37 #2
In far too short a time, the two of them were making their way down the stairs.
Loria had prepared a little packet of food for Morgana to breakfast on and handed it to her as they passed the kitchen.
Bran was waiting by the door that led out into the keep, and he made a formal farewell to Priestess Morgana.
He bowed to her and then to Braithe. “Priestess Braithe, we will keep your breakfast warm for you.”
As Morgana and Braithe passed out into the keep and through the farmer’s gate, Braithe said, “I cannot get used to that title.”
“The day will come,” Morgana said lightly, “when it will feel natural.”
“Perhaps.”
As Morgana had said, Idhri and Master Hugh were ready. Their new boat was one of Hugh’s own making, and its fresh varnish sparkled in the rising sun. Idhri was on the dock, ready to untie the mooring rope. Hugh was on the bench, checking the oars.
As Braithe carried Morgana’s things, including her precious basket, to hand over to Hugh, a deep voice sounded from the shore.
She turned and saw Sir Lancelin striding swiftly down the path.
He had called Morgana’s name. Morgana turned to meet him, and Braithe turned away to give them a moment to themselves.
Idhri said, “I’m glad it’s not you leaving, Priestess Braithe.”
She brushed away the tear that had finally found its way to her cheek. “No. It is not I.”
He said, “You will see her again.”
“Of course. One day.”
With half-fae prescience, he said, “One day soon. I can feel it,” and smiled.
“At least I will be able to see you whenever I like,” she said, blinking away her tears.
“That you will.”
“She’s ready to go, yah?” Hugh said. Braithe looked back to see Morgana walking briskly along the dock. Lancelin stood on the shore, watching her.
Braithe said, “I believe she is, Master Hugh.” When Morgana reached her, Braithe said, “Sir Lancelin will miss you, too, I think.”
“Surely not,” Morgana said, avoiding her eyes.
“He is thinking that he will wait for you to change your mind.”
“What?” Morgana blinked in surprise and turned her golden gaze to Braithe. “Are you listening to him?”
“His thoughts are very strong. It is hard not to hear.”
“I have been thinking…” Morgana began, and then stopped.
“What?” Braithe prompted.
Morgana said, so softly Braithe had to lean closer to hear her, “I have been thinking about my mother.”
Braithe answered just as quietly. “Because she chose to conceive.”
Morgana nodded. “I have not changed my mind about it,” she said, but weakly.
Braithe took her hand and squeezed it. “There is time.”
Morgana bent to kiss Braithe’s cheek, which made Braithe catch her breath. Morgana had never done that, not in all their time together. “Good luck,” Morgana whispered.
“And to you,” Braithe said, releasing Morgana’s hand.
Master Hugh came to help Morgana into the boat. She allowed him to take her hand as she stepped in. She looked back at Braithe one more time. “You will take care, brat.”
“I will. And you, too.”
“I will not be the one living in Camulod with swordsmen and politicians all around.”
“The Temple is full of politicians,” Braithe answered.
Morgana chuckled. “This is true.”
Braithe’s throat began to ache, and she had to swallow to prevent fresh tears forming. “Morgana—come back soon.”
“As soon as I can.”
Morgana moved forward so she could stand in the prow of the boat, her favorite spot, where she turned to lift a hand to Lancelin, and then to Braithe.
Idhri untied the rope from the bollard, coiled it, and laid it in the bottom of the boat. He stepped to his usual place in the back and gave Braithe a cheerful wave as Hugh pushed the boat away from the dock. She waved back, a small, constrained gesture, then linked her hands before her.
She remained there on the dock, standing still as she watched the boat slice the smooth water of the lake. An image came into her mind, and she realized it was coming from Morgana.
It was herself, standing on the dock with the castle behind her, rising on its promontory far above.
She made a slight, solitary figure in a black robe, with her sigil catching the sun and her curls bright with it.
The hem of her robe rippled slightly in the breeze from the water, and her eyes flashed blue as she followed the boat’s progress.
The image held as long as Morgana could still see her, growing smaller and smaller as the boat cleft the gleaming water.
Not until the boat was out of sight did the image fade and disappear.
Braithe closed her eyes and tucked her chin as she asked the Lady for protection for Morgana and courage and wisdom for herself.
When she walked up the dock and stepped onto the shore, she found Lancelin waiting for her. He bowed. “Priestess Braithe. I believe we have work to do.”
She answered, “Indeed we do, Sir Lancelin. I am ready.”
They walked up the path to the castle side by side, as equals. A stanza came to Braithe’s mind, but she didn’t recite it aloud. Lancelin would not have understood.
The flower’s beauty does not last.
The sweetness of autumn dies into winter.
Even the winter reaches its end,
And so it is with the world.