Page 36 of The Faerie Morgana
“Why would it be in the proper order for Uther to betray us all?”
“The Lady did not foresee such a thing, and I do not believe it would have happened.”
“But what if it had? And what is the proper order, sir?” Morgana struggled to keep her voice even.
“It is that Uther should preserve the crown until Arthur is of age.”
“But he wasn’t—”
“You don’t know what he was going to do, Morgana! If he had been protected, if he had come home safely from this battle…”
“Sir! You don’t know what he was going to do, either!”
The look the Blackbird gave her made her heart ache, and what came next was even worse.
“I took a vow, long ago, to protect Lloegyr, and now… You have failed Lloegyr, Morgana. And you have failed me.”
These words, from the one person in the world who had been Morgana’s mentor and supporter since she was tiny, hurt so much she could no longer speak. She felt the pain in her throat, in her chest, in her belly. She would have preferred that he raise his staff and strike her with it. She would have bowed her head and accepted the blow as being easier to bear than this accusation, this awful judgment.
He turned away from her now and slammed through the door, leaving her trembling.
They had clashed before, but not like this. The cruelty of his accusation made Morgana feel as if everything she had achieved before this moment no longer mattered. She had lost him. The Blackbird had been her parent, her teacher, herguide. He was all the family she possessed, her only equal, and he…
He had repudiated her.
She stood where she was, sick with shame and an overwhelming sense of loss. She had no idea how much time passed before the door opened once again. She threw up her head, hoping against hope he had come back, that he would apologize, that they would reconcile.
But it was Braithe. She stood in the doorway, her head ducked. Tears trembled on her eyelashes, and her lips were swollen, as if she were about to cry.
“Tell me,” Morgana said resignedly.
“We have to leave,” Braithe answered, her voice breaking. “He ordered the boatman, and we have to pack our things and go this moment.”
“But—the coronation—there has to be a priestess for the blessing—”
“He has sent to the Temple for someone else. You are forbidden to attend.”
Braithe’s tears spilled over, and Morgana pressed her hands over her own dry eyes. “I am sorry, Braithe. You can stay, surely.”
Braithe shook her head. “No,” she choked. “Not that I would stay without you.”
Morgana dropped her hands. “That seems cruel.”
“It’s because I—I argued with him.”
“You argued? With the Blackbird?”
Braithe sniffled, and wiped her tears with the heels of herhands. In a steadier voice she said, “He’s wrong, Priestess. You know it, and I know it, and so I told him.”
Despite everything, Morgana laughed. It was a small, sour little laugh, but it was a laugh just the same. “Oh, brat,” she said. She stepped forward and embraced her handmaid, hugging her small body to her in search of comfort for them both. “You may be little, my Braithe, but you possess a mighty spirit!”
15
Braithe sat in a miserable huddle, head down and arms wrapped around herself, all through the voyage across the lake. She felt the separation from Arthur as an ache beneath her breastbone, as if something had been physically ripped out of her body. She feared she would never see him again, never feel the touch of his hand, never smooth his fair hair from his forehead or smile into his sky-blue eyes. She gazed into the inevitable mist that surrounded the boat as it bobbed across Ilyn, and thought for the first time that the Isle seemed like a prison.
When they disembarked, she and Morgana walked up the slope from the dock in a mood of the purest dejection. Morgana was clearly humiliated and angry, but it was more than that. She had not spoken a word since they left Camulod, and even through her own unhappiness, Braithe sensed her pain. The Blackbird had hurt the priestess deeply. It was worse for someone like Morgana, who never spoke of her feelings, who pretended she had none. Morgana would not have the release of tears. Braithe had never seen her weep, and she was not certain she could.
As they reached the herb garden, Morgana slowed her steps and then stopped. “Braithe, will you tell Priestess Niamh I am here? I need a moment.”
