Page 29 of The Faerie Handmaid

“May I ask what you expected?”

“Hmm.” Morgana turned back to the window. The sun was sinking beyond the city now, but the buildings still glowed sunset colors, as if the monotonous stone walls had absorbed its red and gold rays and were clinging desperately to the touches of color. “You will accuse me of hubris, I fear.”

It was Braithe’s turn to click her tongue. “You know quite well I would never do that.”

Morgana exhaled a long breath. Her handmaid’s good cheer and easy manner were always comforting. Morgana was aware that her own life expectancy, that of one of the fae, would far outpace Braithe’s, but the idea of a world without Braithe filled her with dread. She tried to banish it from her mind, but in her weakest moments she found it was always lurking there, threatening future grief.

She took another breath in an effort to discipline her wandering thoughts. “I believed,” she said, “that my deep sight would prevail, once I was here, but it has told me nothing. This city—the spotless streets, the bland parks, the emptiness, the chaotic magic swirling everywhere—it seems designed to block me.” She realized she had folded her arms tightly around her middle, and she made herself release them. “I confess, brat, it has shaken my confidence.”

“It doesn’t help that they don’t want us here.”

“They resent me with such bitterness!”

“Not all of them, surely.”

“Perhaps not—but that debate over my parentage seems out of proportion. I fail to understand why it matters to them, since I have no interest in their lives.” She spread her fingers in a gesture of the purest frustration.

“Perhaps we should go outside the city,” Braithe suggested. “There must be woods beyond it, or meadows.”

Morgana muttered, more to herself than to Braithe, “I would love to see it from the air.”

“No shapeshifting,” Braithe reminded her.

That brought a chuckle from Morgana, despite everything. “You still hold me to my pledge, after all this time?”

“I do. We cannot afford for you to be exhausted and ill, as you are after shapeshifting. We have a mission to fulfill.”

“You make a good point. But tell me—what will you pledge in return, brat?”

Braithe answered with uncharacteristic gravity. “I will stand between you and these fae.”

Morgana sobered. “I wish you did not feel the need for that.”

“But I do.” Braithe turned her own gaze to the window. The colors were fading now from the stone walls. “I have seen no sign of joy among them,” she said. “Their only pleasure seems to be in conflict, with each other, with humans, with Lloegyr.”

“There must be joy somewhere here. Where are the children?”

“Have you seen any?”

“I have not. One young woman at the Council Hall, but she was hardly a child.”

“This is a dead city. Or at the very least a dying one.”

Morgana moved closer to the window to watch the dancing lights appear in the dusk. They floated on currents of magic, glinting off the glazed windows of the empty buildings. The colorless walls had gathered the breathless heat of the day and spilled it into the streets. It enervated Morgana, as if the persistent warmth robbed her of her breath. She said, “I think you must be right, Braithe, but I do not know how to feel about that.”

“I know how I feel,” Braithe said. “I feel angry, and I feel offended. All of this power—this beauty—” She gestured toward the city beyond the window. “Wasted.”

Morgana nodded slowly. “Wasted. Yes. What these creatures could do with their power… the people they could help…”

“It’s no wonder your mother gave up on them.”

“She chose Lloegyr instead.”

“In her wisdom.”

“Yes, exactly, brat. In her wisdom. I wish I had known her.”

Braithe was sitting on the edge of her bed, pondering how to help Morgana, when she heard the door to the house open. She shot to her feet and hurried into the hallway. Idhri was already there.