Page 58 of The Faerie Handmaid

“Braithe, don’t,” Gwen whispered. “Please don’t. There’s nothing in there you could want.”

“But there is, Gwen. There’s a window.”

Gwen gasped. “A window! Braithe, even if you could get to it, and through it, where would you go? The fae rule this city. He would have you back in an instant.”

Braithe shut her ears to Gwen’s objections. She turned away from the workroom, feeling the hours passing, time relentlessly ticking by, eating up the day. As the sun rose higher, so did her determination not to wait passively for the torment Faolin had promised. She had to do something. She would do something, no matter how much it hurt. No matter if it meant her death. Living here, in the constant expectation of pain, with no control over her life… That would be worse than death.

She paced, just as she had seen Morgana do when she was searching for answers. She walked to the privy, then back down the corridor to the chamber she had slept in, on into the kitchen. When she wearied of this, she stood below the kitchen window, gazing up into the summer sky. The sun flashed on the garden wall, reminding her of the sparkle of the courtine that surrounded Camulod. It blinded her for a moment, and she had to blink away dark spots. When they cleared, she had a sudden thought, and she hurried back to the workroom to stare at the window, wondering. She could see past the years of grime to the gate that led to the street. The gate that was locked by a cantrip, the exact same cantrip Faolin used on the front door.

Was he too indolent to create others? Or was there some other reason? And if he used the same cantrip on the door and the gate…

How much magic did she really possess?

The midsummer warmth enveloped Idhri when he stepped outside. The buildings reflected the sun in shimmering waves, making the air thick and sluggish. His braid stuck to the back of his neck, and the heat of the flagstones burned through the soles of his sandals.

As he and Priestess Morgana turned into the boulevard to begin their search, a rush of homesickness for the cool waters of Ilyn swelled in Idhri’s breast. He longed for all of this to be at an end. He would be glad to return to rowing with Master Hugh. They would often tie up in the shade of the willows, where the green branches grazed the blue water. They would prop their feet on the edges of the boat while they ate the wonderful lunches Emma prepared. He couldn’t believe he had ever thought that life was boring.

He scolded himself for his weakness and reminded himself of how frightened Braithe must be. He matched his strides to Priestess Morgana’s long ones and told himself the heat didn’t matter. He would not rest until Braithe was safely returned to them.

Their plan was, of necessity, a simple one. Councillor Emerlyn had told them the big houses like the one they had seen in the reflective pool were built in an irregular ring above more modest neighborhoods. Priestess Morgana and he would start at the city’s northernmost point and work their way widdershins around the city. It could be a short search, with early results, or a long, hot, frustrating one.

The fae who had taken Braithe had to be a delegate, Morgana had said, which meant he was required to be in the council chamber this morning, but the councillor had been unable to say how long he would be there. “I will draw it out as best I can,” she had promised. “If the members are as contentious as they usually are, I might be able to keep them until the middle of the afternoon.”

Hoping this was true, Morgana and Idhri prowled the narrow streets that branched up from the boulevards. They peered past the mostly empty houses and colorless parks to the walled houses above. Occasionally they paused to drink from one of the fountains. They passed the communal kitchens, where the food for the inhabitants of the city was prepared. It was the only place they saw other people, human servants coming and going between the ovens and the larders, half-blood overseers calling orders. A steady stream of brown-garbed servants left the kitchens with laden trays. Another returned with empty ones. Idhri marveled at how many of them there were. Surely there were far fewer fae in the White City than humans, perhaps even than half-bloods, yet no one seemed to question their authority. He supposed the fae, with their dark magic, had ways of punishing anyone who rebelled. He wondered if they ever worried about an uprising.

Perhaps not. He had heard the horsemaster at Camulod speak of horses with broken spirits who could barely work. The horsemaster had condemned owners who abused animals to the point of utter submission. Perhaps that was what had happened here, over the years. He would like to ask the priestess for her thoughts, but this was not the time.

They saw so many of the walled houses that they began to blur together in Idhri’s mind, although there was some variety in their construction. Some garden gates were made of iron bars, polished to a high gloss. Others were of wood, painted gray or white or beige. The walls were different heights, although all were made of the usual pale stone. The houses behind the walls were different shapes. Some were hidden by their walls, while others loomed over them, glazed windows glinting in the sun like angry eyes.

When Priestess Morgana approached the first house, Idhri expected her to try to speak to someone within. Instead, she went in through the unlocked gate. She stood as close as she could to the house, while Idhri hung back, looking around to see if they were being observed. They were not, as far as he could tell. The house and the garden were empty and silent. Perhaps no one lived there, and that was why the gate wasn’t locked.

Morgana bent her head, as if listening, her hand on her sigil. When she shook her head and led the way back through the gate, Idhri asked what she had been doing.

She explained as they walked on. “It is a trick of the fae,” she said. “I have always had it, though I never understood until the Blackbird revealed my parentage. You notice that when the servants come with our meals, Emerlyn knows before they come in? It is a small talent, but it seems we share it. I always know when Braithe is near, for example.”

“What does it feel like?”

“It is a sort of tingle,” the priestess said. She turned her golden eyes to him, and he saw kindness in them as well as the anxiety that absorbed them both. She touched her breastbone. “Right here, as you might feel if someone touched you. In a way, they have. You recognize their essence. You may find you have this talent, too, in time.” Her eyes darkened to the color of an old bronze coin. “And last night’s pain. It was no doubt Braithe’s, and it frightens me.”

“I’m frightened, too,” Idhri said.

“I know. Courage, Idhri. We will find her.”

They came upon another of the walled houses. The gate in the wall of this one, wooden and painted so pale a gray it was almost white, was locked. Morgana tried the cantrip used at the guesthouse, but without effect. She said, “No matter. It will just take me a bit longer.” She put her hand on the gate and closed her eyes.

She stood very still, a tall, slender figure, her hair glittering in the sun. She must be too warm in her black robe, but it seemed to be the only thing she ever wore.

When she stepped back from the gate she said bleakly, “She is not there.”

“I wish I could help,” Idhri said.

The golden eyes flashed again. “You are helping. This would be awful if I were alone.”

On they went, turning out of the boulevard into every avenue or lane that led to one of the walled houses. Idhri began to feel hungry despite his anxiety, and he wished he had eaten more breakfast. He thought longingly of the bread and cheese in his pocket, but they would need to share that. The priestess had eaten even less than he had. When the sun reached its zenith and they had completed perhaps a quarter circuit of the city, they paused at a fountain to drink.

The priestess said, “Idhri, you should eat the food you have in your pocket.”

He was famished, but when he brought out the napkin-wrapped bread and cheese, he divided it in two with his fingers and held half out to her. She hesitated, but then, with a nod of acquiescence, she accepted it. “You see,” she said, with a flash of humor. “Much harder for me by myself. I tend to forget that I need food.”