“Is there anything wrong with her?”

An older woman lounged in her bed, fluffied with pillows, blankets and shawls. A handmaiden hovered at her side, but the woman waved her off. “Go fetch me some more salted sherry. My nerves are all a flutter today.”

“Not that I can tell.” The third woman in the room, who was distinctly a witch, spoke. She was leaning over a lacy cradle and poking at the bundle inside with a long stick. “I tried iron, she's not a changeling. I tried matches, she's not a stock. I tried...”

“Wait, matches?” The woman in bed tilted her head forward. “Goodness, did you burn her?”

“Of course not,” the witch said as she flicked a bit of blanket over the child's hand. “And your family has no outstanding curses?”

“None that I'm aware of.”

“No mysterious people visited during your pregnancy? And you ate food only grown on your own property?”

“Yes, of course. After what happened to the Countess of Southshire, Henry wouldn't stand for anything less.” She paused to take a sip of the glass the handmaiden had just brought.

“Oh yes, the Countess called me to try and help.” The witch shook her head and hobbled over to the window. “I've never seen hair so thick. In any case, your young'un is fine.” She brandished her stick at the cradle. “Guess you just got unlucky. Are you going to keep it?”

“Of course we are!” The woman said, scandalized. “I beg your pardon, but we do not barter our children around here. She's just a little bent-looking, that's all, I'm sure she'll grow out of it.”

“You're sure?” The witch cackled and thunked her stick on the floor. “The fairies pay gold for them. Sometimes you can even get a free spell out of it.”

“No thank you,” the woman said. “She's our only heir, and we hardly need the money. Let them have the peasant children.”

“Of course,” the witch croaked as she hobbled to the door. “Speaking of which, where's my pay?”

“Oh, Susan will give it to you once she helps you to your carriage,” the woman said with another fluttery sip of sherry. “Oh, and the hydrangeas—”

“Bite, I noticed.”

“My apologies. Henry is allergic to guard dogs.”