Page 39 of The Faerie Handmaid

“A boy.”

“The king is a boy.”

“True enough.” Morgana sighed and pushed away the scrying bowl.

Braithe had a sudden compulsion to try to read Morgana’s thoughts. She repressed it, but she wondered. Could she do that, if she chose to listen to someone’s mind instead of simply sensing their feelings? She had almost done it with Emerlyn. Her thoughts came through as clear images, enhanced by her emotions. If she was able to expand her ability in such a way, that could be useful.

She had no need to do it now. She already knew how worried Morgana was. But with others… she would have no compunction about attempting it.

“We should sleep,” she finally said. “The overseer will be here early.”

“Brat, I wish you would take care tomorrow. Try not to take any chances.”

Braithe said, “Of course. Perhaps by this time tomorrow, we will have found them.”

“Let it be so.” Morgana’s eyes flashed gold before she lowered her lids to hide them. “By the hand of the Lady, let it be so.”

13

The overseer did indeed arrive very early, long before anyone brought breakfast to the guesthouse. The lights that flickered through the city at night had not yet faded. Ribbons of pink and gold striped the eastern sky and reflected on the city walls. The overseer opened the door with the new cantrip and came in without warning, startling Braithe, who had just managed to wrap her shorn hair in a dun scarf.

The overseer was a half-blood. Three days ago Braithe would not have known this, but now she recognized the signs. He was tall and bony, dark of hair and eye, sharp of jaw, but it was not just his appearance. In this place, this rigidly layered society, he carried himself with an arrogance no mere human would dare exhibit.

Except herself, Braithe thought. She would count herself an exception.

Holding that assurance around her as if it were a cloak, she stood in the little hallway and stared at him. “Come in?” she said wryly.

He showed no evidence of a sense of humor. “You’re the new servant, I gather. Let’s go.”

“There are two of us.”

“Then where’s the other one?” he demanded. “I’m due at the Council Hall.”

Braithe swallowed the bubble of irritation that rose in her throat. As Morgana’s handmaid, she was unused to being spoken to so rudely. She dropped her head to hide her response, deciding it would be better for the moment to feign subservience. “He’s in his room. I’ll fetch him.”

“Be quick about it.”

“What do I call you?”

“You don’t need to call me anything. Just do as I—” He broke off.

Morgana had appeared in the doorway to her chamber, forbidding in her black robe, with her silver hair falling smoothly over her shoulder to her waist. In her deepest voice, she said, “You may not think my servant needs to call you by name, but I do.”

Clearly startled by her presence, he made a quick, awkward bow. His aspect changed, shoulders slumping, chin dropping. In a respectful voice, dramatically different from the one he had used with Braithe, he said, “Dama.”

“You may call me Priestess.”

“Thank you. Priestess, yes. I’m Umer, one of the overseers of the chamber servants.”

“Umer. Very well.”

When Idhri emerged into the hall, he seemed to have taken on an entirely new persona. He had unbraided his plait to let it hang in a tail, the fashion the other half-bloods seemed to follow. His tunic fit well enough, though the too-short leggings showed his bony ankles. Braithe hated the clothes, both on Idhri and on herself. They were badly sewn and rough to the skin, but it should be unlikely for the delegates to recognize either one of them.

Umer paused at the sight of Idhri, looking him up and down, pinching his lips together as if he were considering refusing to take him. He turned back to Morgana after a moment, inclining his head. “Priestess. Does the councillor know one of the servants is a half-blood?”

Morgana said icily, “Of course. Are you questioning our decision?”

“No, no,” he said hastily. “No, I just didn’t want to make—that is—”