Page 63 of The Faerie Handmaid

“On the contrary,” Priestess Morgana said in an icy tone. “I know far more than I did only a short while ago. I can guess how you used this poor woman.” She gestured to the sobbing woman in the doorway. “And I have no doubt you are the one I seek. All I do not know yet is who your accomplices are.”

“Accomplices! What nonsense!” But the man’s voice betrayed his lack of confidence. He hid it by turning to snap at the woman cowering in the doorway, her face mottled with weeping. “Go inside, Gwen! I’ll deal with you later.”

“No, Sero, you will not. Your victim is coming with me. Perhaps you should be thinking of your own safety instead of abusing her further.”

“You can’t hurt me,” the man snapped.

“I have no need to hurt you,” she answered. “I leave that to the judgment of the Royal Council.” She pushed past him to go up the short steps to the door, where she held out her hand to the woman inside. “Come, Gwenvere,” she said. “You will be safe with us.”

The man had stepped back, out of the priestess’s way, but now he roared, “No! Gwen, if you do this, you will know pain you haven’t dreamed of!”

The woman he called Gwen doubled over, holding her middle, crying out as if he had kicked her, though he was at least ten steps away.

The priestess whirled and threw up a hand, palm facing the fae man. “Stop!” she commanded. The word echoed down the lane like the striking of a bronze bell. It was such a powerful sound Idhri thought they might hear it at the Council Hall.

The fae grunted as if Priestess Morgana had struck him. He bent at the waist, his hands on his knees, evidently having difficulty drawing a breath.

Gwen, moaning, sagged to the floor. Idhri leaped past the fae man and up the walk to reach her. As he helped her to stand, he heard the priestess say, “You see, Sero, I can hurt you if I choose. It seems you have a taste for pain, although perhaps your own is not so satisfying.”

The fae man pushed himself upright with a little wheezing groan. He looked as if he felt sick. “You will pay for this,” he growled, but without conviction. The priestess made no answer.

Idhri led Gwen down the steps and out into the waning sunshine. She seemed to be nothing but bones and skin, and she trembled as if she might collapse. Idhri kept a hand under her arm, but carefully. It felt fragile, as if it might break under the pressure of his fingers. Priestess Morgana took her other arm, and the three of them, linked in that clumsy way, made a stumbling progress down the walk, past the glowering fae and out through the gate. They heard the cantrip muttered behind them, and the gate swung closed as their awkward trio reached the lane.

Idhri asked, as they assisted Gwen toward the boulevard, “Priestess, what did you do?”

She glanced at him above Gwen’s head. “I lost my temper, Idhri.”

“And that—that hurt him?”

Her eyes glinted gold in the waning light. “I hope it did. By the hand of the Lady, I certainly hope it did.”

21

Braithe woke with the early-morning sun on her face and a hollow feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t recall when she had last eaten anything, or what it had been. The granite floor of the pavilion wasn’t meant for sleeping, but she had been so tired, and so relieved to be someplace she felt safe, that she had managed. She got to her feet and stretched out the stiff places from her trek of the day before and the night spent on a hard floor. The faerie lights hanging from the roof had gone dark. The sunrise shimmered on the veil of magical protection around the bier.

Braithe looked back the way she had come. She saw nothing but rolling lines of brush and trees in the full leaf of high summer. Her stomach grumbled with hunger, causing her a moment’s panic. She set her teeth and shook it off. She was a cottar’s daughter, and an herbalist, thanks to Morgana. She was accustomed to foraging. With such lush foliage there must be water somewhere. There might be berries, like the ones she had eaten at the guesthouse. Surely there would be one of the many edible plants she had learned to identify. She would worry about what came next after she had solved the immediate challenge of her empty stomach.

An hour later she returned to the pavilion, her thirst slaked and the edge taken off her hunger. She had felt as if Arthur were guiding her, directing her eyes and her hands to just where the knotberries grew. She had found coneflowers to munch on, and dandelions and fiddleheads, things she had often harvested on the Isle. She sat on the edge of the pavilion, letting the rising sun warm her face as she pondered what to do next.

She didn’t want to retrace her steps to the White City and run the risk of Faolin’s ire, but she couldn’t stay here forever. She had not come upon another path that might lead her on to a different destination. Morgana would be frantically searching for her, and Gwen… She had to do something about Gwen. Faolin would no doubt be expending his fury on her, and Braithe couldn’t bear to think about how terrible that must be.

She wondered if it was possible that her image of Faolin’s house had reached Morgana. She could try the same thing again. She could attempt to send her an image of the pavilion, with its magicked bier and precious burden. It was better than doing nothing.

A wave of doubt assailed her before she could begin, drowning her confidence. She was no longer in the city, where streams and waves of magic eddied in every lane and flowed along the boulevards. That magic, dark and chaotic though it was, had strengthened her meager gift. Here there was nothing except the shield around the bier and the faerie lights that shone in the darkness. She was on her own.

She put her head in her hands, trying to think. When something brushed her ankle, she startled and looked up.

At her feet, with shining dark eyes fixed on her, was a red squirrel. Her plume of a tail, with a froth of white hair gleaming beneath the red, curled up over her back, and her little ears twitched as she gazed at Braithe. She had touched her with one tiny, soft paw. Braithe held very still, fearing she might frighten the little creature away, but the squirrel showed no signs of scampering off. Rather, she seemed to be asking for her attention.

When the message came into Braithe’s mind, it was as if the squirrel had spoken aloud. It didn’t matter that the message was wordless, that she couldn’t speak even if she tried. Braithe heard it.

Braithe had watched Morgana commune many times with the creatures of the woods and the air, even of the water. It had been a marvel and a mystery. It had never occurred to her to envy it, because it made no sense to waste energy being jealous of anything to do with such a magical being as Priestess Morgana, but now—in this astonishing moment—she understood.

The bright-eyed squirrel was telling her to do it, to send Morgana the image of the pavilion. Morgana would recognize it and would learn from Emerlyn how to get here.

Braithe said softly, “Thank you, little sister.” The squirrel’s pretty tail flicked gaily, making Braithe smile down at her.

They both jumped when a querulous voice called out. “Who are you? Why are you here?”