Page 70 of The Faerie Handmaid

They found Emerlyn waiting for them. There was apparently no council gathering today. Braithe, ravenous now, having eaten almost nothing since the morning before, was glad to see food trays waiting on the table. She ate cheese and bread and greens. Idhri still couldn’t eat, but she coaxed him to drink two cups of sweet cider. Emerlyn and Morgana disappeared into Morgana’s chamber for a time, and when they emerged, Morgana also ate, although more sparingly than Braithe would have liked.

Idhri was pale and quiet. Braithe persuaded him to go into his room and lie on his cot. She followed him, and once he was lying down, she pulled a blanket over him. “I’ll bring you a tincture to help you rest.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She squeezed his hand before she slipped out, drawing the curtain closed behind her.

At the kitchen table, Morgana toyed with a half-drunk cup of cider. Emerlyn sat across from her, hands folded in her lap. Braithe found the lavender tincture in Morgana’s chamber, added a bit of poppy, then administered some of the mixture to Idhri. When he seemed somewhat calmer, breathing more deeply, she drew his curtain again and went to sit with the others.

Emerlyn said, “Braithe, you should know that Faolin has been ejected from the council, and his house has been confiscated.”

“Is that his only punishment?” Braithe asked.

“No. It is the first step.”

Braithe and Morgana both watched Emerlyn, waiting, pressuring her with their silence. She had avoided telling them the truth about the penalty for violating the Rule, skirting it as if it were something shameful. Braithe had the distinct impression she would prefer not to tell them.

At last the councillor breathed a long, resigned sigh. “He loses everything. His house, his possessions, his place on the council. And the ultimate penalty—he loses his magic.”

“His magic!” Morgana exclaimed. “Can the council do that?”

“They can, and they will.”

Braithe said, “How is it accomplished?”

“It’s the one time the delegates work together, including myself. The totality of our magic is much greater than that of one offender. It’s a distasteful task, but occasionally it must be undertaken. We will bind him from the practice of magic.”

“I thought the penalty must be death,” Braithe said.

Emerlyn turned to her, and Braithe realized for the first time that the councillor’s eyes showed golden sparks, bright against the dark brown, although nothing to compare with Morgana’s. Emerlyn’s voice was low and intense as she answered. “To the fae, this punishment is worse than death. Our magic is the thing that sets us apart. That puts us above other beings in this world.”

Morgana’s voice vibrated with disappointment and disapproval. “You believe you are above all other beings?”

Emerlyn’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t you feel that way, Morgana?” The expression on her face was without guile. Her question was sincere.

Braithe sensed how appalled Morgana was, though she controlled herself. “I do not, Emerlyn,” Morgana said. “Nor should you. I know dozens of humans who are more honorable, more hardworking, more worthy, than the likes of Faolin or Skye. I am only acquainted with one half-blood, but that one is a sweet, courageous boy. His value is infinitely higher than that of his careless sire.”

“But think how it would feel to lose your magic.” Emerlyn leaned forward to convey the depth of her feeling on the matter. “Imagine yourself without your abilities to create potions and remedies, to do the little things that make life easier—lift a spoon without touching it, tweak a candlewick into flame, use your deep sight at will. Scry!”

Morgana answered with a deliberation that Braithe knew hid her disgust. “What I cannot imagine, Emerlyn, is an entire people so convinced of their importance that they despise anyone who is different.”

“But you are one of us,” Emerlyn said, looking and sounding genuinely bewildered.

“I am not. My Lady mother saw to that, and I am increasingly grateful to her for it.”

Braithe held her breath, expecting Emerlyn to be offended, but she didn’t appear to be. “Truly, Morgana, I thought you would understand. The delegates—in fact, all of the fae—are fiercely protective of our kind, possibly because there are fewer and fewer of us each year.”

“But if your kind is useless? If it does nothing to help others, to ease suffering in the world, to protect those who are weaker?”

“Do you think our kind is useless?”

“Perhaps that word is too strong, but certainly your kind can be unspeakably cruel.”

Braithe felt compelled to add, “Faolin stole Gwen’s life. He tortured her for years, and he meant to do the same to me. And now he continues to interfere in Lloegyr’s defense.”

“That is at an end,” Emerlyn said. “There is a ritual, but it will be performed without delay. It is,” she added grimly, “the only time the council moves with speed.”

“Has he given up the names of the others?” Morgana asked. Her eyes were a brilliant, furious gold. “We are under the pressure of time. There is a fresh crisis at our eastern border.”