The Silver Witch by Paula Brackston

bough behind him, then his ears twitch once and, in half a heartbeat, he is gone, bounding away through the foliage, a gray blur. Here, then gone. Visible, then vanished. I hear it, too, the approaching horse. Its hooves thud into the ground slowly but heavily. It carries a rider. I straighten up but do not turn. Soon I can hear the clinking of the iron bit the horse works in its mouth, and the creaking of the fine leather of the saddle. The crows flap away from their perch. The robin falls silent. The horse stops. Its rider dismounts.
    Without turning, I offer my greeting. ‘Your horse is moving too slowly, my Prince, you will never catch anything.’
    I can hear the smile in his voice. ‘Ah, I am not engaged in hunting this day, my Prophet.’ He treads through the undergrowth and comes to stand beside me.
    Only now do I face him. He is dressed casually, his hair hanging forward to partly cover his dark eyes. He wears no mail and carries no shield, but bears his sword on his hip. His smile broadens.
    â€˜Have you come, then, to check for invading armies?’ I ask. ‘If so I fear you will be disappointed, for I have not seen a single Viking all morning,’ I tell him.
    â€˜What Viking would dare confront Seren Arianaidd, even with an army?’
    I glance in the direction he has come from, but cannot see any more riders.
    â€˜You appear to have lost your own men,’ I point out. ‘Some might consider that a careless action for a prince.’
    â€˜I rode alone.’
    I do not ask why. I can see he is hoping I will do so, but I will not play his game. I busy myself with picking more plants, as if his business is of no concern to me. In truth I know he has sought me out. In my chest, my heart gallops, threatening to betray my feelings. Does he truly know me? Can he see the longing inside me? If so, why does he torment me, for we both know we can never be more than we are to each other.
    He follows me. ‘Are you not curious?’ he asks. ‘Have you no interest in your prince’s reasons for being alone in the woods? I would know what brings you here.’
    â€˜I mind my business,’ I reply, giving him a stern look over my shoulder. ‘Most people of good sense would do the same.’
    He laughs off the rebuke.
    â€˜Very well, seeing as how you wish to know … I saw a lone figure taking the path alongside the lake, and to my surprise I knew it to be my Seer. What is this? I asked myself. What manner of emergency can compel Seren Arianaidd to go about beneath the brightest sun we have seen in many a long week? Seren who favors moonlight for her excursions almost exclusively.’ When I do not respond to this he goes on. ‘I had to find out for myself what it was that brought you from your solitary home. What is it that calls you to the trees when the sun is at its highest and the light is so sharp and so hot?’ He steps in front of me and stares at my hair as a shaft of that same sunshine falls through the boughs above and illuminates me. ‘You are a very vision yourself,’ he murmurs.
    Does he know that last night his wife came to me for help? I doubt it. She will not have discussed the matter with him. Her humiliation runs deep enough as it is. I could tell him, tell him that the reason I am gathering ingredients for a vision quest and a spellcasting is to make his seed quicken in the belly of his princess. I could. But I will not.
    â€˜I was about my work,’ I say. ‘If you will stand aside, I would continue.’
    But he does not stand aside. Instead he moves closer and stretches one arm out against the trunk of the silver birch to my left. ‘I would detain you but a moment more,’ he says gently. I keep my gaze fixed on the ground at our feet as he slowly, cautiously, reaches forward and touches my pale hair, letting his fingers follow its sweep down onto my shoulders. Onto my breast. His fingertips stray across to