7
Idhri,” Braithe said. “I’m hungry, and I know you are, too.
We’ll go with Skye, and be back long before Priestess Morgana returns.
” As she turned toward the door, smiling at the prospect of an outing, something impelled her to touch the charm that hung around her neck.
It was the one Morgana had created before they left the Isle and made her promise to wear.
It was the simplest of amulets, but its slight weight felt good against her breast, reminding her she was protected.
She pressed her palm over it now, still smiling.
A sudden jolt shot through her body. Her smile died, and she blinked, dazzled by the bright sunshine pouring through the high kitchen windows. She felt a sudden spasm in her head, as if she were about to develop a nasty headache.
She blinked again, and Skye’s glamour shattered as if it had been a pane of glass broken by a stone. With painful clarity she again saw the harsh-faced man, his unclean hair hanging in greasy hanks and his slanting dark eyes flashing cruelty. She had almost allowed him to deceive her!
She gripped the charm so hard her hand hurt. “We’re not going anywhere with you! Leave us alone!”
Skye spat a curse. She didn’t recognize the words, but she had no doubt they were foul.
He spun away from her and strode into the kitchen, where he seized Idhri’s thin arm.
Braithe saw the air shimmer as Skye tried to project a glamour to hide the two of them, but she kept her charm firmly in her fist as she stepped forward to block the front door.
“Let him go,” she commanded. Her fear had not returned.
She felt only revulsion, and fury that he was threatening Idhri, that he had laid a hand on him as if he had a right, as if what Idhri might want or not want mattered not at all.
Skye dragged the boy forward, but Idhri seemed to trip over his feet, by accident or by design. He fell, ripping his arm from the fae man’s grasp.
Braithe seized her moment. She dashed past Skye to snatch up the poker from its stand beside the fireplace.
Before he could get another grip on Idhri, she brandished the poker with her free hand.
She didn’t dare release her hold on Morgana’s charm, and the poker was heavy and awkward, but her anger lent strength to her fingers.
When Skye lunged at her to grab at the poker, she instinctively let the point of it drop, and he charged straight into it.
The poker made a cumbersome weapon. It was Skye’s momentum that did the damage. The poker drove into his belly, making him emit a surprised grunt. It was too dull to break his skin, but it forced him to fall back a step.
Braithe was also thrown off-balance by the contact, and her grip slipped. The poker was too heavy. With a desperate gasp, she struggled to get a better hold on the thing as Skye regained his footing and came at her again.
The poker turned in Braithe’s fingers and fell to the floor just as Skye reached for it.
She cried out in alarm, but Idhri, still on the floor, seized it.
He jumped nimbly to his feet, brandishing the poker in both hands.
He was young and slight, but he had been rowing across Ilyn with his master for two years and more.
His arms were thin but muscled. Braithe heard his grunt of effort as he raised the makeshift weapon and brought it down hard.
She assumed he was aiming for Skye’s head. If so, he missed his target. The iron poker struck Skye’s shoulder instead, with such a loud crack that Braithe thought the bones might have broken.
The fae man crumpled to his knees, groaning in pain. Idhri, infected by Braithe’s courage, stood over him, poker raised and ready.
“Do you see him?” Braithe trembled, too, shocked by the violence of the blow and the deception of the glamour.
“Sort of,” Idhri said. “He keeps changing.”
Skye, one hand hanging useless beside him, got up from the floor by bracing himself with his uninjured arm. Idhri and Braithe stood shoulder to shoulder, Braithe clutching her charm, Idhri gripping the poker so hard his fingers whitened.
The fae man raised one closed fist. Braithe put her arm in front of Idhri, even though she knew she could never fend Skye off if he decided to attack. Even with the use of only one arm, he could do terrible damage.
Good fortune intervened at that moment, or perhaps it was the Lady’s intervention. The front door clicked open.
Priestess Morgana appeared in the hallway, tall and imposing in her black robe, her golden eyes glittering with fury.
Councillor Emerlyn came behind her, not quite as tall, but a commanding presence, with her long hair tossed over one shoulder and her gray robe swirling around her ankles.
She swept in after Morgana and fixed Skye with a blazing gaze.
Morgana took one look at Skye before she turned to Braithe. “Are you all right, brat?”
“I am.” Braithe let her arm fall, and she felt Idhri move closer to her. “We both are.”
Skye unfisted his hand and turned with deliberation toward the newcomers. Braithe thought his shoulder must pain him unbearably, but he gave no sign except for letting his arm hang loose. He inclined his head to Emerlyn, and then to Morgana. “You must be the priestess Morgana.”
Morgana demanded, “What are you doing here, sir?”
Emerlyn spoke before Skye could answer. “Priestess Morgana, I am sorry to tell you that this is Skye, the man Dama Vivyan told you about.” She put her hands on her hips, seeming to grow taller with her growing temper. “Skye. Explain yourself.”
The air around Skye shimmered, but Emerlyn commanded, “No glamours! Answer me now, or I will pass judgment this very moment.”
Skye’s laugh was sour, but there was a thread of unease in it. “I don’t think you have the right to do that,” he said, as his attempted glamour faded. “I have connections in the council.”
“They will not matter if you have harmed one of these people.”
He shrugged, then winced at the movement. An irritating whine came into his voice. “Dama Vivyan wanted me to do something about the boy. Idhri, here. I am following her guidance.”
“Do something?” Morgana asked. “What does that mean?”
Skye cast her a sidelong look. “Do I have to speak to this person, Councillor?”
“She is one of the Nine Priestesses,” Emerlyn said.
“The Nine are human. Why should I care about one of them?”
Emerlyn snapped, “Look again, Skye. Then leave us. We have business.”
“As do I,” he said, but he started out of the kitchen, his steps unsteady as he favored his injured shoulder.
He paused to assess Priestess Morgana, and she eyed him with such distaste her upper lip curled.
He sniffed and turned toward the door. As he passed the councillor, he muttered, “No one ever said one of the Nine was fae!”
The atmosphere was hardly less tense for Skye’s absence, though Braithe was glad to see the back of him. She took the poker from Idhri’s hands and squeezed his arm in appreciation. “Well done,” she whispered, as she propped the tool back into its stand. “You’re a brave lad.”
Idhri nodded, but his lips trembled as if he were about to weep. He gave her a quick look of apology, then abruptly withdrew to his little room. He had found a curtain somewhere and hung it over the doorway. He slipped behind it and drew it closed, as if it could give him sanctuary.
Unbidden, one of the Temple stanzas came into Braithe’s mind:
Strong is weak and weak is strong.
The clever are foolish,
The innocent wise.
Idhri had proved himself to be strong, despite his youth. She wondered if he was also wise.
“How did Skye get into the guesthouse?” Morgana was saying. She spoke in an even tone, but Braithe, turning, saw the fire in her eyes.
“He lived here at one time,” Emerlyn said. “He knew the cantrip for the door.”
“You should have changed it,” Braithe blurted. She was aware her tone was rude, but she was trying to conceal how frightened she had been.
The councillor answered in a mild tone that indicated she had taken no offense. “Yes.” She was the only one of them evidently unaffected by Skye’s intrusion. “It seems we should.”
“Perhaps you could do that now, Councillor,” Morgana said, her own voice low and tense. “Before someone gets hurt.”
“Someone is already hurt,” Braithe put in. “Skye may have a broken shoulder, but I have no sympathy. He meant to harm Idhri.”
“I’m sure he did,” Emerlyn said. Her own tone was dry, with no hint of emotion. “Skye is fae, so there is no need for concern. If his shoulder is broken, it will heal quickly. And of course, if he disposes of Idhri, he will not receive the full penalty. That’s why he came.”
“Disposes,” Morgana said. “That is a euphemism, I assume?”
Emerlyn’s lip curled. “Of course.”
Braithe said quietly, not wanting Idhri to hear, “Councillor, you meant that Skye would kill Idhri? To save a bit of—whatever that penalty is?”
“It is the ultimate penalty for one of the fae.” Emerlyn puffed a sigh and moved to a chair, sinking into it as if she had not the strength to remain on her feet. “I must tell you about Skye. And about the Rule he is accused of breaking.”
Morgana sat down opposite Emerlyn. Braithe stood, arms folded, where she could keep an eye on Idhri’s curtain. She supposed if he wanted to hear them talk, he would. If he didn’t, she hoped the curtain was heavy enough to mute their voices.
Morgana said, “Start with the Rule, if you would, Councillor. There is no mystery about the sort of man Skye is.”
Emerlyn said, “No, I suppose there is not.” She glanced toward the curtained room. “Poor boy. None of this is his fault.”
“Yet Vivyan would be happy to allow him to suffer for it,” Morgana said.
“As you saw this morning, Priestess, the council is a contentious body. I’m afraid Vivyan is in the forefront of every argument.”
“There are arguments about this Rule?”
Emerlyn ran a wrinkled hand over her eyes. “They never cease debating it. Some think the Rule is antiquated and should be abandoned. Others—like Vivyan—cling to the ancient ways as if they will save us.”
“Save you? From what?”
A meaningful silence stretched for a long moment before Emerlyn said heavily, “Extinction.”