A bitter, diamond-hard frost clung to the towering pine palisades as the fifth morning of the royal lockdown dawned over the Northern valley.
Inside the central apothecary backroom, Elara unlatched the heavy wooden shutters, letting a rush of crisp mountain air bite across her tired skin. She wore a tailored wool tunic of slate gray, laced tightly at the ribs with supple deer leather to keep the heavy fabric neat and close. Over her shoulders hung a soft shawl of roasted-chestnut wool, its frayed ends tucked securely beneath her elbows, so her hands remained entirely unhindered. Her glossy dark hair was drawn into a single, neat braid coiling against her nape, pinned fast with a curved bodkin of polished river silver.
She rested both palms against the raw cedar sill, glancing down the sl
