Page 49 of The Faerie Handmaid

“It’s where he used to make his potions and things. One of the girls went in there once, though he had ordered her not to. He was so mad, he beat her nearly to death. Then he put a block on the room. It’s still there, though he doesn’t go in anymore.”

Braithe leaned forward to peer around the workroom. It had a distinctive air of disuse, the herbs dry and gray, ready to crumble to dust. The worktable and the tools were blanketed with the sort of grime that takes years to build up. She couldn’t think why Faolin would care if anyone went in. It had obviously not been used in a very long time.

She straightened and turned back to Gwen. “Where is that girl now? And you said there were others?”

“They’re gone. He gets tired of them, and they disappear.”

“To where?”

Gwen’s eyes filled with sudden, weary tears. She whispered, “I don’t know. He never says.”

“Have you asked?”

“Once. Never again.” Gwen led the way back toward the chamber Braithe was meant to stay in. As she shuffled along the hallway, she said, “Sometimes it’s not too bad if you don’t make him angry, but if you do…”

“What, Gwen?” Braithe followed her. “If you anger him, what happens?”

Gwen gazed along the corridor, her eyes unfocused, her voice a monotone. “He has ways to hurt you. Some of them are magic, and those are the worst.” She paused, then added, as if to be helpful, “He likes hearing you scream.”

Braithe felt the flood of shame that poured from the older woman. It was a difficult moment for her, because she couldn’t help seeing Gwenvere when she looked at Gwen, which made the old loathing burn in her breast. But that wasn’t fair to this poor creature. “It’s not your fault,” she managed to say. “And I’m sorry about the things that have happened to you.”

Gwen started into the bedchamber, but Braithe said, “No. I’m not going in. I’m not staying.”

Gwen stopped, looking back at her in real alarm, then, warily, at the closed door to Faolin’s room. She whispered, “I told you he won’t let you leave.”

Braithe said, “Very well. Let’s go back to the kitchen.”

Gwen nodded and started in that direction, clearly glad to move out of Faolin’s hearing.

Braithe, her arms folded and her jaw set, gazed out through the small window above the kitchen sink. The afternoon was nearly gone, the red sun sinking toward the west. Idhri and Morgana would know she was missing by now. They would want to look for her but would have no idea where to start. She said, “Thank you, Gwen. You can leave me here.”

It wasn’t her place to give orders to the other woman, but Gwen clearly took no offense. She bobbed her head, an oddly submissive gesture, then hurried away down the corridor. Braithe didn’t know where she was going, but it didn’t matter. She could think of only one thing to do, and she needed to be alone to try it.

She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and released it through pursed lips, the way Morgana did when she was scrying. She searched for Morgana with her mind as best she could, trying not to force, allowing what magic she had to work for her. She sent her an image of this place, the hill, the walled garden, the big house with the nearly black door. She pictured the vision spinning out along the currents of magic that flooded the city streets, eddied in doorways, and swirled along alleys. She had no way of knowing if it reached its destination. She had no idea if Morgana received her message, nor even if she had been successful at sending it. No matter what, she swore to herself she would never, ever surrender the way Gwen had done. Perhaps Gwen had never had a choice, but Braithe did. She was a maiden of the Temple. She would not be a victim.

As Morgana and Idhri hurried along the boulevard toward the Council Hall, Idhri repeatedly begged Morgana for assurance they would find Braithe. It was the most talking she had heard him do, and though she wished she could reassure him, she could not. She was filled with dread herself, and her lifelong habit had been never to dissemble. She had agonized over whether she should return to the reflecting pool where she had finally been able to scry but had decided it would be more practical to enlist Emerlyn’s help first. She hoped it would be faster. She had a terrible hunch that the longer Braithe was missing, the harder she would be to find.

She berated herself, over and over, for thinking this struggle could be easily won. Their opponents were powerful and ruthless. The life of one little human girl would mean nothing to them. She should have anticipated, made other plans, enlisted help. The image of Sir Lancelin, girded for battle, sprang into her mind, and she had to quell the moan that rose in her throat. Lancelin was the bravest of warriors, and if she had called upon him, he would not have refused. But he was not fae. Not magical. This battle was hers and Braithe’s, and no one could help them except, perhaps, Emerlyn.

They found the councillor in her own rooms. The delegates were leaving for the day, trickling out of the council chamber in twos and threes, still talking. A few walked alone as if they had no taste for more conversation. Many glanced curiously at Morgana and then, when they saw Idhri, either averted their gazes or scowled at him. It was distinctly uncomfortable for her to be stared at in that way. It had to be worse for Idhri.

When she heard what had happened, Emerlyn smacked her desk with the flat of her hand. “All I need,” she exclaimed, “is another violation of the Rule to deal with.”

“The Rule will have to wait,” Morgana said. “There is a bigger issue here. I fear for Braithe’s safety.”

“You have no idea where she went?”

“Idhri, describe the man.”

Idhri’s voice broke several times, but he repeated what he had seen. “A glamour,” he said. “I only saw his back. He had short hair that stuck out around his head, and he was much taller than Braithe.” He made a gesture with his hands. “But then, almost everyone is taller than Braithe.”

Morgana said, “Emerlyn, do you recognize this man? One of the delegates? I cannot think there are many with hair kept short.”

“There are several,” Emerlyn said.

“It was spiky,” Idhri said. “And all gray.”

“Your eyesight is excellent,” Morgana said.