Page 112 of The Faerie Handmaid

Lancelin finally spoke. “Bran, could you ask them to wait a few minutes?” When Bran had bowed and withdrawn, Lancelin turned to Braithe. “You do look impressive, Braithe.”

She inclined her head to him, but when she lifted it, she saw that he was staring at her with a bemused expression. She said lightly, “I am aware my face has changed, sir.”

Mordred looked as confused as she had ever seen him. “What happened?” he asked, with a slightly plaintive tone that made him sound like the boy he still was. “How could your—I mean—” He flushed and blurted, “What happened to your dimples?”

“They seem to have disappeared, my lord.”

“But how?”

She was searching for a way to explain, but Lancelin intervened. “It was because of what happened yesterday, was it not?”

Relieved, she nodded. “Yes.”

“And the change—will it last?”

“Sir, Priestess Morgana experienced just such a change, as I believe you know, and it has lasted for years. I doubt this change will be any different.”

The king looked from one to the other, his brows drawn together. “Explain!” he commanded, not in the voice of a boy but in the voice of a frustrated king.

Braithe said, “Of course, my lord. I will have to begin at the beginning.” He leaned back in his chair and made a gesture with one hand to tell her to start.

The three subjects awaiting their audience with the king had to wait a long time as Braithe told her tale. She had to explain Idhri’s background, the details of their travails in the White City, the unexpected development of her magic, and the conflicts among the fae and between humans and fae. She made the story of the events of the day before, the death of Skye and the saving of Idhri, as brief as she could. When she reached the end of her account, the king sat still for a time, thinking, his elbow braced on the arm of his chair, his chin propped on his fist.

When he straightened, he said, “I have worried, Braithe, about how I would manage without the help of someone like Priestess Morgana. I have always been aware of how invaluable she was to my brother. I have Sir Lancelin, for which I am grateful, but I longed for someone who could take the unique place Priestess Morgana held. Now it seems you will be that person.”

“I am no Morgana,” Braithe said, “but I will serve you to the best of my ability, my lord.”

Lancelin said, “It’s true that there is no one like Priestess Morgana. But there is no one like you, either, Priestess Braithe.”

Mordred smiled. “Well said, Lancelin. Well said. Our kingdom is in good hands. And now, shall we begin?”

Morgana knocked at Braithe’s bedchamber early one morning a few days later. Braithe was already up and dressed, and she opened the door promptly. “Morgana! Do you need me?”

Morgana chuckled. “Is that your first thought, brat? No, I need nothing. I have learned to do my own hair once again, although not your beautiful plaits.”

“I will do them for you now if you like.”

“Thank you, no. This single braid is fine. I came to tell you it is time for me to go home.”

“Ah.” Braithe’s heart lurched, though she had known this moment must come eventually. “It seems you have only just arrived, Morgana.”

“I feel the tug of the Isle. I need to rejoin my sister priestesses, to shoulder my share of the work in the Temple.”

Reluctantly, Braithe made herself ask, “Are you going today?”

“I am,” Morgana said. “Master Hugh and Idhri are waiting for me in their new boat.”

“I wish you did not need to leave. I wish everything could be as it was for a little longer.”

“This parting will not get easier, my sweet friend.”

Braithe felt the quick swell of tears behind her eyes. That, at least, had not changed. She sniffled them back as best she could and took Morgana’s hand. “I will walk down to the dock with you. Carry your things.”

“I can carry my own things,” Morgana said, but with humor.

“And when you reach the Isle,” Braithe said, “you will have to do just that. For now, you can allow me to do it.”

“Very well. Everything is ready in my bedchamber.”