Page 79 of The Faerie Handmaid

“I gather you are in a great hurry to return to the Isle,” Emerlyn said. They were at the kitchen table. Morgana and Braithe were taking their time over a pot of tea. Idhri had demolished the hen’s eggs and berries and was working his way through the last of the bread and cheese.

“I am,” Morgana said, in answer to Emerlyn. She had allowed Braithe, at last, to properly braid her hair, and it hung neatly in a thick plait over her shoulder.

“I am, too,” Braithe said. “And I’m sure Idhri is eager to return to his master.” Idhri, mouth full, mumbled assent.

Emerlyn gave a little sigh. “It would be nice if you could stay for a bit, Morgana. Despite all the drama, I have enjoyed getting to know you.”

Braithe put down her cup and turned to the councillor. Emerlyn met her gaze, then swiftly looked away. Two uncomfortable-looking red spots bloomed in her wrinkled cheeks, and Braithe knew why. She had heard the councillor’s thoughts so clearly it seemed everyone at the table should have done the same.

She hesitated, looking from Emerlyn to Morgana and back again. She could see it now, despite the difference in their ages. She started to speak, stopped herself, then began again. “Councillor,” she said. Emerlyn’s eyes found hers again, and Braithe saw that they sparkled golden with emotion, very like Morgana’s. “Councillor,” she repeated, gently, as if she were the older one and Emerlyn the younger. “You should tell her.”

Morgana arched one dark eyebrow. Emerlyn pushed her cup away and folded her hands on the table. Braithe waited, wondering if she had done the right thing. She might have offended the councillor by listening to her thoughts, but it was too late to take back her words. She thought Emerlyn had been searching for the right moment, and no better moment would come.

Emerlyn inclined her head to Braithe. “Your magic has grown a great deal during your time here, Braithe of the Temple.”

“Yes.” Braithe braced herself for criticism.

“Perhaps you will learn to discipline it,” Emerlyn said, but she spoke without rancor. “And employ it at appropriate times,” the councillor added, “rather than listening to others’ thoughts without permission.”

“I will work on that.”

Emerlyn drew a slow breath and released it. “I will not complain in this instance. I have been hoping for an opportunity.”

Morgana said, “As I am spared Braithe’s gift, I have no idea what the two of you are talking about.”

Braithe lifted her fingers in a small gesture toward Emerlyn. “It is your story to tell, Councillor.”

“I know. I am searching for the right words.” She pulled herself straighter in her chair, seeming to gather her courage. “Morgana, I am not sure how you will react to what I have to say. I hope you won’t be angry that I waited so long.”

Morgana said, “Suppose I promise that I will not? I very much want to hear it.”

Emerlyn watched Morgana’s face as she spoke. “It is true that the Lady was your mother,” she said softly. “I know this very well, because I—I was the Lady’s mother, long ago.”

Braithe watched Morgana, too, her breath suspended as she awaited her response. Idhri, having dispatched every morsel of their breakfast, watched them all, wide-eyed, not understanding.

Morgana’s beautiful golden eyes glistened with emotion. She had not wept even when Arthur died, and Braithe had no doubt she would not weep now, but she was clearly moved. “Emerlyn,” she breathed. “You are my mother’s mother?”

“I am.”

“You could have come to me, on the Isle.”

“I could not, Morgana. Aside from the weight of my duties here, it was not your mother’s wish. She wanted to you to live among humans, to understand them as she did.”

“She was the queen of the fae at one time, was she not? Were you queen before her?”

“No, it was another.”

“And since my mother left the White City?”

“We have had no queen since that time.”

Morgana exhaled a long breath through pursed lips. “It is no wonder so many resent me.”

Emerlyn started to reach out with one hand, then withdrew it, perhaps thinking Morgana would not like being touched. “You could be queen if you wished, Morgana. You could stay here in fae country, in the White City, and rule over the council. Perhaps your youth—”

Morgana started, exclaiming, “Oh, no, Emerlyn! I am glad to know who you are. I am gratified that you and I have an affinity for one another, that perhaps we could be friends, or even more, but no! I could never abandon the Temple, or the people my mother loved.”

“I felt sure you would say that.” Emerlyn spoke with an air of resignation, but not, Braithe thought, disappointment.