““It had been amusing, at first, to let the girl think Manon had been fooled by her cowering, sweet-tongued, harmless act. Then Elide’s heritage had been revealed—and Manon’s every predatory instinct had kicked in as she monitored the way the girl hid her face so her reactions would be veiled, the way she told Manon what she wanted to hear. As though she was feeling out a potential enemy. 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.””
