Chapter 25 #3
Her heart thrashed against her ribs, and for a moment, she did little more than gape at the infamous sorceress—King Arthur’s half-sister, daughter of the Fey-touched Igraine, the very person who had been meant to open her future like a door.
After a full three seconds of gaping, Nyneve finally composed herself. “Lady Morgana,” she greeted with a bow of her head. “I am honored to meet you. Please forgive my attire. It has been quite a day.”
“Worry not,” Morgana said, one of those thin brows arching again.
She reached out for the kettle, her movements clearly schooled in the old ways of nobility.
“I prefer the fuss around the king’s sorceress-sister to be as minimal as possible.
Gods, ten-and-three years at court, and they act like it’s a scandal every time I arrive.
It doesn’t help that Arthur apparently had an unexpected visitor last night. ”
Nyneve’s skin prickled as Morgana poured her own cup. “What happened?” she asked, trying not to sound overly curious.
Morgana waved an elegant hand, sinking into a chair.
“Something to do with the Fey,” she replied, gesturing for Nyneve to join her.
“Sometimes this city makes quite a commotion about the people who were here long before us. I did not think adding my arrival to their worries was wise.” She paused, her gaze meeting Nyneve’s over the lip of her cup.
“Oh, you see, the old noble lines think I’ll corrupt the king.
Or seduce someone! How can I be trusted, well into my fourth decade and yet unmarried?
Why can’t I be a good girl like my sister and marry some far-off warlord so Arthur can better annex his lands? ”
Morgana rolled her eyes and took a long sip of the medicinal brew.
The Druid girl held her breath, not even daring to hope for another friend in this dangerous court.
Particularly not Mordred’s aunt. Who could not possibly be his real aunt, of course—but the noblewoman had clearly raised the changeling based on all the familiar body language.
Of course a little Fey child would have to directly copy a mortal.
Nyneve ached for parchment to scratch out all the details until everything became clearer.
“A wise choice to stay hidden,” Nyneve replied in an understanding tone.
“Let the serving girls whisper about your arrival so the old men can prepare themselves before you’re announced in court.
God forbid the men of Camelot have to learn about the arrival of a woman they cannot control and find the Fey still stubbornly continuing to exist on the same day. ”
Morgana smiled sharply, though her eyes glittered with something Nyneve thought she liked. “Precisely, Lady Or’Afon,” the noblewoman agreed, setting her cup down. “Oh, how I wish you were still permitted to come to me for training. I knew I would enjoy you.”
Blood thrummed in Nyneve’s cheeks. She told herself it was because of the blazing fire. “I am honored you know of me,” she said, folding her hands in her lap.
Morgana scoffed, turning away from Nyneve to crook her arm on the back of the chair in a casual and alarmingly familiar movement.
“There is no need for false modesty in my chambers,” Morgana said, her chin tilted haughtily.
“A girl like you arriving at court, riding through the gates on a stolen warhorse? I certainly would have heard your name then. But, of course, I’ve known of you long before you set foot here, cast out by the Ynys M?n Druids for .
. . what was it, again? Being too powerful, too promising? ”
Nyneve’s mouth went dry. “I admit it was a bit more complicated than that, my lady,” she sighed.
Morgana’s glittering gaze slid away and then returned, a self-assured smile on the sorceress’s face. “I asked Molly to send you,” she said, leaning forward like she was confiding a secret. “Guinevere has told me much about you.”
Nyneve’s thoughts went wild with a thousand connections to make when she could sit somewhere quiet and think.
“I am honored to have the queen’s interest,” she said, holding back.
Realistically, she did not know whether Morgana could be trusted, even though that lonely little girl inside her chest wanted to reach for the older woman with both hands.
Morgana took another sip of the herbal brew. “I should like to get to know you better first, of course,” the noblewoman began, something in her tone making Nyneve sit up straight. “But allow me to ask you a question.”
“Of course,” the Druid girl breathed.
“Do you want this?” Morgana asked, gesturing to the grand chamber. Magic danced along her fingers, as though the Threads begged for her touch.
Nyneve drew a deep breath. The material items were of little interest to her, if she were honest—the fine silk screen, the shimmering umber stole, the expensive robes.
But the bed, only rumpled on one side? The power to appear at court only when she wished?
The way Morgana hummed with magic, even more than the Elders?
“What,” Nyneve breathed, “is the cost?”
Morgana settled her chin onto her folded hands, looking deep into her eyes. “Darling girl,” the sorceress said, “I believe you’ve already paid it.”