"Where's your father?" the rider asked at the doorway. "He left before dawn," Keira said, not looking up from the dirt. She drew another loop with her stick, careful, patient. The rider laughed. "Always off on errands. You keep the house, then, little sigil?" "I keep the chores," Keira corrected. She smiled and showed him the crooked rune she had made in the mud. "This one is a door. It opens to the kitchen." "That'll get you into trouble with the Knight Sanctum if they hear you calling doors to kitchens." He nudged the horse with one boot and squinted at the drawing. "You going to join the shrine when you're bigger?" Keira looked up. "My father says I can choose." "He'd let you be a knight?" The rider raised an eyebrow. "Or a sigilcrafter?" "A sigilcrafter," Keira said, sure and small. "He says sigils make things listen." The rider's face changed. For a second he was less a joke, more a man who had learned to read names and signs that mattered. "That's good. Keep learning." He tipped his head toward the lane, where merchants argued over fish. "Tell Wei Ze the Knight sends his regards. Don't let him get into fights." "I won't," Keira promised. She pushed the stick again and the mud swallowed the line. "Good." The rider swung into his saddle. "Tell him the Knight needs men for the next watch. If you meet Haoran, tell him to