Chapter Five Kit #2
The darkness is heavy and still in the height of summer, and the air smells of a storm.
The goodman of Kelda readies his yole for one last try at the herring before the rain comes in.
But as he is bent over his boat’s knots, he hears the sudden ring of laughter.
He lifts his eyes and sees movement on the rocks farther down the shore.
There is more laughter, and music. He thinks of the youths in town out to cause trouble, and he sneaks across the length of beach.
This is his land and his sea, and he will not abide mischief.
But when he reaches the turn in the coast and peers over the edge of a dune, he freezes in place.
The women dancing on the sand are none of his kind.
They are white as the crest of a wave with hair long and salt-tangled.
And when the goodman of Kelda looks to the rocks where they’d scrambled in from the sea, he sees a pile of seal skins, and he knows these are selkies.
He creeps to the pile, but a clumsy step gives him away.
The selkie women run for their skins. He is closer and manages to snatch one first: a skin as golden-brown as the hay in his fields.
The selkie maidens each take their own and, donning their skins like cloaks, vanish into the black water.
All except one, left shivering and naked on the shore.
Tears fall from her big brown eyes, and she begs, “Please give me back my skin. I cannot go home without it.”
The goodman of Kelda takes in the sight of her, and the more he looks the more he wants. He puts the skin in his bag and turns home. Crying, she must follow.
“He hid the skin away, and the selkie had no choice but to be his wife,” Catharine reads. “Soon they had seven children.”
I pull the blanket tighter. I wait with the selkie maiden, breathless with pain, knowing how selkie stories end. Willing her to her ending.
The smallest child is near five when she and her mother are left alone in their croft.
The selkie wife settles her daughter by the fire and begins a search—a search she’s made every time she has a moment to herself.
She checks cupboards and chests and loose stones in the floor.
Her daughter watches and asks what her mother is looking for.
“A seal skin,” she says, “as golden as the water in the evening.”
“I’ve seen one such,” the daughter says. “Da takes it down sometimes to gaze at.”
“Where?” the mother asks, and her daughter tells her. He has hidden it in a hollow near the ceiling in the bedroom. Just as the daughter tells her, so it is. The selkie woman kisses her child, takes her skin, and flees to the sea.
The goodman of Kelda, just then rounding the headland in his yole, sees a seal golden as the hay of his field dive into the waves.
“And he never does see his selkie wife again,” Catharine concludes.
I smile down at my tea. Catharine—and the writer themselves—almost sound sad about this ending. But the selkie and I know it is a happy one. She is free.
“I don’t think that’s my favorite of the selkie stories,” Catharine says thoughtfully, flipping back through the pages. “The man is kinder in the other versions.”
“But doesn’t he take her skin in every one?” I ask.
Catharine twists her mouth, considering. “I’m not sure. I know in the mermaid stories, there’s at least one where he catches but releases the maiden and later she returns the favor.”
I shift and rub my eyes, rousing myself from my thoughts. “So the islands have selkies and mermaids?”
“Oh, they have plenty of magical creatures.” Catharine tallies them on her hand, her voice growing more animated as she goes. “Mermaids, finfolk, selkies. And then on land, there’s trows and fairies and hogboons … They all get grouped together as the Hidden Folk.”
I could remind her that we live in a world of carriages, tea, and whist. That if there ever was magic in our land, it died long ago. But I smile. “I hope the islands are as enchanted as you think.”
“I might not be there long enough to find out.” Catharine sighs at the ceiling. “I wish everyone would understand—Prince Idris doesn’t have to propose to me. He might not want to.”
I prod her arm. “Well, you’ll get the chance to look, proposal or not.”
Catharine tucks her book against her chest. “I just want to believe there’s some magic left in the world.”
“All right.” I lean my head on her shoulder. “You believe in that, and I’ll believe in you.”
Time passes faster than I thought possible, and I still do not have a plan ready the day before Catharine is meant to leave.
King Byrne has not changed his mind about me staying, and I haven’t made up my mind about how to escape.
In some ways, I wish I were like the selkie maiden—that I could grab a skin and vanish into the water.
As I prepare to join the others for breakfast, I consider my options.
I could run away and hide until my mother returns.
But the weather is cold and the days dark, and it will only become colder and darker.
And even if I survived on my own, my reputation would be ruined.
King Byrne could use that to his advantage.
I could go after Catharine and Mother and simply claim the king changed his mind. But one message from my stepfather and the ruse would be undone. Still, maybe between us, we could make some excuse for why I could not travel back to him? I could fall ill, or break my ankle, or …
Exhaling, I tap a rhythm onto my collarbone. If Mother would give me a sense of what she has planned, this would all be much easier. But she has refused to speak of it, no matter how often I ask.
I join Catharine in the hallway, and we link arms as we head to breakfast. Catharine talks about a book she’s reading and an amusing dream she had, small nothings that help my frantic thoughts settle. Before we can get to the breakfast room, Mother steps in our way.
“I need you both to come to town with me,” Mother says with a smile. “Kit, your new pelisse should be ready to be collected, and Catharine could use a warm blanket for the carriage ride.”
“Oh!” I exclaim, hope blooming in my chest. Perhaps this is part of her plan? “Very well.”
“Of course,” Catharine agrees. She glances past my mother to where her father sits with his breakfast, his eyes on a report.
Squaring her shoulders, Catharine walks to her father. She places one hand on his arm, and I flinch even though it is not me who touches him. I wonder how it is that one person can feel so strongly, so horribly about a thing, and the other be completely oblivious.
King Byrne glances up. He only ever looks kind when he faces her. “What is it, Catharine?”
“I am nervous,” she says plaintively. “Nervous to go alone to the north.”
“Your stepmother will be going with you.” He pats her hand.
“I wish Kit could come.” Catharine puts on all her charm. Her lip seems to quiver. Her eyes are downcast and begging. I wonder if she’s only doing it for my sake, or if she really does need me with her. I selfishly wish that she does.
“I’ve told you, she must remain here,” my stepfather says patiently. “You won’t be with strangers—you know the princes and their father, and everyone else you meet is sure to love you. You have no reason to fear.”
I wonder what it would be like: to actually fear nothing.
To grow up without worrying about your father’s health, or your mother’s finances, or your stepfather’s behavior, or your withering hands.
But then, even I have it better than many.
Not only do I have a roof, but I have a castle.
I have education and skills. I have Catharine.
I know my stepsister has attempted several times now to convince her father to let me come, but this is the first time she’s tried in front of me.
“Kit is vital to me,” Catharine says, in the closest thing I’ve ever heard her come to a commanding tone. “I need her to come.”
Her father smiles, indulgent. “You will be parted soon enough, my lovely. Best get used to it now.” He plants a kiss on her hand—I grimace—and shoos her away. “Go and help your stepmother. Enjoy the day. Tomorrow you’ll be off, and with any luck you won’t be back for quite a while.”
Catharine turns to me with an apology in her eyes. I dip my head, trying to show her that it is all right. I will just have to get myself out of this.
As Catharine returns to the hallway, my stomach tightens with hunger. Turning to my mother, I ask, “Should we eat before we set out?”
“We’ll find something in town,” Mother says lightly. “Will you be all right to wait? Have neither of you eaten since last night?”
“No, Your Majesty,” Catharine says. I nod in confirmation.
My mother looks pleased. “Good.”
The carriage is already in the courtyard.
Catharine and I slide into one side, intertwining our arms for extra warmth.
Mother sits opposite us, turning her face to the window.
She has one hand clenched on her lap, and her eyes are unusually bright.
I frown. Mother enjoys town and shopping, especially now that we have funds, but she radiates a strange, eager energy.
If I had been alone with her, I would have asked.
If I had been alone with Catharine, we would have talked.
But with Catharine and Mother in the same place, any familiarity with one feels like a betrayal of the other.