Page 8 of The Faerie Handmaid

“Emma?”

“Master Hugh’s wife.”

“We have magic here, too, Idhri,” Braithe said softly. “The priestesses use it.”

“But fae magic is different, Emma says. Bad.”

“Priestess Morgana has greater magic than anyone. I feel sure her magic is stronger than any fae magic could be. We will be safe.” She felt the quiver of intuition stir under her breastbone even as she spoke, and it was not a pleasant sensation. It rarely was. “In any case, Idhri, we must go first thing tomorrow. It’s urgent.”

“I will tell my master,” he said. He put his hand on the latch of the door once again but didn’t pull it. “Braithe?”

“Yes?” She had taken a step away, but she turned back.

“I don’t understand how magic works.”

Braithe said, “Oh. Idhri, that’s hard to explain.”

“Why is it good when the priestesses use it, but bad when the fae do?”

“I don’t think all fae magic is bad, Idhri. Anyone who has magic can be good or bad. The difference is in the practitioner.” The quiver came again, and she pressed her hand over it, as if that would make it stop.

“Do you have magic, Braithe?”

“Me?” She gave a low, soft laugh. “No. No, I am just a handmaid.”

“But people do. Like the priestesses.”

“Yes, some do. And some have more than others.” She put out a hand and patted his arm. His eyes widened at the gesture, and she wondered if perhaps he didn’t like to be touched. She lifted her hand, murmuring, “Now back to your bed, and rest well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

When he had gone back inside and closed the door behind him, Braithe trudged back up the slope to the residence, the weight of this day’s long hours making her feet feel heavy. She hoped she would not lie awake, wondering at Idhri’s questions, knowing she herself didn’t quite understand how the magic worked.

Indeed, she thought, perhaps no one did.

3

Idhri, weighed down by travel bags, trudged behind Master Hugh as they wended their way to the dock under the hot noon sun. They were to wait at the boat for their new passengers. Idhri was pleased at the prospect of transporting Braithe to wherever she wanted to go, even if it meant being in the presence of the formidable Priestess Morgana.

Master Hugh, as Idhri had predicted, was unhappy. He muttered to himself as they walked and as he packed the bags into the stern of the rowboat. When the job was done, he stood with folded arms, staring out across the water. Idhri, shifting from foot to foot on the dock as they waited, watched him with curiosity. Master Hugh had a cheerful nature. He liked the work he did. He sometimes blustered about the vagaries of his customers, but Idhri knew he didn’t mean anything by it. He was always eager to accept a new job, to bring the money home to his Emma and receive her fulsome praise. What had made him so cross?

Master Hugh caught his apprentice’s wondering gaze. “Sorry, lad,” he said, with a twist of his lips. “Not a job I wanted to take on.”

“Will it be a long journey, then?”

Hugh shook his head. “Nay, not long. It’s just—I don’t like the destination.”

“Braithe says we don’t need to go into the city.”

“Who’s Braithe?”

“She’s the priestess’s handmaid. The little one with the curls.” He gestured around his own head to illustrate Braithe’s cloud of fair hair. “She says it will be easy, and then we come back for the Black Mage.”

“Aye. He’s going to wait for us to return for him.” Under his breath, Master Hugh added, “If they let us go.”

Idhri stopped fidgeting. “What?” His voice broke on the word, and he cleared his throat. “What?” he repeated, forcing his voice into the low register he wished would hold. Visions of Roman forts or Saxon camps flashed through his mind. Everyone who lived in or near Camulod heard the tales of slaughter and ransacking of farms and hamlets in the east and the north. Emma had been brought to tears more than once by such stories. “If who lets us go?”

The boatman spat into the water. “The fae,” he growled. “The faeries.”

“Do you think they would keep us? Why?”