Rosamund
Morwen paused, the vial still hovering near Nevan's lips. Then she set it down carefully and turned to face me.
"I prefer Seer," she said. "Witches conjure and curse. I observe and interpret. There's a difference, though most people don't care to learn it."
She turned back to Nevan as though the matter was settled, tilting the vial to his lips and letting a few drops of amber liquid slide into his mouth. But my mind was no longer on her answer.
Alarm bells were ringing inside my skull.
Why did Nevan need a Seer? Why was a woman with magical abilities standing at his bedside like she'd done this a hundred times? And the symbols on the chain around her neck were the same as the hooded woman who had pressed the blade against my throat in the forest.
So, it was a witch who'd attacked me.
