Nadya didn’t even look up from her stitches. “There is no tracking mark on you anymore. I took it off when we first found you.”
“There’s no way to remove a tracking potion, and believe me, I was tagged.”
Nadya’s eyes twinkled. “It’s always fun to spend time with young people.” She shook her head. “Always think they know everything. There are more things in this world that you don’t know than you will ever imagine.”
“How? Did you concoct a counter-potion?”
“No, actually, it was a bit of witchcraft.”
Kyra heard herself gasp. “I thought you were a potioner.”
“Now, don’t go getting that look of utter fear on your face—it’s a very uncommon bit of witchcraft. You aren’t going to find many other witches who know it, if any.”
“But a witch can’t—”
“I can’t be both witch and potioner?”
“No.” Kyra shook her head violently.
“Of course I can. And so can you.” Nadya picked up another piece of cloth. “Just touch the spark inside of you for a moment, and you’ll know that what I say is true.”
Kyra couldn’t help herself; she immediately tried to shut down the feeling from that place inside her—the place she’d tried to eradicate. “How did you know?”
“I’m a Seer too.”
Kyra picked up the pillowcase Nadya had sewn and ran her fingers over the small perfect stitches. “What coven did you train with?”
“I didn’t. Not in the way you’re thinking. I spent time with a Gypsy potioner, and some more time with a Gypsy witch.” Nadya set her work down and smiled at Kyra. “Look, I don’t know what you’re running from, and I haven’t pried using my Sight. But I can offer you shelter and training, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you found yourself some companionship among the tribe, either.”
Kyra made to stand up. “I can’t—”
“Sit. There’s no hurry to make a decision,” Nadya said. “I’m not saying it’s an easy life. Moving around as much as we do has its challenges, but it might be better than where you’re coming from.”
Kyra trembled all over. The horizon stretched out in front of her.
A new life.
But…
“You know what helps me make decisions?” Nadya said. “A good sweat. Nothing clears the mind like a really hot steamy sauna.”
Kyra felt completely naked when, after dinner that night, she wrapped herself in nothing but a sheet and made her way across the encampment to a small caravan with smoke pouring out of the chimney. But no one gave her a second glance.
She stepped inside the sauna and was smacked by a wave of intense heat. A bench ran along one wall, a wood stove across from it. The door closed, leaving her in complete darkness. She sat on the bench and her eyes began to adjust. The stove flamed and crackled in front of her, radiating more heat than she had ever felt in her life.
Kyra had never especially liked heat, always sought shade on hot days, and never liked overheated rooms. But this was different. The steamy heat overwhelmed her, and soon an extraordinary feeling spread through her limbs. She lay down on the long bench, stretching her body out full length.
The instant her head touched the bench, she felt herself falling back—back into a memory.
It was after she’d left Hal and moved back to Wexford to be closer to Ariana. After she’d had her vision.
She was standing in front of the queen, in the throne room, her hands clutched tight behind her as she tried to think of the best way to explain what she had to say. “Your Highness, I’m worried about Ariana.”
The queen quirked a razor-thin eyebrow but said nothing.
“She’s not herself at all. There’s something seriously wrong with her.” The queen’s eyes pierced Kyra. Queen Lilly, the Clear-Sighted One, seemed to look right into Kyra’s soul.
“Did Ariana send you? Is this her latest scheme to get out of marriage and her duty to her country?” Obviously the queen had no idea what was going on with Ari.
“Your Highness,” Kyra said, “that’s just it. Ariana doesn’t want to cancel the wedding at all. She seems to be looking forward to it—and we both know that’s not her. Have you seen the new dress she’s designing? It’s bright pink and covered in more ruffles and bows than you’d find on all of the noblewomen’s dresses put together.”
The queen’s response was dismissive. “Not everyone wears green to their wedding, Kyra. Pink has a long tradition. Do you object to a tribute to the Goddess of Love?”
Kyra wanted to scream. The queen was completely missing the point. Was a gaudy pink dress the sort of dress Ariana would ever wear on purpose? “It isn’t just the dress. She barely acknowledges me. I’m lucky to be invited to sit in with her sewing circle. The one time I tried to talk to her alone, she pushed me away. Now she won’t even look at me.”
“Ariana is growing up, Kyra. I appreciate the friendship you’ve shown her over the years, but right now perhaps it’s the ladies in her sewing circle she needs. She’s about to become a married woman and take the first step to ascending the throne. The free-spirited life you lead doesn’t fit who she must become right now.”
Kyra stared at her.
The queen smiled unexpectedly. “She’ll come back to you in the end. Just give her time. Ariana will no doubt see the value in keeping the kingdom’s leading potions weapons master close to her.”
See the value in keeping the kingdom’s leading potions weapons master close to her? Kyra’s knees trembled. The idea that their friendship would be reduced to a wise monarchical business relationship left her with an empty feeling.
The queen was wrong. Kyra knew it. But she couldn’t tell her about her Sight. Kyra would have to save the kingdom—and the princess—another way.
She spent days in the library trying to find some clue as to what had happened to her friend. One by one, she ruled out every possible explanation: it wasn’t a spell, a curse, the effects of a potion.
That left only the possibility of possession. The soul crushed inside the body by the weight of another.
There was no recovery from possession.
Ariana—whoever she now was—remained a threat to the kingdom. She had to be stopped.
And Kyra was going to have to be the one to do it.
She felt again the heat of the sauna and the hard bench beneath her, and for the first time in her life, embraced her spark. Her inner vision flared, this time flinging her forward. Images flooded her mind—some memories, others something more. The leering face of the witch who’d captured her and Fred. Rosie gazing up at her with trusting eyes. Her parents silently eating breakfast together. Fred, all rumpled hair and green eyes, in the garb of a king’s soldier, wielding a full-length fighting staff, its sharp end glowing with a deadly poison.
And she saw the Gypsy band marching north—the apple harvest they’d find that fall, the kitten Nadya would adopt, and most of all, the empty space in the caravan where Kyra was not.
Because she wasn’t going with them.
And she knew it.
Her duty lay with the Kingdom of Mohr.
Kyra felt as though she’d melted into the sauna bench. Light-headed, she got up and stepped outside, welcoming the stinging embrace of the cool spring evening.
“How was it?” Nadya asked from her perch on a bench a few feet from the door. She was whittling a small figure with her knife. “Easier to See?”
Kyra nodded grimly.
Nadya’s cheeks rounded in a smile. “I thought it would be.”
“But horrible,” Kyra added. “Is it always like that? A big rush of random images?”
“Sometimes. With training you can direct it, to bring it out when you want to know something. But it is never an exact art.” Nadya set down her knife. “This doesn’t have to be a burden, but you do need to prepare yourself. The Sight will not be denied. It’s only going to get stronger with each vision you have.”
“I see the future,” Kyra
said. “It just seems so hopeless. Is it set?”
“You see possible futures, but that doesn’t mean the future can’t change. Or be changed.”
“Oh.” Kyra sat down on the wagon steps. “I hope you get the kitten anyway. I think it will be good for you.”
“A kitten?” Nadya’s voice filled with pleasure. “Let’s hope that’s one of your more accurate visions.” She laughed, then grew serious. “When you first came, I had a vision of you. My Sight showed me the potioners’ tag on you, of course, but there was more.”
Kyra hugged herself in a sudden chill breeze. “What was it?”
“Your life was hanging in the balance—sometimes you fell one way, sometimes another.” Nadya watched Kyra for a moment. “Either way resulted in your death. Is your mission so important that you’ll throw your life away?”
Kyra swallowed. “It is.”
Nadya nodded. “Then I wish you all the luck in the world.” She put down her whittling and walked away.
Kyra picked up the piece of carved wood—it was the figure of a tiny pig, a basket slung below its snout, a smile on its face. She grinned and clutched it in her fist.
A little extra luck definitely couldn’t hurt.
THE NEXT DAY, Kyra pinned the scrap of green silk into Rosie’s basket, attached her leash, wrapped up some food Nadya had given her, and hefted her pack onto her shoulders. It seemed like every member of the tribe came to hug her good-bye.
Nadya gave her one last squeeze. “Be careful, my dear. The world needs you.”
Kyra hugged her back. “Thank you for everything,” she said, then marched off toward the wavery line on the horizon that marked the border of the bog illusion.
She took a moment to get her bearings, then set the pig down on the ground.
Immediately, Rosie strained at the leash. It looked as though she was pointing right back toward Wexford.
Why was Kyra even surprised? It seemed like her whole life revolved around that city.
She took her time getting back to the capital. She kept their gait slow and made Rosie take frequent rest breaks. Their plodding pace gave her plenty of time to wonder what her vision of Fred had meant. There were lots of reasons why he might be dressed like that, why he’d have a staff.
Since her vision in the sauna, the cracks in the wall she’d built around her witch’s spark had grown. As she’d hugged each of the Gypsies good-bye, images had flickered through her vision. But try as she might, she could not make her Sight do what she wanted.
She couldn’t focus it on Fred.
As Kyra approached the road to Wexford, she put on the glamour of a middle-aged housewife, complete with an apron. Now she just had to hide Rosie. Hal would have spread word that the Princess Killer had a pig.
“Rosie. You’re going to have to hide in my pack. Do you think you can do that?”
Rosie oinked and nudged Kyra with her snout.
Kyra gave her a carrot from the provisions Nadya had given her, tucked the rest in her apron pocket, then picked Rosie up and set her inside atop her things. The pig curled up and sighed.
“You really are a sweetheart.” Kyra loosely fastened the top flap, then hefted the pack onto her back.
Traffic on the road moved slower than the last time she’d entered the city. Up ahead, Kyra could see that there were King’s soldiers everywhere, watching the crowd, occasionally stopping people and questioning them—looking for the Princess Killer. Her pulse beat hard in her veins as she drew closer.
“Hey, you there!” A soldier stepped in front of Kyra.
Kyra stopped and tried to smile. “Yes?”
“Where are you coming from?”
“Littleton.”
“Littleton’s not far. Why do you have such a big pack?” The soldier’s voice was harsh.
“I’m just bringing my cousin some country produce. She loves the roots that grow wild near my house.” She dug a couple of carrots out of her apron pocket.
His eyes glazed over with boredom. “Carry on.”
Kyra let out a breath and passed into the city.
She went first to the small weekday market to gather supplies. Nadya had said her Sight would grow stronger with use, so she decided to test it out. As she stepped between the open-air stalls, she mentally touched the spark within her mind. Visions bombarded her. Not just of the future, but of people’s pasts as well.
She flashed on the old gentleman at the greens counter as a young boy digging in a dirt pile for worms. The little girl at the cheese stand, on the other hand, she saw as an old wrinkled woman on her deathbed. In the bakery, when Kyra went to pay for the bags of dough she’d selected, she almost said, “Congratulations” to the young woman behind the counter. She stopped herself just in time, realizing that just as surely as she knew the woman was pregnant, it was a joyful surprise the woman had yet to discover for herself.
From there she went directly to Fred’s inn. She paused outside his door, her cloth bag of purchases dangling from her arm. She didn’t hear anything.
Kyra knocked and, when no one answered, she broke into his room.
Fred’s room was, thankfully, Fredless.
His bottle of olive oil was still on the counter in the small kitchen area. Perfect. He was out, but he was still staying here.
Kyra got to work, stoking the stove with kindling she found in a bin and rummaging through cabinets and drawers. They were filled with an odd assortment of pots and pans. Glimpses of people who’d used the cookware flickered through her mind’s eye as she touched each item, and she practiced pushing each vision to the back of her mind so that she could focus on her work.
By the time Fred bounded through the door with Langley that evening, Kyra’s housewife glamour had worn off, and the stage was set.
“Kitty?” He dropped his day pack on the chair by the door.
She’d thought she was ready for him, but his face still took her breath away. He wasn’t handsome the way Hal was—Hal was too perfect, too long-lashed, too well-coifed. Fred was beautiful in a completely different, effortless way. His green-gold eyes sent a shiver of happiness down to Kyra’s very core.
Kyra recovered herself. “Thought I’d surprise you!” She threw off the apron she’d borrowed to replace the one that had vanished when her glamour wore off. Underneath it was a floaty white blouse. Kyra never thought she’d feel this way, but it felt nice to wear something soft and light and pretty after months in the same black durable shirt. She looked good.
“Fred, I’m so sorry I stole Rosie away.” She watched to see if he’d heard of the Princess Killer by now. But his face remained blandly happy and impassive.
He sat on a chair at the tiny table and leaned back, his legs out in front of him. “She was your pig. You weren’t really stealing her.” Langley rubbed noses with Rosie.
“You were right—she didn’t belong with a family, and I shouldn’t have given her to them. I realized that I couldn’t live without her, so I stole her back. Anyway, I made you dinner to repay you for all your kindnesses to me.”
“Something does smell good.…” Fred reached down to pet Rosie, who had come over and was anxiously butting her head against his leg and looking up at him with shameless adoration. She settled at his feet. Then Fred stretched his arms overhead, and Kyra caught a glimpse of his flat stomach as his shirt lifted slightly.
She blinked rapidly. That was distracting. “You’re going to love it.”
The room seemed really quite small. Kyra tried to focus her witch’s Sight for a moment to see if it would tell her anything about the mysterious man in front of her. Nothing so much as flickered in her vision. What good was this power if she couldn’t control it?
She turned to the counter and began cutting slices of the steaming-hot strudel she’d cooked—layers of fresh spring spinach and salty cheese wrapped in a light flaky dough.
Fred came up behind her, his hand gentle on her back as he leaned over her shoulder to look at what she’d made. “Wow. That loo
ks delicious.”
Kyra caught the scent of him, all spicy and woodsy, and had to keep herself from burying her face in his hair. Then he leaned over and landed a tiny kiss on her cheek, below her left eye, sending a spark right down to her toes.
It was only a kiss. A tiny little butterfly kiss. Kyra could handle that.
She loaded up two plates with strudel and mounds of fresh-herb-and-tangy-olive salad while Fred spread a blanket on the floor between the bed and the table. “Table’s too small for two.”
Kyra brought the plates over and gingerly set one down in front of Fred and another across from him.
Then, settled on the floor with the animals beside them, they ate.
Kyra was in a tiny pocket of goodness that she wanted to savor before it was gone.
She enjoyed every last morsel of the meal she’d made. Fred was strangely quiet, offering compliments to her cooking, but mostly focusing on the food in front of him. “It’s good,” he said, more than once.
Then it was time for dessert.
Kyra was really proud of it. She put a heaping plateful in front of Fred. “Homemade springberry pie.”
He smiled at her, his fork poised in his hand. “You really didn’t have to do all this, Kitty. But I’m glad you did.”
“Eat up!” Kyra gestured with the pie knife.
He took a big bite. “Come sit next to me.” Fred patted the blanket beside him, and Kyra scootched over. He put his free arm around her.
He took another bite. Two. “You’re a great cook. Your talents are wasted on the dairy industry.”
He ate a couple forkfuls more, then swallowed and set down his silverware. He leaned toward her and pressed his lips against hers.