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With a single caw, Watcher launched himself into the air, gliding above the trees.

“Once for luck.” She intoned. “Maybe we’ll get out of this yet.”

Orzen didn’t say anything more. But he was there.

Whatever this was between them, whatever came from her choices in the Heartwood, no matter what followed—she wouldn’t be facing any of it alone.

And for now, that was enough.

Epilogue

The sun refused to break through the early morning fog. It set Marrowen’s nerves on edge, but she was too busy to pay it any mind. There were tasks to finish before everyone got here. Time had never waited, and it wasn’t about to start now.

Quietly, she pressed the door open to Wren’s room. Furnie looked up, eyes flashing in the dim light. The emberkit lay curled on Brunna’s chest, rising and falling with each gentle snore. Still a few hours before they’d need to head to town. Let her sleep.

Start the fire in the hearth. Set the water to boil. Three mugs on the counter with herbs for their tea. Check the list of supplies Lenora sent over. Marrowen checked the tasks off in her head. Too many were still injured, but she’d do her best to meet the need where she could.

Fulfilling orders kept her busy. Publicly.

It was best to keep things as normal as possible. The Tower’s Fist was always watching—had been since that first day after the Hearthroot attack. Even this far from the village walls, they followed Theordrin’s orders to observe and report any suspicious activity. This little cottage was top of the list.

Marrowen whistled low under her breath.

Let them watch. They’ll never find what they’re looking for.

She made her way to the parchment nailed to the wall beside Pavric’s altar. Rows and rows of Xs adorned it now. Too many, but she counted them anyway. Thirty-eight days. No, thirty-nine now, she thought as she marked another with a bit of charcoal.

She gently brushed her fingers over Wren’s gloamguise, patched together with resin and golden paint—fractured, but still beautiful—waiting for the day she would return. And hopefully bring Garin and the others with her.

She sighed, cleaning the leftover coal from her fingers and setting herself to the task of preparing food for the meeting. Plans always went smoother when their bellies were full. They couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

When the kettle whistled above the fire, Marrowen poured it into two mugs and set it back to keep warm for Brunna. Then, she gathered a small basket of muffins she’d prepared the night before and balanced it in the crook of her elbow, carrying the tea out into the chilly morning air.

At least the weather was finally righting itself. It had been cycles since the last Frosthold with snow this late. But it was coming. She could feel it in the ache of her bones. Or maybe she was simply getting old. Her body seemed to ache all the time now.

Marrowen bowed her head when she passed the marker they’d placed for Tavrin. Brunna set up his altar in her home, but Marrowen had this. For now, it was safer for Brunna to stay with her. Marrowen welcomed the company. They both needed it more than they wanted to admit.

She made her way toward the back hill. With a flick of a hoof, Marrowen tapped once, again, then twice in quick succession on the wooden door of her underground cellar. Then she waited.

When the knock was returned from the inside, she said, “Hummingbirds are hungry this morning.”

With a creak, the door swung open, only wide enough for the top of Frinna’s wiry head to be seen. Marrowen passed her one of the mugs of tea and held the door open, following the halfling’s lantern down into the dark.

“I’ve been thinking,” Frinna said as she descended the stairs, setting the lantern on the small wooden table.

They’d scavenged spare wood and built it inside the cellar itself. It wasn’t large, but it was all they could fit. It meant that most of the Seedkeepers were left crowding around it. Still, for now the cellar was safe, and hidden.

“I never like it when you think,” Marrowen grumbled, setting her own tea on the table and sitting heavily in a rickety wooden chair. “It always means you’re planning something dangerous.”

“Everything we do is dangerous,” Frinna growled. “First off, we need to get to Zehvana.”

Marrowen sighed deeply. “We’ve gone around about this for ages. We can’t get her out of the Tower on our own. Not without half of us joining her there.”

Frinna growled under her breath. “You’re right. But I’m not dropping it until we form a plan that’ll work.”

“Any other foolhardy ideas before breakfast?” Marrowen asked, sipping her tea.

“One,” Frinna nodded crisply. “And this one’s more important. Owl’s building is coming on nicely. And it wouldn’t be hard to…make some useful additions to the structure, if you know what I mean.”