They walked in silence, feet crunching on the rocky path. Elen kept the pace brisk as the sun sank toward Lancer’s Ridge. Shadows crept down the slope like reaching hands. The wind began to flag. The overwhelming scent of autumn grass was softened by a faint fragrance of rose oil, so brief that, as soon as she registered the smell, it was gone, a phantom. It was only a memory of a similar hike into twilight, long ago, and the shock that had followed. She rubbed her right forearm, caught herself doing it, and stopped before Kem had a chance to notice and wonder.

A white post carved of holystone marked the turnoff to Three Spires. A seam of chalk guided them along a track that curved around and along the rocky slope. At a cairn, the track forked. One branch ascended steeply to the southern edge of the hill where three stone towers clustered together. From this distance, the slender spires looked more like huge stone spears than towers.

The Spires stood on the edge of a striking promontory. Their summits overlooked a long valley that extended southeast. The imperial histories claimed the towers had been built by the first Tranquil emperor as a fort, the location chosen for its view, and were later abandoned. Every local knew the story was ridiculous because the towers were far older than the empire. They weren’t even built with the same materials and techniques as imperial buildings.

The other branch of the track descended into the valley, to a cluster of ramshackle cottages and rough sheds ringed by a water-filled ditch. The village’s buildings were barely visible in the deep shadows pooled at the base of the promontory’s cliff. Any other traveler caught out at dusk would have overnighted in the hamlet. Elen ought to have done so, but she really didn’t want to have to deal with the awkward encounter she wouldn’t be able to avoid if they went there. She excused her reluctance by reveling in Kem’s awed stare as they climbed the final stretch toward the towers. The last light of the sun shimmered along the smooth walls, rippling like water because of an unknown magic woven into the towers that no one living today could name, much less shape to their will. Reflexively, she touched her forearm.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Kem asked, sharp as ever.

“My old injury that aches sometimes,” she said, which was enough of the truth.

His expression scrunched up as he eyed her. He was about to ask another question when they heard the thump of hurried footsteps from below.

A breathless shout caught at their backs. “Courier! Good Deputy, if you will! Pray attend us!”

So much for her attempt to escape a meeting she should have known was inevitable. She sighed, halted, and turned.

3 A THIRD PRESENCE