Page 11 of The Faerie Handmaid

No one answered him, but Morgana said, in an icy voice, “Is that what you see, Councillor? I had no idea. I think none of us did.”

Emerlyn said, “You surprise me, Priestess. Your reputation for deep sight has reached us here.”

Morgana hesitated, torn between the councillor’s flattery and her own surprise. She glanced at Idhri once again and realized it was true. She should have noticed. She admitted, “I am distracted, Councillor.”

Emerlyn nodded, as if this were an adequate explanation. “I gathered something was troubling you, Priestess, and the Black Mage as well. He sent you here by way of one of his fetishes, I see.”

“Yes. We have a pressing problem.”

“You wish to come into the city, then.”

“With your permission.”

Emerlyn’s face was thin, deeply lined, with a long nose and strong jaw. She must be, Morgana thought, four times her own age, perhaps even five. The fae lived long, long lives, as the Blackbird had warned her when he revealed her own heritage. Morgana understood she would outlive everyone in the Temple. Everyone on the Isle, for that matter. Sometimes the prospect overwhelmed her, especially the thought of life without Braithe, her only friend aside from the mage himself.

Emerlyn said, “And if I do not give my permission?”

“Then,” Morgana answered, without hesitation, “we shall camp right here on the shore until we discover what we came to learn.”

Vivyan snorted, and the two other fae women laughed. Morgana ignored them.

Emerlyn’s stiff features eased into something that might have been a smile. “I would not have the Lady’s daughter sleeping rough, Priestess,” she said. “Our numbers are greatly decreased of late. We will have no trouble providing a guesthouse for you and your handmaid.”

“And the boatman and his apprentice?”

Dama Vivyan broke in. “The boatman leaves.”

At this Braithe broke her silence, her voice sounding high and youthful in comparison with the deep voices of the fae, but no less decisive for that. “What about Idhri?”

Vivyan said, “Is that what the half-blood is called?”

Morgana knew Braithe well, and she felt the rising of her handmaid’s temper as a wave of heat coming from her. “He’s a boy,” Braithe said, directly to Dama Vivyan. “An apprentice. He should go home with his master.”

At this, Hugh became aware of the conversation. He was already seated in the prow of the boat, eager to put fae country behind him. Now he stood, his bushy eyebrows raised in question.

“No,” the fae woman said, ignoring Hugh. She tipped up her head and looked down her crooked nose at Braithe. “The boatman leaves, but the apprentice stays.”

Emerlyn said, “Vivyan, that will not be necessary.”

Vivyan responded, “But it is. You know the Rule as well as I.”

Morgana spoke more mildly than her handmaid, but with emphasis. “We will accept these terms, Councillor, but only if the lad stays with me, under my protection.”

“You think he needs protection, Priestess?”

Morgana let one corner of her mouth curl as she eyed the four fae delegates. “I think we all do.”

4

Emerlyn gave orders, and the fae woman called Vivyan set off. Emerlyn turned in a different direction as Vivyan led Braithe and Morgana along the pebbled path to a broad cobblestone boulevard. Idhri trailed behind, laden with Morgana’s ubiquitous basket as well as their other things. Braithe made herself dizzy trying to take in the details of the city even as she eyed Idhri, wondering if it was true he was a half-blood, worrying he might fall too far behind.

She saw him twist around twice to watch their boat depart. His master waved to him, anxiety written across his plain face. Hugh had tried to protest, but weakly. Like Idhri—like herself, in truth—the boatman was afraid of the fae. He had not heard Dama Vivyan’s accusation of Idhri, but he was fearful for him just the same.

It was hard to accept that Idhri was a half-blood. Braithe didn’t know anything about him except what she could see, that he was young, self-conscious and awkward, just coming out of his boyhood. His voice had not even settled yet. Dama Vivyan had spoken of him with such venom. Why should that be?

Priestess Morgana had feared, when the Blackbird first revealed her true ancestry, that she herself might be a half-blood. Somehow that had been far less desirable than being fully fae, placing her between two worlds, not properly belonging to either. Morgana had been relieved when the Blackbird declared that was not the case. Braithe had never really understood why it mattered.

Idhri stumbled once or twice, as if he wasn’t familiar with his own feet, and Braithe’s heart ached for him. She had seen how his narrow face paled when the councillor so casually called him half-blood. He didn’t even know the meaning of the word, but Vivyan’s tone made her disgust all too obvious. Braithe yearned to comfort the lad as she might have soothed one of her little brothers.