Page 95 of The Faerie Morgana
“I should have told you the truth about your birth long ago. She felt it should be kept secret, that you would allow me to guide you, that you would be ruled by the compulsion to protect the true king.”
“All of that happened.”
“Except for Uther’s flawed charm.”
“Would you have allowed him to betray Lloegyr?”
“I believe his knights would not have allowed it.”
“You do realize that I could not count on that, sir,” Morgana said bitterly, fresh resentment tightening her throat.
“I do now. I was afraid, Morgana, and that made me angry.”
“Are you still afraid?”
“Very.”
“And angry?”
“No. No longer angry. I am sorry I hurt you. I am trying to set things right.”
“Tell me why the Lady, if she is truly my mother, did not raise me herself.”
“Because she thought you could not learn from her how best to serve the people of Lloegyr. She didn’t want you raised among the fae, because they are unpredictable and capricious, often cruel. She was the last of a great line of the fae who treasured wisdom and service and imagined great things for both their world and that of humans, but in the latter days, few ordinary fae put store in honor and loyalty. They hated your mother because she banished them from Lloegyr for their offenses against the people she loved. They would not heed her warnings, and they have not forgotten.”
“Still…”
“Your mother wanted you brought up among the Lloegyrians, in the Temple she had built. It was a great sacrifice for her, her final sacrifice, indeed, but she was right. You learned very well. You have earned the honor in which they hold you.”
“They call me fae out of their envy.”
“Envy, yes, and ignorance. But they need not know the truth.” He reached into one of the capacious pockets of his robe and took out a small object. He held it out on his palm. It was slender and short, barely as long as one of Morgana’s fingers, and carved with tiny leaves and flowers. “Your mother wanted you to have this.”
Morgana looked at it curiously. “What is it?”
“It is a wand. It has certain powers of its own, mostly to enhance the ones the holder already has, but it is a symbol.”
“Of what?”
“Of your authority. Your status.”
“My status as…?”
“As her heir.”
“And if I choose not to be her heir? If I just want to—just want to be me?”
“That is a hard question,” he said bleakly. “And the answer is not mine to give.”
Morgana pushed herself to her feet. She needed to walk, to think. To decide.
“Are you fully recovered, Priestess Morgana?” the Blackbird asked.
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“And what will you do now?”
“I do not know.” She stood looking down at him, a crumpled old man leaning on his staff as if it was all that kept him from falling over. “One thing has not changed,” she said, her voice deep and steady now. “I am still committed to protecting the true king. His queen is a danger to him, and to all of Lloegyr. I think she came here as a destroyer, and I must do all I can to convince him of that.”
