“In the lower gardens,” she says. “Overseeing restoration efforts.”
I nod once and turn. The lower gardens lie closest to one of the destabilized ley nodes. The air there is thicker, humid with failing magic. The ground underfoot feels tender, as though the roots beneath are bruised.
Vira stands near the edge of a half-withered grove, hands clasped behind her back, speaking softly to two junior Purnas. She turns when she senses me.
Her smile is flawless.
“Amelia,” she says warmly. “We weren’t expecting you so soon.”
“I wasn’t expecting to return to rot.”
Her expression doesn’t flicker.
“Yes,” she sighs gently. “A setback. These things happen when foreign magic interferes with delicate systems.”
There it is.
“Foreign magic?” I repeat lightly.
She tilts her head. “Velcryn influence. It was always a risk.”
I step closer. The grass at my feet curls slightly inward, reacting to the tension I refuse to show.
“The Wildspont was improving,” I say evenly. “Until two nights ago.”
“Yes. Most unfortunate.”
Her tone is smooth enough to be rehearsed.
“And where were you two nights ago?” I ask.
She laughs softly. “Investigating the eastern wards, of course. Ask anyone.”
“I might.”
Her gaze sharpens just a fraction.
“You suspect me?” she asks.
“I’m asking questions.”
“As you should,” she replies. “You’ve aligned yourself with Vrakken royalty. It invites instability.”
There is no anger in her voice. That unsettles me more than outrage would. I let the silence stretch between us. Then I step closer as though adjusting her sleeve in passing. My fingers brush the embroidered edge of her robe, and I murmur a binding under my breath so soft it disappears beneath the wind.
A tracking mark settles into the weave of her fabric, invisible to anyone not attuned to my signature.
She doesn’t react. If she notices, she hides it.
“Well,” she says pleasantly. “If you require anything further, I’ll be overseeing the purification circle at dusk.”
“I’m sure you will,” I reply.
I leave without looking back.
The sun sinks slowly,staining the sky in muted gold and ash. I sit alone in my chamber, eyes closed, tracing the faint thread of magic I wove into Vira’s robes. It pulses faintly against my awareness, steady and intact.
She’s moving and as I suspected not toward the purification circle. South. Toward the old root tunnels beneath the original coven grounds.