The forest routestake two days to investigate on foot, which is the only way to read them properly. The main path is obvious—worn, frequently used, the kind of track that develops when people walk the same line through undergrowth often enough that the ground remembers it. Two smaller branches split off before the old mill creek, both heading southwest. Fresh boot prints on one, disturbed undergrowth on the other.
Someone has been moving weight through here regularly.
I mark the transit points and come back to the village.
Malrec is waiting at the lane entrance, which means his people have been watching the forest edges. His expression is pleasant. He practices pleasantness, but doesn’t mean it.
"My lord Nyrius." He starts walking beside me uninvited. "I wasn't aware you were still conducting business in this area."
"I wasn't aware I needed to report my movements to a regional magistrate."
"Of course not." A small laugh, perfectly modulated. "I only mention it because Oxwood is a quiet village. Multiple visits from a border lord tend to unsettle people. They wonder if something is wrong."
"Is something wrong?"
"Not to my knowledge." His grey eyes move briefly toward the forge. "Unless you've found cause for concern during your visits."
I stop walking. He stops half a step after me, which tells me his composure is slightly less complete than he presents it.
"I'm conducting a standard territorial review," I say. "When it's complete, you'll receive a report through the proper channels." I meet his gaze and don’t flinch away. "Is there something specific you'd like to address while I'm here?"
A beat. "No, my lord."
"Then I'll let you get back to your work."
I walk to the forge and don't look back, but I feel his attention on my shoulders the entire way. He knows I've been in the forest. He knows I've been asking questions. And now he knows I've noticed him noticing.
I've drawn too much direct attention here. Whatever I look for next needs to happen from a distance, through riders and contacts rather than personal investigation. Staying longer makes Malrec cautious, and a cautious man covers his tracks.
I need him comfortable.
Edria is alone at the forge.
She looks up when I step in, and something moves briefly across her face—surprise, quickly managed. She sets her file down and straightens.
"You're leaving?" she asks.
"For now."
She nods, looking back at the piece she was working. Her hands stay flat on the workbench.
"It was you, wasn’t it? The tariffs," she says, after a moment.
I don't answer.
"That was you," she says again, not a question this time. She looks up. "You didn't have to do that."
"The ledgers showed a reporting error that required correction."
"Don't." Her voice is quiet, not sharp. "I'm trying to say something, and I'd rather you didn't make it harder."
I wait.
She pulls in a slow breath. "You've shown up in this village and done more for it than anyone with authority has done in years." Her jaw moves slightly. "You didn't have to do any of it. You had every reason to ride through and forget we existed." Her eyes come up to mine. "I wanted to say that. Before you go."
The forge is warm at my back. She's standing three feet away, hazel eyes direct and unguarded in a way I've only seen from her twice before—both times when she thought no one important was watching.
I take one step forward. She doesn't move back.
