The Silver Witch

I can hear the smile in his voice. ‘Ah, I am not engaged in hunting this day, my Prophet.’ He treads through the undergrowth and comes to stand beside me.

Only now do I face him. He is dressed casually, his hair hanging forward to partly cover his dark eyes. He wears no mail and carries no shield, but bears his sword on his hip. His smile broadens.

‘Have you come, then, to check for invading armies?’ I ask. ‘If so I fear you will be disappointed, for I have not seen a single Viking all morning,’ I tell him.

‘What Viking would dare confront Seren Arianaidd, even with an army?’

I glance in the direction he has come from, but cannot see any more riders.

‘You appear to have lost your own men,’ I point out. ‘Some might consider that a careless action for a prince.’

‘I rode alone.’

I do not ask why. I can see he is hoping I will do so, but I will not play his game. I busy myself with picking more plants, as if his business is of no concern to me. In truth I know he has sought me out. In my chest, my heart gallops, threatening to betray my feelings. Does he truly know me? Can he see the longing inside me? If so, why does he torment me, for we both know we can never be more than we are to each other.

He follows me. ‘Are you not curious?’ he asks. ‘Have you no interest in your prince’s reasons for being alone in the woods? I would know what brings you here.’

‘I mind my business,’ I reply, giving him a stern look over my shoulder. ‘Most people of good sense would do the same.’

He laughs off the rebuke.

‘Very well, seeing as how you wish to know … I saw a lone figure taking the path alongside the lake, and to my surprise I knew it to be my Seer. What is this? I asked myself. What manner of emergency can compel Seren Arianaidd to go about beneath the brightest sun we have seen in many a long week? Seren who favors moonlight for her excursions almost exclusively.’ When I do not respond to this he goes on. ‘I had to find out for myself what it was that brought you from your solitary home. What is it that calls you to the trees when the sun is at its highest and the light is so sharp and so hot?’ He steps in front of me and stares at my hair as a shaft of that same sunshine falls through the boughs above and illuminates me. ‘You are a very vision yourself,’ he murmurs.

Does he know that last night his wife came to me for help? I doubt it. She will not have discussed the matter with him. Her humiliation runs deep enough as it is. I could tell him, tell him that the reason I am gathering ingredients for a vision quest and a spellcasting is to make his seed quicken in the belly of his princess. I could. But I will not.

‘I was about my work,’ I say. ‘If you will stand aside, I would continue.’

But he does not stand aside. Instead he moves closer and stretches one arm out against the trunk of the silver birch to my left. ‘I would detain you but a moment more,’ he says gently. I keep my gaze fixed on the ground at our feet as he slowly, cautiously, reaches forward and touches my pale hair, letting his fingers follow its sweep down onto my shoulders. Onto my breast. His fingertips stray across to the narrow gap of bare skin my tunic reveals at my throat. His touch is warm. ‘You are like … no other,’ he says. ‘You are moonlight made flesh.’

I raise my face and force myself to look into his eyes. And he to look into mine. He does not flinch, only returns my stare with such intensity I fear for an instant that my own resolve might weaken. That I will let down my guard and reveal the depth of my own feverish wishes. But I must not. Still I do not trust myself to speak, for a woman’s heart can be a faithless mistress of her mind, and her tongue is more than able to betray them both!

The prince, too, stands silent for a moment, but then words come tumbling from his hungry mouth. ‘Do you not know that my mind is filled with you? When men speak to me I do not hear their voices, but yours. I see not their faces, but your own. In sleep there is no escape, for you haunt my dreams. And what dreams they are! You and I … alone…’

‘My Lord, you must not say these things.’

‘I must speak what is in my heart, else it will burst!’

‘You are a prince and should have command of your heart at least.’

‘I have not! It is in your thrall. You have bewitched me.’

‘I would not misuse my gifts so!’

‘And yet it is the truth. Whether you bring it about with purpose or not. I am a man sick with passion…’

‘You are not a man!’ I insist. ‘You are protector of your people. Ruler of this land. Husband to your wife.’

‘Yes, I am all these, and yet I am good for none of them if my soul is in torment.’

‘Do not speak to me of souls. Your pain lies a little farther south of your heart, I believe.’