3 #3
As before, the oldest of the group stepped forward and spoke in a low, slightly rasping voice that seemed oddly familiar. Morgana thought her own might sound just like it one day. She recognized the councillor, the representative of the fae queen.
The councillor said, “You have returned.”
Morgana replied, “As you see.”
One of the other fae clicked her tongue and said sharply, “You should bow to the councillor!”
But the leader said smoothly, “No, Vivyan, a bow would not be appropriate. This is Morgana, one of the Nine Priestesses of the Isle of Apples, and her parentage—if what she claims is true—means her rank surpasses my own.”
“You still doubt me?” Morgana asked.
The councillor responded with a faint touch of humor. “I have seen no proof you are the Lady’s daughter.”
“It is not I but the Blackbird who says it. There is no authority greater in the world.”
The fae called Vivyan, a woman with a sharp chin and a long, slightly crooked nose, snapped, “Perhaps in the human world! Councillor Emerlyn is the authority in fae country, representing the queen herself.”
At the mention of the queen, Emerlyn’s lips twisted in an odd expression that distracted Morgana for a moment before she turned her attention back to Vivyan. She spoke in a level tone. “I assure you I have not challenged the councillor’s authority.”
Vivyan drew breath to say something further, but when Emerlyn put up a hand and gave a nearly imperceptible flick of her fingers, the other fae woman fell into a surly silence.
Emerlyn said, “Priestess Morgana. I believe that is the correct address?”
“It is, Councillor.”
“And your questioner here is Dama Vivyan, one of the delegates of the Royal Council.”
Morgana nodded acknowledgment. Emerlyn gestured to Braithe. “And this little one?”
“This is my handmaid, Braithe of the Temple. She assists me in everything I do.”
“And the half-blood?” Emerlyn nodded toward where the boy, Idhri, stood on the dock, awaiting instruction from his master.
Braithe drew a shocked breath. Master Hugh was busy checking the boat for things left behind and didn’t hear, but Idhri gaped at the councillor. His voice was high and tense when he asked, “What is that?”
No one answered him, but Morgana said, in an icy voice, “Is that what you see, Councillor? I had no idea. I think none of us did.”
Emerlyn said, “You surprise me, Priestess. Your reputation for deep sight has reached us here.”
Morgana hesitated, torn between the councillor’s flattery and her own surprise. She glanced at Idhri once again and realized it was true. She should have noticed. She admitted, “I am distracted, Councillor.”
Emerlyn nodded, as if this were an adequate explanation. “I gathered something was troubling you, Priestess, and the Black Mage as well. He sent you here by way of one of his fetishes, I see.”
“Yes. We have a pressing problem.”
“You wish to come into the city, then.”
“With your permission.”
Emerlyn’s face was thin, deeply lined, with a long nose and strong jaw.
She must be, Morgana thought, four times her own age, perhaps even five.
The fae lived long, long lives, as the Blackbird had warned her when he revealed her own heritage.
Morgana understood she would outlive everyone in the Temple.
Everyone on the Isle, for that matter. Sometimes the prospect overwhelmed her, especially the thought of life without Braithe, her only friend aside from the mage himself.
Emerlyn said, “And if I do not give my permission?”
“Then,” Morgana answered, without hesitation, “we shall camp right here on the shore until we discover what we came to learn.”
Vivyan snorted, and the two other fae women laughed. Morgana ignored them.
Emerlyn’s stiff features eased into something that might have been a smile. “I would not have the Lady’s daughter sleeping rough, Priestess,” she said. “Our numbers are greatly decreased of late. We will have no trouble providing a guesthouse for you and your handmaid.”
“And the boatman and his apprentice?”
Dama Vivyan broke in. “The boatman leaves.”
At this Braithe broke her silence, her voice sounding high and youthful in comparison with the deep voices of the fae, but no less decisive for that. “What about Idhri?”
Vivyan said, “Is that what the half-blood is called?”
Morgana knew Braithe well, and she felt the rising of her handmaid’s temper as a wave of heat coming from her. “He’s a boy,” Braithe said, directly to Dama Vivyan. “An apprentice. He should go home with his master.”
At this, Hugh became aware of the conversation. He was already seated in the prow of the boat, eager to put fae country behind him. Now he stood, his bushy eyebrows raised in question.
“No,” the fae woman said, ignoring Hugh. She tipped up her head and looked down her crooked nose at Braithe. “The boatman leaves, but the apprentice stays.”
Emerlyn said, “Vivyan, that will not be necessary.”
Vivyan responded, “But it is. You know the Rule as well as I.”
Morgana spoke more mildly than her handmaid, but with emphasis. “We will accept these terms, Councillor, but only if the lad stays with me, under my protection.”
“You think he needs protection, Priestess?”
Morgana let one corner of her mouth curl as she eyed the four fae delegates. “I think we all do.”