver lifted.
Inside lay a tightly rolled strip of pale fabric.
No one moved.
Carmel unfolded it with hands trained by years of repairing delicate seams.
Tiny stitches crossed the cloth in rows of different colors.
At first glance, they looked decorative.
Then she recognized her mother’s notation system.
“She used this for complicated patterns,” Carmel said. “Each color was a number. Each knot marked a word break.”
“Can you read it?” Draven asked.
“Not all of it. I haven’t seen it since I was a child.”
She traced the first line.
There were initials, dates, and repeated sums.
One phrase appeared twice.
NORTH WARD ALLOTMENT.
Another came at the bottom.
ASK M. FENN.
Arden exhaled.
“Mara Fenn.”
“Who is she?” Carmel asked.
“Your mother’s supervisor.”
“Is she alive?”
“I believe so.”
“Then I want to speak with her.”
Draven nodded.
“We’ll find her.”
Carmel looked at him sharply.
“With me.”
He understood.
“With you.”
Maeve returned before noon with another discovery.
The forged guest credential had been issued using a terminal in the summit logistics office. The account belonged to an assistant who claimed Isabella had ordered an urgent room change.
The assistant had already left the hotel.
“Can you find her?” Draven asked.
“We’re trying.”
Carmel stared at the embroidered strip.
“What were they planning?”
“Perhaps a scandal,” Arden said. “Perhaps pressure.”
“Pressure for what?”
Before he could answer, the suite’s television turned on.
A summit announcement filled the screen.
Isabella stood beside her father beneath the royal crest.
She wore the expression Carmel had seen moments before a punishment at home: patient, wounded, prepared to be believed.
“Recent events have raised serious concerns,” Isabella told the assembled delegates. “My family has therefore requested an emergency council session concerning His Majesty’s ability to discharge his duties.”
Draven’s jaw tightened.
Severin stepped toward the microphone.
“Until these concerns are resolved, we ask the king to place the winter relief treasury under the chancellor’s temporary authority.”
Carmel looked down at the tiny stitched words.
NORTH WARD ALLOTMENT.
Outside, the storm pressed white hands against the windows.
Inside, she finally understood.
May you like
Someone had put her in that bed because they needed the king distracted.
And her mother had died trying to stop the same people seventeen years earlier.
