The seeker came on the fourth day.
It wore the face of a traveling herbalist, a woman with gray-streaked hair and a satchel that smelled of feverfew and honest dirt. It arrived while Mara was at the well and Kael was deep in the Reach, as agreed when strangers walked the lane. The herbalist smiled with the correct number of teeth and asked after colicky babies and damp lungs. She praised Elias's coloring. She offered a free charm of rowan and red thread.
Mara, remembering Kael's lessons—watch the eyes for a flicker that is not blink but shutter; watch the shadow for a lag; watch the kindness for a hunger underneath—saw the shadow hesitate half a breath behind the woman's boots.
"Thank you," Mara said. "We're well."
"So many aren't," the seeker said softly. "There's a sickness in the trees. Children dream of gold fire and wake with noses bleeding. If you've seen anything strange—lights, beasts, voices—you should tell someone who can help. I know people in the east. Real help."
"I'll keep that in mind."
The seeker's smile thinned. For an instant the face slipped, and Mara saw something like a hole wearing skin. Then it was a woman again, packing her satchel, wishing her a mild season, walking toward the reeve's house to ask the same questions with the same almost-right voice.
Mara went home white-knuckled. When Kael returned at dusk, she told him everything. He listened without interrupting, then said, "She will not leave. She will watch. We have nine days. We must speak the truth-strand before she calls what she serves."
"How?"
"At the fence where he chose. Under open sky. You say your name as his mother and witness. I say my true name. He—he cannot speak yet, but he can hear, and the Bond hears through him. You place his hand on mine again. If the light answers the second time, the strand holds."
"And if the seeker is watching?"
Kael's jaw set. "Then I will make sure she watches something else."