“Sleep," Garran said, stacking bowls. “Four hours."
“Three," Veronica answered.
A knock. A maid edged into the envoy suite with a tray and a smile she hadn't rehearsed enough. “Hot tea for the Head Guard," she said, eyes too wide.
“Leave it," Garran told her.
The maid set the cup down. Steam curled. A soft, pleasant smell—faintly sweet.
Pasha sniffed. “For once, not my terrible coffee," he said, reaching.
Veronica caught his wrist. “Mine."
She lifted the cup, took a careful sip. Warm. Harmless.
Her tongue prickled.
“Close the door," she said.
The latch clicked. Garran looked up. “Problem?"
“Maybe." Veronica set the cup down and pushed it away with one finger. “Change sentries. Window and vent."
Pasha frowned. “Head Guard?"
“Do it," she said.
He moved. Garran's wolf nosed the
