Page 6 of The Faerie Handmaid

It was the White City, the only city of fae country. Arthur’s tomb was near it, built many years ago by priests of ages past. The White City was the home of the Royal Council that governed the fae. It was led by Councillor Emerlyn, the representative of their queen. Although it appeared she had no love for Morgana, upon their one and only meeting Emerlyn had accepted Arthur’s body from her hands and sworn to keep it safe. She also had managed to refrain from insulting Morgana, as the other fae had. Morgana had long ago put their encounter out of her mind, intending never again to visit the White City.

But there was no question that it was the White City she saw in the scrying bowl. Morgana glanced down at Braithe and understood that her handmaid had seen it, too. Braithe’s face had gone pale behind her freckles, but she met Morgana’s gaze bravely, nodding understanding.

The answer they sought lay in fae country, a place that terrified Braithe.

Morgana turned to the Blackbird. “Did you see?”

“I did,” he said, in his creaking voice. “With your help.”

“We cannot be certain.”

“It’s the only information we have,” he said. “The only hope.”

Morgana dipped her fingers into the water to stir away the image, then sat back in her chair. “I will have to go there. I do not see another way.”

“You should not go alone, Priestess. I fear for your safety.”

Braithe said, in a voice that trembled, “I will go with her, sir.”

He turned to look down at her. “You’re afraid.”

“I am,” she admitted. “But I will go just the same.”

“Courage is doing things even when they frighten you, Braithe.” He touched her shoulder with his hand, as if in benediction. Or as if he were conferring a knighthood. He added, “You make me proud.”

The handmaid’s eyes shone intensely blue in the candlelight.

The day had felt endless, and the hour was late, but Morgana could not persuade her handmaid to go to her own bedchamber until she had brushed Morgana’s hair. It was a ritual Braithe loved, and Morgana had to admit she found it soothing.

“The Blackbird is right about your courage,” Morgana said. Braithe was standing behind her, plaiting her hair in preparation for bed. “But I wonder if I should not take someone else with me to the White City, someone—” She broke off.

“Someone with magic,” Braithe said.

“Not that.” Morgana reached up to touch Braithe’s hand. “Someone older. Perhaps stronger. There is danger in that place,” she said. “For you as well as for me. Perhaps if Niamh—”

“Too old,” Braithe said. “And don’t say Olfreth, either. She is good at patterns, but I’m young and strong.”

“And small,” Morgana said, but with humor.

“True,” Braithe replied, smiling into the mirror as she tucked the last strands into Morgana’s thick braid. “I may not look like much, Priestess, but that can be an advantage in a fight.”

“I do hope there will be no fighting. My task is to persuade the Royal Councillor to assist us.” Morgana stood up. “Now, off to bed with you. We both need our rest. We will make our plan in the morning.”

Braithe cleared the brush of two or three long silver hairs and wound them thoughtfully around her fingers. “I think we should use a boatman this time. The fae will not be eager to see us, and they will make the city hard to find.”

“A wise suggestion. We will enlist the Blackbird’s help.”

“We should tell the boatman tonight that he will be needed.”

“True, else he may start back for Camulod before we can speak to him. I will send Dafne to his quarters.”

Braithe laid the brush on the dressing table. “No need to wake Dafne. I’ll run down with your message. It will only take a moment.” She went to the bed to fold back the blanket, then turned to hold out her hand for Morgana’s robe.

Morgana shook her head. “I will manage the rest,” she said. “You go see Master Hugh, and then to your bed.”

Braithe started for the door, but with her hand on the latch, she looked back. “Are you going to sleep? Or are you going to tire yourself making my charm?”

“Oh, brat,” Morgana said. “Are you reading my mind?”