Page 57 of The Faerie Handmaid

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Gwen,” Braithe said. The two of them had finished breakfast, although it might have been made of straw for all Braithe could taste of it. Their trays were picked up by silent servants who avoided meeting their eyes and followed their half-blood overseer like obedient sheep. Restlessly, Braithe wandered the hall, averting her eyes from the hideous bits of Faolin’s artwork, drawn back again and again to the forbidden workroom. Gwen, apparently having nothing else to do, trailed after her.

Braithe finally stopped outside the workroom entrance, her hands on her hips as she stared at it. “Tell me about the block, Gwen.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m curious.”

“I don’t know much. I watched him put it up, after that other girl—after he got rid of her.”

“Got rid of her?” Braithe gazed at Gwen’s haggard face, wanting to know, yet dreading the answer. “What does that mean?”

Gwen’s lips trembled. “He beat her pretty badly,” she said. Her voice broke, and she pressed a hand to her throat. “Too badly. Someone came and took her away. Had to carry her. She couldn’t walk.”

Braithe suppressed a shudder. “Who came?”

“A fae man. Not a delegate, but someone who did things for Faolin.”

“You do not know his name?”

Gwen chewed her lower lip, thinking. “Seth? Simon?”

“Skye?” Braithe said.

“That’s it! Skye. How did you know?”

“I have met him. A nasty sort. It is not a surprise that he worked for Faolin.”

“No.” Gwen leaned against the wall, as if remembering tired her. She said, “He asked Faolin once if he could have me.”

“Have you? What does that mean?”

“I never found out. Faolin laughed at him and said something—I can’t remember—something about Skye finding his own pet, or toy, something like that.”

Braithe grimaced, sickened by all of it. It was hard to believe such hateful creatures walked the earth. She brushed her hands over her eyes in an effort to shed the image Gwen had given her. She would have to ponder that another time. This moment required action.

She turned back to the workroom, where the sun struggled to penetrate the grime on the window. “Tell me about the block, Gwen. How did he set it?”

“He muttered some magic words, I guess, and worked his fingers the way he does.”

“You have never tried it?”

“Tried it?”

“Tried to go in. Through the block.”

Gwen’s already-pale face grew ashen, and she pushed herself away from the wall. “Oh, no, Braithe, no! He said if I did, it would hurt worse than what he did to me when I first came.” She gave a shudder that shook her whole body. “That was awful. Terrible. I couldn’t bear it. I don’t want to talk about it!”

“I’m sorry,” Braithe said. “I just—I wondered what would happen.”

Gwen said, her voice hoarse with fear, “I think it might kill you, Braithe.”

“But he said I would only wish to die.”

“Have you ever wished to die? It’s the worst thing in the world, to suffer so much you would rather be dead.”

Braithe mulled this for a moment. She had never wished to die, not even with grief for Arthur. She had never suffered the way Gwen had, but even so she couldn’t imagine surrendering, not to Faolin, not to anyone. She gazed into the blocked workroom with its dead herbs and dusty tools, and she thought of Faolin’s sneer, his threats, his insults. A little fire of rebellion rose in her heart, and she breathed into it, exciting the flame. She would not wait here like a lamb for the slaughtering knife. She was a Temple maiden.