Page 89 of The Faerie Handmaid

A new voice spoke from the doorway. “Nor can I.”

They both looked up, and Lancelin said, “My lord!”

Braithe bowed, then brushed at her robe with her hands to straighten it. “My lord, Sir Lancelin is restive, but his wound is not yet healed to my satisfaction.”

King Mordred came into the chamber, smiling. “So I gather,” he said. He looked well, as if the threat of subversion of his reign had been disturbing his sleep, and now he was able to rest. Braithe was glad to note the air of confidence that shone from his dark eyes. His shoulders had begun to broaden, and he had taken to wearing his black hair cut short around his jaw, which was an appealing look. Although he would never make as stalwart a figure as his elder brother, he was beginning to look like the man he would soon be. He said, “Braithe, I will strive to entertain my champion for a time. No doubt you have other things to do.”

“I would like to take a moment to go into the gardens, sir. I have need of yarrow, and some lavender, if I can find it.”

“On your way, then,” the king said. It was the most confident Braithe had ever seen him. He was still as whip-thin as a boy, but his voice had settled, and he had ceased ducking his head with the shyness that had been so painful to observe.

She bowed again. “I must warn you, sir, your champion requires a strict hand.”

Mordred pulled out the second chair to sit opposite Lancelin. “I will try to meet your standard, Braithe.”

She dimpled at him, shook a warning finger once more at Lancelin, then left them.

With her foraging knife in the pocket of her robe and her herb basket on her hip, Braithe pattered down the stairs of the western tower and outside into the sunshine. She made her way through the farmer’s gate and on toward the neatly tended rows of the gardens. The crops glowed in various colors, from the dusty green of carrot tops to the darker emerald of cabbage plants and the white taproots of parsnips showing above the tilled soil. Three men in wide straw hats were hoeing the earth around a variety of squash, and a woman with her skirt tied up around her knees and a kerchief pulled low over her forehead sprinkled water with a ladle where it was needed.

The scene made Braithe think of the laborers outside the White City, and the notable differences. There was no overseer here, nor was one needed. There was no woman aged before her time by brutal labor and too much sun, risking punishment to warn Braithe against the fae. These Lloegyrians chattered together. They laughed. Sometimes a snatch of song rose into the morning air, and other laborers would take it up. They worked hard, bending to their chores, but when they straightened, they held their heads high, and their faces were bright with satisfaction at farming the good soil of Camulod. Several waved to her, and one called, “Good day, Priestess!”

She waved back, her heart lifting at how well they looked, how content, how peaceful. As she left them behind and walked on into the woods, her cheerful mood faded. She would always grieve for the enslaved humans of fae country. She recalled Didi’s attempt to be kind as they worked together in the Council Hall, and she wished there were something she could do to help her. She couldn’t imagine what might become of Gwen, whose entire life had been stolen from her. At least Faolin would no longer be able to torture her, but what would she do with her remaining years? It didn’t seem fair that she would become a servant, but evidently that appealed to her more than starting anew in a land now strange to her. Braithe thought there should be an answer to all of this, but it was too big a question for her to take on.

She found a clearing dotted with yarrow’s golden blossoms, where she took as much as she thought she could use, leaving the rest to reseed. She wandered on, down toward the lake’s edge, searching for a lavender bush. She remembered seeing one on the shore, in a sunny spot beyond the tree line. She had no need to hurry. She strolled past a small, late-blooming patch of milk violets and stepped over a tiny brook that trickled between red clusters of cow-wheat as it curved toward the lake. In the clear water, minnows darted between shining stones, and Braithe bent to greet them.

The lavender bush was right where she remembered it. She took out her foraging knife and cut a dozen stems to expand her supply of tincture. She hoped a dose of it would help Sir Lancelin sleep longer at night and perhaps ease his impatience as he waited for his wound to fully heal.

When she had cut enough for her purpose, she straightened. She sniffed the rich smell of lavender that clung to her fingertips as she looked around to see if she had missed anything. She spotted a tiny patch of wild strawberries that had ripened. She picked them as a treat for Lancelin, then decided her basket was full enough. She tucked a few loose yarrow sprigs deeper into the bottom so they wouldn’t fall out and shook a bit of dirt from the hem of her robe before turning to walk back to the castle.

“Braithe!”

She looked over her shoulder and saw Idhri coming toward her. She could have sworn he had grown in the short time since they left the White City and its terrors behind. Like the king, he was swiftly emerging from his boyhood. She waited for him to reach her, admiring the way his dark hair gleamed in the sun and his long legs covered the ground.

“Idhri, well met,” she said. “You and your master have returned from your recent journey, I see.”

“Yesterday,” he said. “Emma sent me out to see if there are some turnips ripe enough to add to our dinner.”

“I think there will be.” They turned to walk back through the garden to the row where the turnips were showing their milky tops. “And how is Emma, and Master Hugh?”

“Both well.” Idhri smiled down at her. “I was foolish to think they might be upset when they learned I am a half-blood. Turns out Emma already knew.”

“Oh, Idhri! So now you know it makes no difference, nor ever has.”

“Yes. She is such a good woman, Braithe. When I have the turnips, will you come with me to meet her at last?”

“I will!” Braithe declared, then laughed. “I have left the king of Lloegyr on duty in the sick room, so I have time.”

Idhri had brought a burlap sack to collect the turnips in. When he judged they had dug enough of them, carefully scraping off the dirt that clung to the fat tubers and restoring it to the earth, they walked toward the east, where the cottages of the farmers and coopers and boatmen were. Braithe admired the little community. “I have never walked here before,” she said.

“So different from the White City,” Idhri said.

“Just what I was thinking.”

Emma and Hugh’s little house was the last, at the very edge of the forest, easily identifiable by the upturned hulls of boats under repair in their yard.

“I left her out here,” Idhri said, peering around the garden. “She must have gone inside.”

“Working on your dinner, no doubt,” Braithe said.