I sit opposite Nesta. ‘You are not given to visits without purpose,’ I point out. ‘What is it you want of me?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ she protests. ‘That is, nothing for myself. As I have said, I come here without my lady’s knowing, but it is for her benefit I come. And for yours too, I believe.’ She pauses to order her thoughts, or possibly recall a speech committed to memory, and then continues. ‘My mistress does not, for reasons you will understand, feel she can come to you herself. That does not mean, however, that you are not in her thoughts.’
‘I am certain she has an opinion of me. I’m not certain I need telling of it.’
‘Yours is, after all, a … prickly situation.’
This makes me laugh aloud, causing Tanwen to look up and smile, and making our visitor scowl. ‘You have many skills, Nesta, I will allow that. But diplomacy is not one of them. It may be the princess should have sent her brother to pour syrupy words in my ear.’
‘I tell you, the princess does not know I have sought you out.’ This time her voice has her more customary sourness in it. Her patience is already wearing thin. ‘I have come because I want only what is best for my princess. And I come to speak to you as one witch to another.’
Now it is my turn to frown. ‘Witch I may be, and you have a skill with potions and poultices, but do not confuse your talents with my gift, maid-of-the-princess. I would not lower myself to whisper the dark words you call magic. It is a base and dangerous art. You and I are not equals, nor will we ever be.’
Nesta squirms upon her ample backside, her fierce dislike of me doing its best to claw its way to the surface, while some pressing need for her to remain pleasant pushes it back down.
‘Forgive me,’ she simpers, ‘My eagerness to win you to my cause is making me clumsy.’ She hesitates and watches Tanwen for a moment. ‘She is so very like you,’ she says, ‘and yet, there is something of her father about her also. It is there for all to see,’ she adds, turning her piggy eyes back on me to make the point.
‘Her parentage is no secret,’ I say.
‘Indeed it is not. And my mistress has accepted this fact.’
‘Has she a choice?’
‘She has … allowed things to be as they are.’
‘How could she do otherwise?’
‘She could put more obstacles between you and her husband. See that he visits you less frequently. Find further ways to hinder him coming to your door.’
‘More obstacles? Further ways? You give the truth an airing with every word you utter, despite your attempts to the contrary. The princess tolerates Prince Brynach’s love for me and his desire to be with his daughter because there is no alternative available to her.’
‘She endures the situation with dignity, as befits a princess!’
‘Should I be grateful for it?’
‘Do you steal another woman’s husband with such an easy conscience?’
‘Prince Brynach is not anyone’s possession that he might be stolen. He bestows his affection where he chooses. He spends time with his child, as any loving father would.’
‘And any loving mother would want the best for their daughter, certainly.’
‘Of course. I am no different from any parent in this.’
‘And yet, perhaps you do not see how you stand in the way of your child’s possible betterment. Of her birthright.’
Now we are come to it. There is weight behind these words, and Nesta sees that I have felt it.
‘I have at the heart of my every waking moment a fervent wish for all that is good for my daughter. I am ever striving to see her well fed, well clothed, well loved. She wants for nothing, and she learns what she needs to learn.’
‘It is true you equip her to be a shaman. A witch. To live apart as you do. To follow the path of your life, and yet…’
‘And yet? Spit out what it is you came to say, Nesta Meredith, before it sticks in your throat and chokes you.’
‘There is a way you can do what is most generous for all concerned in this matter. A way you can make an easier life for the prince. A happier life for the princess. A royal life for your precious child.’
She waits while I sift through the grit of what she is telling me. Of what she is suggesting. My mouth dries at the thought of it. My heart pounds. I pray my face does not betray my anger. My fear.
‘You have come here, to my home, to tell me I should give up my child? Give her up to Wenna?!’
‘Think of it. Do not let your heart rule you, but only think of it. Your daughter has royal blood in her veins. She is of Brynach’s line. You and I both know Princess Wenna will never give him an heir. He adores the child. She is his princess. And my mistress is not as cold as you would have her be. Her longing for a child is only in part to secure her position. She is a woman, and she craves a babe to hold in her arms, to mother. She would take her husband’s child into her home, she would raise her as her own, even as she is…’