Page 30 of The Faerie Handmaid

The servant carrying the tray of food for their evening meal was clearly human, but behind her came a man Braithe wasn’t sure about. He was tall and dark, with spidery limbs and sharp features. He carried a bundle of firewood in a canvas sling. Braithe sensed Morgana coming to her bedchamber doorway, but she forestalled her, hurrying to meet the newcomers.

She asked the human servant, “When no one’s here, how do you open the door?”

The woman, gray-haired and thin, with the rounded shoulders of someone perpetually effacing herself, gestured with her chin to the tall man behind her. “It’s him, yah?” she muttered. “Me, I can’t speak the cantrips.”

Idhri stepped aside to allow the servingwoman into the kitchen, but he moved back again to stand at Braithe’s shoulder. She felt his nervousness, but she also felt the courage underneath, like firm stones beneath a quivering brook.

“What are you called?” she asked the tall man.

For a moment she thought he would refuse to speak to her. He radiated resentment, and Braithe wondered why. He finally answered, in a sullen voice, “Adamo. I’m Adamo.”

“Hello, Adamo. I’m called Braithe. Tell me, how is it that you’re able to speak the cantrip to open the door?”

He gave her a look of such loathing that she took a step back before she realized she was going to do it. His eyes were a curious mix of brown and yellow, a bit like Morgana’s eyes had been when she was young, and realization struck Braithe all at once. This Adamo was a half-blood. A servant with enough magic to speak a cantrip, but still—a servant. And he was glaring at her, a human, with naked hatred.

She said brusquely, “Never mind,” and turned away from his malevolent gaze to follow the woman into the kitchen. Idhri stood where he was, his legs braced wide apart, his arms folded across his narrow chest. As Braithe helped the woman unload her tray, she heard Adamo say to Idhri, “Someone protecting you?”

Idhri said, “The other way around. I protect Braithe. She’s a maiden of the Temple.”

Adamo growled, “No idea what that is, and I don’t want to know.”

“You have no need to know,” Idhri said firmly, and Braithe cast him a surprised glance. This was not the frightened lad of yesterday, or even this morning. He was not as tall as Adamo, but he stood straight and still, Morgana’s charm glinting on his chest.

Adamo said in a low voice, “Better watch your step, boy.”

Braithe was about to intervene, but Morgana appeared in the hallway. “Adamo, is it?” she said, her deep voice resonating with warning. “Put the firewood down, and if you have finished your duties here, you can go.”

Adamo stiffened at the sight of Morgana, clearly fae, with her golden eyes and impressive height. “Have to speak the cantrip,” he muttered.

“I will do that,” she said. “You are not needed. Go.”

“Yes, Dama,” he said, casting his eyes down. The woman servant flicked her eyes to Braithe and then to Morgana, and Braithe could have sworn she caught a flash of amusement in them, but she pursed her lips and didn’t speak. She brushed past Braithe with her empty tray and left the house. The half-blood backed out through the door, barely making it outside before Morgana spoke the new cantrip, shutting the door in his face.

Braithe glared after him. “Now I see how it is.”

“Do you, brat?” Morgana asked.

“I don’t,” Idhri said.

“You did very well, Idhri,” Braithe said. “I felt protected.”

“Did you need protection?” Morgana asked, as she crossed the hall and went into the kitchen. “They were servants, were they not?”

“They were. And one of them is very, very angry.”

“You know why, I gather.” Morgana was already taking her seat at the table and reaching for the round of cheese that rested on a small, beautifully carved bogwood board. She wondered how old the board was, and if there were still carvers working in the city, or if they had tired of that, too.

“I do know why.” Braithe nodded to Idhri, and the two of them joined the priestess at the table. “The woman is human. She expects nothing from the fae, and I feel sorry for her. But the half-blood—” She gave Idhri a look of apology, but he didn’t look offended. “The man, Adamo, is half fae, and he hates being a servant. I sensed how furious he was at having to wait upon me, a mere human.” She took care not to say the word slave, but she was thinking it. A man as angry as Adamo would hardly do work he loathed if he had a choice in the matter.

“I suspect you are correct,” Morgana said. “This is not a happy place, is it?”

“I begin to wonder,” Braithe mused, “if it ever was.”

No one slept well that night. Idhri found himself tossing on his cot. He drowsed off and on, but his sleep was plagued by nightmares of Skye and then Adamo, and it seemed better just to lie awake. He heard movement in the kitchen and drew back his curtain a little, enough to see Priestess Morgana lighting the fire and filling the kettle at the sink. Her long white hair hung over her face, so he couldn’t read her expression. He didn’t dare ask why she wasn’t in her bed.

He let his curtain fall closed and lay down again on his cot. It comforted him to know someone else was awake, someone who would know if anything happened in the night. Hours later, wakened by sounds from the bedchambers, he was surprised to realize he had finally drifted off. Beyond his makeshift curtain, the early summer sun brightened the kitchen, and he hastened to rise, wash his face at the sink, brush and braid his hair. Two cups sat beside the sink, and he guessed Braithe must also have woken in the night.

She came in even as he thought of her. “Good morning, Idhri,” she said in a tired voice. “I hope you slept better than the priestess and I.”