Page 42 of The Faerie Handmaid

“They’re threatened,” Idhri said. He reached for another of the cakes. “The one I stood beside when I was washing things has a horrible scar on his arm, and he said he got it for disobedience. I think he was warning me.”

There was silence as they contemplated this. Such treatment of a servant would never be tolerated at Camulod. Morgana thought of the cheerful people who labored in the castle, cooking, cleaning, working in the stables or the gardens, secure in their belief that they mattered. That what they did was important. That the people they served cared about them.

“I wonder,” she mused, “what would happen if the servants just—stopped serving. All of them.”

“There would be a lot of hungry fae,” Braithe said. Morgana had never heard her speak in such a sour tone. It made her seem older somehow. “There are many more servants than there are fae. I doubt the fae know how to prepare food, or even comprehend where it comes from.”

Morgana said, “I have no idea how to prepare food, either.”

At that, Braithe gave a small, unhappy laugh. “But you appreciate the ones who prepare it for you. And in your own way, you serve them. These fae—” She broke off, her cheeks coloring, and dropped her gaze to her hands.

“Brat, say what you like. I will not be hurt by it. I am fae, but I am not one of these. I take no responsibility for them.”

“Nor should you!” Braithe exclaimed. She lifted her head, and Morgana saw blue fire kindle in her eyes. The only time she had ever seen Braithe truly angry was when she confronted the changeling. “You work hard, but they do nothing!” Braithe said. “They produce nothing. They argue and argue but never decide anything. They exist only to—I don’t know, Priestess, only to exist!”

Morgana said, as gently as she could, “I know you think of magic, and wish to have more of it. But you have seen how evil too much of it can be.”

Braithe slumped in her chair. “I have not forgotten. That’s why we’re here.”

“I hope we will not stay much longer.”

“I’ll have better luck tomorrow. Today was distracting.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“Two things. One was that one of the servants, called Didi, thinks the easiest job in the city is serving in the council chamber. She seems more or less content with her lot, as if she resigned herself to it a long time ago. She was the only one who spoke to me. The only one I learned anything about.”

“And the second?”

“I worried a bit that my gift might not work in the chamber, since no magic is allowed there, but it does. I sensed Didi’s feelings easily.”

“Your gift comes from within, Braithe. It may have been enhanced by the magic in this place, but it is your special talent. I only wish I could help you.”

Braithe nodded. “It’s all right, Priestess. You have done so much for Lloegyr.” She bit her lip, and Morgana thought she was going to say something more, but instead she looked away, as if she had changed her mind. After a moment she sat up straight and put her shoulders back as she met Morgana’s gaze. “I think this is my time.”

Morgana’s heart swelled with pride in her steadfast little handmaid. She wished Emerlyn had been present.

Morgana waited to speak to Braithe until Idhri had gone into his niche. Braithe, despite her fatigue, had insisted on brushing and plaiting Morgana’s hair before going to her own bed. Morgana sat on the stool before the mirror and Braithe stood behind her, working the brush through her long hair. Braithe’s newly cropped hair made a charming little crown of curls that clung to her forehead.

“I like your hair that way,” Morgana said, watching Braithe in the mirror. “It suits you.”

Braithe’s smile gave away her fatigue. “I like it, too. Idhri revealed a hidden talent.”

Morgana disliked having to spoil the moment. She drew a breath, girding herself.

“You have something to say to me,” Braithe said.

“Ah,” Morgana said. “Yes. Your gift has grown strong, brat.”

“Well. I’m standing close to you. It’s not deep sight, but it’s more than intuition. More than just empathy.” She stopped brushing and stood very still, the brush in her hand, meeting Morgana’s eyes in the mirror. Her voice dropped, and there was something intense about her tone. “There’s more,” she said in a little rush. “Something that happened—at least, I think it happened—when we were going into the chamber today.”

Morgana turned, struck by the intensity in Braithe’s voice. “What was it?”

“I heard something.”

“Something?”

Braithe laid the brush down and linked her hands before her. “There was a moment—” She gave a small, frustrated shake of her head. “I hardly know how to say it.” Morgana waited, and after a moment, Braithe said, “I heard someone’s thoughts. Clearly, as if they were spoken words, but in my head.”