Page 98 of The Faerie Morgana
“She makes men—and women, too—do what she wants them to do. Things they would never do if they were not magicked.”
“You are thinking of Lancelin,” Morgana said somberly. “Weknow him to be a man of honor and integrity. For him to betray the king he serves does not fit his character.”
“But what can we do?”
“We must warn Arthur.”
“He will not listen to us. Not if he is still under her spell.”
“Perhaps he will not. But we must try.” Morgana scooped up the scattered stones to replace them in their cup. “Braithe, I think Arthur forgot—forgot about you, what you were to him—because he was magicked.”
“Oh.” Braithe’s eyes filled with sudden tears.
Morgana said, “What is it, brat? Why are you weeping?”
Braithe said, with a tiny sob, “Because it means he could have—he might have—if she had not—” She pressed her hands to her cheeks, wet now with her tears.
Morgana put a hand on her shoulder. “Yes,” she said, as gently as she knew how. “You were also a victim, Braithe. I am so sorry you were hurt.”
Braithe smiled, though tears still slipped down her cheeks. “I was, Priestess, but now—now I understand! It hurts far less this way.”
Morgana squeezed her shoulder, then patted it. “Now, brat,” she said. “Let us lay our plan to put an end to the changeling’s treachery.”
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Priestess Niamh asked again if you will ever return to your duties in the Temple,” Braithe told Morgana.
“I hope you told her to scry for herself if she needs an answer.”
“You know I did not, Priestess.” Braithe smiled a little, trailing one hand over the side of the boat, her fingertips brushing the cold water. They were on their way back to Camulod in a boat with a single oarsman. The Blackbird huddled at the stern, hunched over his staff. Braithe and Morgana sat in the bow, side by side.
Their boat had just entered the circling mist. It seemed to float out of time. Braithe knew it was moving, because she could see the smooth water ripple against its bow, but there was nothing else to see, and nothing to hear but the delicate slipping of the oars through the waters of Ilyn. Sunshine silvered the upper edge of the mist, adding to the dreamlike sensation. Braithe wished they could keep on like this forever, embraced by the peace of Ilyn. She didn’t want to think about Niamh or the Temple or Camulod or Gwenvere. She would even be content to forget Arthur for a time.
But that wasn’t to be. The boat moved inexorably forward under the deft propulsion of the boatman. They emerged from the mist and pressed on, soon finding themselves at the dock beneath the castle. Braithe tipped her head back to look up at the familiar wall sparkling in the sunshine, the pennants fluttering in the breeze.
Suddenly alarmed, she seized Morgana’s arm. “Priestess. Those are battle flags.”
Morgana followed her gaze and muttered, “Oh, no.”
The familiar scarlet of Camulod’s pennants, proudly flying when the king was in residence, had been replaced by blue ones with Arthur’s crest in black. They were the same ones carried by the flag-bearers when the king and his knights went to war.
“What does it mean?” Braithe whispered. The boatman brought the boat up to the dock with barely a bump. He leaped nimbly out, tied the rope to the bollard, and held his hand out to Morgana, then Braithe. He used both hands to support the Blackbird as the old man climbed out.
Morgana led the way with a strong step, up through the woods toward the farmer’s gate. The Blackbird trailed behind them. “I have waited too long,” Morgana said, her voice tight with tension. “She has already done it.”
“Do you mean Gwenvere?” Braithe panted.
“She has betrayed them. Betrayed them all. Even Lancelin.”
“But—but how?”
“All that is needed is a messenger dispatched to the Roman camp, bearing information about the king’s plans. Arthur would no doubt confide in her. And as you said, she has waysof persuading people to do her bidding, as if they can no longer tell right from wrong.”
“You should have pushed her off the courtine,” Braithe said grimly.
“I know. I could not bring myself to it.”
“What can we do now?”
