Page 19 of The Faerie Handmaid

Braithe poured a cup of tea for herself. The taste was delicate and strong at the same time, sparkling in her mouth, then stinging on her tongue with an undertone of goldenseal, always a strong taste. She eyed the basket of bread and cheese with misgiving. It looked delicious, but she was suddenly afraid of it.

Morgana saw her hesitation. “Do you think these fae are trying to magick us, brat?”

Braithe shot her a glance, but the priestess was not teasing. She looked grim, and Braithe sensed her dread of what the day might hold. Braithe said, “Surely not,” though she was not at all certain. She took up a piece of bread, wrapped it around a slice of cheese, and bit into it.

“You are assuming the role of taster,” Morgana said, and now her golden eyes gleamed with amusement.

“I am,” Braithe said.

“Am I the queen now, that I might be poisoned?”

Braithe answered solemnly. “Perhaps you are, Priestess.”

“I most sincerely hope not.” Morgana took some bread and cheese on her plate, although she didn’t start on it. She picked up her cup again, cradling it in her hands. “In any case,” she said, “thank you for sampling the food in my place.”

“Yes. And as I have survived so far, I think you should also eat something.”

“I will.” Morgana helped herself to a spoonful of berries. “I feel such a need to hurry, though,” she said, when she had swallowed them. “I dreamed last night of—”

“Of the king,” Braithe said, before Morgana could finish her sentence. “I did, too.”

Morgana’s dark brows lifted high. “Did you indeed? Did you pick it up from me?”

Braithe thought that over before she said, “I don’t believe so. It was Mordred, pacing in his chamber at Camulod. I felt his anxiety over something looming, perhaps another battle.”

Morgana pushed away her untouched plate. “I had the exact same dream.” She got to her feet. “I had best be on my way. There is really no time to lose.”

Braithe rose, too. “I’ll braid your hair.”

“I think not today. I will wear it loose, the way the councillor does. It will help to remind the delegates that I, too, am fae.”

“You’re going to the council chamber.” They had already decided Morgana would go alone, but now Braithe was wishing she had not agreed. Morgana paused in the doorway. “What troubles you, brat?”

“I wish I could be in two places,” Braithe said. “You may need me.”

“I always need you,” Morgana said, her tone light but her meaning clear. “But today, I will manage on my own.”

Braithe lifted her gaze to meet Morgana’s and said, “You will take care.”

There was good reason for her concern. The changeling queen Gwenvere had very nearly killed Morgana, and Gwenvere had come from fae country. They had not proven that the delegates of the Royal Council had been responsible, but it was what they suspected. “At least let me brush your hair, Priestess.”

Morgana put a hand to her head. “Does it need it?”

Firmly, Braithe said, “It does. It’s tangled. I want you to look your best.”

Morgana said, “I have no vanity, brat.”

“It’s not vanity to wish to make a good impression.”

“Very well, but let us hurry.”

Braithe followed her into her bedroom and hastily brushed her hair until its smooth strands shone silver-bright in the early sun. She laid down the brush with reluctance and stood back. “Good hunting, Priestess.”

Morgana’s lips quirked at that. She rose, shook out her robe, and strode out of the bedroom and across the short hall to the door. She murmured the cantrip, and the door opened. When she had gone through, Braithe heard her repeat the silly words:

One and two and three and four

Now and then and not before