“I do not judge you, Margaret. How is it I can help?”

“I wish to discover how I can turn him from this path he follows, for I see in it only sorrow and destruction and death. He used to listen to me, but not anymore. The other friend he had is gone; he is surrounded by men who jostle to please him. If you have a charm to make him listen, any talisman by which I might influence him, I would pay well for it. I have silver. I only want him to hear me. No matter if he does not love me.”

Nessa was silent a moment, seeing how tightly controlled were the pale features, how full of pain the dark, proud eyes.

“If we had longer,” she said slowly, “I could look in the fire, and ask the ancestors; I could seek wisdom for you. But there is no time. You must be away quickly, and I’ll have to distract the guards. Perhaps it is too late to halt this man. Most certainly there is no easy solution, for he has brought a darkness on our two peoples, a shadow from which we may not escape. I will give you herbs to sprinkle on your hearth fire. Do it alone, at night. Sit quiet before the coals, make your mind empty, and watch the smoke that rises there. If you are open to it, you will receive guidance.”

Margaret stared at her. “Is that the best you can do?” she asked. “What if I take this, and try it, and nothing happens? I could be wasting my silver on a bunch of old weed.”

Nessa bit back her first answer, and took a deep breath. “I want no payment,” she said. “Your silver is no good to me.”

“Really? It seems you live in some poverty here. This could help, surely? Blankets for the old woman, a joint of meat?”

“I do not want your silver. And believe me, what I give you is rare, precious, and sacred, bestowed seldom even on our own kind. I give it to you because I see truth in your eyes, honesty in your face. I give it to you sister to sister. Wait here, please.”

She fetched what she needed from the cottage. Rona raised her brows as she watched Nessa unseal the small jar hidden deep on a stone shelf, and fill an even smaller bag from its powdery contents. The girl stood shivering by the hearth, an untouched cup of Rona’s herbal brew steaming between her hands. She thought, perhaps, that one sip might transform her into a newt or a toad.