Aria’s POV
The ridge answered before the market could decide.
Not with Warden pulse. Not with hum from deep vein. With water. The river rose an inch overnight. No rain. Just the ridge letting go of something it’d been holding.
We found out at dawn. Keth ran to the bank first, yelling “It’s moving!” Like water moving was a miracle. Ten years, moving water meant flood, meant run. Here it just meant the ridge exhaled.
Drifting downriver: leaves. Mint leaves. The ones Mara set by Ridah’s knife under the tree. Green, not grey. Fresh, not dried.
They bobbed past Sen’s fire, past the market tents, past the place the Warden had sat and asked his question without a blade.
Mara knelt. Caught one. Held it up.
“It grows without asking,” she said. Same words as the quarry. But this time th
