The compound was warded by dark.
Maren moved through it with her walking stick and her herbs and the focused quiet of someone doing precise work that required no commentary — the eastern wall, the southern perimeter, the tributary's edge where the cold presence had sat in the tree line and watched. She placed her wards without drama and came back inside and sat down and accepted the tea I made her without saying anything about how I'd made it.
The tea was good.
She drank it.
I took that as approval.
"The Vethara," I said.
"Yes," she said. "Zane told you."
"He told me what it wants. He told me what stops it." I sat across from her at the kitchen island. "He didn't tell me what it feels like when it's close."
Maren wrapped both hands around her cup.
"Cold," she said. "The way the bo
