Page 58 of The Faerie Morgana
It would fall to her, the cottar’s daughter, the simple Temple maiden, to protect the king, and he might never be aware.
And that, Braithe thought, was true love.
24
The day of King Arthur’s wedding to the Lady Gwenvere dawned clear and blue, a sparkling spring day that seemed charged with magic. Skylarks rose from their woodland nests to sing above the castle. Flowers bloomed before their time. Even Ilyn lay silver-smooth in the light of the rising sun. It was a day gilded with promise.
Arthur had ordered that the common folk who came to see him wed received a royal breakfast, served to them at long wooden tables in the center of the keep. The kitchen had been busy for days preparing. The visitors ate roasted pig and boiled eggs, loaves of fresh bread and cheese from the castle’s buttery, honeyed nuts and preserved figs, all with casks of cider and barrels of ale. The riches spilled over so that those beyond the gates, who had been too late to fit inside the walls, were delighted to see platters of the same riches carried out to them. Every subject called out praises for the king, and every heart lifted with pride in what their kingdom had become with their good King Arthur at its head.
In the absence of Braithe, who was assisting Gwenvere in herpreparations, Morgana had prevailed upon one of the kitchen maids to bring her the simple breakfast of fruit, bread, and fresh goat’s milk she preferred. She ate, then stood with the cup of milk in her hand, watching the happy throng beneath her window.
Several times one of the revelers glanced up and caught sight of her in her window. She supposed she was hard to miss, in her black robe, with her long silver hair flowing over her shoulders. Often people glanced away, made uneasy by the sight of her, but sometimes, a woman would bow her head in respect.
They knew, Morgana thought. Women knew who she was and what she did, and although some were afraid of her, others were aware of the service she provided to women and girls. Some, perhaps, had even been her petitioners in the Temple. When they bowed to her, she raised her long-fingered hand in blessing, and they touched their hearts in gratitude. It was to be, for her, the best part of the day.
She was startled when Braithe, out of breath and her curly hair unbound, burst into her chamber. “Priestess!” Braithe said. “I came to help you dress. I only have a few moments, because she wants me back to dress her hair.”
Morgana smiled at her handmaid. “Thank you, Braithe, but I can manage.”
“No,” Braithe said firmly. “I’m going to plait your hair first, and then I will do Lady Gwenvere’s.”
“Very well.” Morgana drained her cup and set it on the table, then seated herself on one of the chairs while Braithe gathered the pins for her hair. “Tell me how it’s going. Is she courteous?”
Braithe took up the brush and began to smooth Morgana’s hair with it. “I would say that the Lady Gwenvere has smooth manners,” she said. “Half the castle seems to have fallen in love with her already.”
“Not you, I gather.”
“Me? No.” Braithe divided the heavy tresses of Morgana’s hair with her small, deft fingers and began the first plait. “She is like a glassy pond. Everyone who looks into the pond sees something different, something they would like to see.”
“What do you see, brat?”
Braithe made a small, unhappy noise in her throat. “For me, the pond is windblown. Muddy. That’s what I see.”
Morgana was on the point of asking if this reaction might be due to envy, but Braithe’s thoughts ran ahead of hers. “I am not jealous,” she said in a calm tone. “I thought I would be. I was prepared to suppress that in myself, but that is not what I feel.”
She paused as she twisted several braids into a glistening circlet around Morgana’s head and secured the creation with silver pins. Morgana prompted, “What do you feel, then?”
Braithe let her hands drop for a moment. “I don’t want you to laugh at me.”
“I will not.”
“I feel… fear. I’m afraid.”
Morgana twisted her head to look back at her. “Afraid of the Lady Gwenvere?”
Braithe shook her head. “Not of the lady herself, exactly… Of what she might do.”
Morgana looked away again, and Braithe pinned the lastplaits into place. She said, as she smoothed the last strand, “There is something dark about her. Something deceitful.”
“Is there?”
“I suspect you know there is, Priestess.”
Morgana lifted one forefinger. “And you always claim you have no magic.”
The tables had been removed from the keep, and the ground swept clean. Garlands of greenery swung from every wall and window, and a dozen brightly dressed little girls ran here and there, sprinkling the ground with flower petals. A dais had been erected in the center, also hung with garlands, placed so that the people could stand below and watch the ceremony.
The Blackbird watched all of this from the window of his cramped room at the very top of the western tower. He hadn’t needed to take this room, which he had to climb the whole staircase to reach, but hardly anyone else cared to climb that far, and it was perfect for him. He could close his door and work without prying eyes or other interruptions. There had been things he needed to do.
