Roselys had arranged their notes across the table, the candle throwing a small circle of light over her writing. Vencian watched her from the opposite side. The sound of distant chatter seeped through the walls of Miss Perdil's house, mixed with the faint smell of stew.
Roselys looked up first. "I think we have most of the surface customs sorted. But something else came up in the records."
Vencian leaned forward. "What kind of something?"
She tapped a line in her notes. "The Erythrai clan's texts mention a figure who guided them. Someone they believed could sense what was coming—good harvests, disasters, wars. They called him the Seer of Shales. Every generation had one."
Vencian studied the ink marks. "A prophetic leader?"
"In practice, yes. They didn't call him that. He was described as the one who 'told them when the world turned.'" She leaned back slightly. "If that record's authentic, the clan didn't act without him. He directed their migrations and decisions."
