Page 72 of The Faerie Morgana
Braithe nodded. “Yes, I suppose. You do have some unusual power over him, do you not? Perhaps the priestess and I should—”
“Never mind!” Gwenvere snapped. “I have no intention of striking you again, in any case, now that you have come back.”
Braithe moved forward then and spoke in her usual tone. “I will have a look at your gown, but remember what I said. Please do not doubt that I mean every word.”
It was late that night when Braithe was free to go to Morgana’s apartment. She found the priestess in bed, still dressed, but fast asleep. She tried to tiptoe back out of the room, but Morgana stirred, and her eyelids lifted. “Braithe? Is that you?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I woke you.”
Morgana sat up and looked down at herself with surprise. “I am still in my robe.”
“I will help you change now, if you like. And brush out your hair.”
“Where were you?”
Braithe took Morgana’s nightdress from its hook and carried it to her. As Morgana slid it over her head, Braithe took the black robe and smoothed its creases before she hung it up. When she turned, Morgana was at the washstand, splashing water over her face. Braithe waited to speak until Morgana sat at the dressing table and she had picked up the brush to begin untangling the priestess’s hair.
“I had no intention of waiting upon the queen again,” she murmured.
Morgana stiffened, and her eyes met Braithe’s in the mirror. “She forced you.”
“No. Unless we count persuading the king to intervene as forcing.”
“Did he do that?”
“He asked me to return to her as a favor to himself. I could not bring myself to refuse.”
Morgana blew an exasperated breath. “I will speak to him.”
Braithe put down the brush and rested her hands on Morgana’s shoulders. “Priestess, you mean well, and I’m grateful, but I wish you would not do that.”
“Why, brat?” Morgana said. She reached up one of her long hands to cover Braithe’s small one. “After what she did, I would think—”
“Yes, she struck me. But she won’t do it again.”
“How do you know that?”
Braithe picked up the brush again. “Because I told her if she did, I would put something awful in the food I bring, and she would get really sick.”
Morgana choked on a laugh. “You did not! Brat, tell me the truth.”
Braithe took up the weight of Morgana’s hair and tied it with a thong. Morgana rose, but she didn’t go back to her bed. She leaned one hip on the dressing table, waiting for Braithe to tell her everything.
Braithe smiled up at her. “Like you, I am devoted to the king.” She shrugged a little. “Perhaps too much, but he is a great ruler and a good man. He deserves better than Gwenvere.”
“Of course he does. But, dear little brat…”
Braithe’s smile faded. “I know it could never be me, but that doesn’t change my feelings. Like you, I vowed to serve and protect King Arthur of Lloegyr, and that includes protecting him from a girl from the western demesnes who thinks only of herself.”
“And she believed your threat?”
“I think I convinced her,” Braithe said lightly.
Morgana said, “You amaze me. I wish I had been there to hear that.”
Braithe moved around Morgana to straighten the things on her dressing table. “I went back to Gwenvere’s service because King Arthur asked me to. Fortunately for me, he didn’t order me to like either it or her, nor do I.”
“I doubt this is the last confrontation you will have with her.”
