Page 101 of The Faerie Morgana
The Blackbird said, “Take Priestess Morgana and her handmaid to the kitchen and give them some refreshment.”
“And you, sir?”
“I will stay with the queen.”
Loria said, “I can fetch you something, sir, if you like.”
The Blackbird sighed a long, tired sigh. “Thank you, Loria. I accept your offer.”
They disappeared into the corridor, one by one. The Blackbird remained where he was beside the queen’s bed, leaning on his staff. He supposed Gwenvere could wake at any moment, but he wasn’t certain of that. Morgana’s strength was beyond anything he had seen before. Even her mother had not wielded power with such devastating effect.
But he had not known the Lady long before she vanished beneath the lake. There could be myriad events in her earlier life of which he was ignorant. The fae were known to be dangerous when crossed, and Gwenvere had more than crossed Morgana. She had tried to kill her.
Loria returned with a laden tray, sidling through the door to set it on the bedside table. She was puffing a bit from the climb up the stairs, and the Blackbird felt a sting of compunction. The maid was not young, although of course far younger than himself. He took a chair and gestured to another. “Loria, sit for a moment. Rest yourself.” The look of surprise on her plain face as she obeyed told him that such basic courtesy was unusual in Gwenvere’s service.
As he poured himself a cup of cider and took a bit of cheese from a platter, she said diffidently, “Sir, do you think the queen will recover?”
“I cannot answer that, I’m afraid.”
“Will the priestess Morgana—will she tend her? Try to heal her?”
The Blackbird chewed the cheese thoughtfully. When he had swallowed it, he said, “I expect she will try.”
“Oh.” Loria slumped in her chair, gazing at the queen’s still figure. “I thought perhaps she would die.”
“Did you?”
“I saw a man struck by a tree limb one time, and he fell just like the queen did. One second on his feet, the next on the ground. Never got up again.”
“The priestess was defending herself.”
“Did a good job of it.”
“Indeed.”
“Good thing none of those round table knights saw that. They’d be crying to have the priestess in their war party.”
The Blackbird’s beard twitched. “I believe you’re right. That is precisely what would happen.”
“We don’t have to tell ’em, do we?”
The Blackbird drained his cup of cider and began to slice a chunk of fresh brown bread to go with the cheese. “We don’t have to tell anyone, Loria. Bran may feel he should, though.”
She waved one plump hand. “Bran won’t say a word. He knows what the queen’s like. The whole castle does.”
“Not popular, I gather.”
“She was at first, before they knew. Me and her other maids, we’ve been with her a long time. We already knew.”
“But the king?”
“We feel bad for the king, sir. He’s a good king, a good man, and everyone loves him. But she knows how to convince a man she is what he wants her to be.” She glanced dismissively at the bed where the queen lay, barely breathing. “I’ve seen it before.”
“Before?”
“Oh, yes, sir, if you don’t mind me being blunt. This one has always had a way with men, ever since she came back from—well, it’s never been clear where she came back from.”
The Blackbird arched an eyebrow. “Did she not grow up in her father’s house?”
