The princess led Bronwyn through the gate into the cloister walls, pausing in the yard to pull a bucket of water from the well. They entered the kitchen, and she set the bucket on the table and continued into the hall. She led Bronwyn to the Scriptorium. Seven elderly men hunched over their work, some transcribing, some carefully illuminating manuscripts with vivid paints. Bright clear light filled the room, and candles crowded the sconces and every available space that was not already covered. Scrolls and books and loose sheets of parchment or vellum, jars of ink and stray quills were scattered throughout the chaos, and cobwebs festooned the rafters.

One of the old men looked up from his work, peering at them. He held a finger to his lips for silence and turned back to his work. Smiling, Janette pulled the door closed behind them and led the way back to the kitchen.

"They used to store drying manuscripts here, on the kitchen table, and simply skip any cutting or peeling of vegetables for the stew pot. It took months, when we first arrived, to get things in order." Janette dipped a cup of water from the bucket and offered it to Bronwyn. The well water was cool and sweet. "Thank you for sending me here. I was lost, I think, and this place gave me an anchor, a true home."

"I'm just sorry it all had to happen as it did," Bronwyn said simply.

"Never be sorry for rescuing my kingdom from the curse of a line of kings who preyed on their subjects rather than cherishing them, abused them instead of ruling them. I've learned a lot of how kings and kingdoms and fathers ought to work, since coming here. Some I learned from Dale, some I learned from the monks, and even more I've learned from the old records and histories they are working to preserve."

A bell rang sweetly and Janette stood again. "It's a bit early for the apple dame," she mused, straightening her apron. "Rest here a moment, Stepmother, I'll be back shortly."

Bronwyn settled, taking another sip of water as she looked into the fire. It was built low, simmering a stew of vegetables and rabbit. A fingerling of charred wood thrust up to one side, and a finger length salamander basked there. It winked at her once and then went back to its dreaming.

Smoke drifted up into the chimney, coiling in a silent pantomime as Bronwyn watched. She saw Janette and Rebeka checking baskets of apples and jugs of cider, chatting with an old woman as they unloaded her donkey cart. Janette rejected one of the baskets, and a dark curl of smoke showed the corruption of rot in the fruit it contained. The apple dame bobbed a curtsey, gesturing apologetically. Rebeka looked at Janette and nodded, and the princess nodded also in agreement.

Rebeka looked away, speaking to someone beyond the tableau, and as Bronwyn reached out to pass her hand through the smoke and disperse the image the apple dame looked up sharply, a bright spark flying up into her smoky hood, yellow eyes staring back. She pulled her cloak closer around a body crooked with age and prodded the donkey with a switch. Six little boys escorted her away from the cottage and the cloister, and as Janette opened the door of the kitchen, the gust of air scattered the smoke on the hearth. She dropped a few letters and a pigeon scroll on the table before checking a large bowl of bread dough rising on the countertop near the high window.

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"Is everything well?" Bronwyn finished the water and held the clay cup on the table before her.

"Yes, just a few bad apples in one of the baskets. She'll bring some back in a few days, so it's not a true loss for Deep Woods."

"Janette, there is something I need to tell you," Bronwyn hesitated.

"Oh?" The princess sat, folding her work reddened hands in her apron.

"Have you heard from the Lord Regent in the past week or so?"

Janette pulled a letter from her pocket, much folded and creased. "This came yesterday. They want me to receive suit from a baron's younger brother. He's a knight, and by all accounts he's plain of face but honest."

Bronwyn closed her eyes, fingertips touching the letter. She felt the honesty of the Lord Regent, but also his age. He had been elderly when they met, and was nearing the end of his days. She felt the longing of his grief for his lady wife, who passed on after a brain storm in the winter. Fate tightened around her chest, leaving her gasping for breath. Tears pricked her eyes as she realized that her own giant's hair was now more white than grizzled. She pushed that thought away, feeling Robbie Longfellow lean against her calves beneath the table.

"May I advise you?" Potentialities, events flickered like firelight behind her eyelids.

"Most certainly, stepmother."

"Accept the offer. Talk to the man. There are storms coming, and you will need a knight consort to lend you strength when things seem darkest." She opened her eyes. Janette was troubled, looking down at her hands with their rough callouses and jagged nails. Bronwyn gently took those hands in her own work hardened hands, brushing her thumbs over the backs and fingers, smoothing the skin and erasing small scars from cooking and chores. The princess's hair lifted and fell back, clean and shining and free of tangles, threads of silver an adornment rather than a mark of a hard and demanding life.

"Very well. I shall receive his suit, but you must answer me a question."

Bronwyn smiled wryly. "Questions I can do, yes."

"You said I would need a knight consort. Is something going to befall my brother the Crown Prince?"

"It's not clear to me, my sweet, I don't see him easily or often. But yes, you would be wise to seriously consider this offer."

"Then I shall. He arrives the day after tomorrow."

"Very good." Bronwyn rose stiffly. "Be careful. For all that our time together was troubled, you are the first of my daughters, and I care for you deeply."

"Someday, I think I would like to meet my sisters," Janette said shyly.

"Perhaps all three of us shall come to your wedding," Bronwyn said, sadness filling her as she realized that fate or premonition or prophecy spoke of greater grief between this moment and that one. She hugged the princess tightly and pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders. "I must leave now, there things I must tend to elsewhere."

"Very well. Stepmother?" Bronwyn paused a moment, listening but not meeting Janette's eyes. "Be careful. And no matter what may be following you, there is a sanctuary for you here if you need it."

"Thank you, child, that is very kind indeed."