She came just after the sun dipped below the horizon.
Mara. That was her name. She looked younger than I’d pictured maybe thirty by human reckoning with the kind of forgettable face that could blend into any crowd. Brown hair. Brown eyes. The sort of woman you’d pass in a marketplace and never think about again. She wore the dark green robe of the southern circles beneath a plain grey cloak she’d thrown on before passing through our gate, the embroidery hidden underneath like a secret.
Senna brought her up herself.
“My queen.” The older witch’s voice was steady. “This is Mara. Three days hard riding from the high country. She’s agreed to sit at the table tonight.”
Mara dipped her head. Not a bow the southern circles didn’t bow to anyone, Senna had warned me about that but something qui
