12 #2
“There are potions to increase fertility, Emerlyn. Mine are, if I may say so, quite effective. I dispense them with some frequency in the Temple.”
Emerlyn had looked away then, as if she preferred not to see Morgana’s reaction to what she was going to say.
“Unfortunately, a fertility potion can’t work without something—someone—to work on.
The fae, fae women in particular, appear to have lost the inclination.
I suspect that’s why so many of our men break the Rule about fraternizing with humans.
Human women are susceptible to their wiles.
Fae women find them distasteful. An annoyance. ”
“It cannot always have been so,” Morgana said.
“No,” Emerlyn agreed. She looked back at Morgana, and her expression of shame was startling to see.
“It seems that we fae increasingly dislike personal contact. We shout at each other, but we don’t touch.
We retreat into our homes, where everything is done by servants, and hide ourselves there.
Children are rare. Even friendships are more and more unusual.
” She spread her hands in defeat. “Fully fae children have always been rare in fae country, I’m afraid.
Even your own mother waited a long time to conceive you. ”
“So you do accept the Blackbird’s account of my parentage.”
“I see no reason for the Mage to dissemble.”
“Do you know who my father might have been?”
Emerlyn shook her head. “She would have had her choice among the fae men, of course. She was the queen, and any one of them would have forgiven her obsession with Lloegyr for the privilege of lying with her.”
Morgana had pondered this for a few moments. At last she said, “Emerlyn, may I ask if you yourself have had a child?”
Emerlyn averted her gaze once again. “One. She is gone now.”
“I am sorry.”
“Yes. It was a hard thing to lose her.”
There was something in the fae woman’s voice that made Morgana wish Braithe were in the room.
It was obvious Emerlyn had more to say, but she pressed her wrinkled lips together, ending the conversation.
Morgana wondered about that as Emerlyn took her leave.
She had been holding something back, and it added to Morgana’s unease.
The evening meal arrived, but only Idhri had any appetite. He tucked into the salad and cheese and bread with a growing boy’s hunger. Braithe picked at her portion, understandably distracted by what was to come. Morgana could eat nothing at all.
A servant arrived not long after. She had to knock, and as Braithe went to the door, Morgana spoke the cantrip to open it. She heard Braithe speaking, and the servant answering, but she couldn’t make out the words.
It seemed a long while before Braithe closed the door and carried a neatly wrapped bundle into the kitchen. She untied the string that held it together, and the burlap folds fell away. All three of them stared at the tunics and leggings and sandals Emerlyn had sent.
At length, Morgana said, “I suppose you should try these. Idhri, it will be a wonder if the leggings are long enough.”
He said, “I know.” His earlier cheer appeared to have evaporated under the general air of dread in the house. He took the leggings and disappeared behind his makeshift curtain.
Braithe, on the other hand, kept up the illusion of a good mood, sorting out which tunic would be hers, tutting over the plain sandals, which were too big for her, but which she said would serve the purpose. “I have no intention of being a servant for long.”
“Of course not,” Morgana said. Her premonition resurfaced, trembling in her solar plexus like a tadpole in shallow water.
“The woman who brought these things,” Braithe said, “has been a servant since she was born, born to a servant. She’s middle-aged now. She told me I should leave the city, get out of fae country as soon as possible. She said they have ways to bind us, to force us to do what they want.”
“We will protect you,” Morgana said, but her struggles with magic in this place had shaken her confidence. She hoped her charms would prove as reliable as they had always been.
Perhaps she should have made one for herself.
Morgana attempted to scry that night. Braithe watched with her, but as before, the effort was only moderately successful.
Leaning close to Morgana’s elbow, Braithe saw the White City’s glimmering lights flashing around the bleached cityscape.
As Morgana persisted, they saw the council chamber itself, but the chairs and the dais were empty.
“I feel as if I have lost my way,” Morgana lamented.
“In my whole life, I have never felt so useless.”
Braithe said, “It’s the magic in this place.
In the Temple magic is clean, shining like a bright light in a dark room.
Here, the magic is as unruly as the delegates, and as untrustworthy.
There is more of it, but it feels like stepping into a river current, with mud and pebbles swirling around, and reeds and roots to trip you.
On the Isle, magic feels like wading in the lake, where the water is so clear I can see the bottom. ”
“Someone is certainly doing magic here,” Morgana said.
“Dark magic.”
“Exactly. I am not well pleased at sending you alone into the council chamber.”
Braithe smiled at her. “I will not be alone. I will have Idhri.”
“A boy.”
“The king is a boy.”
“True enough.” Morgana sighed and pushed away the scrying bowl.
Braithe had a sudden compulsion to try to read Morgana’s thoughts.
She repressed it, but she wondered. Could she do that, if she chose to listen to someone’s mind instead of simply sensing their feelings?
She had almost done it with Emerlyn. Her thoughts came through as clear images, enhanced by her emotions.
If she was able to expand her ability in such a way, that could be useful.
She had no need to do it now. She already knew how worried Morgana was. But with others… she would have no compunction about attempting it.
“We should sleep,” she finally said. “The overseer will be here early.”
“Brat, I wish you would take care tomorrow. Try not to take any chances.”
Braithe said, “Of course. Perhaps by this time tomorrow, we will have found them.”
“Let it be so.” Morgana’s eyes flashed gold before she lowered her lids to hide them. “By the hand of the Lady, let it be so.”