The girl might still be a spy, Manon told herself, turning toward the desk, where Elide’s scent was strongest. Sure enough, the sprawling map of the continent held traces of Elide’s cinnamon-and-elderberries scent in concentrated spots. Fingerprints. A spy for Vernon, or one with her own agenda? Manon had no idea. But anyone with witch-blood in their veins was worth keeping an eye on. Or Thirteen.
