Page 26 of The Faerie Handmaid

“And where is your queen?” Morgana asked. Idhri glanced at her, surprised at the tartness of her tone.

Emerlyn breathed a long sigh that gave Idhri the impression of pervasive sadness, as if she had been feeling it for a very long time. “I will answer your question, Priestess,” she said. “But now is not the best moment.”

Morgana scowled but apparently agreed this was not the time to argue the point. She turned back to Idhri. “Braithe and I have work that can only be done in the council chamber.”

Idhri tugged at his braid, feeling helpless. No one had told him what work they had to do, or why they had come here. He dreaded facing the fae. He would prefer to remain in the guesthouse on his own.

Braithe squeezed his arm. “I will ask the priestess to make you a charm of protection.” She touched the amulet that hung from her neck. “One just like the one I wear.”

He supposed he would have to be content with that. He felt as helpless as a baby, despite having fought off Skye, but he straightened his shoulders and pretended courage. “Shall we go, then?” he said, and for once his voice held steady in its low register.

Braithe squeezed his arm again before she released him. “Yes,” she said. “If we are successful today, we can all go home.”

She wasn’t facing Priestess Morgana and didn’t see how her eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened, but Idhri did. The priestess didn’t think their mission would be so easily accomplished. The insight did not inspire confidence.

9

Braithe marveled at how sterile the streets of the White City were. They passed two parks, the only places where shrubs and trees grew, but both were empty of people. The streets and plazas they walked through were spotlessly clean and in perfect repair but deserted. “Where is everyone?” she muttered under her breath.

Idhri whispered, “Are all the buildings vacant?”

“It seems so.” She might have said more, but they had arrived at the great edifice of the Royal Council Hall, clearly identified by the black-and-silver banners flying from its eaves. It was as impressive in its way as the castle of Camulod, but Camulod was colorful, surrounded by a sparkling courtine, and topped with bright pennants proclaiming the presence of the king. The home of the Royal Council was austere, its walls a forbidding white, its grounds paved and monochromatic.

In the courtyard two brown-garbed servants were polishing a set of stone steps. The servants cast them quick glances, then averted their eyes. They were short and slight, clearly human, and either terribly shy or habitually fearful.

Idhri, walking beside Braithe, cast her an anxious glance. She tried to smile reassuringly, but she felt as out of her depth as if she, who could not swim a stroke, had stumbled into the deepest part of the lake. The White City seemed as cold and alien as the moon, despite the summer heat.

Rivulets of magic ran everywhere through the city, but when the great doors of the Council Hall opened, Braithe nearly lost her footing under the waves of it sweeping out. She steadied herself before Morgana, looking back to see that they were close behind, could see how strongly affected she was. She rubbed her elbows with her hands, wishing her bones would not throb so.

The broad corridor they passed through was icy in its perfection. Braithe thought of the moss-hung walls of the Lady’s Temple, of the rough stone menhirs that held up its roof, of its flagstone floor and simple decorations. She had often wished the priestesses would brighten the anteroom, clear away the moss and make the space more inviting. This building, indeed the entire city, was the precise opposite of the Temple. It had been refined to the point of monotony. It was stultifying.

A cacophony of voices rolled down the broad hallway toward them, past a half-dozen single doors, all closed. When they reached the double doors at the end of the corridor, the voices grew louder, as if there were a great battle being waged within. Emerlyn stopped and turned to Idhri. “It would be better if you remained outside the chamber.”

Idhri turned so pale Braithe braced herself to catch him. “I—” he stammered. “I would rather—”

Braithe was about to insist that he stay by her side, but Emerlyn relented immediately. “I felt certain you would say so,” she said. “But I must warn you, they will stare, and there may be comments. As you can hear, they are a noisy bunch.”

Idhri whispered, “Is Skye there?”

“No. Skye is not a delegate.”

“What does he do, then?” Morgana asked, in a deceptively casual manner.

Emerlyn’s face sagged into a look of utter weariness. “Skye has some sort of connection to one of the older delegates. I suppose he does menial tasks for him, things Faolin doesn’t want to do for himself. Otherwise, Skye does what most fae do, which is nothing. There is nothing for them to do.”

“No work? No studies?”

“As you have seen, the work on the city has been completed. Over time, all labor has devolved onto the servants—maintenance, food preparation, farming. Some of the fae used to grow flowers, or paint pictures, or make sculptures…” She pursed her lips. “They lost interest. Some of our youth still try, but there are vanishingly few of them, and the older ones don’t offer much encouragement, nor do they set an example.” She made a small gesture of resignation. “The challenge the fae face, which spills over onto all of us, is boredom.”

A spurt of anger drove Braithe to exclaim, “They harass humans because they’re bored? You should have a Rule against that!”

Emerlyn glanced at her. “We should, and we do. The penalties are meant to enforce it.” She turned toward the double doors, smoothing her gray robe with her wrinkled hands. Over her shoulder, she added, “You need to know, Braithe, that no magic is allowed inside the council chamber.”

“I don’t have any—” Braithe began.

“Oh, you do,” Emerlyn said. “I sense it is in its infancy, but you definitely have magic. Take care you restrain it when you’re in the chamber. The blocking of it is not pleasurable.”

Past Emerlyn’s shoulder Morgana winked at Braithe. Braithe widened her eyes but made no further comment. Emerlyn pushed the double doors open, and as they swung wide, the hubbub within surged to a deafening level. The four of them, in a ragged line, stepped in to face the turbulent, fractious Royal Council of the White City.