Rhea helps me back inside and I don’t have the strength to push her away, no matter how much part of me wants to. The only thing I’m certain of is that this sleepwalking is not natural; it’s a summons, a pull, and I must do something about it.
***
In the morning, I’m stiff and sore, as if I’d run a league but there’s no chill this time, no sign of anything lingering. When I come down to breakfast, I find it already prepared. Rhea has made porridge, sweet and buttery the way I like it, she’s brewed a strong dandelion tea, and there’s bread cut thick and being toasted over the fire. One of the new raspberry jams is waiting, as is a pat of butter.
‘Thank you,’ I say and sit. Through the window I can see the summer husband already at work digging a new garden bed in the potager.
‘How are you feeling, Mehrab?’ Her careful tone irritates me more than it should, as if I’m a frail old woman, with onefoot in the grave. I pause before answering, gather the threads of my temper and tie them tightly together.
‘I am perfectly well, Rhea. Ridden by the mare of night, is all. Dreams of old days and faces long forgotten. A life lived very differently.’
‘Where were you born, Mehrab? I can still hear, ever so slightly, a trace of an accent. Only on certain words, and only when you’re tired.’ The change in topic is welcome, the subject not so much.
That stops me in my tracks. It hadn’t occurred to me that the girl might observe me the way I do her, cataloguing each glance and gesture, giggle and twitch, seeing what’s repeated, habitual, until I can almost predict her actions, her questions and replies. Itdoesoccur to me that I’ve underestimated Rhea. That I should be more careful. That I should have some respect for her – she might not be the idiot child I predicted. ‘Not here,’ I say shortly. Then relent, ‘In a country to the west, far over the sea. And I left a long time ago and don’t wish to discuss the matter any further.’
‘But youwerelike me. On the run – that’s why you left your home and family?’
Homewas my suite of rooms in the palace, the grand villa I was awarded for services rendered to the royal family. Family? My mother and sister I’d long ago lost track of, left behind in the slums by the harbour when I ascended, stolen away by my mentor. And that mentor? The high sorceress, in a country where we were tolerated far better than elsewhere (here-where); she was the closest thing I had to true family, I suppose. She wasn’t always kind but there was always a reasonfor her cruelty, and that I understood. But she kept me safe and fed, she taught me the magics I know today, helped me develop the power that took me to the heights of wealth and influence (and down to the hollows of the earth once more); she taught me enough to know how to experiment with my other forms of magic. How to make my reach exceed my grasp, and how to regard all failures as a means to learn. She was the one who’d instructed me on how to leave – who’d warned me always to be prepared for the day the sky falls in, as it inevitably will, to varying degrees – which meant I was ready the day the walls were breached, and the beautiful city began to burn. When I—
No. Don’t think about that.
‘I was like you, yes. No more questions, Rhea. Not now. Not today.’
She obeys, though I can tell she doesn’t want to. But she keeps busy, pottering around the kitchen, cleaning up after herself before sitting down opposite me and eating her own bowl of porridge (This one is juuuust right). I stare out the window for a good few long minutes, my mind untroubled in the quiet of the cottage. I become so relaxed that it takes me a moment to realise someone has materialised out of the forest, at the mouth of the path that leads to Berhta’s Forge. I stand so quickly my chair tips over.
‘Rhea. Someone’s here. Hide Arlo. And yourself for good measure.’
‘What will you—’
‘I’ll distract them. Hurry – out the back door, not too far into the woods, and don’t leave the border of the holding.’ I head for the front, hoping we’re quick enough.
15
Luckily my visitor is hesitating, making her uncertain way towards the cottage, so I with my long strides manage to intercept her before she comes too close. I know of old that the line of sight from that path to the fields is obstructed by the barn, so she won’t have seen Arlo. As long as Rhea is careful about where she takes him, as long as she’s swift – into the woods, hopefully, down by the stream – no one should be any the wiser. I don’t look over my shoulder to check, don’t draw attention anywhere else, merely pin a broad smile on my face and nod at the child coming towards me and call, ‘Hello.’
The child’s wide-eyed, scraggly red-haired, thin-limbed. There’s a purple bruise along her chin, blossoming up to her right cheek. My hand itches to reach out and examine the injury, but she looks skittish, likely to flee at any sudden movement, so I knit my fingers together in front of my skirts, calm and untroubled. ‘I’m Mistress Mehrab. Do you need help?’
The girl nods, hesitantly.
‘Is it Tieve, then?’ Has my patience paid off at last? Rather later than I’d imagined, but still a result.
Again, she nods, says timidly, ‘Yes.’
‘Can I offer you some tea? Perhaps breakfast? There is sweet porridge and fresh cream.’ The child looks half-starved, so this offer seems a good one. She grins, relieved whether at the offer of food or tea I cannot divine, but sweep one hand towards the front door anyway. ‘You may enter, or I can bring your breakfast out here if you’d prefer to eat in the garden? The fresh air?’
Giving her a choice is important, I sense, but I also think her curiosity wins out. She wants to see the witch’s cottage; my, won’t she be disappointed to see how ordinary it is, all light and bright and airy? Perhaps I should decorate with bats’ wings and cobwebs?
***
Settled at the table, Tieve eats with spectacular speed, burps and turns bright red with embarrassment.
I smile as I take a seat across from her, my own cup of tea warming my hands. ‘Take your time, there’s no hurry.’
‘Mam says I’ve bad manners.’
‘Nonsense. You’re hungry is all, I can tell. But I don’t want you to make yourself sick. There’s no need to hurry, no one will take your food and there’s more if you wish.’ Her smile breaks out at the promise. ‘Do you have brothers by chance?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Seven.’
