Page 44 of The Faerie Handmaid

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For the second night in a row, Braithe did not sleep well. Her thoughts tumbled over and over, worrying about Camulod, about Mordred, about the fears of the Blackbird. The Romans had been nibbling at the boundaries of Lloegyr for as long as she could recall, biting off pieces the way a dog gnaws meat from a bone. The Saxons were never far behind, feasting on the Romans’ leftovers and plundering anything the Romans couldn’t be bothered with.

Arthur’s reign had been a triumph of peace and protection for the Lloegyrian people, and he was adored because of it, especially by Mordred. His younger brother had worshipped him. Mordred had never had any wish to be king, and everyone knew he wanted only to live up to Arthur’s memory. Sir Lancelin and the Blackbird were at his side, working as hard as he did, but the interference of the fae was ruining everything.

How did it happen that she, a country girl turned Temple maiden, had become the unlikely champion of her people? Like Mordred, she had never desired a greater role, and certainly not this one. All she had wanted was to have real magic, and now that it seemed she might, it had not brought the joy she expected.

As she yearned for sleep, Braithe’s restless mind served up an old, enigmatic stanza:

Every gift has a price.

Every hope brings peril.

Life is a dream, and

Dreams end with waking.

Repeating the words of the Lady to herself, over and over, she drifted into uneasy slumber.

The first light of dawn woke her. Umer would come soon. She had to unwind herself from the tangle of her blankets before she could escape her bed. She washed and dressed herself again in the servant’s clothing, wrapping the scarf snugly around her head so that her hair was hidden.

In the kitchen, she found Idhri also up and dressed. He was munching a cake he had saved from the meal the night before, and he handed one to her, neatly wrapped in a napkin. “Almost starved yesterday,” he said.

“Me, too,” she said.

Morgana joined them, but she declined Idhri’s offer of one of the cakes. “You need it more than I,” she said. “Both of you, take care today.”

“We will,” Braithe said, but she frowned at the wave of anxiety emanating from Morgana. “You’re more worried today than you were yesterday.”

“I woke up feeling this way.” Morgana gazed out the window into the pale morning light, her dark brows drawn together. When she turned back, she said, “Be sure you wear your charms.”

For answer, Idhri lifted his, hanging from a slender thong.

Braithe pulled hers from inside her tunic to do the same. “Let us hope today is the end of it.”

Morgana said, “You are beginning to sound like me, brat.”

“You are,” Idhri agreed, still chewing the final cake.

Braithe couldn’t muster a smile, so she simply shrugged, saying, “I could do worse.”

Everything at the Council Hall was exactly as it had been the day before. Didi spotted her and gave her a half smile and a friendly touch on her elbow. The servants murmured among themselves while the trays were set out on the long table, and the scents of freshly prepared food rose from them. Braithe was startled to see a servant’s furtive hand snatch a small stuffed roll off its tray. Another servant also palmed a roll and popped it into his mouth with a practiced motion. Braithe suppressed a laugh, then cast a wary glance at the overseers, but the thefts had been too quick for them. She wished she dared steal a roll for herself. Despite Idhri’s cakes, she was hungry.

The tray of seeds she had carried yesterday was in someone else’s hands by the time Braithe’s turn came. In fact, the trays were disappearing quickly, and she feared she might not be allowed to claim one. Hurrying, she leaned across the table, reaching for an assortment of tiny slices of shining white cheese on toast triangles.

“What’s that?”

Braithe hadn’t realized Umer was standing on the other side of the table until his long arm snatched at the thong around her neck. With dismay, she realized she had neglected to tuck it back inside her tunic, and as she bent across the table, it had swung free, in plain sight.

Umer had it in his hand, the thong pulling at her neck, before she could answer him. “Is this a charm? Where did you get it?”

“Sir, my mistress gave me that. A gift. It’s not a charm.”

With an abrupt gesture, he ripped the thong from her neck so roughly the leather burned her skin. She reached for the amulet, but he held it out of her reach. “I’m not a fool,” he snapped. “This is a charm, and you can’t wear it in the chamber. No magic allowed.”

Braithe wanted to protest, but she didn’t dare. Instead, she hung her head and pretended subservience, though it galled her. “My mistress will ask about it,” she said in an undertone.

“I’ll give it back to you when your work is finished.” But his thought leaped into Braithe’s mind as clearly as it had the day before, as if he had spoken in her ear: Damned fae nonsense is going straight into the refuse heap.