Page 110 of The Faerie Handmaid

“He was fae. Do you think King Mordred would have put him to the sword?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he would have deemed it unwise. As it happened, I passed my own judgment and saved the king the complication.”

Morgana looked away, gazing out to the starlit hills. “I failed to dispatch the changeling when I had the opportunity,” she said. “People died because of my hesitation.”

“I feel no guilt over my choice. I only wondered what you would think.”

“I think,” Morgana said, tucking her hands into her sleeves, “that you are a man of battle. A decisive man, and an honorable one. I cannot think of a single reason why you should have risked yourself in order to keep a very bad man alive.”

“I understand he was young Idhri’s father.”

“He was also the murderer of Idhri’s mother, and I have no doubt he would have happily murdered Idhri to win back his place in the White City.”

“I don’t understand that.”

“It is not an easy thing to comprehend. The fae rule themselves badly, with arcane and archaic Rules that some follow and some do not. They claim that half-bloods, like Idhri, are an abomination, and yet they use them as servants. They have a strange hierarchy that has nothing to do with the value of the individual.”

“So you will not be going back there, Priestess?”

“I will not. I will rest here for a bit, and then I will return to the Temple.”

Another silence stretched between them, but this one was not as easy. Morgana felt the shift in the air as Lancelin decided what he would say. A tiny thrill of anticipation threaded its way from her belly and up to her heart. It was accompanied by a vague sense of shame, but she let that drift away on the night breeze. At least thus far, she had done nothing to be ashamed of.

Finally, he spoke. “I have not forgotten your vow, Priestess, but I want you to know—that is, I want to tell you—” He coughed and shifted again on the stone bench. “Damn, I have no idea how to say this.”

“Perhaps there is no need to say it.”

He sat up very straight and turned to face her. The starlight flickered in his dark eyes, and he put a hand on her arm. She looked down at it. His hand was warm and strong, and exceedingly masculine. She did not pull away. She could have told him she knew what he was about to say, but she did not do that, either. She wanted to hear him speak the words.

“If you should change your mind about your Temple vows,” he began, slowly.

“I will admit to you, sir, that my time in the White City made me question many things I have always believed.”

“Including your vows?”

“I cannot say that yet. I only… I suppose I can say I am still learning.”

“You give me hope. If you should decide to return to Camulod, I would be very glad.”

Morgana’s heartbeat fluttered in her throat, and she wondered if she could bring herself to admit the truth about herself. “Dear sir,” she began. “There is so much you do not know…”

His fingers tightened on her arm. “Priestess. If you think I’m not aware that you’re fae, you underestimate me.”

She caught a breath. “What? Why would you—Lancelin!”

His narrow lips quirked. “I am a seasoned warrior, remember. I have traveled the length and breadth of Lloegyr. I have encountered hundreds of people. The difference between humans and fae is not hard to recognize.”

“But you have said nothing!”

“Of course I have said nothing. I daresay I would be your first protector, should there ever be a need.”

“Sir Lancelin…” Morgana searched for words but could find none. Instead, she put her own hand over his and tucked her chin to hide the golden fire she knew must burn in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “It is an honor to have you as my protector.”

37

The first thing Braithe did, waking in the early hours, was to look into the Blackbird’s scrying bowl. Without surprise, she saw Skye floating somewhere on the lake, face down in the water, his body pushed this way and that by Ilyn’s modest currents. His hair had come loose from its tie and floated around his head like the tentacles of some ancient sea creature. There was no sign of life. Her feeling had been correct. The last threat to Idhri was gone.

She moved back to her bed and sat on the edge of it, remembering what had happened the day before, recalling what she could of the great magic Morgana claimed had been all her doing, remembering how strange she had felt afterward, weak and weary and not entirely clear in her mind. Now the dawn had found her feeling like herself.