Page 109 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

He offers me a wry smile as he takes a seat on the floor of my platform and allows his legs to hang over the edge.

“It’d look terrible if the Nicnevin starved to death on my watch….” he says as he places the plates down beside him.

I grimace, clambering down to sit on the other side of the food and passing him his mug.

“Please don’t call me that.”

He stares at me intently, leaving the silence for so long that I feel pressured to continue.

“I don’t really feel like one. Not really. I’m sure I’m a disappointment already, especially compared to all the things I’ve heard about the previous Nicnevins.”

Florian snorts, taking a sip of whatever he’s brought with him. “I’m pretty sure no Nicnevin knows what they’re doing at the start. Did you know the third Nicnevin died so many times at the beginning of her reign that the entire northern shoreline of the Winter Court is branded black with her seal? There are parts where you can’t even make it out, it’s so thick, but she just kept charging at the enemy until they broke.”

I snort, because that just makes her seem all the more legendary in my eyes. I never want to go through the process of dying again. To do that over and over again? Goddess, she’d have to be more stubborn than Maeve.

“Drink your tea. It’ll keep you warm in the air.”

He sounds so much like Tom in that second that I blink and do a double take.

“What?” he grunts.

“Sorry. You reminded me of someone for a second.”

Another of those long, patient silences. I’m beginning to think he uses them to get more information out of people without asking for it.

“Tom. He was… Well, I thought he was my brother when I was in the mortal realm.”

“You were close?”

I shrug. “He was always trying to be my caretaker. I got ill a lot—iron poisoning—and he was constantly fussing about me. I think… I think he was just as sick of the dynamic as I was.” He was certainly quick enough to suggest leaving the village. “I held him back.”

To his credit, Florian doesn’t offer me any kind of false assurances. “Maybe.” He takes another sip of his tea before grabbing one of the small berry-like fruits from his plate and popping it into his mouth.

I copy him, grimacing when the sharp bitterness bursts onto my tongue.

“You don’t like echo berries?”

“Too bitter.”

“It tastes like your emotions at the time you bite into it.”

I look at the little pink berry in disbelief.

“Try another one.”

This time, when I pierce the skin with my teeth, my mouth is flooded with a sugary sweetness that pops and fizzes against my tongue.

The next one is pure and refreshing.

“Jaromir mentioned you were an accomplished herbalist,” he prompts.

My next bite is more delicate than the last few, the citrus taste muted and barely there.

Is that what nostalgia tastes like? Can you be nostalgic for a life you left just over a week ago?

“I knew enough to support myself, and I liked gardening and tending the plants well enough, but….”

In reality, I only cared so much because it gave me an excuse to be outside, where I felt better. Something I now realise was a result of being away from the iron and the forge. Goddess, it’s ironic how much my old habits make sense to me now.

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