Page 27 of The Changeling

Mary looked troubled.

I tried to explain. ‘Her grief keeps their spirits tethered to this world. So they haunt her, unable to rest until she lets them go.’

‘So you think it is time I stop grieving, do you?’ Her voice was accusatory.

I had lost everything in the past weeks – my home, my family, my understanding of who I was in the world. Mary had lost everything too. With the death of her young husband, she had been banished from her home, sent back to a country she could scarcely remember. She must long for all she had lost as I did.

‘Do we ever stop grieving? Does it ever stop hurting?’ I truly wanted to know.

A sad smile. ‘I do not know. I miss him so much. I miss … everything!’ She gave a helpless gesture that somehow included the dark room, the widow’s weeds she wore, and the fog pressing close about the old tower.

‘What can we do but try to build a new life?’ I said, more to myself than to her.

‘Aye,’ the queen said in a low voice. ‘Indeed, you speak truly.’ She sighed, and signalled to Mistress Gowland to take me away. ‘Give the poor lass something to eat and drink.’

‘Aye, madam.’

I realised I was being dismissed and held out my hands beseechingly. ‘Please, your Grace, may I stay and serve you? I ken lots of old songs, I could sing for you. And cook cakes for you. And …’ I could not think what else I could do. My gaze fell on the spluttering flames. ‘I could at least build a decent fire for you!’

The queen smiled faintly. ‘That would indeed be something. I’ve not been warm since I arrived here!’

‘The best firewood is old dried fir roots,’ I told her eagerly. ‘And I could make you a hot drink with whisky and honey. That would warm you up.’

She gave her first real smile. ‘It would indeed! Very well. Find the lass somewhere to sleep, Lyndal. And give her a bath, for heaven’s sake. And her dog!’

I smiled back at her, full of excitement and gratitude. I had wanted the queen to hear me, and to offer me a home. Somehow, miraculously, it had happened.

Was this magic? To want something and make it happen?

A safe place, a clean body, a full belly, a warm bed, a chance to close my eyes without fear.

Yet sleep evaded me. My body kept twitching and jolting me awake. Beside me, a sleeping Carlin whimpered and scrabbled with her paws.

My mother … my true mother … the one who terrified me … called me. She knelt by a dark pool, deep within a shadowy cavern. Reflected in the water were the light of two tall candles and her thin autocratic face with its high cheekbones and dark haunted eyes.

Rue, Rue, where are you? You cannot escape your destiny. You must obey me. Rue?

Each time she spoke my name, my body jerked to her command.

Come, she bade me. I tried to obey, and I tried to resist.

You cannot hide from me. You cannot escape me. You are my daughter, my heir. You shall do as I bid, you shall be the instrument of my revenge, you will break the curse upon our people. Rue! Where are you?

I woke with a jerk. It was only a dream. My mother searched for me but she could not find me.

I was safe. I was safe.

Struggling out of the twisted tangle of my blanket, I went barefoot and shivering through the darkness to where my pocket hung on a hook. I drew out the nettle string and began to weave it about my fingers, muttering ‘I canna be heard, I canna be seen …’

When grey light began to steal into my room, I rose and washed myself and dressed in my new black dress, my hair plaited and coiled and hidden under a plain linen coif. I would make myself so indispensable, the queen could not do without me.

I had a new life to learn how to navigate. A new life in service to Mary, queen of the Scots. My mother, the faery queen, had sworn revenge on her, the mortal queen, for some ancient unknown wrong. I swore to myself that I would not help my mother harm the young, sorrowful queen who had saved me from the streets. I would keep myself hidden, and I would guard my queen and keep her safe, as best I could.

I’d never submit to my mother’s will.

VII

Fiend from Hell