18 #2
She explained as they walked on. “It is a trick of the fae,” she said.
“I have always had it, though I never understood until the Blackbird revealed my parentage. You notice that when the servants come with our meals, Emerlyn knows before they come in? It is a small talent, but it seems we share it. I always know when Braithe is near, for example.”
“What does it feel like?”
“It is a sort of tingle,” the priestess said.
She turned her golden eyes to him, and he saw kindness in them as well as the anxiety that absorbed them both.
She touched her breastbone. “Right here, as you might feel if someone touched you. In a way, they have. You recognize their essence. You may find you have this talent, too, in time.” Her eyes darkened to the color of an old bronze coin.
“And last night’s pain. It was no doubt Braithe’s, and it frightens me. ”
“I’m frightened, too,” Idhri said.
“I know. Courage, Idhri. We will find her.”
They came upon another of the walled houses.
The gate in the wall of this one, wooden and painted so pale a gray it was almost white, was locked.
Morgana tried the cantrip used at the guesthouse, but without effect.
She said, “No matter. It will just take me a bit longer.” She put her hand on the gate and closed her eyes.
She stood very still, a tall, slender figure, her hair glittering in the sun. She must be too warm in her black robe, but it seemed to be the only thing she ever wore.
When she stepped back from the gate she said bleakly, “She is not there.”
“I wish I could help,” Idhri said.
The golden eyes flashed again. “You are helping. This would be awful if I were alone.”
On they went, turning out of the boulevard into every avenue or lane that led to one of the walled houses.
Idhri began to feel hungry despite his anxiety, and he wished he had eaten more breakfast. He thought longingly of the bread and cheese in his pocket, but they would need to share that.
The priestess had eaten even less than he had.
When the sun reached its zenith and they had completed perhaps a quarter circuit of the city, they paused at a fountain to drink.
The priestess said, “Idhri, you should eat the food you have in your pocket.”
He was famished, but when he brought out the napkin-wrapped bread and cheese, he divided it in two with his fingers and held half out to her.
She hesitated, but then, with a nod of acquiescence, she accepted it.
“You see,” she said, with a flash of humor.
“Much harder for me by myself. I tend to forget that I need food.”
He took a bite of bread and cheese and spoke while he was chewing. “Emma is like that. She feeds my master and me and the dogs but doesn’t think to feed herself.”
“You are very fond of your adoptive parents, I think, Idhri.”
“I’m lucky they took me in.” With regret, he ate and chewed his last bite before he cupped his hands to drink more from the fountain. As he straightened, he saw a figure in the shadows of a nearby building.
All morning, except for when they passed the kitchens, they had seen only a handful of servants working in a park or sweeping a street.
This person didn’t look like a servant, nor were they wearing the robe of a delegate.
He couldn’t see them well, but there was something familiar about the silhouette. He peered at them, shading his eyes.
His stomach plunged as he realized who it was. Skye.
The fae man stepped out of the shadows and ambled toward them as if he were in no hurry.
He kept one hand on the knife at his belt.
Idhri felt again the shock of seeing a face so like his own yet so altered by time and meanness and corruption.
His heart started to thud in his ears, but he drew himself up and squared his shoulders.
Priestess Morgana followed his gaze and hissed a long, aggravated breath. “Just what we do not need,” she muttered. “Do you have your charm?”
“I do,” Idhri said. His voice cracked but only a little. “He may try a glamour, but it won’t work on me.”
“Nor me,” Morgana said. “You have nothing to fear.”
Idhri wished he could believe that.
It was strange, Morgana thought, how the features that were so appealing on Idhri were so unattractive on the man who must be—had to be—his father.
She watched Skye’s approach with a mixture of distaste and apprehension.
As the fae man drew closer, she saw the shimmer of a glamour begin around him.
He said, “My, my, what luck to come across you this way.”
“You can drop the glamour,” Morgana said. “Councillor Emerlyn has already warned you about that.”
The shimmer ceased, but Skye kept coming. When he reached the fountain, he leaned a hip against it. He was still favoring the shoulder Idhri had struck but was trying to disguise it. “You two are alone,” Skye said. “Where is your protectress?”
“We have no need of protection,” Morgana said.
“Oh, I think you do, Priestess.” Skye smirked as he spoke her title.
“You would not dare harm me, whatever you think of the Nine.”
“You? I have no wish to harm you. I have other needs.”
“Your needs are not my concern.” Morgana put a hand on Idhri’s arm. “Come, Idhri. We must be on our way.”
Skye straightened, and Morgana saw him ease his knife from its scabbard. She narrowed her eyes, assessing him, measuring the distance between them. She had deflected a knife before, with serious consequences. As she remembered that event, her right palm began to prickle in preparation.
Skye said, “You may go on as you please, Priestess, but this half-blood comes with me.”
Morgana said flatly, “No. He does not.”
Skye pointed the knife at her. “And how do you think you will stop me? Are you hiding a weapon under that black robe?”
Morgana’s palm stopped prickling. Her blood began to rise, and she spread her hands wide, as if to invite the fae man to attack her. She welcomed the feral curve of her upper lip as she said, in her deepest, coldest voice, “As it happens, I am.”