Page 96 of The Faerie Morgana
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The cold winds of winter warmed, bit by bit, transforming into spring zephyrs laden with the scents of blossom and the nesting calls of birds. Braithe busied herself restoring Morgana’s neglected apartment to its proper order, cleaning her robes, washing her nightdresses and shifts. She oiled the priestess’s sandals against the day she would put aside her boots.
She stayed as close to Morgana as she could, but the priestess usually left her apartment when dawn had barely broken over the Isle, its light not yet strong enough to pierce the mists that drifted in from Ilyn. Usually, Braithe was not yet awake. She knew the priestess was walking, going miles and miles around the Isle, sometimes along the beaches, often through the woods, following the paths the deer had worn through the brush. Morgana had always turned to the earth for her comfort, and often, when Braithe finally found her, she would be conferring with some creature of the forest: a sparrow or a moth, or the old fox with its silver muzzle and scarlet tail. Braithe took care not to disturb these conversations.
She knew Morgana and the Blackbird had spoken. She didn’tknow what had been said, but she supposed Morgana’s walks, and her silence, were her way of dealing with whatever he had told her.
Braithe had her own worry, although she knew it couldn’t be as important as whatever was weighing on Morgana. She had become, somehow, the barrier between Niamh and Morgana.
The elder priestess brought her complaints about Morgana to Braithe. “Where is she?” she often demanded to know. “When will she come back to the anteroom and work with petitioners?”
Braithe understood her frustration, although she suspected it was more about the absence of the tribute Morgana brought in than the time spent in the Temple. “Priestess Morgana is eager to see the supplicants, but I believe the Blackbird needs her just now.”
“For what?” Niamh snapped. “Does he not think the Temple needs her, too?”
Braithe answered as mildly as she could. “I couldn’t say, Priestess. Perhaps you could ask him?”
Niamh scowled. “Priestess Morgana has been back on the Isle for weeks. What could possibly take so long to accomplish?”
Again, Braithe replied, “I don’t know. Neither of them has told me anything.”
“A very poor response,” Niamh growled. “And no help to any of us.”
There was nothing Braithe could say except “I’m sorry. Shall I tell Priestess Morgana you’ve been looking for her?”
“Don’t bother,” Niamh said sourly. “Morgana will always do exactly as she pleases.”
Braithe could not deny the truth of that. And it was truethere was nothing she could do about any of it except wait for the priestess to confide in her.
That moment finally arrived just before the spring festival. The acolytes were busy festooning the Temple with garlands of greenery studded with flowers, their high, laughing voices tumbling out into the bright spring air. The refectory smelled of honey and toasted chestnuts as the cooks prepared sweet cakes and spiced cider, traditional fare for the celebration.
Morgana, returning from one of her hours-long rambles, strode past all this activity without seeming to notice it. She beckoned to Braithe. “I would like to speak with you,” she said. “If you are not otherwise occupied.”
Since Braithe was always available to the priestess for whatever she needed, this seemed unusually grave. Her heart fluttered as she nodded and left the flowers she was arranging to follow Morgana to her apartment. All the doors and windows in the residence stood open to the fresh air, but after they had gone in, Morgana closed her door and went to stand by the window. The happy sounds of festival preparation wafted past her, but she seemed to be bracing herself against something evil. Braithe sat on a stool, her hands in her lap, waiting.
Facing out into the sunny afternoon, Morgana said, “The Blackbird told me something shocking, Braithe.”
“Can you tell me, Priestess?”
Morgana turned to her, one hand on her sigil, the other on the windowsill. “The Blackbird says I am fae, brat. That I was not born to Ygraine. She was my foster mother, and the one who gave birth to me—my true mother—was fae.”
Braithe stared at her, stunned by the revelation. All the old tales came rushing back, making her head spin as she thought of the evil things the fae had done, the grief they had caused, the mischief that her mother had worked so hard to prevent. But this was Morgana! This was her idol, her mentor, her teacher. Morgana had never done anything evil in her life.
Morgana said, in a dull voice, “You are shocked, also. I have trouble believing it myself.”
Braithe shook her head, unable to think what to say.
“If you wish to leave me, Braithe, to give up being my handmaid, I will not blame you.”
That startled Braithe into speech. “Morgana, no!” She barely realized she had not used the priestess’s title. “Oh, no, I would never—I could not—”
“Surely you do not wish to serve one of the fae.”
The pain in Morgana’s voice, the misery in her eyes, was more than Braithe could bear. She jumped to her feet and crossed the room to look directly up into Morgana’s face. The priestess’s eyes had gone completely gold, a sign of the emotions simmering within her. Braithe’s voice trembled as she spoke with as much intensity as she could muster. “Listen to me. Being fae must not be the curse they say it is.”
“But the fae deceive. They lie. They steal animals and kidnap children. They—”
Braithe put up a hand. “Priestess, stop!” Morgana blinked at the unusual command. Braithe twisted her hands as she sought the words that would express the strength of her feelings. Finally, she said, “We know that some have done those things.It must be that—that the fae are like people, good and bad, strong and weak, wise and foolish. The bad ones are the ones my mother always tried to placate, but you—you could never be one of those. Everyone sees how hard you work, how devoted you are, how gifted! You are not capable of lying, or of deception. You would not steal. You could not, and that means—that means we are wrong about the fae!”
