It was easier when there were things to keep Ciara busy. When there were outlaws needing shelter as they came and went, or new recruits looking for a way through the forest to the camp, she could focus on them. There was cleaning to do, cooking, interviewing. She could focus on providing directions through the tunnels to the barrow instead of the events that led her to this house and this life. She wasn’t thinking about how everything was supposed to be when there were more pressing matters to attend to.

But the latest batch of recruits, each of whom had managed to pass what screening Ciara could provide to prevent spies from finding Tristan, were finishing their final breakfast in the cottage. Their clothes were clean, their bags packed, and their stomachs filled with the last homecooked meal they would eat for a long while. They took some provisions with them, both for the journey and to add stock to the camp in the woods without risking and extra delivery trip.

A slapping sound near the window and the scratch of talons on wood revealed that Nalani had returned from delivering her message about the coming recruits. As much as the falcon disliked the loss of the hands she’d had as a capuchin, before tragedy struck, she was far less conspicuous when she flew now. Falcons flew over the woods all the time, hunting. They might be wild, or belong in the castle mews. A flying monkey was a familiar, no alternatives. Mordred’s men were looking for anything suspicious and frequent flights of familiars in and out of the woods would be a dead give away that there was secret conversation going on between parties. The outlaws would be discovered in the day or two it would take to fan search the Kingswood.

Cutlery scraped against bowls which clattered against the table as the meal was finished. Ciara moved to the spare room, a space which seemed to be perfect for a nursery – something which hit her every time she unlocked and opened the door – and shifted a few boxes around until the trap door was revealed. The man who had become a sort of leader for the rag tag group that had spent the last few days with her opened the door and turned to thank Ciara for her help and shelter. He said he had nothing to offer, but it didn’t matter. They never did, and if they did it would be of more use to Tristan and the others than it would be for Ciara. He was the last to enter the tunnel, and Ciara closed the door behind him, listening to the hushed whispers and boot scraping under they were out of earshot.

Then it was quiet again. Silence filled everything as she returned the boxes to their positions, obscuring the entrance. It crept into the dish water as she cleaned the bowls and plates from breakfast. It hunched like a vulture, watching her remake the beds in the many bedrooms in the house, each with multiple mattresses for greater accommodation. And it choked Ciara, seeping into her and renewing that void in her heart when all of the chores were finished, and she was alone with her familiar and her memories once again.

At the tree she’d planted above the false grave of her youngest son, a tree which had grown fast and strong, filled with some magic Ciara didn’t understand or possess, she’d promised to Arthur she’d look after Tristan, so long as he watched over Ned and kept him safe from harm. But she couldn’t get too close. She wouldn’t take Lilith’s place and would never intend to, but she also couldn’t put the prince – now king – in the crosshairs of the curse she was so clearly under.

A mother at birth, pregnant with her familiar, but now childless and alone. Three children taken from her well before their time, and each child’s father dead. Only Ned still lived, as far as Ciara knew, and he was a world away, unaware that she even existed. What was he doing? What was he like? Was he healthy? What did he like to eat and play with. Did he sleep through the night, or see monsters in the dark and have nightmares? Did he look like Arthur, or more like her? She stared out of the window, unaware of time passing, lost in the void and silence until she heard a bang from the nursery room. Someone had come the other direction, unannounced. If it was the group from earlier, it might mean the tunnel had been discovered and they’d been forced to turn back. Whoever it was, surely they might need some help, and Ciara needed another distraction before she fell into the bottom of a bottle.

Opening the door and being struck again and what could have been Ned’s room, Ciara could see the small jumped of the boxes as the tunnel door beneath was jammed against. She shifted the boxes one by one and opened the door on a familiar face who had far more right than she to be miserable and needing some cheer. As soon as he was free from the tunnel and on level ground with her, Ciara pulled the prince into a hug, though they weren’t at all close before events had transpired. She needed it, and imagined it would do nothing but good for Tristan as well.