As soon as she said it, Maylie knew it was wrong. She had wanted to soothe, and she had got carried away.
‘I didn’t mean—’ she began.
‘They are nothing to me.Youare nothing to me.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
The shifting expressions on the Princess’s face revealed the vast undercurrents of emotion tangled within: anger, hurt and pain.
‘I’ll never forgive you,’ she hissed.
It was what Maylie had always feared and she let the guilty devastation of those words cut through her, deep and agonizing.She tried to remind herself that this was to be expected – she was not going to be welcomed back with open arms – but it still hurt all the same. Swallowing down the stinging burn of tears she replied, ‘I don’t want anything from you. ’Tis enough just to see you now.’
The Princess lowered her head. She looked more miserable than ever.
‘I should like to tell the tale of you and me one day,’ Maylie added carefully. ‘If you’ll let me?’
She watched a battle between curiosity and fury play out across her daughter’s face.
‘I don’t want excuses.’
‘There’re none to give. I’ve always regretted what happened. I always will.’
The Princess’s features softened slightly. ‘I’m tired,’ she muttered.
‘You need rest.’ Maylie noticed the severe jut of her daughter’s collarbone poking through the woollen cloak. ‘And something to eat,’ she added. ‘I’ve bread and cheese inside.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ replied the Princess in a tone that sounded automatic. Then she tilted her head and added, ‘But maybe something.’
It was a start.
Maylie had to stop herself from smiling. The thought of watching her daughter eat food she had prepared brought a warm contentedness to her heart. If nothing else worked out – if the Princess returned to Tormale and Maylie never saw her again – perhaps that alone would be enough.
They were both turning towards the cottage, heading to the front door, when the Princess said, ‘I need you to explain to me about my Gift.’
‘You mean the Sight?’
‘Yes. I want to understand it.’
Maylie glanced up the mountainside at the forest. She could just make out the faint outline of a figure in the trees. Watching them.
‘I can explain everything I know, but ’tis not much,’ she replied. ‘I’m not sure ’tis something that can ever be fully understood. I’ve some notes on the Hidden People you can read. I think my mam made them, but she died when I were very young. I’m guessing she had the same Gift.’
Despite the difficulties of the Sight and the complexities it had brought to Maylie’s life, she felt glad that this was something she shared with her daughter. A part of her had always been embedded inside the Princess and would remain so for ever.
‘You’ve already shown yourself to be very wise with your Gift.’
The Princess’s brow puckered. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You bartered with the Great Dragon. What you did were amazing. You’ve saved lives. You’re a hero.’ Another burst of pride glowed through Maylie’s chest. ‘You were very brave,’ she added.
The Princess touched something at her neck, fiddling with a scrap of material tucked beneath the collar of the cloak. ‘You gave me this,’ she said suddenly.
Maylie saw a flash of faded pink. Recognition hit her like a slap and she gasped. ‘My ribbon,’ she whispered. ‘You kept it? You wear it?’
Tears slipped from the Princess’s eyes. She looked as though she was trying to say something – perhaps another cutting retort – but her face crumpled with emotion and a sob escaped her throat.
Without thinking, Maylie held out her hands and drew Cressyda to her chest. Wrapping arms around the thin, brittle shoulders, she held her daughter tightly and felt the rhythmic thud of her heartbeat pulsing against the Princess’s cheek.
