Villa 4 at the evening hour was the fullest it had been since the eastern return.
Mara had known. She always knew. The pot she had running when Vane came back up the hill was larger than the pot she ran on ordinary evenings, the eastern spice blend at its full proportion, the kitchen carrying the smell of it all the way to the gate. She had set seven places at the table without being asked, because she had not needed to be asked.
Ashe arrived first and went directly to the kitchen to assess what was cooking. Mara blocked her from the pot with the flat authority of someone who had been blocking Ashe from pots for six months.
"It needs four more minutes," Mara said.
"I can wait three," Ashe said.
"Four."
Ashe sat down.
