Page 46 of The Faerie Handmaid

But Morgana didn’t look right. She was grinning, something Idhri had never seen her do. She put her hand on Braithe’s shoulder in a way that looked familiar to him, and he realized with a jolt that it was just the way Vivyan had laid her hand on his own shoulder, binding him.

With a spurt of alarm, Idhri palmed the charm beneath his tunic. The glamour faded at once, and he saw a fae man disguising himself behind the image of Morgana. He was tall, taller than Idhri. His hair was cut oddly short, so that it stood out in spikes around his head. His grin made Idhri think of a wolf baring its teeth as he drew Braithe down the corridor and out of sight.

Idhri, gasping, looked up at the dais for help, but Emerlyn was deep in conversation with some delegate who was waving her hands and ranting. Emerlyn hadn’t been watching. No one had been watching, including himself. He had promised to protect Braithe, and he had let her walk out without doing a thing to intervene! Guilt gripped him with a hard hand, making him tremble.

He spun about and fled the back room, abandoning his tasks, bumping into the surprised servants who couldn’t get out of his way, ignoring Umer’s order to stop. He blasted through the back door and left it standing open behind him as he raced around the side of the Council Hall on his way to the boulevard.

Idhri looked back only once, to be certain Umer had not followed him, but either Umer had decided he couldn’t run as fast as Idhri or he didn’t care enough to try. Idhri slowed just enough to glance down every side street, but he saw only the usual empty roads, white buildings, a servant or two in the distance. Of Braithe and the fae man there was no sign.

He gave up the search, though he felt its urgency in his entire body. He needed Priestess Morgana, and as soon as he could possibly reach her. He broke into a flat run toward the guesthouse, praying Morgana would be there. If she wasn’t, he had no idea what he would do.

He nearly sobbed with relief when, at his pounding on the door, she appeared.

She grasped the situation instantly. “Who took her?”

Idhri, out of breath and shaking, staggered inside and braced himself with one hand against a wall. “Fae man,” he panted. “Older, short gray hair. I only saw him from behind, but I think he was one of the delegates. He was outside in the corridor. At first I thought it was you, but then I realized it wasn’t. He beckoned to her, and Braithe—” His voice caught in his throat, and he forced himself to stand up, to hold back the tears of fright that threatened to break out. “Braithe just—she just went, Priestess. He took her arm, and she just walked away with him!”

“My charm failed,” the priestess said grimly.

“But mine didn’t. I know you’re thinking—a glamour—but I saw him perfectly!”

“It was not Skye.”

“No.”

“And where is Umer?”

“He’s still in the Council Hall. I just ran.”

“You did the right thing, Idhri. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he said. “Just worried.”

“You are not wrong to worry. Unless you have some idea of where he took her, we will have to go back to the Council Hall and find Emerlyn. Perhaps she will know what to do.”

“It happened too fast,” Idhri mourned. “I couldn’t—”

“No, of course you could not. Come, we will waste no time. Do you need water?”

“No. I just want to find her!”

“As do I. And we will.”

Idhri had the distinct impression that the priestess was not as confident as she sounded.

15

Braithe knew the moment the fae took her arm that it was not Morgana. She cursed herself for having been deceived. She should have known, when the image of Morgana smiled so broadly. Morgana rarely smiled, and she would not have done so as she looked into the council chamber. Braithe had been so eager to tell her what she had learned that she was not thinking.

Umer had taken her charm, so she had not seen through the glamour.

She tried to free herself from the fae’s hand, but her muscles would not obey. The creature had bound her, just as Vivyan had done to Idhri, and rendered her helpless. She could walk, but she could not break away. She could not resist. She had to go where the hard hand pulled her, as if she were a dog on a lead.

It seemed best to pretend she was still convinced by the glamour. She walked beside the tall form, trying to keep track of where they went straight and where they turned. She told herself that despite her clothes and her shorn hair, her lack of agency in this terrifying moment, she was still a Temple maiden. She was Priestess Morgana’s handmaid. This creature—male or female, she didn’t yet know—had no real power over her.

Unless they did. That thought made her steps falter.

It was unnerving to walk beside someone who appeared to be Morgana but so obviously was not. Braithe longed to tear herself free. She imagined pulling away from the fae’s hand, running toward the boulevard, finding her way back to the Council Hall. She tried to do it. She was willing to take the chance on whatever might happen. She ordered her body to obey her, but it was no use. She was helpless. She couldn’t even stop, throw herself to the ground, curl into a ball on her knees. Her own will didn’t matter. Her legs kept moving in the direction not-Morgana wanted them to go, and it made no difference how her mind screamed at her to flee.