Page 72 of The Faerie Handmaid

Emerlyn folded her hands into her sleeves, the way the priestesses so often did, and led the way out of the house and into the lane. “I can still scry, my dear,” she said, with a small, sad smile. “I have not lost all my magic.”

A little abashed, Morgana climbed into the cart after the councillor. It had a padded bench seat, and there were cushions on the floor for their feet. Emerlyn spoke directions to her servants, both half-blood men, and they set off. “Our elder priestess would like this mode of travel,” Morgana said. “She often complains of stiffness.”

“You can’t help her? Your remedies are famously effective.”

“You have heard that? That surprises me.”

“Word reaches me here,” Emerlyn said.

Morgana waited a moment, but when Emerlyn offered no further explanation, she said, “In Priestess Niamh’s case, I think she is too proud to accept my remedies.”

“I can understand that. I suffer from an excess of pride, too, Morgana.”

“And I have often been scolded for arrogance.”

Emerlyn gave a slight chuckle. “Who dares scold the priestess Morgana?”

“Our mage, Emerlyn, as you could have guessed.”

“I should have. The Blackbird has always been stern.”

“I think he is getting tired,” Morgana said, thinking of the Blackbird’s slowing steps, his increasingly hunched back.

“I suppose he must be,” Emerlyn said.

“I believe you are also growing weary, Councillor.”

Emerlyn cast her a sidelong glance. “Weary unto death, Morgana. But respite is still far in the distance.”

“I hope it comes for you soon.” Morgana spoke with sincerity. She had found little to like in the White City, but despite their fundamental disagreement, she felt an unlikely kinship with Emerlyn. Such a feeling was not a common event for her.

As the servants pulled the cart along the boulevard, Emerlyn said, with evident sincerity, “I wish you would help me to understand, Morgana. What is there about humans that has earned the devotion you show to them?”

Morgana felt a prickle of unease on the back of her neck. “I find that a strange question, Emerlyn. Perhaps I should turn it around. Why should I not work to improve the lives of the humans who come to me for help?”

Emerlyn gave a small shrug. “They are not your people.”

“I thought I was human for a good portion of my life.”

“Did you? Why?”

“Because the Blackbird thought it best to wait to tell me who my mother was. For a time, I thought I might be a half-blood.”

Emerlyn gave a visible shudder. “No, no, my dear, there was no chance of that.”

“You sound very sure.”

Emerlyn turned her face away, and the prickle on Morgana’s skin intensified. “I am,” Emerlyn said. “I—let us just say, I knew your mother.”

“Did you? And so you know who my father was?”

“No, that I do not. She was not in the habit of confiding in me.” Her mouth twisted, as if the memory irked her. “But I know he was fae. She chose him deliberately.”

“Emerlyn—” Morgana wanted to know more, much more.

But the councillor turned to look ahead, where a high garden wall circled a large house that looked over the boulevard. “Ah. We are almost there.”

The servants pulling the cart turned into a short cobbled lane. The ride turned bumpy, and Emerlyn gripped the side of the cart to steady herself, as if the jolting pained her. The cart stopped at the top of the lane, and the servants set down their poles.