Page 51 of The Faerie Handmaid

They were walking away from the pool when he felt the curtain in his mind twitch aside. It was a brief movement, a flash of something he had not seen before. It was a glimpse behind that curtain, a flash of flames, as of a cook fire, maybe the outline of a rough-looking cabin… but then it was gone.

That curtain had refused to budge even an inch for more than two years, since Emma and Hugh took him in. What was it about being here, in this frightening moment, with magic flooding around him, that had moved it? He could only hope that when this crisis had passed, when they had found Braithe safe, he might be able to figure it out.

He feared it was nothing good.

A meal was delivered to Faolin’s house by a trio of servants, one a half-blood who pronounced the cantrip for the garden gate and the front door, the others humans who kept their gazes averted when Faolin appeared. Gwen took the tray from them and carried it into the kitchen. Faolin followed, took what he wanted from it, and disappeared again into his own chamber.

Braithe sat down with Gwen at the table, but she had little appetite. She made herself eat a little salad and a bit of cheese, just the same. If her plan worked, she would need her strength.

Gwen ate well but hurriedly, as if she thought she would be interrupted at any time. Or perhaps she feared her food would be taken away from her. Braithe supposed that living as she did, she could never be certain of anything. Braithe couldn’t help pitying the poor thing, despite her resemblance to the hated changeling.

When Gwen had eaten everything she was given, Braithe asked, “Have you been with Sero Faolin ever since you were taken, Gwen?”

Gwen put down her eating-knife, but she kept her eyes on the now-empty plate before her. “Nay.”

“He wasn’t the one who…?”

Gwen shook her head, and when she looked up, the despair in her eyes wrung Braithe’s heart. “It was another. He was just as bad. And when he was done, he gave me back to Faolin.”

“That’s terrible. Tragic.”

Gwen’s breath whistled in her throat. “I have considered—sometimes I think it would be better—” She didn’t finish her sentence, but Braithe heard it clearly. Death. There could be no doubt about her hearing thoughts now. She wondered if they would always be painful ones, thoughts produced by stress and misery.

She leaned forward. “I will help you, Gwen. When I am returned to my mistress, I will help you.”

Gwen dropped her gaze again, shaking her head. “It won’t happen. He has you now.” Her voice grew so faint Braithe could barely hear her. “I’m sorry to say, Braithe, but if he tires of you, he will simply sell you to someone else. It doesn’t get better.”

Braithe piled the remnants of the half-eaten meal onto its tray. Automatically, she picked up her plate and Gwen’s and brushed crumbs into the bread basket. Gwen said, “You’re used to service.”

“I am handmaid to Priestess Morgana.”

“Who’s that?”

“She is the greatest of the Nine Priestesses of the Lady’s Temple.”

“Oh! I remember something about that, before—before.”

“Yes. It’s a wonderful place.” Braithe pushed the tray to one end of the table and took the chair nearest Gwen’s. “You must have been only a girl when they stole you,” she said. “Will you tell me what happened?”

Gwen pressed her finger over a random crumb and crushed it in her palm. “I was thirteen,” she said. “My father was thinking of marriage for me, something advantageous for the family.” She scraped the remains of the crumb off her hand onto the floor. “He—my father—was a minor lord of the western demesnes. A man and two women, strangers to us, came and persuaded him I should meet their lord, someone important in the south, a prince. My mother objected, but my father was ambitious.”

“He sent you away with them? Just like that?”

“They were very persuasive. Even I was excited, thinking I might become a princess.”

“They magicked you.”

“My mother wasn’t convinced, but my father locked her in a tower room. She screamed for me, but it did no good.”

“And they—the man and the women—brought you here.”

“Yes. I didn’t know they were fae. I didn’t know anything about the fae. I had never heard of the White City until I came here.”

“And the man—was it Faolin?”

“Be careful.” Gwen put a finger to her lips. “He will hear you.” Braithe waited, and in a moment, Gwen went on, speaking softly, hurriedly. Braithe had to lean close to hear. “It was Faolin,” she said. “When he—when he handed me over to the other man, I thought perhaps that was my prince. I didn’t know anything of men.” She added, sadly, “Now I know too much.”

Braithe started to say something sympathetic, but Faolin’s door opened, and he appeared in the entrance to the kitchen. With his eyes fixed on Braithe, he said, “Gwen. My things.”