Page 38 of The Faerie Morgana
“Well done, Priestess.”
Niamh shrugged. “My deep sight is not as strong as yours, Morgana, but it’s handy.”
“Of course.” Morgana looked up into the elder priestess’s sun-spotted face. “So now, Arthur will be crowned, though he is barely old enough to take the throne.”
“Sixteen, I believe? That is very young for such responsibility.”
“He thinks and talks like a man already, and the people love him.”
“They did not care for Uther, I understand.”
“No.”
Niamh said, “I would welcome your advice about who I should send to Camulod.”
“Joslyn,” Morgana answered, without hesitation. “She does everything with elegance.”
“She does, and she will be pleased you recommended her.” Niamh picked up the skirt of her robe as if on the point ofleaving, but she paused. “Morgana,” she said, “I know we are not—shall we say, close? But I am the elder priestess, and you can confide in me if you wish.”
Morgana said, with a humility foreign to her, “Thank you, Priestess. I will remember.”
“Hmmm.” Niamh arched one eyebrow in doubt, but she didn’t insist. Nodding to herself, she set off toward the residence.
Morgana wrapped her arms around herself once again and let her head droop. Even the scents of the herb garden could not soothe her heartbreak. She supposed she would just have to accept it.
Late in the afternoon, Braithe found her still sitting on the bench beneath the holm oak. She touched her shoulder, saying, “Priestess, come. It’s late. You should eat, and sleep. Tomorrow things will look better.”
Morgana looked up into her handmaid’s earnest freckled face. “Such wisdom in one so young.”
Braithe’s dimples flashed briefly, then disappeared. “My mam used to say real wisdom is just common sense.”
“Your mother is a wise woman.”
Braithe held out her hand, and Morgana took it, allowing the girl to help her up. “I will rest,” she assured her. “I doubt I can eat anything.”
“Oh, you can,” Braithe pronounced. “I will find something good.”
Morgana held on to Braithe’s hand a bit longer thannecessary. It was soothing to feel the smooth, strong little hand in hers. Knowing that Braithe cared was surprisingly comforting. She finally released her and lifted the hem of her robe as they walked up the slope. Braithe said, “Did Priestess Niamh come?”
“Yes. She will send Joslyn, who will be perfect for the ceremony.”
“Good. And surely, whatever has happened between you and the Blackbird, you will reconcile soon?”
Morgana considered that, turning her mind inward, to the secret she was forced to hold, to the wound in her heart at the Blackbird’s anger. “That I cannot know,” she murmured. “I can only hope.”
Braithe brought a tray to Morgana’s chamber with a tempting salad of summer greens, a fresh loaf of bread, and a dish of berries. Morgana ate everything, as much to see Braithe’s satisfied nod as to sate her hunger, but she did feel better afterward. She sent Braithe off to her own meal while she went to the Temple anteroom. It was empty at this hour, all petitioners having departed and the other priestesses and the acolytes at their supper.
A compulsion had driven her to the moody space. Something was calling to her. Warning her. She wanted to resist, to put aside any further worries, but she didn’t dare. This compulsion had the feel of her own magic, demanding her attention.
She lit one of the three candles on the altar and sat in thechair behind it. She took up the cup of stones, shook it, then upended it. The stones scattered in a semicircle, black ones and white ones tumbled together. Morgana took up the saucer of herbs and snapped her fingers above it. A tiny flame burst into life, and a thin tendril of pale smoke curled up. As the herbs burned—rosemary and thyme and a pinch of dried blackberry leaf to strengthen her perception—she breathed in the pale smoke and blew it slowly out as she gazed at the pattern of the stones.
She stared in horror. She cast them again, and then a third time, but the pattern was the same. By the time the herbs had burned away and their smoke dissipated, she sat back, her two palms pressed together in disbelief, her heart thudding so hard her body shook with it.
She had risked everything to stop Uther from betraying Lloegyr. Her charm had not been meant to protect him but to leave him to the fate that was his and his alone. The Blackbird had turned on her, which was a terrible price to pay, and one she didn’t yet understand, but she had at least thought that with Uther out of the way, the true king’s crown was safe.
Now she saw the fresh danger looming over him, coming again from within Camulod itself. Uther’s widow, Morgause, the mother of his young son, meant to assassinate the true king before he could be crowned. She intended to elevate her own child above Arthur. She saw herself with a regent’s crown of her own. The threat to Arthur was as clear as the stars in the summer sky.
The Blackbird had forbidden Morgana to return to Camulod, and now she must go against his wishes once again. If shewas discovered, and he still refused to listen to her explanation, their connection would be irretrievably broken.
