Page 74 of The Faerie Morgana
“People in the northern demesnes believe witches curse people who anger them.”
“In that case, I am not a witch. I do not deal in curses.”
Lancelin’s dark gaze brightened, just a little. He said, “The ability to curse people might be a convenient one to have.”
“It is not the way of the Lady. I was trained to be direct when there is conflict.”
He nodded approval of this. “It’s the same with war. To skewer someone in the back is shameful in battle. When I kill a man, I look into his face.”
“I believe my half brother shares your view of honor in war.”
“King Arthur is a great leader and a role model for those of us who fight. It’s a privilege to join his forces.”
Morgana let her gaze drift to the mountains again, where the rosy color had begun to recede from the sparse clouds, leaving them a dull shade like spent embers. Shadows stretched longover the courtine, but behind and below them, the sounds of revelry did not lessen. She mused, “Lloegyr has waited a long time for such a king.”
“The true king,” Lancelin said.
She cast him a sidelong glance to ascertain that he was sincere. The gravity of his expression assured her that he was, and the unfamiliar feeling in her breast intensified. She had the odd thought that she would always remember this moment, this instant of accord between herself and a man she barely knew but whose presence—not only beside her but in Camulod—felt important. Fated, and yet, somehow, not entirely benevolent. She wanted to be here, sharing this moment, but it felt risky, like walking too close to the edge of the wall.
He didn’t help matters when he said, “Do you know, Priestess Morgana, your hair shines in the darkness as if it were filled with stars.” She shivered.
The idyll lasted for weeks before new reports of Saxon attacks came from the western demesnes. Arthur mustered his knights and their lackeys and set out to defend Gwenvere’s homeland, but first, he came to Morgana to beg her help.
“Sister,” he said, taking her hand when she came into his council chamber. “Priestess. Can I prevail upon you for another charm?” He released her hand and palmed the charm he always wore, the silver one that had no seams, that had belonged to the Lady herself. “I would have Sir Lancelin protected as I am. He is a magnificent fighter, and the men follow him gladly.”
“I am sorry, my lord,” Morgana said. “There must not be more than one charm like the one you bear. Its power would be diluted. Weakened.”
“Not just one more?”
“Not even one.”
Arthur bent his head, thinking about this. After a moment he looked up. “Is there anything you can do for him?”
It was her turn to ponder. She let her gaze stray to the window as she thought. She turned back to him with a troubled heart. “There is a minor charm for deception, which means one’s actions are not accurately perceived. I have never made it, because I dislike the idea, but such deception may be useful in battle.”
“It may indeed,” Arthur said. “Our scout tells us the Saxon war band is large and fierce, and it worries me. They have already overrun the demesne just to the north of Gwenvere’s home, and she naturally fears for her family.”
Morgana lowered her eyelids to hide her disbelief. She had been told often enough that when she was angry, her eyes flashed gold, and she suspected her half brother knew it. She wished he understood how utterly dishonest his queen was.
“We ride out at first light,” Arthur said. “Could you have the charm made before then?”
“I will need my handmaid,” she said.
“I will send word to Gwenvere.”
“Very well.” Morgana started for the door, but Arthur put out his hand to her once again.
“Sister,” he said quietly. “May I ask one more favor?”
She stopped and faced him. “Of course.”
“It’s Gwenvere. I know Braithe is doing her best, but Gwenvere is naive. In many ways she is still a child. I worry that someone will take advantage of her, do something to win her favor or to influence me. Will you watch out for her?”
Morgana considered how to answer this. Slowly, she said, “You do realize, my lord, that Braithe and Gwenvere are the same age?”
“I do. But Braithe has her Temple training, and she is so much more worldly. Gwenvere has led a sheltered life.”
Morgana felt a fresh spurt of frustration with her half brother. Braithe, worldly? Not until Arthur himself seduced her! Gwenvere naive? Arthur was more naive than his queen!
