The room feels crowded with the three of us standing. I indicate the stool and bolsters and we arrange ourselves at comfortable distances from each other. The two women look about them, Nesta with her perpetual sneer, Princess Wenna with practiced blankness. She lowers her hood to reveal her hair coiled sleekly upon her head, a band of silver-threaded braid across her brow. She is beautiful, yet the prince does not love her. Does it gnaw at her heart, I wonder? Or does she care only for his affection because it makes her position more secure? Why has she come? Why has her maid agreed to accompany her? Nesta’s contempt for me is widely known. She is a wise woman of sorts, offering herbal remedies and assisting at births. All for a price, of course. Nesta sees the value of everything measured in silver. To her I am a rival in the business of cures, and she is jealous, both of my magic, and of my standing. And there is more besides, for she is the keeper of a knowledge of dark spells. Witchery of a dangerous kind, little known or practiced now. She has no call to use any of her talents, and she should be thankful for that. Such poisons and hexes as she has inherited would not endear her to anyone. Yet I know she resents my position of trust. She is envious of the respect afforded me. And she is no servant, in truth, but her mistress’s cousin, and, as such, is not given to unquestioning service. But still, the princess trusts her. What has compelled them to visit me? For does not Princess Wenna, too, have her own reason to despise me?

I push another stout log onto the fire, sending up a small shower of sparks. There is a moment of smoke before the bark begins to burn and new flames lick hungrily at the wood. I turn to the princess, waiting for her to speak. She meets my gaze—one of the few who will—and keeps her voice level.

‘I will not insult you by talking of trifles, Seren Arianaidd. I have come here to ask for your help because no other can give it.’

At this, Nesta fidgets and her sour face sours further.

‘How can I be of service, Princess?’ I ask.

She hesitates, the slightest in-breath, yet her composure does not falter.

‘Prince Brynach and I were wed four years past, but our union has not been blessed with children.’

Nesta can remain silent no longer. ‘I have said, my lady, ’tis not a question of time. Were you to follow my advice—’

‘I have had sufficient of your vile concoctions and undignified instructions!’ Princess Wenna cuts off her maid. ‘No more.’ She turns back to me. ‘The prince requires an heir, that is the fact of the matter. It is I who must provide him with one.’