15th November 1102

“What are you looking at little one?” Lochan asked in a gentle voice.

The small girl before him was staring steadfastly into the flickering light of the fire. With a popping crack a piece of log broke off and crumbled into ash with an accompanying shower of sparks.

Saegyth sighed heavily, her wide, dark eyes reflecting the deep red glow of the coals.

“It’s very pretty isn’t it?” he murmured, gazing for a brief moment at the smouldering logs before his eyes were drawn back to her sad, round face.

They had spent many nights this way in the last weeks. Saegyth did not sleep properly until well into the night. If she was put to bed earlier, though she slept briefly, she always awoke thrashing and sweating, hot as though from a fever. It seemed best to wait until she tired herself out, so Lochan would sit up with her each night while she watched the fire and he watched her face.

“Are you tired yet?” he asked congenially, “because I must admit that I am a little.”

She suddenly turned towards him, squinting up at him in the half-darkness.

“That looks like a tired face to me”, he grinned down at her.

She gave no indication she had heard him, her eyes moving to stare fixedly at his left hand.

He brought both hands forward to rest on his knees, and still her gaze did not falter. Her plump, pink face was scrunched up in an intense look of concentration, her wispy thin brows drifting above her eyes like unfettered logs down a river.

A small smile creased her face. He had not seen her smile once since the night he had found her, the blood of her mother dribbling down her face, tears of sorrow pooling in her wide, brown eyes.

“What is it honey?”

She continued to smile, reaching out her hand, tiny, sausage-like fingers stretching out towards him.

He glanced down at his hand to see what she was reaching for, assuming it was the shiny, gold of his wedding band. With a jolt he was reminded that nestled on the next finger was the ring they had found in the grave at the ruined churchyard. He had taken to wearing it, his fingers often finding it on their own, tracing the smooth lines until they moved over the faintly embossed shape of the bird.

“You want this?”

She said nothing, only pawing gently at the air in front of her with the same hint of a smile.

He watched her movements, the tiny flutter of her hands reminded him of a baby bird he had found fallen from its nest in the spring. The mother was long gone, the minute creature’s fragile wings stirring with its final breath. A raven. It had been a raven.

It suddenly dawned on Lochan exactly where it was that he had seen a similar insignia before. The memory of faded, painted tiles beneath their feet in the depths of the church. The same rough form peering out at them in the darkness. How had he not made the connection before?

There was a soft knock at the door.

“Enter.”

The door opened without a noise to admit Maeve, Isaura’s maid.

“Is she sleepy enough Your Lordship?” she asked in a hushed tone.

He quickly rose to his feet to meet her.

“I’m not really sure. She hasn’t started yawning yet.”

Maeve glanced down at Saegyth who was staring up at her. She blinked her sad, brown eyes sleepily, once swiftly followed by a second time.

“I think she’s about done, I can take her now.”

She stopped, peering at Lochan’s face in the candlelight, “If you don’t mind me asking My Lord, but are you alright? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

A ghost. A raven.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. You can take her now.”

He stooped to pick up the tired child, passing her into Maeve’s waiting arms.

“Goodnight then Saegyth”, he planted a kiss on her unyielding cheek.

He looked after her, watching him forlornly from Maeve’s arms as they went into the next room.

Lochan began to carefully unlace his boots, stealing a quick glance at Isaura. She was sleeping soundly, her frail head still on the pillow. She was so silent and unmoving he could have almost imagined she were dead and he exhaled in relief when he saw the blankets minutely rising and falling with her stunted breathing. He was reminded again of the tiny, partially feathered body and its last shuddering breath as he held it in his cupped hands.

He glanced over at Yvaine’s cradle, and was met with a wide pair of blue eyes, calmly regarding him as he went about the business of untying his shoes.

“Well hello there my little duckling. What are you doing awake?”

She merely blinked at him with eyes as dark and serious as her mother’s.

“Come on then.”

He carefully hoisted her warm, sleepy body onto his shoulder, where she snuggled against his neck with a happy sigh.

A raven.

Tomorrow he would go and smash those tiles to smithereens and uncover whatever dark and fetid secret lay beneath.

He thought of Saegyth’s sad eyes, eyes that had seen more horror than any girl of her age should have to bear witness to.

He would not let it happen again.