Page 24 of The Faerie Morgana
Braithe volunteered. “I will apply it, Priestess.”
“Yes. Be generous.” Morgana lifted the mortar, and as Braithe put out her hand, it leaped the little distance into her palm. She caught it deftly and turned to the bedside.
The Blackbird shook his head at Morgana’s power, so casually wielded. He wondered if he should reveal everything to her now, or if it would be safer to wait until she was older, more disciplined. Perhaps she would grow less arrogant as she aged. Certainly life had a way of softening such sharp edges.
He saw the dimples twinkle in Braithe’s cheeks as she spread the salve on Arthur’s chest, and something about that made the threat of change loom before him, as if a cloud had blotted out the sun and cast Camulod into darkness. He blinked, and shook his head to try to dismiss it.
When he looked up, he found himself caught in Morgana’s gold-flecked gaze, and he nodded understanding. She felt it, too.
“He did it, didn’t he?” Arthur said, when Uther was gone and order had been restored in his bedchamber.
Morgana whirled to stare at her half brother. She had said nothing to anyone except the Blackbird. Not even Braithe knew Uther had poisoned his son himself.
“Arthur—” Morgana began, but then could not finish. She couldn’t lie to him, nor did she want to say anything that would encourage him to trust his treacherous father.
“Morgana.” Arthur was sitting up in his bed, a warm cloth over his chest to speed the healing effects of the elf dock and wormwood. “First of all, the danger of assassination hangs over every man of royal blood.” He smiled at her, as indulgent as if he were the elder and she the younger. “Secondly, dear sister, your scrying is famous, even beyond the shores of the Isle of Apples. Uther is a fool, but I am not. I know you see the truth in your visions.”
Braithe stood with her hands to her mouth. “It wasthe king?” she cried.
“Hush, brat,” Morgana said hastily. “It’s a secret that must be kept.”
“But why?”
Arthur said, “Because my father would simply deny it, and anyone who accused him would be in peril. He does not hesitate to have people disposed of.”
“Like me,” Morgana said. She began to clean the mortar and pestle. “I have always been a reminder to him that he was not Ygraine’s first husband, and that he only wears the crown because he married it.”
“He tried to get into the Lady’s Temple once to try his hand at the sword, but they turned him away. He was furious when you aided me to pull the sword from the stone.”
“It was not my choice.” Morgana laid down the pestle with a decisive click.
“He could blame me, if he wished,” the Blackbird said.
“That, he would not dare,” Arthur said.
“Perhaps not,” the Blackbird said mildly. “But it was I who called on Morgana. Not to thwart Uther’s ambition. To fulfill the prophecy.”
“My father cares more for war than for prophecy.”
“It is a grave mistake,” the Blackbird said, “to choose darkness over light.”
“Uther is all darkness,” Morgana said. “He let my mother die, and I will not forgive him.”
“Priestess,” the Blackbird said in a warning tone.
Her eyes flashed in his direction. “He did nothing to save her. I was yet a child, not one of the Nine, but Niamh or Olfreth could have helped her. He had only to ask.” She picked up the mortar to dry it with quick, angry movements. “He did not even try. He let her die in childbirth as if she were—as if she were one of his serfs, of no account to anyone.”
“He called in a Roman physician…” the Blackbird began, but didn’t finish.
“A man!” Morgana spat, the old fury rising in her breast. “What did that man know of a woman’s needs? Of the danger to her? He was worse than useless!” She set down the mortar with unnecessary force. The fresh rush of anger made her breath come too fast, and the blood swirled in her head.
Braithe took a step toward her, but Arthur said, “Allow me.” He was up, out of his bed. Though his sister was taller, he put his arms around her and held her tight against him.
Morgana stiffened at first. No one touched her in that way. Itfelt strange, as if his strong young arms were a constraint rather than a comfort. A moment later, touched by the warmth of his concern, her body relaxed, and she let her forehead drop to his shoulder. He murmured, “We both grieve her, sister. We won’t forget. We will always honor her.”
The issue was not so simple for Morgana, who remembered her silent mother turning her back as the Blackbird led her little daughter away. Still, her half brother’s kindness and the sweetness of his character touched some icy place deep in her spirit. She felt it thaw, little by little, giving way to some new warmth she hardly recognized.
She straightened, loosening Arthur’s embrace, but she spoke gently. “You are so good, my lord. You will make a wonderful king. Now back to bed with you!”
