28
I need to return to the Isle,” Morgana said to Braithe. They were strolling along the courtine after dinner, having left Lancelin sleeping. Loria had promised to come for them should he wake and need anything.
Braithe suppressed a rush of disappointment at leaving Camulod so soon. She said only, “Very well, Priestess. Tomorrow?”
“Yes. Tomorrow. But, Braithe,” Morgana said as they paused to gaze to the south and the graceful silhouettes of the mountains against the violet evening sky. “I wish you would stay here to keep an eye on Lancelin. I expect no problems with his wound, but you will know what to do if there are any.”
“Oh!” Braithe said.
“Do you mind very much?”
Braithe tried not to sound too eager about staying on. “No, of course not,” she said, a little too quickly. She felt Morgana’s sharp glance, and she supposed she had failed to hide her enthusiasm. She tried to speak more calmly. “I am happy to watch over Sir Lancelin.”
“My worry is for the Blackbird,” Morgana said. “He is not well, I fear, although he will not say so.”
Now Braithe felt a stab of remorse, and the shifting of her emotions made her feel a bit dizzy. She took a step back from the parapet to steady herself. “What troubles him?”
Morgana leaned her hip against the parapet, lifting her head to watch the stars flare to life, one by one.
The air was fragrant with autumn, and the new chill in the air promised the restful dark of winter.
“It is only the weight of his years.” Braithe heard the sadness in her voice and felt it in her own breast. “Our mage is very old. He has served Lloegyr well, but he cannot continue forever.”
“He does seem tired,” Braithe said.
“He has always wanted to retire one day to the Isle. To rest in his chamber in the priestesses’ residence, to listen to the acolytes chant the service. To have respite from the cares of the kingdom.”
“And you wish to take him there,” Braithe said.
“I do. I think it is time. I would like to get back to work, too.”
Braithe caught the flash of Lancelin’s rugged face in Morgana’s mind and quickly pulled her thoughts back. She understood how complicated Morgana’s feelings were about the king’s knight, but they were none of her affair. She said, “Priestess Niamh will be glad to have you back.”
Morgana sighed. “She will, I think. She, too, grows weary of her responsibilities.”
They walked on to the bench at the southernmost point of the courtine. An evening breeze had sprung up, whipping at their hems and hair, but Morgana showed no sign of wishing to go inside. As they settled on the bench, Braithe said, “I suppose one day you will be elder priestess.”
“I do not look forward to that day.”
“I know,” Braithe said, making Morgana chuckle.
They sat on in silence for a time, until Braithe yawned and Morgana stirred. “Oh, brat, you should go to your bed.”
“I will check on Sir Lancelin first.”
Morgana hesitated for a moment before she said, “Yes. That would be good.”
“Shall we pack your things tonight, or in the morning?”
“The morning will be fine.” They rose and walked back the way they had come, circling the keep until they reached the door leading down to the floors of the west tower. As Braithe held the door open for her, Morgana said, “I will miss you, my brat.”
“Oh! Well, surely I will be joining you before long, as soon as Sir Lancelin is well.”
“Let us hope so.”
It was a noncommittal answer. Braithe didn’t understand it. She followed Morgana down the narrow stair, past the Blackbird’s little room and down to the level of their own chambers. She bid Morgana good night and went down another level to Lancelin’s bedchamber.
She found Loria sitting in a comfortable chair in the corridor. “Is he well?” Braithe asked.
Loria nodded and smiled up at her. “Still not awake. You go and rest, and I will call you if there’s a need.”
“If you’re sure,” Braithe said. She yawned again, surprised at how sleepy she was. She supposed the experiences of the past weeks were enough to tire even someone as young as herself. “I will resume the watch in the morning.”
She climbed back up to her own small bedchamber.
Before getting ready for bed, she went to the window to look down on the peaceful keep, then up to see the starlight sparkling on the courtine.
Somehow the stars shining above Camulod seemed more brilliant than any other place.
The nightjars teased each other in the woods, and the ghostly shape of an owl flitted past the eastern tower.
Braithe breathed a sigh of pure pleasure, thinking how much she had come to love this place.
Not until she was in her bed, her eyelids drifting closed, did she wonder again about what Morgana had said about her returning to the Isle. I hope so. What could have prompted such an ambiguous response? She thought she should know, but before she could think it through, she was sound asleep.
If Morgana had entertained any doubts about what would be best for the Blackbird, he swiftly dispelled them. When she said to him, “Sir, you have served long and well. Would you not like to retire to the Isle now?” he answered without demur, lifting one shaky hand.
“I would,” he said. “I have given all I have to give.”
It had taken little time to pack up what few possessions he had collected.
Everything fit into one bag, with room on top for his scrying bowl.
He had tried to suggest Morgana take that for herself, but she refused the gift.
“I have one of my own,” she said. “And you may find you want yours at some time.”
“I doubt that.”
“When you have rested and you feel more like yourself, sir.”
His beard had twitched at that, signifying his gentle amusement. “This is myself, Priestess. I don’t expect any great change.”
Morgana had not answered that, because she had no idea of how to do so.
Now, in the bracing air of a cool morning, she assisted him down the path to the dock, keeping a firm hand under his arm and proceeding at a safe pace.
Bran followed with the Blackbird’s bag and her own.
She had left her basket in Braithe’s bedchamber, a sign she was turning its responsibilities over to her handmaid.
She would not allow herself to consider that this state of things might be permanent, but the possibility lingered at the edges of her mind, threatening to sidle in.
Braithe came hurrying down the path at the very last minute, just as Hugh, the boatman, was helping to settle the Blackbird on the bench seat.
He had provided extra cushions and a rug for the mage’s lap.
Idhri was in the bow, ready to assist. He had bowed to Morgana, but he grinned hugely at Braithe, emanating good cheer at being home once again.
She smiled back and wished him good morning.
Morgana paused on the dock to speak to her. “Have you seen Sir Lancelin this morning?”
“Yes, Priestess, and he is begging to be allowed out of his bed!”
“I will leave it to you, brat, to decide when that is safe.”
“His wound is still tender. I think several days before the stitches can be removed.”
“I agree.” There was really little more to be said, but Morgana found herself reluctant to say her farewell. “When he is healed,” she began, but Braithe forestalled her.
“I will come home,” Braithe said. “I know Dafne will look after you until then.”
“Dafne. Yes.”
But Dafne was no help in the anteroom. She was no one Morgana could confide in or stroll with.
It would be a lonely time, but it was obvious Braithe was not worried about that.
Braithe loved being at Camulod, even without Arthur.
Perhaps that was to be celebrated, especially because it could not be helped.
“Take care, Priestess,” Braithe said.
“And you, brat,” Morgana replied. She didn’t try to embrace Braithe, though she longed to do it.
As she climbed into the boat to take her seat, she remonstrated with herself.
What weakness, to be so loath to part with her handmaid, as if she would never see her again!
All she said aloud was, “Stay safe,” and Braithe responded brightly.
“Of course! I am always safe at Camulod!”
Morgana shivered with a little chill, the familiar quiver of premonition. It nearly made her climb back out of the boat, and it nagged at her all the way to the Isle.