Page 2 of The Changeling

‘Mama is sick with worry. She bids you come at once.’

‘Does she now? And why must I do as she bids? We work for you no longer.’

Beatrix looked pointedly around the cave. ‘She will pay for your services.’

I clenched my jaw. It shamed me for Beatrix to see us like this. Only a few months ago, I had served the queen. Now my sister and I were vagrants, living on what I could forage. Tomorrow was All Hallow’s Eve, the dark hinge of the year when the world turned towards winter. I did not know how we were to survive.

‘How long has Robbie been lying still and unwaking? Did he fall?’

Beatrix shook her head. ‘He’s been that way since … well, since he scorned you at the Lammas Fair.’

I stared at her in horror. ‘All this time? You should’ve come to find me earlier …’

Her eyes could not meet mine.

Suddenly I understood. ‘You think it was me who did this? You think I … cursed him?’ I could not believe it. ‘I’d never hurt Robbie, never! How could you believe such a thing of me?’

‘You bewitched him into loving you! He was so mad for you he was willing to give up everything for you – his home, his family, his future. Then, when Margrit showed him the poppets you had made, stained with his seed and your menstrual blood …’

‘I didna! I never … that was her! Margrit did that, no’ me.’

Beatrix stared at me incredulously. ‘Why would Margrit do such a thing to her own brother?’

‘She … it was no’ for Robbie … she wanted …’ It was too hard to explain. ‘It was no’ me,’ I managed to choke. ‘I didna ensorcell him …’

But my face was hot with shame.

I knew that I was lying. I had bewitched Robbie, and the queen too, and all the dark calamity of these past months was my fault.

‘Then prove it! Come and help us! Please, Caiti, please. Mama will not rest until she has seen you. She’s dying!’

‘Dying? What’s wrong with her?’

Beatrix gave a hopeless gesture. ‘You know Georgie’s birth was hard for her; she never really recovered afterwards. And there has been such a darkness on her spirits since … since your mother died. Mama feels it’s her fault, that she should not have spoken against her. She hardly eats or drinks or rises from her bed, she weeps all the time.’

I nodded in recognition, knowing all too well the burden of guilt and remorse.

‘Will you come? It would ease her mind.’

‘I need time to think. Leave me a wee while.’

‘But …’

‘Either give me a moment or go away for good, I dinna care.’

She sighed and went out.

My fear for Robbie was so intense, it was a physical pain within me. But I was terrified for myself too, and for Sorcha. Lady Marjorie would have sent men with dogs and swords and flaming torches if she meant us harm, though. She would not have sent her own daughter, alone.

I knelt, and drew out my great-aunt’s pouch of omen staves, which I had hidden with her bag of magical tools in a crack in the cave wall. Silently I spoke a heartfelt prayer for direction and guidance, then slid my hand in and pulled out a stick. It was carved with the simplest of runes, one downward stroke with one horizontal line to the right.

Birch. Tree of beginnings and rebirth.

The same shape was echoed in the twig that hung with a holey stone from a red cord about my wrist. Nan had revered the birch tree above all others, for it was the Lady’s tree, bringing light into dark places. I regarded the rune for a long moment, then began to pack up our few belongings. Sorcha made a bleating sound of distress.

‘I ken, hinny,’ I crooned. ‘But we canna stay here, we’ll freeze come winter. I need to earn us some coin somehow. You have to come too, I’m no’ leaving you here alone.’

She shook her head.