"They killed my father, my brothers," Isabella hissed, shoving the last embroidered pouch into the brazier.
Gianna's hands trembled on the bedrail. "My lady, no—please. Not the seal, not—"
Isabella pushed Gianna away with a palm that did not shake. "It is not theirs to keep."
She ripped the thin silk between her fingers. The crest burned first, a black curl in the orange light.
Gianna sank onto the floor and put her face in her hands. "This will mark you. They'll call you mad. They will—"
"Call me what they name traitors when it suits them," Isabella said. She fed the next token into the fire: a patch of embroidery that had been her eldest brother's. "I do not care for their names tonight."
Gianna looked up, wet tracks down her cheeks. "You cough—"
"It is colder outside," Isabella answered. "I will not die where they can make a story of me."
She turned and set a small wooden box next to the brazier. The box held nothing gold. Inside lay a scrap of paper with a scrawl, a ribbon, a child's mirrored charm. Isabella's hand hovered. "They took more than land," she told the room. "They took the right to be forgotten."
"Lady Isabella, please," Gianna whispered. "Let me take you away. There is a carriage at the west gate. Rene's men could—"
"This hall will burn," Isabella said. "And it will be on their doors."
Gianna clutched the hem of
