Page 87 of The Faerie Handmaid

Now Braithe felt a stab of remorse, and the shifting of her emotions made her feel a bit dizzy. She took a step back from the parapet to steady herself. “What troubles him?”

Morgana leaned her hip against the parapet, lifting her head to watch the stars flare to life, one by one. The air was fragrant with autumn, and the new chill in the air promised the restful dark of winter. “It is only the weight of his years.” Braithe heard the sadness in her voice and felt it in her own breast. “Our mage is very old. He has served Lloegyr well, but he cannot continue forever.”

“He does seem tired,” Braithe said.

“He has always wanted to retire one day to the Isle. To rest in his chamber in the priestesses’ residence, to listen to the acolytes chant the service. To have respite from the cares of the kingdom.”

“And you wish to take him there,” Braithe said.

“I do. I think it is time. I would like to get back to work, too.”

Braithe caught the flash of Lancelin’s rugged face in Morgana’s mind and quickly pulled her thoughts back. She understood how complicated Morgana’s feelings were about the king’s knight, but they were none of her affair. She said, “Priestess Niamh will be glad to have you back.”

Morgana sighed. “She will, I think. She, too, grows weary of her responsibilities.”

They walked on to the bench at the southernmost point of the courtine. An evening breeze had sprung up, whipping at their hems and hair, but Morgana showed no sign of wishing to go inside. As they settled on the bench, Braithe said, “I suppose one day you will be elder priestess.”

“I do not look forward to that day.”

“I know,” Braithe said, making Morgana chuckle.

They sat on in silence for a time, until Braithe yawned and Morgana stirred. “Oh, brat, you should go to your bed.”

“I will check on Sir Lancelin first.”

Morgana hesitated for a moment before she said, “Yes. That would be good.”

“Shall we pack your things tonight, or in the morning?”

“The morning will be fine.” They rose and walked back the way they had come, circling the keep until they reached the door leading down to the floors of the west tower. As Braithe held the door open for her, Morgana said, “I will miss you, my brat.”

“Oh! Well, surely I will be joining you before long, as soon as Sir Lancelin is well.”

“Let us hope so.”

It was a noncommittal answer. Braithe didn’t understand it. She followed Morgana down the narrow stair, past the Blackbird’s little room and down to the level of their own chambers. She bid Morgana good night and went down another level to Lancelin’s bedchamber.

She found Loria sitting in a comfortable chair in the corridor. “Is he well?” Braithe asked.

Loria nodded and smiled up at her. “Still not awake. You go and rest, and I will call you if there’s a need.”

“If you’re sure,” Braithe said. She yawned again, surprised at how sleepy she was. She supposed the experiences of the past weeks were enough to tire even someone as young as herself. “I will resume the watch in the morning.”

She climbed back up to her own small bedchamber. Before getting ready for bed, she went to the window to look down on the peaceful keep, then up to see the starlight sparkling on the courtine. Somehow the stars shining above Camulod seemed more brilliant than any other place. The nightjars teased each other in the woods, and the ghostly shape of an owl flitted past the eastern tower. Braithe breathed a sigh of pure pleasure, thinking how much she had come to love this place.

Not until she was in her bed, her eyelids drifting closed, did she wonder again about what Morgana had said about her returning to the Isle. I hope so. What could have prompted such an ambiguous response? She thought she should know, but before she could think it through, she was sound asleep.

If Morgana had entertained any doubts about what would be best for the Blackbird, he swiftly dispelled them. When she said to him, “Sir, you have served long and well. Would you not like to retire to the Isle now?” he answered without demur, lifting one shaky hand.

“I would,” he said. “I have given all I have to give.”

It had taken little time to pack up what few possessions he had collected. Everything fit into one bag, with room on top for his scrying bowl. He had tried to suggest Morgana take that for herself, but she refused the gift. “I have one of my own,” she said. “And you may find you want yours at some time.”

“I doubt that.”

“When you have rested and you feel more like yourself, sir.”

His beard had twitched at that, signifying his gentle amusement. “This is myself, Priestess. I don’t expect any great change.”