Another gaze came from beneath the tree.
Liona sat sideways atop a large root, her back resting lazily against it, yet her eyes never left the training field. Every clash of weapons, every shift in Lucas's and Silvara's breathing—she caught all of it with careful attention.
Her hand slowly slipped into the pocket of her apron.
Her fingers brushed against something cold.
She took it out—a small silver bell, etched with strange patterns shaped like gusts of wind on each of its sides.
Liona studied the bell for a moment.
"This thing won't be of any use," she murmured softly.
"But I'm glad the Baroness trusts me."
She curled her fingers around the bell again and slipped it back into her pocket. Her gaze returned to Lucas and Silvara.
—
Atop the cliff—
Matruska finally turned away.
Without a word, she pivoted and walked off. Her long coat swayed gently as she moved away from the edge of the cliff toward a black wagon parked not far away.
