Page 105 of The Faerie Handmaid

Bran met them with his usual formal greetings. “Your chambers are ready for you, Priestesses.”

Braithe’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but Morgana said only, “Thank you, Bran. It is good to see you again.”

“We’re glad to have you back,” he said. “Both of you.” He bowed and led them inside and up the stairs. Braithe was about to go up another level, to her old room, but Bran said, “Excuse me, Priestess Braithe? The king asked me to assign a different chamber to you. It’s on this level.”

“Oh!” Braithe said.

“He thought it would be more convenient. I hope you don’t mind, but Loria and I moved your things.”

“Thank you, Bran. That was kind of you.”

Morgana went into her old bedchamber, while Bran opened the door of another and ushered Braithe inside. It was spacious and airy, very like Morgana’s, and Braithe stared at it in amazement. Before Bran left her to accustom herself to her new surroundings, he said, “King Mordred and Sir Lancelin have both left messages for you. They wanted me to tell you they look forward to seeing you at dinner and speaking of some tasks that await you all.”

Braithe thanked him again and walked slowly into her new quarters. She took in the large bed with its embroidered cushions, the worktable already outfitted with a mortar and pestle and an assortment of jars and vials. The large window, with a view of the east tower and the hills beyond, admitted abundant light. Her extra robe and chemise hung on pegs behind the bed. Her hairbrushes lay ready in front of an oval mirror with a worked-copper frame.

She stood in the center of the chamber, turning this way and that, wondering if it could possibly feel like home. Strangely, the size of it, so much bigger than any space that had been hers before, made her feel smaller than ever, as if she were an impostor. A pretender. She pressed her hands over her heart and closed her eyes, trying to feel her way into the chamber, to find how to make it fit.

When Morgana knocked gently on the open door, Braithe opened her eyes with a start. Morgana surveyed the room, nodding approval. “This is very nice, brat.”

Braithe said, “I know, but…”

“But what?” Morgana’s tone was gentle, as if she understood.

Though she knew it sounded childish, Braithe said, “I quite liked my old bedchamber.”

Morgana said, “And you will come to like this one, too. It is appropriate, Braithe. You are not a handmaid anymore.”

“What am I, then?”

“You are Braithe of Camulod. You have come into your power.” She smiled and held out a burlap-wrapped parcel she had been carrying. “I hope this will be the next of your many accomplishments.”

Braithe took the parcel in her hands and loosened the burlap. As the fabric slid to the floor, she exclaimed, “Oh, Priestess Morgana! But this is the Blackbird’s scrying bowl!” She remembered it perfectly, the wide, shallow bowl with its pottery base and blue lacquer interior.

“He would be so pleased for you to have it, Braithe. It will be your own now, but perhaps some of his magic will linger.”

“I will need it. I only seem able to scry when I am with you.”

“No need to worry. I have confidence you will find that scrying in your own scrying bowl, especially one that once belonged to our mage, will get easier.”

Braithe carried the bowl to the worktable and set it down. She traced the rim with her fingers. “I hope I will be worthy of it, Priestess.”

“Morgana.”

Braithe raised her eyes to Morgana’s face. “I am not sure I can call you that.”

“You will, brat. In time.”

“It is all overwhelming.”

“Braithe. You are forgetting.”

The skylark flies far from her nest

And finds it changed when she returns.

The nestlings think it is she who has changed.

The pieces no longer fit together.