Page 66 of The Faerie Handmaid

They walked so quickly to the reflecting pool that Emerlyn was out of breath and shaky by the time they reached it. Idhri could see that Morgana had tried to moderate her pace, but she was tense and impatient. Idhri stayed close to the councillor, ready to catch her should she stumble.

The glassy surface of the pool coruscated with the light of the sun. It dazzled Idhri’s eyes, but if it bothered Priestess Morgana, she gave no sign. She bent forward, her lips pursed, her brow furrowed, and gazed into it.

She had felt Braithe’s call early that morning, she said, and it was stronger this time, whether because the enemy’s efforts to interfere with her own magic were growing weaker or because Braithe’s magic was strengthening. Idhri heard the councillor say it could be both, and the priestess had nodded without slowing her hurrying steps.

Now the priestess and the councillor stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing into the shining water. Idhri thought of the times when he and Master Hugh rowed together, and the boat moved twice as fast as it would if only one of them had taken up the oars. He watched Morgana blow a slow breath through her pursed lips, and the councillor did exactly the same.

“Ah,” the councillor said. “She has found her way to the old temple.”

“That pavilion? Is that the temple?”

“It is. Outside the city, to the east.”

“And is it…”

The councillor nodded. “Yes. The tomb of the true king. I kept my promise.”

“Who is that woman with her?”

“That’s the Keeper. She is the oldest living fae. She no longer wanted to be part of the council or even to live in the White City. Her magic has grown weak, but it’s strong enough to maintain the protection around the bier.”

“Is it far?”

“Perhaps four hours’ walk for you and Idhri. For me, much longer. Too long, I think.”

“But you can direct me.”

“I can. And you should take this.” The councillor pressed a bag into the priestess’s hands.

She glanced inside and handed it to Idhri. “Thank you for the food, Emerlyn. Braithe will be hungry.”

Idhri thought, So am I, but he kept the thought to himself. Feeding Braithe was more important. Still, he was glad to feel the weight of the bag. There might be enough. He bowed his thanks to the councillor, and he and Priestess Morgana were on their way.

Morgana had woken that morning with Braithe’s call fairly ringing in her ears, and as she hurried to rise, the image of a place grew in her mind, although she had no idea what it was. What she had not mentioned, either to Idhri or to Emerlyn, was that the Blackbird had also called out to her. He had always been an adept, so that even with the distracting currents of magic in the White City, his message was clear. There were no details, but there was urgency. She caught a brief glimpse in the reflecting pool of a battle, a village on fire, bodies on the ground. The boy king’s efforts to defend his lands were still being thwarted, and they had only identified one of the saboteurs.

There were two more conspirators to find, and they must do it soon. Faolin would not be capable of working such distant magic now, with his crimes exposed. He had incurred the wrath of the councillor, and he would be expending his energy defending himself. Now his accomplices must be stopped as well.

Once she had Braithe safe again, they would deal with what remained of their mission. Still, as she and Idhri hastened along the road, and then along the path through the woods, the images of burning buildings and corpses scattered on the ground haunted her. Morgana did her best to put the vision of the destroyed village out of her mind for the time being, but it was not a simple thing to do.

When they emerged from the forest into the clearing where the old temple stood, her relief washed everything away for the moment. She saw two women standing beside the pavilion. One was an ancient fae with yellowing white hair, flanked by two small black goats. The other was Braithe, still in her servant’s garb, her cropped hair shining in the sun. The glow of the magic surrounding Arthur’s bier framed her with a halo of shimmering light, and even from a distance, her eyes flashed as blue as the summer sky above.

Morgana, casting aside her customary reserve, ran to fold her little handmaid into an embrace.

As the priestess and Braithe spoke in quiet, intense tones together, Idhri stepped into the pavilion, amazed by the ancient pillars, the granite floor, the power of the magic encircling the bier. He understood this was the tomb of the great King Arthur. The king had been gone two years by the time Idhri came to Camulod, but tales of his courage and honor and kindness abounded among the working folk. Idhri stood admiring the coffin’s sculpted surface, the delicate vines and flowers winding up to a simple crown at the head. He wished he could have known him.

He took care not to touch the curtain of magic, but he stood close to it. Its energy prickled pleasantly on his skin.

The ancient fae woman stepped up beside him, leaving her goats cropping grass. She was the Keeper, Braithe had said, the protectress of Arthur’s tomb. If she had another name, no one had mentioned it.

She had probably been tall at one time, long ago. Now she was bent, her thin shoulders sloping. Idhri was at least a head taller, so that she had to peer up at him as she leaned on her staff. Her clouded eyes narrowed against the bright sunlight, and he wondered if she could see his face.

He gave a small cough, thinking he should speak to her, but not sure what to say. He finally said, “Thank you for helping Braithe to reach the priestess.” He knew that the two of them, the Keeper and Braithe, had combined their magic to project the image of the pavilion to Priestess Morgana.

The Keeper tilted her head as she watched him. Her voice was high and thin. “You need help, too, boy. Need help.”

He said, taken aback, “Do I, grandmother?”

She gave a wheezy chuckle. “Grandmother. Grandmother. I like this name.” She picked up her staff in her fist and gestured with it. “But you need help, and I will help you.”