Nova's POV
Seraphine had not attacked.
That was the first thing. The darkness above the eastern wall had descended and Nova had pulled her winter magic up and Thorne had blazed gold beside her and the winter wolf had gone rigid on the path and Seraphine had simply landed.
That was the only word for it. Like a bird landing. Like something very large deciding to be still.
She was tall. Ancient in the way the Moon Goddess had been ancient not in her face, which looked perhaps forty, but in her eyes, which looked like the bottom of a very deep lake. Dark hair. Silver eyes, the same as Morgessa's but quieter. The expression of someone who had arranged this entire evening and was mildly pleased with how it was going.
"Your mother," she had said, "was my student."
Then she'd looked at Nova for a long, assessing moment.
Then she'd said: "Eight days is enough time. I'll come back."
