Page 40 of The Faerie Handmaid

Morgana arched one dark eyebrow in her most terrifying expression. “I thought you were in a hurry, Umer.”

“Uh, yes, Priestess. Yes.” He bowed again. “The councillor thanks you for the loan of your servants.”

“See you bring them back in timely fashion. I need them tonight.”

“Yes, Priestess.”

Braithe threw Morgana a look, and Morgana’s lips twitched. Idhri, stumbling in his ill-fitting sandals, followed Umer out the door, and Braithe came behind. As the door closed behind them, she silently begged the Lady for success in their mission. And for their safety. That seemed necessary in this angry place.

She shivered in the early-morning air, but not from the cold. Her mother’s stories about the fae had run endlessly through her dreams all through the night. It didn’t help that she felt Idhri’s fear to add to her own. She also sensed Umer’s resentment at having to guide them, and his anger at being ordered about by an unfamiliar fae, priestess or not. Her mam’s tales had not run to half-bloods, but she placed no trust in this one just the same.

It was disconcerting, trying to manage the constant flow of emotions from others on top of her own. She wondered, as they passed one of the monochromatic parks, if she was going to be this sensitive for the rest of her life. Was this what it was to live with the magic she had longed for? Perhaps it wasn’t the great thing she had always thought it would be.

As she and Idhri followed Umer’s narrow frame through the quiet streets, Braithe tried to quell her anxiety by reviewing the plan for the day. She would pretend to be a servant, hiding her natural tendency to independence. She would move among the delegates and get as close to them as she dared. She would do her best to sense their feelings and sort out which of them were harming King Mordred. It all seemed simple enough, a straightforward exercise of her gift. The next steps would be up to Morgana and Emerlyn.

She tried not to think of the ways this effort could go wrong. She could do this. She would do it, for Morgana, for Lloegyr, for Camulod and its besieged young king.

She would do it to honor the memory of her beloved Arthur. He must have been afraid many times, but he went into battle regardless. She could do no less.

Braithe and Idhri followed Umer as they joined the little army of brown-garbed servants filing in through a back door to the room behind the Royal Council Chamber. The servants were mostly women, with a few older men. Their tunics were faded from washing and their sandals well worn. They wore no decoration, no ribbons or brooches, not even sashes or belts. All of them kept their heads down. Every set of shoulders seemed perpetually bowed, as if they were forbidden—or afraid—to stand up straight.

As Braithe stepped among them, she felt as if she walked into a miasma of resignation, so dull and dark and hopeless it was almost visible. The servants didn’t look at her, or at each other, but shuffled along in a way that reminded her of a flock of sheep being herded into a pen. There was a distinct feeling that what they did here was meaningless, that their lives would resume only once they left the Council Hall. There was no pride, no satisfaction. It was as if, as they entered this big room where the morning sun had not yet penetrated, their individuality evaporated.

A dozen half-bloods were stationed around the room like guards. With no fae present, they stood with their arms folded and chins jutting, gazing with disdain at the humans in their serving clothes. Their tunics were of finer cloth, better made, in shades of deep brown. Their clothes and their height set them apart. Clearly the half-bloods, oppressed by the fae, took satisfaction in having others to look down on in turn.

It was easy for Braithe to mingle with the servants as she looked around, getting her bearings. It was harder for Idhri. He was taller than any of them. He stayed close beside her, often pressing his hand to his chest, where his charm of protection hung beneath his tunic.

The room was very much like the refectory for the Temple acolytes, although it was bigger, the ceiling higher. A long table was set with a variety of small bowls and plates. There were very few chairs, and those seemed to be intended for the overseers. Evidently no one thought the human servants needed a place to rest. A row of stone sinks stood against the outer wall, and above them were several unglazed windows, too high and too small for anyone to climb through. Braithe supposed that was deliberate.

She startled when she felt Umer at her shoulder. He pointed to the food and drink laid out on the table. “Get a tray,” he said. He had never bothered to ask her name. “Follow the others and do what they do.” She nodded, avoiding his eyes lest he see the fire of rebellion kindling in her own. She joined the line of silent servants as they filed in orderly fashion on both sides of the table. She picked up a tray of tiny bowls holding some sort of toasted seed. They smelled wonderful, rich and salty, and she wondered if she dared eat some. Her mouth watered, thinking of it. She had no idea when she would be given anything to eat. Idhri must be hungry, too.

Idhri was behind her in the line, but Umer pulled him aside. “You’re not going in the chamber,” he said. “They won’t want to see you.”

Braithe nearly dropped her tray when she heard Umer think, And I don’t, either.

The words rang in her head as clearly as if a bell had been struck. Involuntarily, she glanced back at him, wondering if he had actually spoken them aloud, but she could see that he had not. She had heard his thought. The shock of it made her hands tremble. She renewed her grip on her tray, staring at the bowls on it, her heart thudding.

This was not simple intuition. She had already sensed Umer’s distaste for her. She had felt the difference between his opinion of Idhri, a half-blood like himself, and his opinion of the human servants now sidling past the table. She had sensed the mixed fear and respect he had for the fae. But this… This was different. This was hearing the words in Umer’s brain, transmitted directly to her own.

Morgana often teased her about reading minds, but that was in jest, and there was nothing funny in what had just happened. She wished she could be alone, to ponder what she had heard, and how she had heard it. What did it mean? Was it some new effect of her growing ability? Could it even have been her imagination?

But no. It had been so clear it nearly caused her to drop her tray. The line of servants was moving, and she had to stay with them, imitate what they did, take care to fit in. She heard Idhri ask, “What should I do, sir?”

“Don’t let anyone hear you call me sir, boy,” Umer said, though Braithe knew he liked the title. “Head over to the sinks. You’ll wash things when they come back.”

If he said—or thought—anything else, Braithe didn’t hear. She followed the line of servants toward the door leading into the council chamber. It was nearly as wide as the double doors at the other side of the chamber, the ones that led to the front hall. As she stepped through, the magic that sizzled everywhere in the city and throbbed constantly in her bones receded immediately. It was like stepping into cool water on a blistering summer day, and she couldn’t help a sigh of relief.

The woman next to her, with gray streaks in her ginger hair and furrows in her thin cheeks, whispered, “You all right, yah?”

Braithe said softly, “I am, thank you.”

The woman said, briefly meeting Braithe’s eyes, “It’s easy work. Don’t fret.”

“Thanks.”

“Didi,” the woman whispered, with a nearly invisible gesture to her own chest.

“Braithe.” Braithe started to smile, but the woman had already ducked her head, and it seemed wiser to do the same.