Chapter Five Kit #3
I tighten my hand on Catharine’s arm, wondering for the first time if I am not the only one at risk if left alone with one of our parents.
I am not sure what sort of harm my mother would cause—certainly not the same as the king—but she has always been estranged from my stepsister.
I can’t place exactly when it started, but I feel it happened round the first time I met Catharine.
I remember the way Catharine grabbed my hands, laughed over our shared name, and declared us sisters with such enthusiasm that I instantly believed her.
I remember grinning and looking to my mother for her approval. And I remember her frown.
The trip to town passes without incident.
The pelisse fits me fine. A blanket is found for Catharine.
Breakfast is never brought up. Catharine stops near a vendor with a spread of nuts and small pastries on display.
It feels silly to me to spend money on what I might easily find in the fields, but I take a handful of hazelnuts and hold out a coin.
Catharine reaches for one of the pastries.
“Now, girls, there’s no need for that,” Mother says suddenly, touching the back of my hand to signal I should release the nuts. “We’ll be home in no time. I’ll have Cook make you a grand midday meal.”
“But you said …” I begin. My mother just taps my hand again in a short, firm pattern. I release the nuts one by one—but keep two hidden in my palm. I set down a coin as I turn away from the puzzled vendor. Catharine walks beside me as we follow Mother to the carriage.
I put my hand out and press one of the nuts to Catharine’s palm. She glances at me and smiles, but doesn’t take it.
“I still don’t like nuts, Kit,” she whispers. “Besides, I’m not hungry.”
Her stomach growls right then, and she grimaces. I hold back a laugh, but I slip the nuts into my reticule and pull the drawstring to close it. If she won’t eat, I can last longer.
We catch up with my mother as she places the folded blanket inside the carriage. “You know,” she says, turning toward us, “the weather is remarkably fine today. Why don’t we walk back?”
She’s right about the weather—the sun has made a rare appearance, and though the wind is as cold as ever, in the sunlight the day feels almost balmy. But it’s a good hour’s walk home, and my stomach tightens at the thought.
“I’d rather ride,” I admit. “We could walk after lunch.”
Mother gives me a disappointed look.
Catharine must see it, because she jumps in. “Kit can take the carriage, and I will walk with you. It is turning into a lovely day.”
Mother’s expression sours even more. I feel for Catharine—she can never seem to gain my mother’s approval, even if all she has done is agree with what Mother already said.
“I think you should both come,” Mother says, looking at me firmly. “The walk will do you good.”
I frown back at her. Perhaps she means this as part of her plan, whatever it is, that’s meant to keep me safe? She’s been behaving strangely all day. A fragment of hope sneaks back into my chest. Yes, that’s the only reason she would be so demanding about this. My hunger can wait.
“Very well.” I take Catharine’s arm. “If you insist.”
The carriage goes on ahead. As we walk, my new pelisse swishes against my skirt. The narrow cut keeps the wind from pulling it off, the way it does with a cloak, and I relish the protection it offers. My mother takes the lead at a brisk walk, while Catharine and I trail behind.
“What other stories have you gleaned about the far north?” I ask her.
“Oh, plenty,” Catharine answers. “I finished that book and came to an author’s note at the end.
Apparently, the writer—named Muir—has been gathering tales for the last fifty-odd years.
But“—she casts me a triumphant look—”not all the stories are even as old as that.
Some of them happened in the last decade! ”
“Hmmm.” I tilt my head. “It might be in the best interests of his sales to say so.”
Catharine shakes her head. “Magic still exists up there in the north. I’m sure of it.”
I let myself imagine it: a place where selkies, mermaids, and goblins roam.
Where one might go to church on a Sunday morning and have a chat with a fairy on a Sunday afternoon.
I wonder whether the princes might have had any dealings with them.
Perhaps Idris has his own tall tales. Whether true or not, I find myself wanting to hear him tell them. It would undoubtedly be entertaining.
I open my mouth to coax Catharine into a story, but my gaze catches on Mother ahead of us.
We are well out of town now, on a stretch of track bordered on one side by evergreens.
Mother has stopped and is speaking with an oddly dressed man.
I don’t recognize him. He must have come from the forest, because I would have seen his approach from a mile off on the road.
Catharine and I exchange a curious look and walk faster. The two of them turn to us as we approach. The man is younger than I expected, perhaps a little younger than me. His skin is a coppery dark, but his eyes are strangely bright, almost orange.
“These are the daughters?” he asks Mother. “The Katherines?”
His voice lilts in a musical accent, almost a song. He’s dressed in an odd, old-fashioned way—a green coat that comes almost to his knees and sleeves that flare out from elbow to wrist. The fabric shimmers like a fish scale when he shifts his weight.
“My daughter Katherine.” Mother lifts her hand to me. She turns her hand to Catharine, and her tone grows cold. “My stepdaughter Catharine.”
“Good afternoon,” Catharine says, dipping a curtsy. Even though she has the presence of mind to be polite, I notice her staring at the man’s coat. Belatedly, I mirror her greeting.
“And they have not eaten?” he continues.
“No.” Mother asks the young man, “Can you do it, Speir?”
Her use of his first name catches my attention. No formal title—Mr. Stranger or Lord Traveler—just a familiar address, as if they’ve known each other for a while. Or as if he doesn’t have a last name at all.
His uncanny eyes fix on me. I feel as if he sees through my very skin, down to my bones. Unnerved, I tuck my warped hands behind my back. The joints ache as I link my fingers together.
“You are lucky in their names. A name shared is not so different from a soul.” He smiles. “Yes, I can do it. This will be interesting.”
I look to my mother, wondering if she’s going to explain any of this—or even formally introduce us to this man. Her eyes are lively, her cheeks rosy. She’s animated in a way I’ve never seen before.
“Mother?” I venture.
“The price is still acceptable?” Speir asks her.
My mother nods. “Yes. Come in five months.”
Dread rises in my throat. This feels like one of Catharine’s stories.
Bargains made with a passerby on the road, men with strange names and mystical looks.
This is all part of the plan Mother has alluded to, I’m nearly certain, but it doesn’t feel right.
More urgently I ask, “Mother, what is going on?”
Speir’s eyes crinkle in mischief, and he steps off the path, walking into the trees without a glance behind him. Mother takes my hand and follows without answering. I grab Catharine, pulling her close to me.