Page 69 of The Faerie Handmaid

The trek back into the White City was almost as stressful for Braithe as the journey out had been. Idhri had stumbled down from the pavilion and fainted dead away on the grass. Morgana and Braithe ran to him, but for a terrifyingly long time they couldn’t rouse him. When they finally did, he could barely stand. He leaned into their supporting hands as if his muscles had dissolved. He couldn’t speak at first, and when he did it was in disjointed fragments that made no sense.

After a time, when it appeared he would not quickly recover, Morgana murmured, “Braithe. Use your gift. Find out what has made Idhri ill.”

Braithe’s confidence in her gift was still shaky, and she feared it might fail her, but it did not. Indeed, in this intense moment, it served her better than it ever had. She put an arm around Idhri’s slender waist, bent her head, and listened to his thoughts. After a time, she looked up at Morgana with tears streaming down her cheeks and her throat aching with a sorrow that was not hers.

Morgana said, “He has remembered.”

Braithe nodded, still holding Idhri tightly. “He has,” she choked, “and it is terrible.”

“I expected it would be something awful. He will need time.”

Idhri, between them, drew a shuddering breath, like a weepy child just coming around. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Nonsense,” Braithe said. “In time we will sort out all the things you remember. There will be good in your memories as well as the evil that befell.”

“My mother…” he moaned, then sobbed as if his heart would break, his face buried in Braithe’s shoulder.

“I know,” Braithe murmured, over and over. “I know, dear heart. I heard. It’s ghastly.” She patted his back and smoothed his hair. “To add to everything, my dear Idhri, we have a long journey to make. Could you concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, just for now? When we have arrived, when you have rested, we will talk it all through. I will share this burden with you, I promise.”

With an effort everyone could see, he swallowed his tears and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He straightened his shoulders, then rubbed his face fiercely, as if he could scrub it all away.

The Keeper had stood silently by, watching. As Braithe released Idhri, the old fae woman spoke to him. “I did say you might not thank me.”

He sniffled, but his voice was steady. “Better I should remember, grandmother.”

She nodded. “I hope so, lad. Hope so.”

Morgana said, “We must go now, grandmother.”

She answered, “You have work to do, I think.”

“We do.”

Braithe added, “Thank you for your help.”

The Keeper nodded. Braithe took a final look at the bent figure with her two little goats, the shimmer of the pavilion’s protection behind her. The Keeper lifted a hand in farewell. Braithe did the same.

As she and Morgana and Idhri began the long walk back to the city, Braithe said, “Priestess, Idhri will need a lavender tincture. A bit of poppy would not go amiss, either.”

“I have those things in the guesthouse. Help yourself.”

Braithe heard the touch of humor in Morgana’s voice. She herself couldn’t smile, not with poor Idhri’s memories so fresh in her mind, but she appreciated the respect Morgana had implied, and her confidence that Braithe would know what to do for Idhri.

The way was far easier to navigate in the daylight than it had been in the dark, though Idhri’s weakness slowed their steps. It seemed a long while before the path, with its ruts and stones, widened into the lane. The afternoon sun was burning their heads before they reached the boulevard at the outskirts of the city and could stop at a fountain to drink.

Braithe made herself eat a little of the food Emerlyn had sent. She knew they still had a long way to go, and she had eaten nothing but a few wild herbs since the day before. Idhri only shook his head when the food was offered. Morgana ate nothing, and for once, Braithe had no energy to admonish her.

She did persuade Idhri to drink from the fountain, but he shuddered as he tasted the water. “What is it?” she asked.

“It’s warm,” he said, in a flat, lifeless voice.

“It’s still good, Idhri.”

He shook his head. “Blood. It’s warm like blood.”

It made no sense, of course. Braithe just put her arm around him again. The contact was the only comfort she had to offer.

They went on as soon as they had rested a bit, wending their way to the guesthouse. Morgana and Braithe spoke only when necessary. Idhri didn’t speak at all.