The floor beneath her chair seemed to tremble with them.
Her granddaughter froze mid-giggle, clutching the yarn. “Gran—”
“Hide, Dawn.” Mariah said, rising. “Hurry. No sound.”
The girl hesitated, then obeyed, slipping toward the other room.
Mariah’s fingers went to the pouch at her waist, loosening the flap just enough to touch the smooth, cold stone inside.
A charm for confusion.
Another for silence.
If the guards came close, she would not meet them empty-handed.
The hoofbeats stopped outside. Muffled voices barked orders.
She smoothed her apron, hiding the set of her jaw. They wanted her to “show her working” this time.
To prove she could do what Sergius asked.
They’d forgotten that her witchery cut both ways.
When the door burst open, Mama Mariah was already smiling—just
