Wren does not touch the cup. She wraps her gauntleted hands around her knees instead, looks at Old Maret across the fire, and asks the question she should have led with: "What do you want in return?" Old Maret's mouth curves — not quite a smile, but the shape a smile would leave if it had been there recently. "Sensible," she says, and something in her voice is genuinely approving. She sets her own cup down. "The Ember is in the Hollow Keep — half a day up the King's Road, then left at the shepherd's waystone. It is not guarded. The keep is not locked." She pauses, and her eyes do something careful. "But the keep has a lower vault, and inside that vault is a cedar box with a river-clasp. You don't open it. You bring it to me here on your way back. That is all I want." She pushes the untouched cup a little closer. "Now drink. It is thyme and honey, not a trick. You will need the warmth where you are going."