Soon I feel her heavy footsteps thudding through the ground, and moments later she knocks on my door. I bid her enter and she comes to settle herself close to the fire. She is a little out of breath, her short legs having worked hard to carry her stout body over the frostbitten ground at some speed, it seems. I give her a moment to arrange her skirts and remove the hood of her gray woolen cloak. I notice she is wearing a silver broach, pinning her kirtle. It is a pretty thing, a ring of oak leaves and acorns finely worked. A present from the princess I should imagine, and worn today to remind me of the esteem Nesta is held in. Of her position on the crannog. I need no such reminder. I know which one of us is trusted to wash Princess Wenna’s small clothes and which one of us is trusted with seeing her future.

‘You are well, Seren Arianaidd?’ Nesta asks. The sound of my formal name spoken in her voice is unfamiliar to us both. It amuses me. I imagine it pains her.

I merely nod, not wishing to encourage an unnecessary exchange of pleasantries. My head is too sore, my belly too hot, my limbs too cramped, to be bothered with such things. Nesta should know this, if she calls herself healer and follower of the old religion. She should understand. But, in truth, she is an altogether different manner of witch from me. It is true, her remedies have helped those with small ailments and base longings. She does not, however, tread the path of true magic, nor would she dare to seek a vision. There are better hedge witches a day’s ride from here, I’d wager. She does the name no service, for though her skills are passable, her heart is greedy. This is not the way of a true witch. Her lack of talent has driven her to follow a dangerous path, a road where dark magic is used for personal gain, each successful spell a stain upon her own soul and that of whoever it is pays for her services. She is seen as a vain and silly woman, I think, but people do not fear her. Their judgment is off. She is more dangerous than they could imagine.

At least she has no more patience for formalities than I, so that her next question takes us to business.

‘You sent for me; have you done what Princess Wenna asked of you?’

‘I sought a vision on her behalf, yes.’

She leans forward, her deep-set eyes brightened by the firelight. ‘What did you see?’

‘I can speak plainly to you, Nesta Meredith?’

‘I would prefer it.’

‘The vision was clear, there was nothing slant or double in it. The princess will never bear a child.’

Nesta takes a wheezing in-breath of shock. ‘You are certain?’