Soon I feel her heavy footsteps thudding through the ground, and moments later she knocks on my door. I bid her enter and she comes to settle herself close to the fire. She is a little out of breath, her short legs having worked hard to carry her stout body over the frostbitten ground at some speed, it seems. I give her a moment to arrange her skirts and remove the hood of her gray woolen cloak. I notice she is wearing a silver broach, pinning her kirtle. It is a pretty thing, a ring of oak leaves and acorns finely worked. A present from the princess I should imagine, and worn today to remind me of the esteem Nesta is held in. Of her position on the crannog. I need no such reminder. I know which one of us is trusted to wash Princess Wenna’s small clothes and which one of us is trusted with seeing her future.
‘You are well, Seren Arianaidd?’ Nesta asks. The sound of my formal name spoken in her voice is unfamiliar to us both. It amuses me. I imagine it pains her.
I merely nod, not wishing to encourage an unnecessary exchange of pleasantries. My head is too sore, my belly too hot, my limbs too cramped, to be bothered with such things. Nesta should know this, if she calls herself healer and follower of the old religion. She should understand. But, in truth, she is an altogether different manner of witch from me. It is true, her remedies have helped those with small ailments and base longings. She does not, however, tread the path of true magic, nor would she dare to seek a vision. There are better hedge witches a day’s ride from here, I’d wager. She does the name no service, for though her skills are passable, her heart is greedy. This is not the way of a true witch. Her lack of talent has driven her to follow a dangerous path, a road where dark magic is used for personal gain, each successful spell a stain upon her own soul and that of whoever it is pays for her services. She is seen as a vain and silly woman, I think, but people do not fear her. Their judgment is off. She is more dangerous than they could imagine.
At least she has no more patience for formalities than I, so that her next question takes us to business.
‘You sent for me; have you done what Princess Wenna asked of you?’
‘I sought a vision on her behalf, yes.’
She leans forward, her deep-set eyes brightened by the firelight. ‘What did you see?’
‘I can speak plainly to you, Nesta Meredith?’
‘I would prefer it.’
‘The vision was clear, there was nothing slant or double in it. The princess will never bear a child.’
Nesta takes a wheezing in-breath of shock. ‘You are certain?’
‘I would not state what I do not know to be the truth.’
‘No child? Ever?’
‘Not by Prince Brynach, nor any other man.’
‘Any other? She would not wish to know of such a thing! You were not instructed…’
‘Indeed I was not instructed! Your mistress asked for my help and it was freely given. I sought an answer to her question—would she ever bear a child? The answer came back no, not for any man, not ever.’
‘I recall her also asking for your assistance in conceiving a child!’
‘As she has asked you, so many times.’
‘You are quick to dismiss my cures…’
‘And what do they cure, tell me?’
‘… but I see you offer no hope. No help. No remedy.’
‘I will not give false hope. I will not offer a remedy where there is none. Unlike some…’
‘My only desire is to aid the princess. To ease her suffering!’
‘And to prolong her wish for the impossible, to keep alive a longing that is the bedfellow only of pain and disappointment. Does this ease her suffering?’
‘I act only out of love for my mistress.’
To my astonishment, I see tears glinting upon her cheeks. She quickly brushes them away, and makes her voice level and firm once more.
‘I cannot return to Princess Wenna with such news. We must think of a way to … to soften the blow, else I fear it could kill her.’
‘Can a person die of disappointment?’
‘You know full well what is at stake here, and not just for the princess. Her wish to be a mother is not for herself alone. It is for the prince, of course, but also for the future of her people. The future of the prince’s domain.’
‘All the more reason she should know the truth.’
Nesta shakes her head. ‘You are a heartless creature, Seren. People say you do not feel as others, that your soul thrives only in the dark hours. How can you know what my mistress endures? How can you understand?’
‘If it were within my gift to change the way things are, do you not think I would do it? My magic has its limits. I was not shown a way to put a babe in the arms of the princess.’ I cast my gaze into the fire as I speak, my own heart heavy with the burden of such sorrow. ‘She must learn to accept that which cannot be changed. As must we all.’