15 #3
It wasn’t her place to give orders to the other woman, but Gwen clearly took no offense.
She bobbed her head, an oddly submissive gesture, then hurried away down the corridor.
Braithe didn’t know where she was going, but it didn’t matter.
She could think of only one thing to do, and she needed to be alone to try it.
She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and released it through pursed lips, the way Morgana did when she was scrying.
She searched for Morgana with her mind as best she could, trying not to force, allowing what magic she had to work for her.
She sent her an image of this place, the hill, the walled garden, the big house with the nearly black door.
She pictured the vision spinning out along the currents of magic that flooded the city streets, eddied in doorways, and swirled along alleys.
She had no way of knowing if it reached its destination.
She had no idea if Morgana received her message, nor even if she had been successful at sending it.
No matter what, she swore to herself she would never, ever surrender the way Gwen had done.
Perhaps Gwen had never had a choice, but Braithe did.
She was a maiden of the Temple. She would not be a victim.
As Morgana and Idhri hurried along the boulevard toward the Council Hall, Idhri repeatedly begged Morgana for assurance they would find Braithe.
It was the most talking she had heard him do, and though she wished she could reassure him, she could not.
She was filled with dread herself, and her lifelong habit had been never to dissemble.
She had agonized over whether she should return to the reflecting pool where she had finally been able to scry but had decided it would be more practical to enlist Emerlyn’s help first. She hoped it would be faster.
She had a terrible hunch that the longer Braithe was missing, the harder she would be to find.
She berated herself, over and over, for thinking this struggle could be easily won.
Their opponents were powerful and ruthless.
The life of one little human girl would mean nothing to them.
She should have anticipated, made other plans, enlisted help.
The image of Sir Lancelin, girded for battle, sprang into her mind, and she had to quell the moan that rose in her throat.
Lancelin was the bravest of warriors, and if she had called upon him, he would not have refused.
But he was not fae. Not magical. This battle was hers and Braithe’s, and no one could help them except, perhaps, Emerlyn.
They found the councillor in her own rooms. The delegates were leaving for the day, trickling out of the council chamber in twos and threes, still talking.
A few walked alone as if they had no taste for more conversation.
Many glanced curiously at Morgana and then, when they saw Idhri, either averted their gazes or scowled at him.
It was distinctly uncomfortable for her to be stared at in that way. It had to be worse for Idhri.
When she heard what had happened, Emerlyn smacked her desk with the flat of her hand. “All I need,” she exclaimed, “is another violation of the Rule to deal with.”
“The Rule will have to wait,” Morgana said. “There is a bigger issue here. I fear for Braithe’s safety.”
“You have no idea where she went?”
“Idhri, describe the man.”
Idhri’s voice broke several times, but he repeated what he had seen. “A glamour,” he said. “I only saw his back. He had short hair that stuck out around his head, and he was much taller than Braithe.” He made a gesture with his hands. “But then, almost everyone is taller than Braithe.”
Morgana said, “Emerlyn, do you recognize this man? One of the delegates? I cannot think there are many with hair kept short.”
“There are several,” Emerlyn said.
“It was spiky,” Idhri said. “And all gray.”
“Your eyesight is excellent,” Morgana said.
“Fae blood imparts abilities superior to human ones,” Emerlyn said, but it sounded like a rehearsed remark, one she had uttered many times.
“Emerlyn.” Morgana’s voice rose, ringing through the apartment. “Will you help me find my handmaid, or must I do it alone?”
Emerlyn pushed herself stiffly up from her desk. “I apologize, Morgana. It has been a difficult day.”
“Idhri and I will do this on our own, then,” Morgana said. “I found a pool on the outskirts of the city where my scrying is better. It seems this undisciplined magic is weaker there.”
“I will go with you. Perhaps together…”
“Yes, and I thank you. I doubt there is any time—that is—” Morgana paused and pressed a hand to her heart. “I feel her,” she said, her voice dropping to its lowest register. “She is trying to tell me… Come. We must hurry.”
At another time she would have pitied the effort it took Emerlyn to keep up with her and Idhri as they strode swiftly through the corridor into the waning afternoon, but the sense of peril for Braithe drove all other considerations from her mind.
It was Idhri who dropped back a bit to walk beside the old councillor, ready to support her should she falter.
Good. She would allow the lad to do what he could. Perhaps that would give him some comfort.