Seraphina's hands were shaking.
Arvella found the witch elder in Selena's cabin an hour after the council session ended — after the chairs had been pushed back and the maps had been rolled up and the warriors had filed out in grim silence and Draven had stood at the border watching the northern tree line like a man watching a horizon he expected to catch fire. The cabin's wards had parted for Arvella without hesitation, the ancient magic woven into the stone walls recognizing the crescent moon behind her ear the way a lock recognizes the only key ever made for it. The door swung open before she touched it.
Seraphina was sitting on the floor.
Not meditating — Arvella had seen the witch meditate dozens of times, and meditation looked like stillness, like roots reaching into bedrock, like
