The two moved quickly through the woods, trying to make as little noise as possible. Rowan noticed that Jude winced with pain as they went, but he seemed intent on hurrying, so she didn’t try to slow him. She smelled the smoke from Mama Lune’s fireplace before she saw the cottage, and when she did, she increased her pace. It was a pretty stone thing with a thatched roof, set back against a mossy glade. Before they could knock, Mama Lune opened the door. Behind her, Rowan could see Mama Tetri, her dark skin even more lovely illuminated by the firelight within.
“You’ve come,” Mama Tetri said, smiling. “I’m so pleased to see you.”
Sweeping forward, the Bluewitch took Rowan by the hands. She looked at her as if she were looking at her own child, then pulled her close and held her in her arms. “Come,” she said. “Come, my child. Sit with me by the fire, and we will have our talk.”
Mama Lune’s eyes moved to Jude’s swollen face. “What happened?” she cried, and when he removed his coat to reveal his blood-soaked shirt, she gasped. “Who did this to you?”
“It’s complicated,” Jude said, looking away, and Rowan wondered whether he was protecting his brother or was ashamed.
“You come with me,” Mama Lune said, putting her arm around him as if she were holding an injured bird. “This will need a plaster. Rowan and Mama Tetri have much to discuss. We will join them once we have you fixed up.”
Rowan watched as he was ushered from the room, and she realized her heart was breaking for him, for no matter what he might say or do, the boy loved his brother, and to have his love met with such violence could not have been easy for him.
“He will be fine,” said Mama Tetri, her voice soothing. Rowan had not expected witches to be like this. She had not expected mothering tones and quietly burning fires. She followed Mama Tetri to the hearth and took a seat in a comfortable wooden chair.
“I am so pleased you’ve finally come to hear. Mama Lune feared you never would.”
Rowan shifted uneasily in her seat. “In the village, she told me something—something I could not believe—that you said sooth for my mother when she was pregnant with me.”
“I did,” Mama Tetri said, and Rowan fought the urge to argue with her, for whatever prejudice she had against the witches seemed moot now. “We were children together—your mother and her brother, Pimm, and I. When she found she was with child, it was only right that I should come say sooth for her. Do you know what sooth is, my child?”
“It’s like a prophecy,” Rowan said, squinting. “Right?”
The witch smiled. “A little. It’s a blessing, really, but often there are bits of prophecy involved. Sometimes a witch will see things when she lays her hands. Sometimes these things cannot be easily explained. This was the case with you.”
“What did you see?” Rowan asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice.
The woman pursed her lips. “It was strange. When I lay the hands, it was as if half of you was blocked from me. I had never seen the like, though I tried not to convey my worry to your mother. I stayed through your nesting—you know, when you were small, you had the most lovely red cheeks; they were like fires burning beneath your skin—and I tried to divine what I could not see in your sooth. I looked in the waters, but they did not speak to me. After your mother was settled, I moved on, and when I had the opportunity, I held conference with an older witch who was more experienced in birthing matters, and she helped me to understand. She explained that this could happen when siblings’ destinies are extremely closely linked. I’ve seen it a few times since. If the path of the first child is determined by the birth of the second, then it will be impossible to see the complete picture for the first until the second has survived the birthing process. All became clear when your mother called for me to say sooth again within the year.”
Rowan shook her head. “But my mother died in childbirth. I don’t have a sibling.”
Mama Tetri smiled. “Of course you do. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“But I don’t,” Rowan repeated, her muscles tensing. I am an only child. My mother died in childbirth.”
“Yes, my child. She died just after giving birth, but not to you. You were only a little over a year old. Tell me, do you sometimes dream of your mother?”
Rowan nodded, pain gripping her heart as she thought back to her dreams of her mother and the wooden egg.
“Those aren’t dreams, child. Those are memories. You knew your mother.”
“I did?” Rowan asked, a wisp of a memory floating past her mind’s eye—her mother’s warm breath upon her face, a slant of light through a diaphanous curtain.
“You did,” Mama Tetri said. “The destiny I saw when I said sooth the second time was that together you and your sister would eventually bring the downfall of both your parents. By the time I reached your mother, when I said sooth for her, she was already ill, and with this second pregnancy, her fortune was set. I could see clearly now that both parents were destined to die as a result of it. I had to tell your mother. It was my duty. Your mother, she didn’t believe it, and when your father talked of separating the two of you—of sending the baby to your mother’s brother as soon as she was born—your mother wouldn’t hear of it.”
“The baby lived?” Rowan asked, the words tumbling from her lips like apples from a cloth sack.
“The baby lived,” said the witch.
Rowan’s eyes grew wide, the truth suddenly upon her.
“Fiona Eira?” Rowan said, the name wounding her heart as she spoke it. “Fiona Eira is my sister?” She was stunned, and yet on some level, she’d always known. She’d always sensed her absence, and that day standing on the path, she’d been so familiar. When Fiona had died, the grief had nearly torn her apart, although she’d had no idea why.
“She begged your father not to separate you, and he promised her he wouldn’t, but still,” continued Mama Tetri, “your mother, she feared for her children. She feared that with such dark fortunes, harm was bound to come to you both. So upon her deathbed, while she stared down at Fiona Eira’s snow-white face, and while she caressed your rosered cheeks, she spoke these words: ‘You two shall have each other forever so long as you live. What one has she must share with the other.’ When your mother died, your sister’s fate was sealed. Your father sent the girl away to your mother’s brother, Pimm, and his wife, Malia, with instructions never to bring her to Nag’s End.”
“Why?” Rowan asked, shaking her head. “Why are you telling me this?”
“When I first returned to Nag’s End, it was because I saw in the waters that the sisters were to be reunited, and I feared what might come of it. I wanted to speak to you because I thought you might listen, but since then, much has changed. Outcomes are very uncertain.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Rowan saw Jude and Mama Lune standing at the edge of the room. Jude looked at her with deep concern in his eyes, and she wondered how much he’d heard.
“Do you know?” Rowan asked the witches. “Do you know that Fiona Eira walks again?”
Mama Tetri nodded. “We have discovered this, yes.”
“We know about her,” said Mama Lune, coming closer. “And we know about the beast she commands.”
“I’ve seen it,” Rowan said, shivering at the memory of it. “It’s awful—a monster of death.”
Mama Tetri nodded. “I’ve seen it as well—in the water, and we’ve heard it, moving through the trees at night.”
“Tell me,” Rowan said, a connection beginning to form in her head. “Was her rising the work of a Greywitch?”