The south balcony was Pesanta's territory. She'd claimed it three months ago, reorganizing the stonework, removing the excess vegetation, positioning the ornamental railings at precise intervals. Now it was perfect. A vantage point overlooking the Lago, with an unobstructed view of the village beyond.

The village was quiet. The Ganados moved through its streets in the orderly manner Saddler trained them to maintain. The water of the Lago stretched out between the village and the castle like a barrier. Pesanta stood at the railing, her tail coiling slowly around the stone balustrade, and surveyed her domain. The wind carried scents from the village—smoke, vegetation, the faint chemical tang of Plaga spores carried on air currents. All of it telling her something.

A figure appeared on one of the village roofs. Too far away to identify, but the movement pattern was wrong, not Ganado. Pesanta's mandibles twitched. She tracked the figure for exactly seven seconds before it disappeared into a building. Not a threat, but something to observe. Something to add to her mental map of variables that might need adjustment.

She moved to the opposite end of the balcony, where she'd positioned a telescope on a perfectly level mount. She looked through it, scanning the village methodically. Building by building. Street by street. Confirming that the organizational systems she'd implemented were holding.

A loose shutter on the eastern district caught her attention. Third building from the north corner, left side. She'd ordered it repaired last week. The Ganado foreman had assured her it would be corrected. But there it was, flapping slightly in the evening breeze. Wrong. A violation of the system.