Page 83 of The Faerie Morgana
“It could be my imagination,” Braithe said.
“Have I not said you must trust your intuition?”
“Yes. More than once.”
“So. Tell me what you might have imagined.”
“I keep seeing another woman behind Gwenvere’s face. As I did that first day.”
Morgana tilted her head, listening.
Braithe went on. “An ugly woman. Dark and angry. But then I lose sight of her, and once again Gwenvere is—well, as you see her. Beautiful. Graceful.”
“I think if this happened once, Braithe, it could be imagination. But if it continues, it means something more.”
“And she makes people feel things they would not usuallyfeel. Men, especially. I see it with the king, but I see it with other men, too.”
“What is it that you see?”
Braithe’s face flushed, and her voice dropped. “It is lust, Priestess. The king’s knights would not lust after the king’s bride. They are too proud, too loyal…” She pursed her lips, which made her look older than her years. “Yet they do. It’s not natural.Sheis not natural.”
Morgana turned back to face the mirror, thoughtfully touching the sigil at her breast. “This may be why I cannot see her when I scry. Something is in the way. I thought it was myself, my anger at her behavior…”
“What does it mean?”
Morgana shook her head. “I do not yet know. I must think.” Her gaze came up to meet Braithe’s once again in the mirror. “Take care, Braithe. Protect yourself.”
Braithe sighed and lifted the brush again. “It tires me, trying to understand. Hoping to protect the king from her when I have no power. And then—” She broke off, shaking her head.
“What?”
“Nothing, Priestess. It’s nothing.”
Morgana could see that it was not nothing, but it seemed best not to press her. This, too, Morgana thought, was an offense to lay at Gwenvere’s feet. Everything and everyone she touched seemed to suffer.
Braithe tied Morgana’s hair back with a black ribbon and went to collect her nightdress from its hook. When she turned, holding it out, she had resumed her normal cheerful expression.“Come now,” she said, in maternal fashion. “You need a good night’s sleep.”
“True. Arthur has noble visitors coming tomorrow, and he wants me with him as he meets with them.”
“He works hard.”
“Tirelessly.”
Braithe said, “It’s just as the stanza tells us.” She recited:
Kingship is not power, but duty.
A crown is not an honor, but a charge.
To rule is to serve.
Morgana nodded recognition. Braithe held out the nightdress, then suddenly paused, one hand on her breastbone.
“Is something the matter?” Morgana was on her feet, already slipping out of her robe.
“I—I forgot something I need to do. I’ll be back as soon as I can!” Braithe laid the nightdress over the chair, then tripped quickly to the door and out, closing it firmly behind her.
Morgana stood with her robe dangling from her hand, staring after her handmaid. This had happened several times before, and each time Braithe made up some vague excuse, Braithe who was so open and honest. It worried her.
