13 #2
Morgana often teased her about reading minds, but that was in jest, and there was nothing funny in what had just happened.
She wished she could be alone, to ponder what she had heard, and how she had heard it.
What did it mean? Was it some new effect of her growing ability?
Could it even have been her imagination?
But no. It had been so clear it nearly caused her to drop her tray. The line of servants was moving, and she had to stay with them, imitate what they did, take care to fit in. She heard Idhri ask, “What should I do, sir?”
“Don’t let anyone hear you call me sir, boy,” Umer said, though Braithe knew he liked the title. “Head over to the sinks. You’ll wash things when they come back.”
If he said—or thought—anything else, Braithe didn’t hear.
She followed the line of servants toward the door leading into the council chamber.
It was nearly as wide as the double doors at the other side of the chamber, the ones that led to the front hall.
As she stepped through, the magic that sizzled everywhere in the city and throbbed constantly in her bones receded immediately.
It was like stepping into cool water on a blistering summer day, and she couldn’t help a sigh of relief.
The woman next to her, with gray streaks in her ginger hair and furrows in her thin cheeks, whispered, “You all right, yah?”
Braithe said softly, “I am, thank you.”
The woman said, briefly meeting Braithe’s eyes, “It’s easy work. Don’t fret.”
“Thanks.”
“Didi,” the woman whispered, with a nearly invisible gesture to her own chest.
“Braithe.” Braithe started to smile, but the woman had already ducked her head, and it seemed wiser to do the same.
The chairs the delegates sat in were elaborate, with wide arms and tall backs, sized to befit the high-ceilinged chamber.
There was ample space between them for the servants to wend their way through the curving rows.
They offered their trays to each delegate, moving quickly away if they were waved off, waiting if the delegate chose to take something.
Braithe, like the others, walked between the chairs and along the rows, stopping if a delegate wanted one of her bowls of seeds, moving on if not.
There had been no need to feel anxious. The fae behaved as if she, and all the others in their drab clothes, weren’t really there. They didn’t look at the humans or speak to them. No one noticed the new servant. Not a single delegate paid her the slightest attention. She felt anonymous. Invisible.
She tried to focus on each of the delegates as she held out her tray, but everything happened too quickly.
There were more servants than delegates, and everyone seemed to be in constant movement.
She had to watch her feet so as not to trip over a delegate’s long legs.
She had to dodge other servants coming along the aisles, and often had to wait while a delegate pondered the offering on a tray, sometimes continuing to talk to one of the other delegates while the servant waited for a decision.
That meant the little parade of trays would come to a halt, and the delegates would lean to one side to continue their discussions, as if there were a pillar between them instead of a living being.
No one had thought to organize a system so that all the servants moved in the same direction.
There was much jostling and sidestepping to avoid collisions.
Once someone emptied their tray, they circulated again to pick up empty bowls and cups, all the while trying not to bump into the ones still serving.
It was chaos, and Braithe had the odd notion that perhaps the delegates liked it that way.
Perhaps it made a nice change from the sterility of the city outside.
She was just trying to figure out how to get close enough to a delegate to sense anything, when the servants, obeying some signal she didn’t see, fell into line again and began to file out of the chamber. Braithe had to give up for the moment and take her place with the others.
The thick wave of magic swept her anew as she passed out of the chamber and into the back room.
She felt shaky from hunger and weary of trying not to run into someone with her loaded tray.
She had learned nothing and was still trying to grapple with having heard Umer’s thoughts as if he had spoken them into her ear.
The food and drink left on the trays was set down in haphazard fashion on the long table in the back room.
Idhri was working at the line of sinks, the sun through the high windows gleaming on his dark hair.
The servants handed over their empty trays to be washed, then headed to the table of leftovers to take what they could.
It reminded Braithe anew of the Temple refectory, except there the acolytes sat on long benches for their meals, and the room echoed with high-pitched chatter and laughter.
This one was oppressively quiet. The servants murmured to each other, but softly.
The overseers stood at the walls, watching everything, and Braithe supposed that discouraged conversation.
When the stacks of trays had been washed and set to dry, Idhri appeared at Braithe’s elbow. “Any luck?” he whispered.
She didn’t dare confess that she had literally read Umer’s mind. She couldn’t risk anyone overhearing, and she still was only half-certain it had actually happened. She said only, “Not yet. I was figuring out what I’m supposed to do. I think I have it now.”
“Me, too. I’m hungry, though.”
They followed the lead of the other servants, who crowded around the table, snatching up bits of bread, fragments of cheese, cups of water and juice.
They had neither plates nor bowls, simply took what they could fit in their hands, and stood beside the table as they ate and drank.
Braithe managed to get hold of a bit of cheese and one of the bowls of seeds she had carried.
They were good, but not filling, and she wished she had more.
She gave the cheese to Idhri, and when he had finished it, she spilled half the seeds into his hand.
He ate those in three bites. Still hungry, they turned back to the table, but there was nothing left.
All the leftovers had been consumed. The empty cups and bowls had to be washed, which took Idhri back to the sinks.
The woman called Didi appeared beside Braithe. She still kept her head down, as if they weren’t supposed to look at each other, and she spoke in an undertone. “There’ll be more food later.”
Braithe said, “Good. I didn’t get much.”
“You’ll learn to be quicker,” Didi said. In a furtive way, she patted Braithe’s arm. “Don’t feel too bad, yah? Plenty worse jobs in the city,” she whispered, and sidled away.
Morgana was relieved when Braithe and Idhri returned at the end of the day, escorted by the dour Umer.
The evening meal had been delivered, and the two of them immediately fell on the soup and bread and cakes.
They were obviously exhausted, and though Morgana had something she needed to tell Braithe, she decided to wait until her handmaid had rested.
Without Braithe and Idhri, the day had stretched out before Morgana with nothing for her to do.
In her usual way, she needed movement, so she had gone out to walk the boulevards, without any particular destination in mind.
She was surprised to come across a small reflecting pool at the very edge of the city.
It was set with a stone surround in one of the parks and was filled with water as clear and clean as if it had been poured from a pitcher.
The servant picking up nearly invisible bits of trash around its edges scurried away at the sight of her.
Though Morgana disliked causing anyone discomfort, this was useful.
She knelt on the stone surround and gazed down at the mirror-smooth water.
The pond was perfect for scrying, and she had no doubt she had been led there.
She spent a long time gazing into it. A few people strolled by as the hours went on, all of them fae, but none seemed interested in her, despite her black robe.
Word would have spread, she supposed, that a priestess of the Lady’s Temple was in the White City.
She assumed the resentment shown her by Vivyan was shared by others, but if they left her in peace, she had no complaint.
The turbulent magic of the city had been interfering with her deep sight since her arrival, but here she found relief.
It was far from the city center, a place where the boulevard narrowed and a grassy meadow edged the neighborhood.
The magic was still there, still palpable, but thinner, and fragmentary, like the vanishing edge of a cloud of fog.
Whatever—or whoever—had been thwarting her faded here, setting her free.
She scried for some time, then rested, lifting her face into the sunshine.
When she felt refreshed, she scried again and was encouraged by achieving the same result, though it was not good news.
It was best not to avoid the truth but to face it.
She scried until she was certain of the message, and then, with a heavy heart, she turned to walk back through the city to the guesthouse.
She needed to tell Braithe what she had seen, but she would wait for the right moment. She asked, “What were they arguing about today, brat?”
Braithe swallowed the bit of cake she had in her mouth and said, “Different things. The councillor wasn’t there, and the discussions seemed random.”
“Random?”
Braithe laid the half-eaten cake down. “It was hard to sort out. As far as I could determine, the delegates sit near the people they want to talk to or argue with. The Rule, as we already knew. Maintenance of the city streets. What to do about the empty houses. Repairs in the kitchens. Complaints about how the food is prepared.”
“Prepared by slaves.” Idhri spoke with his mouth full of bread.