Page 20 of The Faerie Handmaid

Passage through needs nothing more.

The door secured itself with a neat snicking of the latch. Braithe watched it, tempted to try the cantrip for herself. Perhaps with all the magic flowing here…

But Idhri had emerged from his cubbyhole of a bedroom. “Are we locked in?”

“Yes,” Braithe answered. “Locked in, safe and sound.” It was true, so why did she still sense peril?

Again, she didn’t speak the thought that came to her. I hope we’re not trapped.

6

The morning hours dragged as Braithe and Idhri waited for Morgana to return. Braithe tried to occupy herself making Morgana’s bed, tidying the few things she had brought with her, organizing the supplies in her basket. Idhri stayed close to her, often in her way as she turned, but she understood. He was even more tense than she was. She found a broom and put him to work sweeping the floor. It didn’t need sweeping, but it seemed to soothe him to have something to do.

The summer sun was climbing near its zenith when Braithe, just putting away the broom, heard the latch of the door open. It seemed too soon for Morgana to return, but perhaps it was the servants with their noon meal. She went out into the hall. Idhri had heard the door, too, and he came from the kitchen, where he had been cleaning the fireplace.

The door opened, but the man who walked in with a confident step was not a servant. He was tall and dark, long-limbed, lean. Clearly fae. An aging, dissolute, unnervingly accurate version of Idhri.

Idhri gasped and ducked back into the kitchen, making the man smirk as he closed the door behind him. The fae man turned to eye Braithe with an insolence that made her stomach tighten with apprehension. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Braithe eyed him in return. The features that were gentle and sensitive on Idhri’s face were harsh, somehow broken, on this man. His lips drooped at the corners, and his cheeks bore lines so deep they resembled scars. His eyes were the same brown as Idhri’s, but clouded and dull, despite the flecks of gold that showed in them. His eyelids drooped, and his hair hung in lank, oily strands to his shoulders. A sinister-looking knife glinted from a leather scabbard at his belt.

Braithe said, with all the asperity she could muster, “I am handmaid to the priestess Morgana.”

He smiled without humor. “And who is that?”

“She is one of the Nine Priestesses of the Lady’s Temple on the Isle of Apples.”

“Ah. I have heard of that.” He took another step into the hall and glanced to his right, where Idhri huddled beside the fireplace. “Where is she now?”

“Priestess Morgana is with Councillor Emerlyn at the council chamber.” When the man’s eyes kindled at this, Braithe realized her mistake. She added hastily, “I expect her back any moment. With the councillor.”

His mirthless smile stretched into a grin that showed sharp, yellowing teeth. “I had best hurry, then.”

Braithe said, “What’s your business here, sir?”

“My, my,” he said. “Do you always speak so to your betters?”

Braithe lifted her chin. “Why should I assume you are my better?”

He took another step toward her and she braced her legs in order to stop herself from retreating. She was afraid of him and repelled by a strong feeling of revulsion that made her feel slightly sick. He projected a miasma of something shameful and cruel, and she wished he would leave.

He showed his yellow teeth again. “Well, my dear, I assure you I am indeed your better. I am Skye of the White City. Idhri and I have already met. There’s no need for you to be involved. I’ve come for Idhri. We have business.”

A wave of terror erupted from Idhri. Braithe caught her breath at the intensity of it. “Idhri stays with me,” she said. She tried to speak firmly, but her voice shook, betraying her.

“If that is your wish,” Skye said, gazing down at her as if she were a bothersome pet. “Then we will all go together.”

She had just opened her mouth to refuse when suddenly, inexplicably, Skye’s appearance altered. His face softened. The lines in his cheeks eased. His mouth no longer stretched in that unnerving grin but curved in a pleasant smile. His clouded eyes brightened and sparkled with golden flecks. Even his hair looked softer. Cleaner.

“You must be hungry,” he said to her. His voice was still deep, but gentle and persuasive. It gave her the odd feeling of stepping into a warm, relaxing bath. “Allow me to take you and Idhri to a place just along the boulevard where we can get some food. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Idhri had gone very still. He stared at Skye, open-mouthed, but Braithe’s fear drained away. She sighed with relief as she realized that the fae man was a friend. An ally. She couldn’t imagine why she had thought for even a moment that he was ugly, or that he looked cruel. Why, this man looked kind. He had an easygoing, avuncular manner. There was nothing to fear.

It would be a pleasure to walk out into the city. She would enjoy seeing something of it beyond this little guesthouse. It would be lovely to meet some of its people, to understand how they lived, what they did. She and Idhri didn’t need to be stuck here on their own. They could go out into the fresh summer air with Skye as their guide, have something nice to eat, then come back to wait for Morgana.

It would be perfect.

Morgana had always deplored the quarrelsome nature of the priestesses’ meetings in their inner room, but those fractious moments were nothing compared with the atmosphere in the Royal Council of the White City. At least on the Isle, voices were rarely raised, and fists never. The opposite was true of the Royal Council.