Grayling’s skin prickled with unease. So others besides her mother were spellbound. Was it everywhere?
“I agree with Hannah Strong,” the old woman continued. “’Tis likely that the malevolent force is after the grimoires. But what it wants with them, I do not know.” She shook her head again. “I be Auld Nancy, and it may be you and I are all the cunning folk left. Two of us against smoke and shadow. ’Twill not be a fair fight.”
“We are three,” came a whisper. “I am here too.” From behind a gooseberry hedge, a plump young girl in a russet tunic and striped stockings showed herself. Below her linen cap, her fine yellow hair hung stringy and wet, and a few drops dribbled from her cold-reddened nose.
“Yes, Pansy, you are here too.” The old woman rolled her eyes skyward and muttered to Grayling, “Her mother, my niece, is most exasperated with the girl and asked me to look after her for a bit. Blanche is the county’s most renowned reader of palms, but she says she can teach the girl nothing, awkward as she is, and foolish, and sullen.”
Pansy drew closer. Her face was as white and puffy as risen bread dough, and Grayling thought that if she poked it with her finger, the poke would remain. Pansy wiped her nose on her sleeve and looked down at her feet. Poor girl, Grayling thought. I know what it is like to have a mother who thinks you lacking.
The old woman coughed softly before raising her voice again. “Now, I need me a mug of honey mead and a sausage bun ere we talk more.”
“I see an inn,” said Grayling, pointing across the square.
“Hmmph,” said the old woman. “’Tis likely crowded with folks escaping the rain.” To Grayling’s amazement, Auld Nancy plucked an ember from the blacksmith’s forge with her fingertips. Chanting deep and low, words and sounds Grayling could not identify, the old woman tossed the ember into the air and shook her broom. At once the rain stopped, the clouds moved on, and a sun like summer fired the sky.
Grayling’s jaw dropped. Auld Nancy had magic! Were it for good or ill? Grayling peered into the woman’s face. She did not look wicked or harmful, just old and sour. Did her magic extend only to banishing rain? Or could she be the one to unroot Hannah Strong and vanquish the evil that came as smoke and shadow?
“I am not that kind of witch,” said Auld Nancy, as if she read Grayling’s thoughts. “Folks call me weather witch, but I have only homely hedge-witch magic—finding lost dogs and cats, calling forth thunder, ripening fruit, stopping rain, and such.” She raised her broom like a battle flag and marched toward the inn, which was rapidly emptying as folks sought the sunshine. “Still, my skills, humble though they be, serve me. We shall have no trouble finding a place to sit now.”
They followed her, Pansy tripping over her feet and Grayling trailing after, curious and wary. She had been inside an inn but once, for her mother said, “We may as well spread mustard on our pennies and eat them as give them to an innkeeper.”
Behind a tall door bound with hinges of iron, the inn was dim and musty, redolent with the smell of wet wool, old wood, and older dirt. The windows were sooty and begrimed, but lanterns hung from the ceiling and a fire gave off welcome light. The three settled themselves around a table with vacant benches. A small pig was roasting on a spit inside the large hearth. Dripping fat sizzled in the flames, and the aroma drove all worry from Grayling’s belly, leaving hunger behind. Auld Nancy produced a handful of copper coins, and sausages, pork ribs, fresh bread, and cool mead were brought to their table.
A gleam of sunshine peeked in as the door opened. The innkeeper scurried over to a tall woman wrapped in shawls and scarves and veils of amethyst and amber and cornflower blue. He bowed and simpered and groveled, and Grayling was lost in wonder. Who was this woman? Someone important, or wealthy, or powerful, belike.
“Enchantress,” muttered Auld Nancy, watching. “You cannot trust enchanters. They be cruel and selfish, vessels of trickery, guile, and deceit. Their enchantments do not last, but beware, beware.” She took a sip of her mead and then said slowly, “Still, she may know something of the state of the kingdom.”
The woman approached their table, her skirts and scarves swirling as she moved, the innkeeper bobbing behind. She pushed aside her veil to speak, and Grayling gasped. Never had she seen someone so lovely, skin as creamy soft and brown as the wings of a new-fledged sparrow, hair a vast dark cloud about her head, eyes as deep with mystery and promise as a summer night sky. Blue designs of moons and stars were inked on her cheeks, and rings of gold twinkled at her ears. Grayling wanted nothing more than to sit near the woman forever. The fire burned brighter, the mead tasted sweeter, the air was fresher, and her companions were more—