Page 18 of The Faerie Handmaid

Idhri didn’t know how old he was. That secret was hidden with everything else behind the black curtain. He was old enough, though, to have an idea how things were between men and women. He had to suppose it was no different for these fae, though they seemed so alien. He thought of the dogs in Master Hugh’s house, all of them looking alike because they had the same mother, the same father. It was how breeding worked. He knew that, but his mind skittered away from understanding how that applied to him.

They called him half-blood. Half fae. He had struggled all evening not to think about it. Worked hard not to believe it. He wished now he could take the realization and hide it behind that black curtain with the rest of his lost memories. This one he didn’t need.

He sank into a chair and stared at the dying coals that were all that was left of the fire. There were so many things he didn’t know and didn’t understand. The only thing that was very, very clear in his mind was that he did not want to be a slave in the White City. If it came to that, he would walk straight down to the lake. Master Hugh had said all boatmen should know how to swim, and he had begun to teach Idhri, but he was by no means a strong swimmer yet. He could easily swim so far out he would never make it back.

“It may not be true,” Braithe said, sitting beside Idhri and watching the last ember in the fireplace burn itself out.

He didn’t look at her. “I hope not,” he said.

“Do you know your mother or your father?”

At that he blew a long sigh, too sad for one so young. “No. I may have known them at one time, but now I remember nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing.”

“How did you come to be with Master Hugh, then? Did your parents not apprentice you to him?”

“Master Hugh found me in the woods along the lake,” Idhri said, as if it were something to be ashamed of. “I don’t know how I got there. I can’t remember anything before that day.”

“Oh!” Braithe exclaimed. “What a hard thing to bear!” She couldn’t imagine how painful it would be not to remember her mam, though it had been years since she had seen her. Her father had died when she was tiny, but she had heard tales of him, descriptions, fond memories. Sometimes her mam told silly jokes and said they came from her father.

Idhri, it seemed, had none of that. His misery enveloped her like an invisible fog. The poor lad was surrounded by a cloud of it, making Braithe feel as if she couldn’t breathe. Her gift of sensing others’ feelings had intensified with the magic filling the air of the White City, gusting through the streets, pooling in corners, even swirling through the guesthouse as if it had a life of its own.

They sat on in silence for a bit, as the last ember winked out and the fireplace turned cold. Beyond the windows, the mysterious lights of the White City floated along the streets. Braithe began to yearn for her bed, but she didn’t want to leave Idhri alone. She needed to brush out Morgana’s hair, too, and see that the priestess had everything she needed for the night.

She had just drawn breath to say these things when Idhri blurted, “I saw a fae man today. He looks exactly like me, only older, and sort of—distorted.”

“Oh,” Braithe said, her heart sinking. “Is that where Dama Vivyan made you go? To meet him?” The pieces began to fall into place. Vivyan had mentioned a Rule, and although she had not explained, Braithe felt certain that whatever the Rule was, it would affect Idhri.

Idhri nodded. “He wasn’t happy to see me.”

“I don’t imagine you were happy to see him, either.”

“I had no choice.” Idhri spoke in such a soft voice she had to lean forward to hear him. “Braithe, do you think that fae man could be—might be—”

Braithe understood that Idhri couldn’t bring himself to speak the word. She didn’t care to, either. She put her hand on his wiry arm and was glad he allowed the touch, though his skin twitched in surprise. She said, “Idhri, I don’t think anything yet. And you shouldn’t, either.” She patted his arm before she lifted her hand. “Come now, we will sleep, and think of these things in the morning. Everything looks better in the morning light.”

“Does it?” he asked sadly.

Braithe thought, but did not say, I hope so.

Priestess Morgana rose early, and Braithe, hearing her step in the hallway, hurried to dress. She found the priestess seated at the table in the kitchen, dressed in her black robe. A tray had been delivered, and Braithe felt a little guilty that she had not been up to set out the breakfast things. Morgana was pouring a cup of some sort of rose-scented tea. She glanced up when Braithe entered.

“This looks good, brat.” She indicated the teapot and the basket of sliced bread and cheese. A small bowl of berries rested next to it. “Come, sit.”

Braithe said, “I hope you slept well, Priestess.”

Morgana gave her a wry look. “Probably as well as you did. This place is not restful.”

“The magic is too much.”

“Random rivers of it flowing everywhere,” Morgana said. “And it feels undisciplined, as if it settles wherever it wants. Your bones must be paining you.”

“Are yours aching?”

Morgana tasted her tea, frowning. She set the cup down as she mused, “No, my bones do not ache, but this particular magic is different, intense and sort of—unruly. It makes me feel out of sorts.” With restless fingers, she twirled her cup in its place. “I place no trust in it, brat. It feels intrusive, as if something is prodding at me, insisting I move. As if stillness offends it.” She added, under her breath, “As if it wants me to leave.”