Morgain's Revenge - Laura Anne Gilman [33]
The sorceress said nothing, merely allowing the cart to roll itself in. Then she helped herself to a share of the food. Taking her cue from that, Ailis put aside her need to assault the woman with questions, and settled in to satisfy her own hunger.
When the last flaky pastry and slab of sausage had been consumed, Morgain washed her fingers in the bowl of water set aside for that purpose, and held out her clean hand for Ailis to take.
“Come with me, witch-child.”
Ailis resisted expressing her initial reaction to the nickname, and allowed herself to be escorted into the hallway. There was nothing to be gained by annoying her captor, apart from being turned into a fish, or something more cruel.
The sorceress brought her down a staircase one level, leading the girl to a room filled floor to ceiling with books and parchments and maps. Most of them were in languages Ailis could not recognize, much less understand, but she was fascinated. Who knew there were so many sheets of paper on the entire island? Morgain walked from shelf to shelf, taking down one book then another, putting together a pile that she said “might be of interest, and a way to pass the time.”
“I don’t want to pass the time.” If Ailis had stopped to think, she would never have dared speak back to the sorceress, but the words simply came out of her mouth. “I want to go home.”
“I know, witch-child, I know,” Morgain said. Her tone was disturbingly gentle, the way adults sound when they’re about to tell you something really, really bad. “You can’t go home. Not just yet. But I will not allow you to waste away, witch-child, no fears.”
What could Ailis say? She had no weapons to fight her way free, no way to contact Merlin to rescue her, no way to do anything but submit. She made a dutiful curtsey, shallower than she might have to the queen, which merely made Morgain laugh. Ailis took the parchments and books back to her room, and piled them on a small table that appeared next to the sofa. A gorgeous quilt, with gold and blue and green and deep purple squares, was draped across the back of the sofa, its texture softer and warmer than anything she had ever felt before.
“If you have need of anything else,” Morgain said, “just ask.” She stood in the doorway watching Ailis with a strange sort of satisfaction on her face, almost as though she didn’t know how to express what she was feeling, or even how to feel it at all.
“Ask who?” The thought of someone listening in on her at all times made Ailis suddenly feel self-conscious. She looked around nervously, as though something would suddenly be revealed.
“Ah, yes.” It was clear that Morgain had never thought of such a discomfort, and Ailis suspected that she was so accustomed to having servants underfoot that she never saw them. Though to be fair, Ailis had not seen any servants at all since that first morning. Were they discreet? Absent for some sort of holiday? Or had Morgain turned them all invisible for some reason? Might they be lurking anywhere, everywhere, watching all the time?
“Here,” and the sorceress stepped forward into the room, casting her gaze around until she saw what she was looking for. “Here.” She picked up a small silver candlestick and touched it with her free hand. A blue-green spark jumped from her fingertip to the top of the candlestick, and a slender foam-colored candle appeared in the previously empty socket.
The sorceress considered the result, then nodded with satisfaction. “Light this when you wish to make a request. Someone will hear you. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Ailis looked away, trying desperately to remind herself that despite the kindness and consideration this woman was showing her, she was still an evil sorceress, a wicked woman who had tried to destroy Camelot, had threatened her and her friends, had stolen her away from her home, and was keeping her a prisoner.
Any more a prisoner than you were in the queen’s solar? Any more a prisoner than you were, tied to