25
Braithe set out the evening meal for Morgana and for Idhri, and though they offered to help, she refused. “Both of you have suffered a terrible day,” she said as she gave them each a cup of cider and a plate. “You need rest and refreshment.”
Idhri filled his plate swiftly, bread and seeds and apple slices, adding an impressive portion of sweet cakes on the side. “I’m sorry I frightened you,” he said to Braithe as he cut a huge chunk of cheese from the wheel.
“You have apologized enough, Idhri,” she said. She smiled at him.
He was correct, though. She had been panicked.
She had felt utterly helpless, casting about for what to do about Idhri’s disappearance.
When Morgana and Emerlyn appeared she had nearly wept with relief.
She was glad to hear that Ursula and Vivyan had been summoned to the council to answer for their offenses but had urged Morgana to hurry.
Her instinct told her Idhri had gone in search of Skye, and with Emerlyn’s help they knew where they needed to go.
Emerlyn’s cart would be too slow, so Morgana and Braithe left her to go to the Council Hall while they set out as fast as they could to Skye’s house, desperate to avert a tragedy.
Everything had happened with dizzying speed.
Braithe was still trying to absorb it all, and though she was nearly giddy with relief, a thread of anxiety still jittered in her breast. She told herself it was a remnant of her earlier fear and tried to quell it.
She sat down opposite Morgana, who was drinking cider but not eating. “You need to eat, Priestess,” Braithe said.
“I do, and I plan on it,” Morgana said. “But you are burning with curiosity about what happened with Ursula.”
“And Dama Vivyan! That’s a surprise.”
“To me and to Emerlyn as well.”
“How did you know the council had ruled on Skye’s magic?”
Morgana’s lips curled in her restrained smile. “I do not lie, as you know, brat,” she said lightly. “When he could not repeat his glamour, I made an assumption. Emerlyn was very, very angry, and she promised that, in this instance, the council would act swiftly, and as one.”
“Did you know Dama Vivyan was with Ursula?”
Morgana shook her head. She described the entire conflict, although Braithe thought, as she listened, that the priestess was leaving out the most frightening details.
She would press her on them later. “We can be glad Emerlyn has retained such impressive power, despite her age. Ursula and Vivyan together are formidable. Were formidable.” Morgana drew a small, satisfied breath.
“I have no doubt that the council has blocked their magic as well. Emerlyn will have seen to it.”
“How do they do that?” Braithe asked.
“Emerlyn says they have to work as one body, but they have done it before. It is a powerful concentration of magic, much like the work we did at the Temple, I believe, in dealing with the changeling. Of course, among the Nine the magic is somewhat sparse, and it took great effort to focus it. We cannot say that about the Royal Council of the White City.”
“All that magic,” Braithe mused. “They could do so much with it.”
“Too much magic, do you think, Braithe?”
“Too much power,” Braithe said. “Everything comes too easily. They have forgotten what it is to work.”
Braithe pushed the platter of bread and cheese toward Morgana, and the priestess finally took some on her plate. “I agree,” she said. “Emerlyn strives to prevent the extinction of her kind, but I fear it is an effort that will fail.”
Braithe chewed on an apple slice for a moment. “There is a stanza,” she said.
Morgana chuckled. “Of course there is. Recite it for us.”
Braithe glanced down the table at Idhri, whose cheeks bulged with a huge bite of bread and cheese.
She was glad to see his appetite return.
He still had to deal with the horror of his memories, but she thought, when he returned to his master and the redoubtable Emma, he would find a way to do that.
At least, in this moment, he seemed the healthy lad he should be.
His mouth was so full he couldn’t speak, but he nodded agreement.
She said,
The honey is sweet
The making of it sweeter still.
Idhri swallowed and said, “What does it mean?”
Braithe said, “The stanzas mean different things to different people.”
“And nothing to some,” Morgana added.
Braithe laughed. “That would be a great disappointment to the Lady.”
Morgana nodded. “They are her legacy.”
Braithe’s laugh faded. “I would say they are part of her legacy, Priestess. You are the other part. The indispensable part.”
“That may be so,” Morgana said. “I confess I feared for one moment today that my part was finished.”
Braithe pressed a hand to her heart. “Thank the Lady it was not.”
“And thanks to Emerlyn. She found greater strength than she believed she had.”
“Do you not think the Lady had a hand in that?”
Morgana’s narrow lips curved, just at the corners. “I have no doubt, brat. No doubt at all.”
All three of them slept soundly that night in the guesthouse.
To Braithe, it felt as if a fresh breeze had swept through the place, taking with it the bits and pieces of their fears and worries and grief, leaving the air clean and untroubled, sweetening their dreams. Even Idhri had begun to recover from the shock of his memories.
Morgana had fulfilled her promise to the Blackbird and was eager to return to the Isle.
Braithe, though she was careful not to boast about it, was elated at the growing power of her magic.
Her only worry was that when she left the White City, her newfound abilities would fade.
Not her only worry, in truth. The thread of premonition, of fear of something yet to come, still troubled her, but she had no way of knowing what it meant. She thought of mentioning it to Morgana, but she put it off, not wanting to spoil the moment.
She had showed off, just a little, when they returned to the house, pronouncing the cantrip before Morgana had a chance.
Idhri and Morgana had both laughed and congratulated her.
Braithe privately wished that Priestess Iffa, who had so often lamented her lack of skills and even tried to expel her from the Temple, could have been a witness.
Of course that was silly. It no longer mattered.
On this lovely morning, they all slept right through the delivery of their breakfast. They didn’t gather in the kitchen until the sun was fully up and the heat had begun to rise.
Councillor Emerlyn arrived while they were still at their meal, and Braithe convinced her to sit and drink a cup of cider.
“I gather you are in a great hurry to return to the Isle,” Emerlyn said. They were at the kitchen table. Morgana and Braithe were taking their time over a pot of tea. Idhri had demolished the hen’s eggs and berries and was working his way through the last of the bread and cheese.
“I am,” Morgana said, in answer to Emerlyn. She had allowed Braithe, at last, to properly braid her hair, and it hung neatly in a thick plait over her shoulder.
“I am, too,” Braithe said. “And I’m sure Idhri is eager to return to his master.” Idhri, mouth full, mumbled assent.
Emerlyn gave a little sigh. “It would be nice if you could stay for a bit, Morgana. Despite all the drama, I have enjoyed getting to know you.”
Braithe put down her cup and turned to the councillor.
Emerlyn met her gaze, then swiftly looked away.
Two uncomfortable-looking red spots bloomed in her wrinkled cheeks, and Braithe knew why.
She had heard the councillor’s thoughts so clearly it seemed everyone at the table should have done the same.
She hesitated, looking from Emerlyn to Morgana and back again.
She could see it now, despite the difference in their ages.
She started to speak, stopped herself, then began again.
“Councillor,” she said. Emerlyn’s eyes found hers again, and Braithe saw that they sparkled golden with emotion, very like Morgana’s.
“Councillor,” she repeated, gently, as if she were the older one and Emerlyn the younger. “You should tell her.”
Morgana arched one dark eyebrow. Emerlyn pushed her cup away and folded her hands on the table.
Braithe waited, wondering if she had done the right thing.
She might have offended the councillor by listening to her thoughts, but it was too late to take back her words.
She thought Emerlyn had been searching for the right moment, and no better moment would come.
Emerlyn inclined her head to Braithe. “Your magic has grown a great deal during your time here, Braithe of the Temple.”
“Yes.” Braithe braced herself for criticism.
“Perhaps you will learn to discipline it,” Emerlyn said, but she spoke without rancor. “And employ it at appropriate times,” the councillor added, “rather than listening to others’ thoughts without permission.”
“I will work on that.”
Emerlyn drew a slow breath and released it. “I will not complain in this instance. I have been hoping for an opportunity.”
Morgana said, “As I am spared Braithe’s gift, I have no idea what the two of you are talking about.”
Braithe lifted her fingers in a small gesture toward Emerlyn. “It is your story to tell, Councillor.”
“I know. I am searching for the right words.” She pulled herself straighter in her chair, seeming to gather her courage. “Morgana, I am not sure how you will react to what I have to say. I hope you won’t be angry that I waited so long.”
Morgana said, “Suppose I promise that I will not? I very much want to hear it.”
Emerlyn watched Morgana’s face as she spoke. “It is true that the Lady was your mother,” she said softly. “I know this very well, because I—I was the Lady’s mother, long ago.”
Braithe watched Morgana, too, her breath suspended as she awaited her response. Idhri, having dispatched every morsel of their breakfast, watched them all, wide-eyed, not understanding.