“Tom,” Rowan said, pretending she hadn’t noticed his discomfort, “do you know who that woman was, the one with Mama Lune?”
Tom shook his head. “A Bluewitch, looked like.”
“She looks like royalty or something.”
“She must have come for a visit.”
Rowan nodded. It was common, she knew, for witches to visit one another, sometimes staying on for protracted lengths of time. A few years back, Mama Lune had been visited by a round bean of a woman called Mama Saltana. She had a taste for liquor and would spend full days at the tavern, laughing loudly, her stringy blond hair resting in her beer.
“Do you ever talk to her, Tom, to Mama Lune?” Rowan asked.
“Sure, sometimes. She comes round to the inn when travelers are too sick for Dr. Temper to help them.”
“What’s she like?”
“A little cold, maybe. Likes to keep her distance from the villagers, but knows her herbs. When Jude had the fever last year, when we thought we might lose him, Mama Lune saved his life.”
“I remember that. He was terribly ill.”
“We thought for sure he’d die. Dr. Temper even prepared us for it, but Mama Lune came and stayed with him, treating him round the clock with plasters and tinctures and potions, and soon enough, he was on the mend. Jude knows her better than most, I think. Seemed to me they kind of bonded while he was ill.”
Rowan looked out into the woods again. “It’s curious. I had a strange feeling that they wanted to speak with me. I’m probably just being silly.”
“Not silly,” he said, throwing his arm around her shoulder. “I think you’re wonderful. By the way, Jude said you came by last night.”
“Oh,” she gasped. She’d nearly forgotten. “I’ve spoken with Fiona Eira, and she’s agreed to meet with you.”
Tom’s face went blank, and he removed his arm from Rowan’s shoulder. He stared at her like he was afraid she might be lying. “You’re serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious,” she said, her voice growing quiet. “I spoke with her yesterday afternoon. She wants to meet you along the path between your houses in only a few hours’ time.”
“Already?” he laughed. “You must be joking. That was too easy.”
Rowan did her best to smile. “You can pay me back when I fall madly in love.”
Tom nodded. “I’ll be sure to.” His expression turned solemn. “Rowan, is everything all right? You seem upset.”
“No,” she said, looking away. “I’m not upset. I’m still thinking about the witches is all.”
“Oh, Rowan, I can’t tell you what you’ve done for me.” He took her hands in his own, smiling brightly. “Thank you, my friend. You are a goddess, a queen.”
As he held Rowan’s hands, she was surprised by the ambivalence in her heart. “Well,” she said, removing herself from his grasp. “Please, don’t make a fool of yourself. She is my cousin, after all.”
Just then, she caught sight of Jude strolling toward them, his cocky head held a touch too high, a jaunty step to his stride, and she let out a sigh. When he met them, he gave Rowan a playful grin.
“Hi, Ro,” he said, but she only stared back at him, refusing to answer. “Mind if I borrow my brother for a minute?”
She nodded, and Tom slapped her on the back and gave her a conspiratorial wink. The two boys set off together toward the inn, and Rowan watched them go. She turned and started on the path home, her heart heavy.
Tom was right—it was growing colder, and it seemed to Rowan that the sky might open up at any moment, but near the eastern outcropping of the Black Forest, she witnessed the sun making its final stand. Streaming through the pines in defiant shafts of light, it seemed almost to animate the snow cover in sudden, sparkling waves. Rowan was smiling at its persistence as she rounded the last bend on the way to her house when something caught her attention. Near the ground, in the eye of a tree, was what looked like a bird fashioned out of bright blue paper. Kneeling down, she retrieved it. It was indeed a piece of blue paper intricately folded to create a beautiful bird. So surprised was she by the oddity that she nearly replaced it in the trunk of the tree, thinking that someone had left it there for some purpose, and who was she to interfere? But something deep inside her called out, and she knew that the bird was meant for her, and that she ought to examine it further.
Sliding a finger under its beak, she flipped it open to find a message written inside.
Someday you come see me, mmm?
I have something you want.
Blessed be,
Mama Tetri
Unnerved, Rowan refolded the paper and placed it back into the tree. Yes, Mama Tetri was probably the Bluewitch, but she couldn’t be sure the note was meant for her. It was probably some kind of trick that witches played. Leave something like that—a lure, really—in the woods and wait to see who bites. Then, when the poor imbecile shows up at the door, besotted and asking for love spells, the witch makes him pay through the nose. But Rowan was smarter than that. She gave the bird one final look and set off around the last bend to her home.
Tom tried to prepare, but he didn’t know if he was going to be able to speak to such a beautiful girl without making a fool of himself. He wasn’t accustomed to fear, but now he was on the edge of trembling with it. He wondered if it might be better to arrive later, to make sure she was there before he was, so that he might not look so eager. Such thoughts were foreign to him, and he found them unsettling.
Attributing his insecurities to his breakfast sitting wrong in his belly, Tom shook them off and set out. He took the scenic path that ran along the edge of the forest, moving with long, deliberate strides, unable to calm himself.
He saw her before she saw him. She was sitting on a tree stump, her red cloak pulled tight around her body, hood up and covering her hair. He walked over to her and extended his hand. But she didn’t take it.
“Hi,” she said, looking up at him with eyes that might have been carved from a dark and ancient wood. “My name’s Fiona Eira.”
“Yes,” he said, trying to look away from her, trying not to stare, but finding himself unable not to. “I’m Tom. My parents run the inn.”
“I know,” she said, and when a smile spread across her lips, Tom was reminded of raspberry jam smeared on a white tablecloth.
“You do?”
“Yes, I’ve wanted to meet you since I saw you in the square,” she said, a blush rushing to her cheeks. “You know my cousin, then,” she added, standing up and beginning to walk. Tom fell into step alongside her.
“She’s my oldest friend,” Tom said. “My best friend.”
“That must be nice. I don’t know that I’ve ever had a friend who’s a boy.”
“You haven’t? I’d imagine you’d have lots of friends.”
“No boys,” she said, cringing. “The boys in my village were horrid. Not like you at all.”
“Well, you don’t know me yet. I might be horrid as well.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No. You’re special. I can tell.”
He noticed she was beginning to shiver. “Are you cold? Would you like my coat?”
He was in the process of taking it off when something fell from the pocket. Quick as a cat, she crouched down and snatched it up from the snow. It was the strange coin he’d found on the mountain. He’d forgotten about it completely, and seeing it again gave him a bad feeling.
“I’m not cold,” she said, staring in wonder at the glinting object in her hand. “What is this? It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”