‘How can you be touching this thing?’

Peony looks down in revulsion, and Orchid cannot blame her. The creature is disgusting.

‘Someone has to,’ Pine says, but Orchid can tell she is queasy, too. It’s hard to hear — Orchid’s ears are still ringing — but she tries her best to understand the words, half-lip-reading as Pine continues, ‘It’s all alone, and it’s cold here. We must help it.’

‘What is it?’ Plum asks. ‘You heard its voice, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but it’s not as if it introduced itself, you know. It was only a call. But I think I’ve read about these creatures. It’s a being from far west, a horned horse of sorts.’

Orchid squints at the creature’s head, and can just make out a tiny bump right above its eyes. The Princess steps a bit closer, seeming cautious but interested.

‘Far west?’ Iris asks. ‘What would it be doing here, then?’

‘I think it got lost.’ Pine decides she has put enough leaves around the tiny creature, and picks it up — a sad little bundle, swaddled in green. The creature has stopped crying, but that is somehow more worrying. ‘They begin as spirits, you see, traveling with the wind until they move on to take this shape next. The winds must’ve brought it further than planned.’

‘The spring was windy,’ Magnolia agrees.

‘But what are we to do with it now?’ Peony asks. ‘We’re not its mother. We have no milk for it. Does it even take milk?’

‘That wasn’t in the book I read.’ Pine gets up, cradling the creature in one arm, and leaning on Plum with the other. ‘We’ll have to experiment to work it out. I will take it home.’

Orchid feels relieved at this, but suddenly Iris speaks out—

‘It’s not yours to take! It called on all of us. It belongs to all of us.’

‘You can come along, then,’ Pine says with a shrug. ‘It’ll be better that way, actually, because I really need to rest. Could someone carry it for me, please?’

They exchange glances, and Magnolia takes the bundle. It moves a little as she does this, then stills again.

Pine starts the walk downhill and towards the village, and the others follow. Without the eerie lights, the forest appears normal again. Beyond the circle of light from the lamp, nothing can be seen in the deep shadows, but the sky has begun to lighten. Orchid checks the oil in the lamp. It has almost run out, but with the dawn near it should be enough.

It is only a summer night, but they have been out for much too long, and by now Orchid can feel the cold lodged deep in her bones. The road is not very rocky, nothing compared to the city — or so she imagines — but even so every step hurts. The girls are not used to walking barefoot much — not here, where winters are long, and springs and autumns hopelessly muddy. Every fallen needle pricks like a metal pin, but Orchid trudges on, trying to think as little as possible, to avoid concentrating on the pain. She can hear their steps, shuffling along the track through the quiet woods. The Princess walks by Magnolia’s side, silent and uncomplaining, but her sniffles do not sound encouraging. Orchid wishes she could talk to the Princess, to ensure her protection, but there is no way.

What will they find when they reach the village? Magnolia’s worry has found its way into Orchid’s head, and now she cannot shake it off. Will they make it before sunrise, before people start to wake and the Princess can be missed? The sky is deep blue, so there must still be time. Maybe they have a chance.

Orchid is very tired. She did not get enough sleep, and now that is catching up with her. Her perception blurs, and the road seems to take hours under this dark sky. It feels a little like walking the sea depths should be for fishes. How can a summer night be so cold? Her skin has grown numb, and warmth is now like a distant dream, never to come true.

Most of Orchid’s life has felt this way, in recent years, ever since the curse. Her mind is floating as she continues to force her feet onwards. The string of duties never ceases, and each day is the same as the last, or near enough to no longer be distinguishable. She is a dutiful daughter, and so is Peony. They have decided on this path, have chosen it, so there’s no point in protesting now. It is not the hardest of paths — not as if they had to work in a mine or a quarry. They do take some rest, sometimes. They have food and a bit of land, a home to call their own. It could have been far worse. Yet even though Orchid knows all this, sometimes she cannot help wanting to give up. Simply to lie down, and sleep, and never wake up again.

The fields appear in the distance. The forest is ending. Orchid steps out of it with the rest of the girls, walking on legs she no longer feels, whether from cold or sleepiness she is unsure. She can see the village now. The sky has lightened to pale violet, and so she at last snuffs the lamp.

A little down the road, a small side path separates from it, leading to the witches’ hut. They have not yet come to it, but it is already visible, and so Pine says —

‘I should take it to safety.’ She gestures to the creature in Magnolia’s arms. Orchid cannot tell if it is asleep or dead, motionless as it is. ‘But I am worried about you. Magnolia was right. If you face trouble because the Princess was —’

‘There might still be time,’ Peony interrupts. ‘We might make it back before they all wake up.’

But Pine shakes her head.

‘I don’t think any of you are up to running at the moment. And if you walk, you will not be in time. You will be seen.’

‘So what if we are?’ Peony shrugs. ‘Does it matter? We should be able to convince our own fellow villagers to keep quiet.’

‘But we will not convince the guards,’ Plum says grimly, and Peony gives a little groan. ‘They keep watch at night, and even those who do go to sleep still rise with dawn. They may not know yet that she is gone, but they will once they see her with us. And see it they will, too, those on duty at least.’

‘Much good they are at watching if they had not seen her leave,’ Iris mutters.

‘Perhaps they have,’ Orchid says.

‘My point is,’ Pine continues, ‘will it do any good for me to come with you?’

‘Are you up to enchanting a whole division of guards?’ Iris asks.

‘Of course not. But I could —’ Pine nods to the creature.

‘No!’ Magnolia hugs it closer to herself. ‘You cannot show it to them! What if they hurt it, what if they think it’s evil — what if they want to kill it? You cannot let them see it. They won’t understand.’

‘Well then,’ Pine says with a shrug, ‘I will take it home. Iris, you wanted to come take care of it, too?’

Iris hesitates, looking at her sisters.

‘Go,’ Magnolia says. ‘We will be fine.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Iris protests.

‘She will speak up for us,’ Magnolia says quietly. ‘I know she will.’

With that, they all look at the Princess. She seems startled by their stares.

‘What?’ she asks, pulling Pine’s coat tighter around herself. ‘What?’

‘It’s all right,’ Magnolia says, forcing out a smile for her. ‘I know you won’t betray us. I know you care.’

But it seems that the Princess understood something was not quite right about that smile. She looks into their eyes, turning from one to another, as if searching for explanation. But they have none to give her — none that can reach her, at least.

‘Trust her,’ Magnolia says stubbornly. ‘She is on our side.’

‘There is no reason for you to think so,’ Orchid says.

‘I know. That’s what trust means.’

At the fork, they split, and Pine and Iris proceed along the forest edge towards the way to the witches’ hut, while the rest begin the descent towards the village. The Princess walks in the middle, swaddled in her shawl, watching her own feet. She looks worried. She also looks ill, and sniffles even more, now that they’re in the fields and the air has changed.

They enter the village when the sun rises, just as Pine said. But the first golden light of morning falls not on a few sleepy faces, but on a crowd — hushed, fearful crowd of people who clearly had not been to sleep. Orchid stumbles when she sees them, all gathered in their one street. She does not know yet what it means, but it cannot possibly be any good, and terror grips her. Her legs turn heavy as stone, and it is harder than even before to keep on walking.

The others slow down, too.

‘What is it?’ Peony calls out, but a neighbor she addresses backs away mutely, shaking his head. ‘What is going on?’ But the crowd remains silent, only staring at them.

In the quiet, the sound of a door slamming full open comes loud as a thunderclap, and the people flinch. Orchid flinches with them.

Magnolia’s mother runs towards the girls. Her face is pale as cheese, and her dress is crumpled.

‘What is this?’ The words begin in a shriek, but her voice breaks, and she finishes in a furious whisper, ‘Where have you been? Why have you taken her?’

‘We…’ Magnolia begins, but Orchid never finds out what excuse she was intending to offer. The crowd parts to let the guards through, and for a moment Orchid can see nothing but the gleam of a sword. Death in sunlight.

‘There they are,’ the guard with that sword says. His voice is not loud, but it carries. ‘Those who have stolen the Princess. The criminals.’

More swords appear. The crowd draws further back. Orchid feels Peony’s fingers gripping her own, and squeezes back out of habit. What is happening now does not seem real, even though she anticipated this. It was one thing to expect trouble, another to see quite how bad it could be. The guards must have seen the Princess leave, and raised the whole village. They must have had hours to search, and panic, and devise terrible punishments. Bile rises to Orchid’s throat as she remembers some of the rumors. Dying on a sword might be preferable.

The sunlight reflects off steel and right into her eyes, making her squint. Magnolia’s mother is crying. Her own mother must be back home, still, not knowing… Really, it is best that she never knows.

Somebody says something, but it’s too soft to make out the words. A spear lifts to touch Magnolia’s chest, just over her heart, and Orchid can see her shudder. It feels unreal, all of it. Maybe it is all a dream, the whole thing — the lights, the creature, the sunrise and the steel. Let it end, then. Orchid can only hope.

But it doesn’t end. Instead, someone shouts something right next to her ear.

Orchid fails to understand and blames it on her tiredness at first, but then the Princess pushes past her. The guard replies with a bow, but his stare is cool, and his spear remains aloft. The Princess speaks again — a rapid outpouring of words this time, trembling yet forceful. Magnolia smiles through tears, but Orchid can sense no relief yet. For the first time, seeing that man’s face, she wonders if the Princess defending them may not be enough.

At last, the guard lowers the spear, and motions the girls towards the tavern. The Princess steps first, keeping her head high. The other guards move out of her way, but do not sheathe their weapons. The villagers look on.

‘Please take care of our mother,’ Orchid calls out to no-one in particular. Nobody replies or moves at all, and she can only hope they have heard and will heed her. They all know her, but she can understand why they may not want to acknowledge her now. The guard waves the girls on again, more impatiently now, and the girls follow the Princess at what Orchid hopes is a sufficiently respectful distance. The panic has subsided a little, and in the aftershock her whole body is unwieldy. More than anything, Orchid wants to sleep. But she can see now that this will not happen any time soon.

So far, the creature has refused milk, water, fruit, honey and porridge. Iris looks around for more choices.

‘In the cellar,’ Pine calls from the outside, where she stands listening to the air. ‘There’s a barrel of salted beef. Try that.’

Iris climbs down. The beef is packed very tightly, and it takes her a while before she can extricate a piece. She replaces the covers carefully, knowing Pine and her mother will not appreciate it if she lets the thing spoil. Although beef salted so heavily is not likely to spoil for a long while.

‘Where did you get it?’ Iris calls out once she’s back upstairs. ‘The barrel is strange.’

‘It’s from a seafaring friend,’ Pine’s mother replies, stepping inside. ‘Not the most pleasant of foodstuffs, but keeps for ages. Go on, try feeding it. Salt has magical properties, so maybe it will enjoy that.’

But the creature does not. It is too weak yet to stand, too weak even to lift its head, but it still tries to roll away from the beef, staring at it with its huge, grey eyes in such apparent fear as if the beef is about to bite.

‘I guess not,’ Pine’s mother says with a sigh. ‘Seems I’ll have to go get some new options. What have we not tried yet? Carrots? Not likely, I believe, but let’s check.’

While she looks, Pine comes inside, a frown on her face, and Iris forgets the creature immediately.

‘Anything? Are they well? Have they made it?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Pine sits on a stool. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and she blinks heavily, like an owl. ‘I heard… questions, a lot of questions. But no blood.’

‘That means nothing,’ Iris says hotly. ‘So they haven’t been hurt — good, but they’re still in danger! Interrogation is bad news. We should do something.’

‘I agree,’ Pine’s mother says, as she returns with the carrots. ‘But we must be wise. Pine is in no shape to be helpful, right now. And you, Iris sweetling, are too young. I shall go to the village, and check on what is happening.’

‘But if they’re asking,’ Pine protests weakly, ‘they’ll know I was there, too, and they might…’

‘You think I won’t be cautious?’ Pine’s mother smiles. ‘They are no threat to me. I will return. And while I am gone, you must sleep. Both of you.’

‘What about…’ Iris begins, waving towards the creature, but Pine’s mother stops her —

‘Nothing we can do now, it seems. I will search for other alternatives. It must like something. Actually…’

She seems to have had an idea, but at first Iris doesn’t understand what it is, and only watches as Pine’s mother takes a knife. It is one of her spell-knives — smaller than those in the kitchen, and with a blade charmed to repel diseases. She slices across the tip of her finger, and Iris gasps.

‘Blood? Really?’ Pine perks up a little, intrigued. ‘You think it might be?..’

‘Let’s see.’ Pine’s mother stretches her finger towards the creature, and it makes a gurgling sound as it tries to raise its head. With the other hand, Pine’s mother helps it up, and it latches onto her finger, lapping at the dripping blood with its tiny greenish tongue.

Pine looks on with a mixture of fascination and disgust on her face. Iris feels somewhat nauseous, too. The creature takes its time drinking, but eventually it does let go, and its head falls back. It looks at the people still, but its stare seems calm, at last.

‘Well, this is no good,’ Pine says. ‘We can’t just feed it our blood — we can only spare so much. Perhaps we could for now, but not once it grows. Do you think it’ll take animal blood?’

‘That would be the hope,’ Pine’s mother says, as she gets up. ‘I’ll go get that, then.’ Iris stares, captivated, at the wound as it heals right before her eyes. ‘Get some sleep. The wards should warn you if someone comes.’

‘Yes, mother.’ Pine looks longingly at the bed in the corner. ‘Take care, though. All those guards she has…’

‘I am always careful.’

Pine’s mother steps out, and through a window Iris watches her disappear into the forest. The morning sun shines brightly, and the greenery outside looks inviting. Iris can hardly recognize in it the eerie dark world of the night before.

Pine falls onto the bed and slides into sleep moments after, but Iris stays by the window a while longer. She cannot see the village from here, but her heart looks on it nonetheless. Questions, many questions. Well, she has plenty of her own, now, but no way to know the future. Will they answer well? Will they find a path to safety? It can’t be all as bad as Magnolia said. It cannot be. The Princess seemed so reasonable, and fond of them, too — surely she will protect the girls. Still, maybe it would have been better to go with them.

Iris falls asleep where she sits, with her head on the table. The last thing she sees is the creature nibbling at her hair, then spitting it out in distaste. It looks kind of endearing as it does so, like a kitten.

‘I know what I have seen,’ Jade says angrily. ‘I know what happened. I may be unwell, but I am not blind, nor insane, or anything else you seem to imply.’

‘I would never imply anything so untoward with regards to my lady,’ the head guard says, bowing yet again. ‘Nevertheless, it is my duty to doubt this unlikely story. These village louts may have tricked you, may have medicated you…’

‘Louts?’ Jade glares at him — she knows she’s glaring, but he is unperturbed, and this only infuriates her more. ‘They are more educated than you, you know. Haven’t you seen all the books they have here? They’ve read so much. And they’ve been a great help to me. Without them, I would’ve been lost in that forest. They saved me, not hurt me, as you seem to believe for some reason.’

‘My lady does not know this land,’ the guard says, softly but with a certainty Jade hates. ‘These are prideful people, tricky people. Difficult. They have rebelled in the past, and they are barely part of our kingdom even today. They have their own ways, strange ways. Some even say they practice magic, and are not ashamed of it. These are not good people, my lady must understand. If we could’ve taken any other path, could’ve stayed elsewhere, if this forest was not so…’

‘But the forest is so,’ Jade snaps. ‘And they saved me from it, when my fever made me delirious. When it had passed and I found myself alone in that forest — can you imagine how frightening that was, how grateful I was to have them come for me? The least you could do is show them some respect, not shut them in that room as if they were criminals.’

‘But they may be that, my lady. They may still be that.’

‘Didn’t I just tell you otherwise?’

‘Indeed, my lady. But you could be misremembering, delirious as you say you were.’

Jade breathes in, breathes out, trying hard not to scream — or sneeze. Dignity is important if she wishes to be heard, to make him believe this story. If she were a queen, none of this would be happening. But she is just a princess, and young, too — not much more than a child next to this man. Her power has limits, yet even back home she never had cause to feel it quite as cuttingly. Nonetheless, she must find a way.

‘You have no proof of any wrongdoing,’ she says, as calmly as she can. ‘You have no ground to keep them locked in — to punish them in any way. Such is the law, both of my former home and of this land.’ The laws she has found much easier to learn than the language. ‘I commend you on your dedication to my protection, but at this point you can do no more. You must let them go. That is my order.’

The guard appears to be looking right through her. Jade shivers. He is a very large man. No guard would dare harm a princess, she knows, but still he is a very large man. She wishes he would leave already, do as she asks and then go away.

He bows yet again, but his eyes never leave her face, and Jade is sure he is discontented. The discontent of a mere guard should not worry her, yet it does.

‘As my lady commands.’

He walks out of the room, and his steps are so heavy they cause the wooden floors to creak. Jade stares at his back, then at the closed door. Then she sneezes, hard enough to give herself a ping of a headache.

‘What did she say?’

The girls stand huddled in the kitchen, whispering. The air is very warm. Mother keeps looking at them in suspicion, but doesn’t interfere. Plum can tell her own concentration is trying to slip away, but this is not time to sleep, not yet.

‘We cannot really ask her,’ she whispers. ‘We don’t have the necessary words yet, and anyway she is upstairs, and we’d have to come up with an excuse to go to her.’

‘Can’t you figure out some way? We have to know,’ Peony hisses back. ‘They may have simply let us go, for now, but what if they change their minds and decide to check her story? Whatever she told them worked, which means it probably wasn’t the truth. We need to know what it was, to confirm it if they come asking again.’

‘I agree,’ Magnolia says. ‘We got off lightly for now, but our luck might not last if they catch her in a lie.’ A yawn she cannot suppress interrupts her for a moment. ‘We will have to think of something.’

‘Hurry,’ Orchid says. A fly buzzes past her, and she waves at it irritably. ‘Who knows what they’ll think of next, or when. Did he look to you like he believed it all?’

‘He looked like he’d love to hang us all, belief or no belief,’ Peony says grimly. ‘I would not trust him if I were the Princess, and I do not trust him being me.’ She touches Magnolia’s nightdress on the left side, where the sword pricked her. Magnolia hasn’t changed yet, and the red spot is easy to see. ‘He has his own views on what must be done.’

‘But he has to obey the Princess,’ Magnolia says.

‘Yet she’s only a Princess,’ Plum counters. ‘And there have been many times when that amounted to little.’

The smell of fresh bread fills the air, as Mother takes it out of the oven. The birds are singing outside. Plum is not sure if she is more hungry or sleepy. She is so tired she can barely stand, but that smell is seductive. She can easily imagine herself stuffing her mouth with those loaves, all of them one by one. She swallows.

‘We need only to hold it together until they leave,’ Peony says. ‘Once they’re gone, it won’t matter. How long do you think it’ll be, till she’s well enough to travel?’

Magnolia looks nervous.

‘Yesterday, I’d have guessed a few days,’ she says. ‘But after last night…’

‘It was only cold,’ Orchid says, wonderingly. ‘Very cold, admittedly, by the end, but — don’t you just get over it?’

‘We do,’ Peony points out. ‘We are used to these things, to the outdoors. But she has lived differently. She is not as strong. Anyway,’ she says, ‘let’s deal with what is now. We go home, and you two,’ she points at Magnolia and Plum, ‘try to find a way to learn what exactly she told them.’

Peony and Orchid leave, half-walking and half-stumbling out of the kitchen. Mother watches them go as she cuts the vegetables, then turns to her daughters.

‘Are you done with your secrets?’ she asks, pointing at them with the knife. ‘Am I to expect more trouble from you?’

Magnolia and Plum look at each other.

‘We must all hope for the better,’ Plum says, as vaguely as she can.

‘Mother, do we have any blackroot left?’ Magnolia asks.

They do, but only a little. After they finally go change into their day clothes, Plum watches over it as it cooks in its tiny pan. It bubbles from cold to boiling in minutes. Blackroot must not be kept boiling for long, or it will lose its potency. She takes it off the stove, and pours two cups for herself and her sister.

Blackroot is no substitute for sleep — its effects are only seeming, and wear off after a few hours, leaving the consumer worse than before. But in circumstances like these, blackroot is better than nothing. Plum can almost feel its juices begin their course through her veins, infusing her tired limbs with energy, clearing her sight. This is not the time for sleep. This is the time for investigation. The others rely on her.

And it will have to be her, she knows. In crisis, she is a faster thinker than Magnolia. And Magnolia panics easily, while Plum does not. Magnolia will take over her chores for the moment, and Plum will try to gain an audience upstairs. Grateful as she is to Magnolia for taking on the double workload, the gratitude is fast overshadowed by fear. What she herself has to do now will not be easy, either.

Plum climbs up the stairs, and immediately a guard steps forward to bar her way. At least it is not the one who interrogated them before.

‘You will not proceed,’ he says. ‘You are not wanted.’

‘Really?’ Plum looks up at him, trying to radiate innocence. She will have to bluff shamelessly. She has no clue if what he says is true, or if what she’ll say can work. ‘Has the Princess herself decreed it so? You must obey her, you know. Have you asked her opinion? Has she told you she wishes not to see me? Because she told me differently. She told me she’d want to see me. Told me to come, first thing in the morning. So here I am, obeying the lady, as I must. And so must you, right?’

The guard hesitates, then barks out an order. Another one moves to take his place, ungluing himself from the wall he was leaning on. The guards stand all along the corridor — eleven of them in total, Plum can see. The rooms here are all taken by them, too. The retinue is all guards, excepting one servant. They must have been very apprehensive about bringing the Princess through these lands.

The guard Plum spoke to strides along the corridor, then disappears behind a door. But it is not a door to where the Princess resides. The substitute guard stares at Plum, saying nothing, his face expressionless and his hand resting on his sword. Plum feels jittery, from blackroot or from fear she cannot tell. Her fingers have grown cold.

The first guard emerges again, but does not approach Plum. Instead, he heads towards the Princess’s room, and two more guards follow him. Plum waits, watching as they are admitted inside, and the door shuts behind them.

The silence is stifling. She is scared to be here, scared to be facing all these armed men, but she does her best not to look down. This is her family’s home — her own home — and she has the right to stand here, all day if she so wished.

The corridor seems different from the usual. There are only two windows — at one end of it and the other — and so the place can be quite dark even during daytime, unless you bring a lamp. But the guards have plenty of lanterns, bright enough to show every corner of the place. At least the corners are nothing to be ashamed off, clean and with no cobwebs in sight. Plum remembers how she and Magnolia took turns to climb up a ladder to inspect the ceiling, just a few days ago, when they received news that the Princess was coming. Iris was not with them then — she was set to polishing the cutlery, Plum remembers. What is she doing now? Plum can only hope her little sister is sleeping peacefully, and not heading here. Even with the interrogation having gone their way, the tension in the air is plain, and the tavern is not a good place to be.

How long have the guards been inside? It feels like hours, yet Plum can tell from the slant of sunlight that only a short time has passed. She wishes they would hurry. It is so awful to have to stand here, facing all these strangers and their swords. Plum cannot forget how it felt to see a sword pointed at her sister, even if it in the end the damage was little. She must make no mistake.

The guards come out of the room of the Princess, and Plum cannot move, can only stare at them as they march toward her. The guard she spoke to appears sour now.

‘The Princess,’ he announces, looking down on Plum, ‘has expressed the desire to see you. You may come.’

Plum raises her chin and passes by him, expecting him to follow her. But he does not. She feels his eyes on her back — at least, she thinks she can feel them — but she does not turn around to check.

Plum has to remind herself she is no criminal, and did nothing wrong. Under all these stares, it is easy to forget.