Chapter 6：What’s your reason for accusing me falsely?

The moment the Dowager was settled in her inner chamber, the fragile peace shattered.

Violent tremors wracked her frail body as she fought for breath – lungs rattling like dry reeds in a gale. Viola's warnings were grim reality: the Dowager's health was threadbare spun silk. Even guarded joy tore at it.

Mistress Blythe, the Dowager's weathered lady-companion, moved with grim efficiency. The manor physick awaited just outside, summoned earlier like a silent prayer against this very storm. Joanna stood frozen, her blood congealing as needles flashed and pressure points were urged awake beneath the physick's urgent fingers. An agonized lifetime later, the tempest within the Dowager's chest eased. Color, thin as watered milk, returned to her face.

"A fright, little storm-petrel?" The Dowager's voice, a threadbare whisper now, beckoned. Joanna stumbled forward, burying her icy fingers in the Dowager's trembling hand. She swallowed the stone lodged in her throat. "Grandmother promised… forever."

A translucent smile touched the Dowager's lips. "Time is a thief, stealing my strength. But sheltering you…" Determination, frail yet fierce, flared. "Joanna, let me forge an alliance for you. Safeguard your future."

A marriage alliance. Joanna flinched as if lashed. The Steamworks had carved cynicism deep. Fifteen years of 'love' had dissolved faster than frost in sunrise. How could she trust a stranger's promise? She met the Dowager's eyes, a fortress wall rising within her own. "Only with you, Grandmother. Always." A future beyond Silverwood? Only peace. Solitude. Perhaps grey convent walls when the Dowager's light finally dimmed.

The Dowager read the refusal etched in her granddaughter's eyes. The plea died unspoken. She drifted into troubled sleep as Joanna kept vigil, a silent sentinel against shadows.

——

The relative quiet of Lilywater was short-lived. Brenna slipped in, brow furrowed. "Miss? A visitor. Miss Shaw." At Joanna's icy silence, Brenna added hastily, "She requests privacy. Sent her maid away."

Joanna laughed, a brittle, humorless sound. "Did she?" Lies, even in approach. As if the absence of the accusing maid who'd pointed the finger at the Crystal Goblet could erase the mastermind who stood silent. That silence – Elena's cowardly endorsement – had condemned her.

"Send her away, Brenna."

"But, Miss…" Brenna hesitated. "She vows to await your pleasure. By the lily pond. The sky… it bleeds snow." And gossip festers. A titled lady catching fever on Joanna's doorstep? Fuel for venomous tongues.

Weariness, deep as glacier ice, settled in Joanna's bones. "Very well."

Elena Shaw entered like a hesitant dove. Her gaze snagged instantly on Joanna's grotesquely swollen fingers. Horror flickered before she masked it. "Sister." She dipped into the shallow curtsy Viola drilled into her. "I hoped…" She gestured uselessly at the pot of frostbite salve on the side table. "Might I assist?"

Joanna withdrew her hands into the rough wool sleeves. "Storm clouds gather, Miss Shaw. Warmth calls stronger indoors. Why brave my frozen welcome?"

The raw refusal wounded. Elena's eyes shimmered with practiced tears. "I came to… atone." The words spilled out, rehearsed piety. "The Crystal Goblet… My terrified folly shattered it! My cowardice shattered you. Punish me! Strike me! Only lift this guilt…" A tremor in the plea. Almost… authentic.

The silence that followed stretched tight as a garrote. Joanna rose, walking slowly to stare out the window at the skeletal lotus stems piercing the ice-clad pond. A symbol of everything ruined, everything false. When she spoke, her voice chilled the room air.

"Merit for a broken glass?" Joanna turned, her eyes stripping Elena bare. "You are the heiress. The sunlight. The cherished warmth stolen from my grasp." She met Elena's tear-bright eyes without flinching. "The Snow Blossom Pavilion? Rightfully yours. Their love? Demanded your portion. I understood." A breath, thin and cold. "Even… pitied you. Did I ever raise a hand against you, Elena Shaw?"

Elena remained frozen. The practiced tears stalled, replaced by genuine confusion. Where was the accusation aimed?

A bitter laugh escaped Joanna, sharp as broken crockery. "Then tell me…" The words dropped like shards, each one cutting. "Why plunge your dagger into my back?" The final sentence rang clear, a condemnation echoing in the quiet room: "Wherefore this blade in the dark?"

Elena's tears finally overflowed at the charge. She shook her head wildly, the denial frantic. "Never! I never wished you harm! It was Jade who falsely accused you! I bear only the fault for the fallen glass—"

A frozen sigh interrupted her. Joanna leaned against the doorframe, exhaustion sharpening her quiet question into a blade: "Then where were those words three winters past?"

Elena staggered back a step, breath seizing. Those eight syllables? Spoken before the Queen? Before the venomous Princess and her glittering sharks?

"The court… drowned me in terror!" Elena stammered, trembling hands twisting her lace cuff. "Gilded walls. Eyes like judges. My first summons… I… my voice froze!" Her plea echoed the fragile bird caught at the hawk's shadow.

"And now?" Joanna pushed away from the frame, advancing like winter on bare stalks. "What absolution are you hawking?" The words cracked dry, like brittle ice.

Elena shriveled. "Anything!" A broken whisper. "Your forgiveness! I'll plead your case! Declare your innocence! The Snow Blossom Pavilion—yours! Silas… Silas, too, if you—" The offer choked her. The ultimate currency, traded for sanctuary.

The pieces clicked. Joanna stopped, a grim smile touching her lips. So that was the core of this gilded cage rattling. "Elena Shaw," she spoke into the heavy silence, her voice detached, the mockery glacial. "The Vane surname clings heavy to you. Your father. Your brother. Your birthright. I laid no claim to it." Her gesture encompassed the viewless courtyard. "The Pavilion blossoms? Lord Arthur's obsession. Yours by blood alone. This chamber?" A dismissive shrug. "Require it? Simply speak the word."

Elena recoiled. "I seek no room! Only peace!"

"You seek security," Joanna countered, soft as snowfall, hard as packed ice. "You came sweeping forgiveness at my feet… to measure the threat to Thorne." The name struck the air like dropped crystal. Elena flushed crimson. Revealed. "The betrothal bonds you to the General. It bears no weight with me. I shed that shadow when the Steamworks doors closed." Her stare pinned Elena. "What phantom danger draws you to my threshold then? What fear festers beneath Silas Thorne's polite distance?"

"It's not…" Elena's denial withered. The probe was precise. "He… his eyes… they followed you," she whispered, humiliation bleeding into panic. She had come to map the battleground. Fear truly drove her – fear of the storm shadow Joanna cast over her precarious golden nest.

Joanna's weariness deepened. The Dowager's breathing struggles, Cedric's venomous ignorance… now Elena's trembling theatrics. Silverwood suffocated her. "Believe my words as cold gospel," she stated, flat. "General Thorne is chaff in my wind. The Dowager's health chains me here. That chain frays with every sunset. When it snaps…" She met Elena's terrified eyes. "I vanish. No room. No phantom rival. Only dust." The dismissal was absolute. "Dawn broke too early here. My strength wanes with the light." She moved toward her bedchamber archway. "Take your anxieties elsewhere."

The dismissal struck physical force. Elena stood trembling on the threshold of Joanna's personal winter. The threat wasn't Joanna seizing Thorne. It was Joanna's indifference freezing the ground Elena stood upon. Her refuge was built on Joanna's exile. Joanna leaving willingly? The walls might dissolve. Where did that leave her? The tears that came now were primal. Despairing.

Elena's curtsy wobbled. "Rest well… sister." The honorific tasted like ash. She fled into the gathering dusk, the heavy door closing behind her with finality.

——

Brenna slipped back inside like a shadow seeking warmth, eyes wide. "Milady? The Second Daughter… she looked… wounded?" Her tentative question held barely checked curiosity. Like a pup sniffing a strange scent.

Exhaustion ground Joanna's patience thin. "Interrogation's edge sharpens," she observed, brittle. "Why not ask the lady herself?"

Brenna trotted closer, her feigned innocence grating. "Your lady's maid serves only you, Milady! Loyal as—"

Joanna pivoted. Her stare, sharp as broken frost, silenced Brenna mid-oath. "I know Lord Cedric's hand guides yours. I make no war upon his pawns." The words emerged devoid of anger, coldly observational. "Serve where loyalty demands. But cease this masquerade of belonging to my hearth. Your true hearth fire warms the Falconspire Tower."

The blow landed home. Brenna's hopeful smile crumpled. Tears welled, sudden and bright. Real. Not Elena's calculated shimmer. A vulnerable blade slipped through Joanna's glacial armor. Pain. Unstaged.

Weariness choked the impulse toward comfort. Fragile ties snapped easier. Safer. "Rest calls," Joanna stated, the dismissal a fortress gate lowering. She turned toward the inner chamber.

Brenna remained rooted, tears carving paths through the carefully maintained illusion of service. She watched the doorway swallow Joanna, a final barrier against trust. Then, a ragged breath, knuckles scrubbing fiercely across wet cheeks. Milady wasn't unkind. Milady was scarred. Thick keloids hid beneath the surface toughness. Brenna had seen the battlefield mapped on her skin.

Setting her chin, Brenna straightened her plain apron. "Rest deeply, Milady!" Her voice found unexpected strength, calling through the closed door. "Brenna guards your threshold."

Inside, Joanna paused. That simple declaration, fierce and protective despite her unveiled manipulation, struck an unexpected warmth against the numbness. An unwelcome thaw. The tension Elena wrung from her eased, replaced by a confusing fatigue deeper than bone. She sank onto the unfamiliar bed.

Crack!

The scream shattered the fragile stillness. A chaos of shouting erupted beyond the courtyard glass.

"Dragon's teeth! Help! The Second Daughter! She's through the ice!"