A memory pops into my mind, one from only a few weeks back when I traveled with Mam to the market in a neighboring village. While Mam negotiated for buttons at a booth, I was drawn to an old woman with silky hair and milky eyes, selling gems and herbs.

  She might have been old, but energy hummed off her. Energy that resonated with me, making my skin prickle. I moved toward her, and she turned her glazed gaze on me.

  “Come closer, lass,” she said, beckoning me toward her.

  I glanced around for my mother, but she had vanished into the crowd. I stepped closer to the woman.

  “Prynhawn da,” she said, leaning over her table.

  Her sour breath washed over me, but I didn’t move away. I ran my fingers over the cut rocks and inhaled the scent of dried lavender and mint. “Prynhawn da,” I answered. “What special stones are you selling?”

  She leaned forward, strands of graying hair slipping free of her scarf as her eyes, lined with time and knowledge, studied the pebbles in her booth. She selected a round one with jagged green lines and cupped it in her hand, the palm lined and crinkly like my tunic if I leave it in a ball after I wash it. “I found this one along the river,” she said. “It’s riddled with jade, known for healing properties.”

  “I have lots of jade,” I said. “What else do you have?”

  Her eyes lifted up to my face, the milkiness seeming to vanish as they honed in on me. “What have you to trade?”

  My face warmed. “Nothing.”

  She reached up, her cool fingers brushing along my forehead, and she whispered in the old language. “There is chaos in you.”

  I met her gaze, and my head began to buzz. Like bees landing on flowers, or the murmur of voices in a crowded tavern.

  I don’t remember the buzzing before that moment.

  “Come to me,” she said. “I’ll help you.”

  “Help me how?” I ask, shaking my head to clear the noise.

  She picks up one of polished white stones in her basket and ties twine around it, creating a loop. The rock seemed to glow even in midday. “Take this moonstone,” she said. “Keep it with you always.”

  “Is it a relic?” I asked warily.

  She shook her head. “It has no properties of its own. Only what the bearer gives it.”

  “Why are you giving it to me?”

  She lifted the rock to the light, revealing the slender blue veins within. “The stone channels energy. And someday, someday soon, you will need to channel yours.”

  She held it out to me, but I made no move to take it. I didn’t understand her words. “I have no money.”

  “Take it.” She grasped my wrist and dropped the stone into my palm. “And come to me when you have questions.”

  I had questions now, but then I heard my mother calling my name. I considered tossing the rock back to her booth, but a sudden possessiveness seized me. I wanted that rock. I tucked the stone under my tunic and took a step back from the booth.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Amrys.” Mam appeared at my side, her forehead so tightly furrowed I thought she could secure a button in the lines. “Do not talk to the witch.” She hissed and spat at the ground near the woman’s booth.

  I jumped back, startled both by my mother’s actions and by her accusation. “Witch?”

  “Ffanci,” the woman said. “And I’m a priestess.”

  Mam grabbed my forearm and dug her fingers into my skin. “Never speak to my daughter again,” she growled before dragging me away.

  I didn’t look back. But I felt the woman’s eyes boring into my back as clearly as if she walked behind me, poking her fingers beneath my shoulder blades. The weight of the stone pressed against my hip.

  I have to find that woman. I must get her to lift this darkness from me.

  ***

  I hear the river ahead of me long before I reach it. Suddenly my throat is clenching, aching with thirst, and sense of self kicks in. I want to cleanse the blood from my tunic. Cleanse the horror of what I just saw from my mind.

  I’m so attuned to the river that I almost miss the voices traveling our direction from the woods.

  I halt the horse just in time, drawing my cloak up and over my head. I pull us into the shadows of a tree and hold still.

  “ . . . Awfully close to King Afon’s territory,” a man says.

  Three riders appear ambling through the forest, wearing long maroon cloaks riding massive steads of varying colors.

  “I smell smoke,” the shorter of the three says.

  “A village burning. There’s been a battle.” The taller one turns slightly, and I catch a glimpse of his face as he scans the woods behind me. Even from here, the deep blue of his eyes stands out beneath dark brows contrasting with his fair skin and dark golden hair.

  I can’t help but suck in a breath. He looks like one of the gods descended to walk among men.

  He swivels, his gaze darting toward me. I shrink farther into the trees, but his eyes hone in on me.

  “Who’s there?” he asks, moving his horse my direction.

  Fear ratchets up in my heart, making it difficult to draw breath. The buzzing intensifies in my chest, fills my brain. “Cuddio,” I whisper. “You don’t see me.” A sensation like fog misting over my face falls upon me, hundreds of tiny droplets cooling my cheeks and limbs. Something burns against my hip, and my eyes widen, but I don’t move. I don’t dare look down.

  “Arthur?” The man with hair as dark as the coat of his black horse moves in front of him, blocking me from sight. “What is it?”

  “I saw—” Arthur swings his head around the horse, searching for me in the shadows once more. But this time his gaze flicks right over me, past me. Through me. “I thought I saw someone.”

  “Where?” The third man joins him, and the two bandy around him, one placing a hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip.

  I huddle down against the horse’s mane, shaking. My last encounter with soldiers didn’t go well, and though these aren’t King Afon’s men, I don’t know them. I don’t trust them.

  “There in the shadows,” Arthur says.

  “In the shadows?” The man draws his sword, but Arthur puts a hand on his arm.

  “A woman. You don’t need your sword, Bedwyr.”

  “A woman?” The dark-haired man’s face relaxes. “You’re dreaming, Arthur. Time to get you home.”

  “It must have been a bird or something,” Bedwyr agrees, his eyes searching my hiding place and somehow not seeing me. “There’s nothing there.”

  Arthur turns as well, but those his eyes glance over me, they don’t light on my face but continue roving over the shadows. “You must be right,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t sound so sure.

  “We should leave,” Bedwyr says. “Before we encounter any soldiers from the village.”

  Arthur straightens, and his expression clears as if he’s cast off a spiderweb. “We should investigate. See what’s left of the village.”

  “No,” the one on the black horse says sharply. “We have our orders. We need to get back to Caerleon. Stay away from King Afon’s border.”

  My eyes rake over their cloaks, searching for an insignia, some indication from which kingdom they hail, but already they turn away from me, the noise in the shadows forgotten. Their voices fade as they trot away, and I slowly exhale. My whole body is hot and I feel nauseous. I slide to the ground, shaking, not sure how I escaped that encounter. I replay the scene in my mind as I lead the horse along the shore, near the reeds, watching for the ford.

  The man saw me. We made eye contact. Once he knew I was there, he should have been able to discern my shape in the shadows.

  And yet, it was as if I vanished so completely, he didn’t feel the need to come closer.

  How?

  Hide me. You don’t see me.

  I uttered those words.

  The burning.

  I know what it is. I stop and pull apart my tunic, separating the layers to reveal the white stone tied to my belt.

  I suck in a breath, and then another, and I feel faint.

  It’s magic.

  I have magic.

  I see spots, but it’s not the du, or the colored ones that sometimes light my vision like embers from a fire. This is me about to pass out.

  I’m a witch.