She glanced up to see Seraphine lift her fingers to a scar near the base of her neck, tracing the raised lines. It was a habit Rune had witnessed dozens of times in their spell casting lessons. It meant she was concentrating hard on something. Seraphine’s clothing normally hid the casting scar’s shape. But the thin straps of her evening gown left it exposed tonight. Rune recognized the form of a bird, shining like silver against Seraphine’s brown skin. It was the same bird as in Rune’s grandmother’s seal. The one Nan used to stamp her letters with. A kestrel.
