Page 59 of The Faerie Handmaid

He took a bite of bread and cheese and spoke while he was chewing. “Emma is like that. She feeds my master and me and the dogs but doesn’t think to feed herself.”

“You are very fond of your adoptive parents, I think, Idhri.”

“I’m lucky they took me in.” With regret, he ate and chewed his last bite before he cupped his hands to drink more from the fountain. As he straightened, he saw a figure in the shadows of a nearby building.

All morning, except for when they passed the kitchens, they had seen only a handful of servants working in a park or sweeping a street. This person didn’t look like a servant, nor were they wearing the robe of a delegate. He couldn’t see them well, but there was something familiar about the silhouette. He peered at them, shading his eyes.

His stomach plunged as he realized who it was. Skye.

The fae man stepped out of the shadows and ambled toward them as if he were in no hurry. He kept one hand on the knife at his belt. Idhri felt again the shock of seeing a face so like his own yet so altered by time and meanness and corruption. His heart started to thud in his ears, but he drew himself up and squared his shoulders.

Priestess Morgana followed his gaze and hissed a long, aggravated breath. “Just what we do not need,” she muttered. “Do you have your charm?”

“I do,” Idhri said. His voice cracked but only a little. “He may try a glamour, but it won’t work on me.”

“Nor me,” Morgana said. “You have nothing to fear.”

Idhri wished he could believe that.

It was strange, Morgana thought, how the features that were so appealing on Idhri were so unattractive on the man who must be—had to be—his father. She watched Skye’s approach with a mixture of distaste and apprehension. As the fae man drew closer, she saw the shimmer of a glamour begin around him. He said, “My, my, what luck to come across you this way.”

“You can drop the glamour,” Morgana said. “Councillor Emerlyn has already warned you about that.”

The shimmer ceased, but Skye kept coming. When he reached the fountain, he leaned a hip against it. He was still favoring the shoulder Idhri had struck but was trying to disguise it. “You two are alone,” Skye said. “Where is your protectress?”

“We have no need of protection,” Morgana said.

“Oh, I think you do, Priestess.” Skye smirked as he spoke her title.

“You would not dare harm me, whatever you think of the Nine.”

“You? I have no wish to harm you. I have other needs.”

“Your needs are not my concern.” Morgana put a hand on Idhri’s arm. “Come, Idhri. We must be on our way.”

Skye straightened, and Morgana saw him ease his knife from its scabbard. She narrowed her eyes, assessing him, measuring the distance between them. She had deflected a knife before, with serious consequences. As she remembered that event, her right palm began to prickle in preparation.

Skye said, “You may go on as you please, Priestess, but this half-blood comes with me.”

Morgana said flatly, “No. He does not.”

Skye pointed the knife at her. “And how do you think you will stop me? Are you hiding a weapon under that black robe?”

Morgana’s palm stopped prickling. Her blood began to rise, and she spread her hands wide, as if to invite the fae man to attack her. She welcomed the feral curve of her upper lip as she said, in her deepest, coldest voice, “As it happens, I am.”

19

Seeing the knife in Skye’s hand turned Idhri’s stomach. The weapon gleamed in the bright light, sharp and slender, with a wicked point. It looked lethal, but it wasn’t the appearance of it that shook him so badly. He had a scar along his ribs that might have been from such a weapon, although how he received the wound was one of the countless things he couldn’t remember. Now, as he gazed at Skye’s knife, the scar began to burn. He had to resist an urge to put his hand to it, as if to soothe a pain that had subsided long ago. His throat dried at the thought of how that knife might feel.

Skye brandished the weapon, careless of how close it came to Idhri and Priestess Morgana. He said, “Step away from him, Priestess. No one needs to get hurt.”

She said, her voice deep and hard, “Except Idhri. Your son, I gather.”

“No proof of that,” Skye said, flashing his yellow-toothed grin. “But he needs to be dealt with no matter who fathered him.”

“You could simply pay the penalty.”

“The penalty for violating the Rule?” The grin faded. “No. I have no intention of doing that.” He lifted the knife and took a menacing step forward.