Page 77 of The Faerie Handmaid

Idhri, with a wordless cry of triumph, leaped forward. He raised his knife, ready to plunge it into Skye’s body, exactly what the fae had done to his mother. He felt no compunction, no reluctance, no hesitation. He was convinced of the rightness of it and gratified by the justice. He craved the satisfaction. He readied his grip and stabbed downward.

His knife stopped before it reached its target.

Idhri gasped, shocked. It had not been his intention to stop. Something—someone—had stopped him.

When he heard her deep voice, he knew what had happened.

“We will deal with him, Idhri. There is no need for you to bear this on your conscience.”

Slowly, panting now, caught in a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, Idhri straightened. He was angry at being interrupted, but he was also, deep in his heart, relieved not to have felt his knife pierce a man’s flesh. He longed for revenge, but he also felt a wash of gratitude that it would not be he who had to deal it out. He looked at the knife, shaking now in his hands, rendered impotent. With a cry of frustration and confusion, Idhri hurled the knife into the street, where it clanged against the cobblestones and rolled to a stop.

He was shaking. His chest heaved as if he had been running, and sweat trickled over his ribs. His empty hand yearned for the knife even as his heart fluttered with relief, and time returned to its usual pace.

When Skye started to get up, Priestess Morgana spoke again. “Skye, stay where you are. Idhri, come to us.”

Idhri turned. Priestess Morgana, her silver hair brilliant in the slanting light of the waning afternoon, stood with one arm extended, the palm glistening as if a lamp burned there. She kept her eyes on Skye, who had frozen in place. Braithe was beside the priestess, and she held out a hand to Idhri. Her eyes brimmed with sympathy and understanding. He saw no criticism in them.

Morgana picked up Idhri’s knife and stepped forward, taking care to keep Skye bound, and took his as well. She gave both to Braithe, and then, with a flick of her fingers, she released the fae man.

He made a small, painful-sounding noise in his throat as his agency returned. Slowly, he pushed himself up, straightening until he was upright. In a halfhearted way, he made the glamour-creating gesture with his hand, the same sign he had made before, but the glamour didn’t materialize.

“You see. You have used the last of your magic, Skye,” Morgana said. “The council ruled a short while ago, and they have blocked it. You will never use it again.”

Skye’s mouth opened, and for a moment he stared at the priestess as if he might beg for her mercy. When he closed his lips, apparently understanding a plea would be pointless, his features sagged. He put a hand to his injured shoulder, looking as if he had aged a lifetime since the morning.

“You are banished from the White City,” Morgana said.

Skye said, his harsh voice weak with fear, “Then where am I to go?”

“Try the Romans,” Morgana said. “I understand they are tolerant of murderers.”

His eyes flashed up to hers, but there was no defiance left in them. “The Romans,” he muttered. “They would enslave me.”

Morgana said, “Probably,” and turned her back on him. She addressed Braithe and Idhri together. “We can go home.”

“By the Lady’s hand,” Braithe whispered.

Idhri said, though his throat was dry and his mouth felt full of ashes, “May it be so.”

25

Braithe set out the evening meal for Morgana and for Idhri, and though they offered to help, she refused. “Both of you have suffered a terrible day,” she said as she gave them each a cup of cider and a plate. “You need rest and refreshment.”

Idhri filled his plate swiftly, bread and seeds and apple slices, adding an impressive portion of sweet cakes on the side. “I’m sorry I frightened you,” he said to Braithe as he cut a huge chunk of cheese from the wheel.

“You have apologized enough, Idhri,” she said. She smiled at him.

He was correct, though. She had been panicked. She had felt utterly helpless, casting about for what to do about Idhri’s disappearance. When Morgana and Emerlyn appeared she had nearly wept with relief. She was glad to hear that Ursula and Vivyan had been summoned to the council to answer for their offenses but had urged Morgana to hurry. Her instinct told her Idhri had gone in search of Skye, and with Emerlyn’s help they knew where they needed to go. Emerlyn’s cart would be too slow, so Morgana and Braithe left her to go to the Council Hall while they set out as fast as they could to Skye’s house, desperate to avert a tragedy. Everything had happened with dizzying speed. Braithe was still trying to absorb it all, and though she was nearly giddy with relief, a thread of anxiety still jittered in her breast. She told herself it was a remnant of her earlier fear and tried to quell it.

She sat down opposite Morgana, who was drinking cider but not eating. “You need to eat, Priestess,” Braithe said.

“I do, and I plan on it,” Morgana said. “But you are burning with curiosity about what happened with Ursula.”

“And Dama Vivyan! That’s a surprise.”

“To me and to Emerlyn as well.”

“How did you know the council had ruled on Skye’s magic?”