Page 7 of The Faerie Handmaid

“I wish I could!” Braithe dimpled. “It would save time.” She was laughing as she slipped through the door and closed it behind her.

Braithe was correct, of course, whether her burgeoning intuition had told her or she had simply used logic. Morgana would not, in fact, allow her little handmaid to step foot in fae country without a charm of protection.

Morgana moved to her worktable to assemble what was needed. She stored supplies in her private chamber for this purpose. The ones for supplicants—love potions, healing salves, tinctures of forgetfulness, remedies to conceive or to not conceive—she made in the Temple workroom. They were the simpler ones, the ones the petitioners came in search of.

Charms of protection, however, she preferred to create in the privacy of her own chamber. They were too important and too secret to share with the acolytes or even her sister priestesses. Creating them required absolute concentration, and the ingredients were ones she and Braithe foraged for themselves.

Morgana found an old pewter amulet among her things and held it in her hand, caught by a memory so intense, so filled with regret, that she had to pause and breathe away the pain it caused her.

She had made two charms of protection during her time at Camulod. One had been for Arthur and had only failed because he gave it away. The other had been for Lancelin and had worked exactly as intended. Even now, four years gone, the memory stirred a mixture of longing and shame in Morgana’s breast. She laid the amulet down with a decisive click and forced the memory back into the past, where it belonged.

Now, because the charm was meant to protect her handmaid in a foreign land, Morgana chose the most unusual herbs she possessed, carefully harvested, dried, and preserved in a cupboard only she and Braithe knew about. Into her mortar she put white oak leaves, for vitality and strength, and lovage roots, for confidence. With her pestle she pressed in stems of wormwood, to sharpen intuition, and after a moment’s thought, she added two blossoms of wood betony, for composure in tense situations. She did not hurry. It was always best to take the time to grind the herbs into a fine, smooth paste, with not even the tiniest lump remaining.

When she was satisfied that her mixture was ready, she took up the amulet and opened it. She smoothed her paste into the tiny basin in its center and topped it with a fragment of mistletoe from the tree in the herb garden, to add the protection of the Temple to her charm. She snapped the amulet’s cover closed and ran her fingers around the seams to be sure it was secure. When all of this was done, she brought out a fresh white candle, set the charm beside it, and lit the wick with a tweak of her fingers. Only then did the real work begin.

She stood beside the table, stretching out one hand to hold her open palm above the amulet. In her other hand she held her sigil, the symbol of the Lady’s power she was about to wield. She tucked her chin, closed her eyes, and concentrated.

She loved the flow of energy that ran through her when she called on her magic. It would leave her weary and drained, but the moment of creation, when her gift poured out to give strength to her remedies, was what she had been born for. It was what her mother, the Lady, had meant for her to do.

Morgana never knew how long it would take, nor was she aware of time passing. She only knew the task was accomplished when the thrill of energy no longer radiated down her arm and out through her palm. Slowly, a little stiffly, she lowered her arm and opened her eyes.

The candle had burned itself down to a puddle of white beeswax. The amulet lay glinting in the starlight that fell through the window. It was done. It would keep Braithe from harm, so long as she wore it faithfully.

She wished it could free her handmaid from fear of the task ahead, but that was not something she dared to do. It was wise to be afraid of the fae. They were capable of great evil, which was why her Lady mother had banished them from Lloegyr.

The fae had not forgiven humans for the Lady’s edict, and she was not here to enforce it. It was left to her daughter and her daughter’s brave little handmaid. Before she slept, Morgana whispered a prayer for Braithe, and for herself, and for the country they had both sworn to protect.

Braithe walked carefully in the darkness. Abundant stars sparkled above her, but there was no moon, and the path was hard to see. She made her way past the dormitory, where the acolytes now slept in peaceful quiet, to the boatmen’s quarters. No light shone in the window, and Braithe wished she didn’t have to wake them, but it was necessary. They could be gone the moment the early summer dawn brightened the lake, eager to return home to Camulod.

She knocked softly. “Master Hugh? It’s Braithe, Priestess Morgana’s handmaid. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need to speak to you.”

She heard the low rumble of the boatmaster’s voice, and then the higher timbre of the boy’s. A moment later the door creaked open, and the lad Idhri stood in the doorway, still dressed in his tunic and the leggings that left his thin ankles bare. His braid was mussed from his pillow, and he was rubbing his eyes. “Mistress Braithe?”

“Just Braithe,” she whispered. “I regret having to wake you.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, just as quietly, and gave her a sleepy smile.

She smiled back at him. “Thank you, Idhri.”

“Should I get my master out of his bed?”

“Perhaps you don’t need to do that. I’ll explain.” Braithe stepped back a little, and the boy followed her outside, pulling the door closed behind him. He was even taller than she had realized, though clearly so young. His eyes were as dark as Morgana’s had once been, pools of deep brown reflecting the stars.

“Priestess Morgana needs to go to the White City in the morning,” Braithe began.

He gave a little hiss of indrawn breath. “The fae city?”

“Yes. That one.”

“Master Hugh won’t be pleased,” Idhri said, his voice breaking. “He doesn’t like the fae.”

“He only needs to make the boat trip,” Braithe assured him. “Neither of you need go into fae country.”

“Are you going with her?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I am.”

He hesitated, gazing doubtfully at her. “Are you certain it’s safe? Emma says that place is full of magic.”